Saving Neverland - Ch 1 - Just Keep Reading

(Josie Sayz: This is a story that I began working on several years ago. I am finally reading through it/editing it. This is a fanfiction piece of what would happen if two of my favourite characters Peter Pan (from J M Barrie’s book) and Jack Frost (from ‘Rise of the Guardians’) met, why and what adventure would they go on. I originally wrote this story as a present for a friend. I have decided to dig it out and plan to release each chapter as I edit it. This is Chapter One: ‘Just Keep Reading’.

Note: I do not own Peter Pan or any of the relating characters or places to the story; these are all owned by J M Barrie and ‘Disney’. I do not own Jack Frost or any of the relating characters or places to the story; these are all owned by William Joyce and ‘DreamWorks’.)

Saving Neverland

Just Keep Reading

Glancing up from her book, she shuddered as a tree appeared in front of her. She smirked. This was not the first time a book had caused her to bump into obstacles on her journey home. Sidestepping the tree, her fingers tingled as flakes of snow swept from the tree’s branches and brushed against her skin. She sucked in a breath and gripped her book tighter. It was not yet winter, but the changing winds nipped at her cheeks and pricked at her fingers. Breathing out, she smiled as her breath clouded in front of her. As her eyes returned to the words in her book, her reading was interrupted. A boisterous bellow and screeching cackle echoed from the group loitering on the corner. Swallowing, she pulled her shoulder bag’s strap up her arm, looped it around her thumb and buried her head in her book. ‘Just keep reading,’ she told herself as she neared the group. ‘Just keep reading and they won’t notice you.’

She held her breath, eyes fixed on the word: ‘Slightly’, as she forced her feet to fasten in pace. Their eyes fixed upon her. She could feel it. Their frozen stares, their smug grins, their shared sarcastic comments played like a film reel in her mind. ‘Just keep reading,’ she repeated as she passed them. ‘Just keep reading.’ Thud. She jolted forwards as something icy whacked against the back of her head. Gripping the pain, she spun around and glared. None of them were looking at her now, but she knew that one of them had done it. ‘I didn’t think there was enough snow to make a snowball,’ she observed. Although flakes of snow resided in trees and bushes, the ground was dry. It did not appear possible to even form a small ball of snow, yet one of them had. Her right hand clasped tight over her book as she lowered her left from her head. Wrinkling her nose, she stuck her tongue out at them, before abruptly turning back around and carrying on her walk.

“Idiots,” she grumbled through clenched teeth. Pinching her eyes tight she inhaled slow and deep. “One… two… three… four…” she whispered as she exhaled, opening her eyes. “Hmm…” She readjusted her bag, before flicking the pages of her book back open. “Where was I?” she mumbled as she fanned through the pages. “Arh…” She ran her fingers down the page, resting her forefinger upon the word that she had focused on moments earlier: ‘Slightly’. As she looked down at the page, she brought her walk to a halt. Edging her lower lip over her upper, she let out a harsh breath. The wisp of hair in front of her eyes wavered. She blew again. Still it flopped against her face. Exhaling through her nose, she curled the piece of fallen hair behind her ear. Satisfied, she removed her finger from its place in her book and carried on reading as she continued to walk.

The book she was reading was her newest instalment of Peter Pan’s adventures. Although some might say she were too old for Pan and his enchanting escapades, she found the stories of him, the Lost Boys and Neverland to be most fascinating and comforting. Curling up in bed with one of Peter Pan’s tales, a mug of hot chocolate full of mini marshmallows and her sheepdog, Sparky, at her feet was one of her most favourite pastimes. With no one around to interrupt or judge her, she could enjoy stories of Peter Pan to her hearts content. Getting lost in the Neverwood, sneaking up on the redskins with bow and arrow in hand, struggling to make it across the slippery stepping stones of Crocodile Creek, avoiding drowning on Marooners’ Rock, clashing swords with the blood-curdling buccaneers… there was not an adventure that she did not love, nor an expedition that she did not dream herself a part of.

Her pages became speckled. Flakes of snow began to descend, dampening the words before her. Closing her book to, she hugged it tight against her chest, whilst wriggling her wrists into the sleeves of her coat. ‘If this were Neverland,’ she smiled. ‘Peter must have been gone for some time with how cold it is.’ For it is said that when Peter Pan is absent from Neverland, not only its inhabitants, but the island itself knows. The land grows colder, days pass slower, trees fall bare and the entire island’s water turns to ice. ‘If only Peter Pan would return,’ she thought, blowing warmth back into her fingers.

*

Upon arriving home, she kicked off her shoes, unbuttoned her coat and made her way into the kitchen. She swung her bag, with the image of a cartoon black and white dog on the front, onto the kitchen counter and poured out the content. As she removed her coat and threw it onto a nearby chair several pens, paperclips and buttons bounced off the counter and onto the floor. Hearing the clatter of lost things, Sparky, her pet dog, padded into the kitchen, barked three times and brushed himself up against her legs. Allowing her belongings to roll across the floor she crouched down and rubbed Sparky’s head, before scratching him behind the ears. “Hey Spark, you been a good boy?” He responded with a soft growl, lifted his head up and licked at her hand. “Okay, okay,” she giggled. “I missed you too.” She placed her arm around him, bringing him into an embrace. His cold, wet nose made her cheek tingle, as he stroked his head against hers. Once she moved away to collect her fallen things, Sparky shuddered, jingling the bell on his collar and ran off into the next room. Plonking her things down on the table, she brushed them to the surface’s edge, before placing two books side by side. She traced the edges of the one with her finger, its spine crisp and new. Then the other: flaky, feathered and cold. Taking a deep breath, she sighed. “I’m sorry,” she whispered to the second book, regretting having kept it out in the snow. ‘I couldn’t help it,’ she told herself. ‘I just-’

Her thoughts halted, as a tinkling bell chimed ever closer. As she turned to the doorway Sparky galloped towards her, his lead hanging from his mouth. He skidded, stopping at her feet and lay his leash on top of her socks. She smirked, shaking her head at him. “You want to go for a walk… in this weather?” she turned and pointed towards the window. Her forehead furrowed. “Oh!” All of the snow’s previous clouds had evaporated. The sky was clear. She turned back to Sparky. He arched his head up at her, widening his eyes and let out a whimper. “Sparky…” she sighed. He whined again. “It’s freezing out there, you know…” He prodded his nose in her side and gave another small cry. “Oh fine,” she smiled, giving in. Bending down she grabbed his lead and fastened it around his collar. She slipped her coat back on, looped the dog lead over her wrist and grabbed her bag. With a swipe of her arm she gathered everything back into her bag. After swapping the book that she had recently been reading for the other, she led Sparky to the front door. Placing her bag at the bottom of the stairs she slipped her shoes back on and the two of them were off.

*

The entire journey to the park consisted of Sparky’s owner having her head in a book. Sparky did not mind, for he was used to this. Whenever she had a new book, she would be lost within it until she had finished the last page. As she perched on a nearby bench, Sparky sat and watched her. Scratching behind his ear with his hind leg, he stared at her left coat pocket. That was where she kept it. This was the place where his ball was hidden. However, when she was gazing into a book, she often forgot about it. On days such as these, Sparky spent most of his time digging some holes and fetching a few sticks; he would line them up in front of her feet and wait for her to notice them. He often chased after a few squirrels too – he would never hurt them, only chase them to see how fast they would scarper. He glared at her pocket a small while longer, until a flock of teenagers formed at the park’s gateway. With a bark he dashed off, remembering a punctured ball he had found and buried the other week.

Looking up from her book she smiled, seeing the black and white mass of fluff bounce like waves against the shore. It was almost therapeutic. She smirked as Sparky crouched down, sniffing the ground, searching for anything moving to chase. She laughed as he began chasing the leaves blowing by in the wind. Where her dog got his energy from, she would love to have known; she gave a yawn just watching him. He reminded her of the main protagonist in the current book that she was reading: Jack Frost. Like her dog, Sparky, Jack Frost was full of energy and fun, flying off on gusts of wind, remaining forever young and wishing always to play pranks. ‘They have a lot in common,’ she mused. Her hand brushed against her left coat pocket and she felt Sparky’s ball. ‘He’ll be back for it,’ she smiled and returned her mind to reading.

Defending children from darkness, evil and fear, Jack Frost (along with his fellow guardians) have been set the mission to protect the fun, wonder and dreams of all children over the world. Whether this be by icing ponds and streams, playing pranks or something as simple as a snow day, Jack Frost is always there looking for ways to have fun. He would hide up on rooftops, lurk around abandoned buildings or slink away in the tree line with a smile cocked to one side and a snowball armed in his hand, he would hold his breath, then…

THUD. She flinched. A hard, icy cluster crushed the side of her face. She looked up, dropping her book onto her lap. The teenage crowd that she had passed on her way home earlier were now strolling towards her. Her eyes shot to the ground. Fingers trembling, she shook the snow from her face and hair. Staring at the grass, their feet came into view. Gripping the edge of her book with her right hand, she clenched her left fist and rose from the bench. She tilted her head up to their level. She clenched her teeth. “What’s your problem?” she growled.

“Ooow ooh!” the crowd sang in chorus.

“It speaks,” chuckled the large built boy in the crowd’s centre, towering over her. The two girls at his sides cackled; their faces caked in orange gunk and hair plastered to their heads. His two male accomplices sniggered, as their leader crossed his arms and puffed out his chest.

She glared at the first boy, on her left. His blazer hung off his shoulder and his shirt was missing its top button. His slimy hair that stuck out in all directions bore a knot of flowers. She rolled her eyes over to her next opponent: a blonde-haired bimbo, with a skirt short enough to be a belt. She too had a cluster of flowers poked through the side of her hair. ‘Typical Marissa,’ thought the group’s victim, as her sight skimmed past their leader to the dark-haired girl on her right, sucking on a lollypop. With one arm resting against their leader’s shoulder, her other was looped around the arm of their final member. Clawing at her book their victim stared, brow creased, at the final, reedier looking boy, Caiden. With her eyes glued to him, she felt the inside of her eyes itch. His sight never met hers. Vision fixed on the bench behind, his eyes became slits as his eyebrows narrowed. She wrinkled her nose up at him.

“Careful!” their boss cried, throwing his hands up in the air. “She might throw her book at us.” The group burst into laughter. She clenched her teeth. Forcing herself to swallow, her tongue’s sandpaper surface scratched against the roof of her mouth.

“Just leave me alone,” she growled through gritted teeth. The grip around her book tightened. “And quit throwing snowballs at me.”

The bully leader’s eyes narrowed. His brow furrowed. The lines around his nose deepened. “I ain’t been throwin’ nothin’ at you,” he growled. “An’ if I did it’d be more than snow.” Unlinking her connection with the other boys, the dark-haired girl removed her lollypop from her mouth and stepped forward.

“You accusin’ Rick?” she snarled.

“I’m only accusing him because it’s true,” she snapped stepping towards her antagonist. Close enough that she could feel her opponent’s breath, she added, “And you know it.” Her rival’s features wrinkled in disgust. Their boss, Rick, sliced his hand between the two girls, dividing them into separation.

“Hey Suze-aye, don’t go picking a fight,” he warned. Pulling her back to his side, he kept a hand to her shoulder. “Especially when the fight’s mine,” he added, stepping forward. Squaring out his shoulders, he fixed his stare upon the small framed girl in front of him.

Holding her breath, she bit down on her tongue, as she raised her head to face him. She pulled her book to her side and shoved her free hand into her monochrome, chequered coat pocket. Her elbow twitched, as she flung her arm out again and over her shoulder. The bullies gave a cry and jerked into separation as a ball shot past Rick’s head. “Hey!” yelled Alec, the shorter, chubbier member of the group as he jumped in front of Rick.

“She tried to punch ya eye out,” cried Marissa.

“Yeah,” Susie and Alec added in unison, followed by a delayed agreement from Caiden. Rick brought forward his hands, curling each finger in a stiff, jerky action. His joints cracked.

Their victim stiffened, pressing her elbows into her sides. ‘Please… please…’ she repeated in her mind.

“Now you’ve done it,” Rick growled, curling his right hand into a fist. He shuddered. Flakes of snow brushed against his face.

As snow landed on her nose, she pinched her eyes shut. Her hearing strengthened. Rick’s breath steamed in front of her. She sucked in a breath. A tinkling bell sounded in the distance. She straightened her back. The ringing grew louder. Her arms trembled. There was a low growl. A bark. And another. And another. Then screaming. She flinched. Clawing her nails into her book, she dared to squint open her eyes. She was alone. The crowd of bullies were gone. Looking around, the barking grew louder, more frequent. Her head spun to the park’s main entrance. Rick and his goons were running towards the gate, arms flailing in the air. Sparky, her sheepdog had rounded up the flock and was chasing them away. His fierce bark and persistent growl had sent them fleeing. Snowballs were pelting towards them. She could see them. One hit Alec on the shoulder, while another smacked off the back of Rick’s head. She gasped, clasping both hands around her book, joyed by her help. She turned to see her defender, but the park was deserted.

She let out a nervous laugh of relief, pressing her left hand against her chest, as Rick and his cronies could be heard wailing and screeching with fear, fleeing out of the park gates. Barking as he bounced towards her, she crouched down and pulled Sparky into an embrace. “Oh Sparky,” she cried, rubbing his back. “You good boy, yes you are. What would I do without you?” He brushed his face up against hers and slobbered his tongue over her cheek. “Oh,” she sighed, “I love you Sparky.” Lifting up his front paws, he threw his weight onto her chest. She fell back, onto her bottom and Sparky jumped on top of her and began licking her face, as snow began to cover them. With his tongue tickling at her cheek, she burst into a fit of giggles. “Okay, okay Sparky,” she managed to mutter through laughing. “Down boy.” She scratched him behind his ears. With a whimper, he jumped off her and she clambered up. He nuzzled his head under her hand, and she smiled down at him. “Now go and fetch your ball and we can go home,” she told him. He gave a bark and leaped off to retrieve his ball, his tinkering bell jingling, all the while, alongside him.

*

After she and Sparky had dried off from their walk home in the snow, she was finally alone in her room with her books. Sat at her desk, facing the open window, both her Peter Pan and Jack Frost books lay spread out on her desk. Flicking from one to the next, the stories and characters whirled together. Their adventures merged in her mind. She delved into her desk drawer and pulled out a pad of paper and a pen. With the ink scratching against the parchment’s surface she began scribbling down her ideas. ‘Both characters are so similar,’ she realised. ‘With Peter Pan never growing up and Jack Frost being a three-hundred-year-old teenager, they’d be the perfect match for an adventure.’ Her hand swiped across the page. Her lettering slanted as she scribbled as fast as her hand could allow. ‘But where would they meet?’ she pondered. ‘And for what purpose… Jack couldn’t very well just appear in Neverland; he wouldn’t know where it is. Besides, it only ever snows in Neverland when Peter isn’t there… Oh, that’s no good.’ She gazed out of her bedroom window. The roofs of the houses on the opposite side of the road came into focus. “Of course,” she gasped aloud. ‘Peter and Jack would meet at night, on the Mainland… but why would Peter be on the Mainland? And what on earth would they do when they met…?’

“Dinner’s ready!” called a female voice from downstairs.

“Coming Mom!” she shouted back. After she finished scrawling her sentence, she slid her notebook and pen back inside her desk drawer. Shaking off the blanket that she had grabbed around her shoulders, she grabbed a black, woollen jumper from her bed and pulled it over her head as she slipped her feet into her fluffy, grey ballet-style slippers.

Entering the kitchen, she noticed Sparky curled up in his basket that he had dragged in front of the radiator. “Come on dear,” her mother sighed. “Your dinner’s getting cold.” Inhaling deep through her nose, she counted to ten in her mind, as she slid into her seat at the dining table between her mother and father. While the routine chit-chat about how their day had been commenced, she stabbed at the carrots on her plate, piling as many as she could onto her fork. Her mother’s relentless babble about the woman at work who spoke too much and her father’s regular grumble about the lack of decent coffee in the office’s coffee machine made her groan. It was the same conversation every evening.

‘Why don’t they just do something about it if it bothers them so much?’ her brain screamed, as she piled more carrots onto her fork. She stared at the empty place opposite her. Like the regularity of the dinnertime conversation, it too was always empty. ‘If only Peter Pan or Jack Frost could fill it,’ she thought. ‘How obscure teatime would be then,’ she mused. Shovelling the carrots into her mouth she kicked at the empty chair, pushing it out a little from under the table. ‘Now,’ she smiled to herself. ‘It’s as if someone really is there.’

“You know, Mim,” her mom began, as she turned towards her. “It’s been a long while since you’ve had any friends over.”

“Mom!” she groaned, elongating her vowels.

“Julie,” her father’s voice rose, as he cautioned his wife.

“What?” she shrugged. His eyes widened, his eyebrows shot up and his forehead creased. He tilted his head in their daughter’s direction. “I was only stating, Geoff,” her mother added.

“Well maybe our daughter doesn’t want to bring her friends home to meet us,” he reasoned, glancing up over his potatoes to look at his wife.

“Nonsense,” Julie replied. Taking her glass from the table, she sipped her water, swallowing away the table’s negative energy. “Of course she does, she’s just too polite and doesn’t want to impose too much on her mother’s cooking.” She slid her spectacles up her nose and turned to her daughter. “I’ll tell you Mim, it’s no trouble, no trouble at all.”

Having grit her teeth through her mother’s little speech, she bit her tongue, preventing her from saying anything that she may later regret. As she scraped her cutlery across her plate, her mother continued: “Oh, but darling, it would be wonderful to see one of your little school friends… how about those charming girls that you used to have sleepovers with… what were their names…”

“Mom,” she growled.

“Arh yes, Susie and… was it Merissa? I think it was… what about inviting them around, darling? We haven’t seen them in ages.”

“Mom…”

“Or what about that lovely boy, Caiden?” she went one. “Now I spoke to his mother just the other day… what was she saying-”

“Mom!” she cried. “Will you stop?!” Dropping her cutlery, she clawed her nails into the edges of her chair. Her mother’s mouth rounded so much, she was certain that a tennis ball could have lodged itself inside. As soon as her mother realised this, she closed it, turning her attention to her plate. Meanwhile, her father appeared unaffected by the entire conversation. He continued to plough through his plate as if all were normal.

Letting out a huge breath, she counted to ten in her head, before returning her hands to the table. She closed her eyes and inhaled. Returning her view to her plate she allowed her eyes to glance in her mother’s direction. “You know,” said her mother, as she grabbed her napkin to dab her mouth. “I was only trying to help.”

“Help?” she swallowed hard. “How was that helping? I’m not friends with Susie or Marissa.” She shuddered remembering her earlier encounter with the pair.

“But you and Caiden-”

Her cutlery clattered against her plate again, as the knife and fork fell from her hands. Lines puckered on her forehead as she squeaked: “That was like ten years ago. We were five!”

“Calm down, dear,” interjected her father, not even glancing up from his plate.

“Mim,” her mother sighed.

“And will you quit calling me Mim,” she cried. “No one calls people by their initials. We don’t call you Jmm or Dad Grm.”

“Well what do you expect me to call you when you refuse to answer to your Christian name?”

“Forget it,” she mumbled with a sigh, rolling her eyes. Swirling a potato around the plate she muttered: “You never listen to me anyway.”

- Josie -