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"Please, stop..." I paused in my playing of the make-believe game of Peter Pan me and some friends had going, looking over near the basketball courts. My Lost Boys (who were really just my friends that looked up to me and stuff) crowded around me, trying to find out what I was looking for.

"What is it, Peter?" One of them asked.

"There," I said defiantly, pointing my finger towards the new kid. He was surrounded by some other kids in our school, the ones we didn't like most of the time. They were the Pirates, to us anyway. And we always won, so of course they were the bad guys. How can you be a bad guy if you lose all the time? "Come on, boys, it's time for a rescue mission!" I announced bravely, and ran full speed for the Pirate kids. All my Lost Boys came after me, and soon, I was face to face with the Captain Hook of the other kids. His real name was Bligh, but his name was kinda weird and since he played our game, too, we called him Captain Hook. He was from British or something.

"Go away, Peter Pan!" Hook yelled at me, looking angry.

"No!" I yelled even louder back, stomping my foot. "I'm tired of you messing with everyone, Hook! Now go!"

"You'll have to make me!" he announced suddenly, and ran at me. Of course, it wasn't a fair hit, since I thought we were gonna talk more, but Captain Hook is never fair, so it makes sense.

We all had a fight scene, until the teacher came up. My Lost Boys and the Pirate kids all ran away, leaving me and Hook to fight it out. We didn't even notice the teacher until she began to pull us away, when we both started running, too. Hook and Peter Pan never ran away from anyone, but Mrs. Hall didn't believe in playing the Peter Pan game, so when she came in we had to stop.

She grabbed our arms and held us real tight in place, yanking us away from each other. "Owww," Hook began to whine, but I bit my tongue; Peter Pan wouldn't let some pinch on his arm bother him.

"I swear, if you kids don't stop fighting-"

"We weren't fighting, were we, Peter?"

"No, we weren't! I wouldn't actually fight Hook, we just have to have a fight scene! It's pretend fighting, like in the movies!"

"And you're going on about Peter Pan again..." she sighed, looking really angry at us.

"But Mom said! She said that the fight scenes in the movies aren't real! They just pretend!"

"There's a difference," she snapped, and I felt fear grow in my chest as she began to talk to us real mean; if she sent me to the office, I'd get a spanking, and those hurt. "This isn't a movie, and your lip is bleeding."

"It is?" I touched my lip with my free hand, wincing when it hurt, and pulled back to see something red. I smiled real big, really happy. "I got a busted lip!" I cheered. "I was wounded in battle! Come on, Hook, let's go-"

"No," Mrs. Hall yanked on my arm again, but this time it hurt a bit more.

"But-"

"No."

"We weren't really fighting, honest..." Bligh and I gave her the kind of look you give to your mom to get a present because she doesn't want to. It makes women all melty inside or something like that. That's what Mom said, anyway.

"Fine, you're not in trouble. Come on, you're going to the nurse," she said. She let go of Hook and started to drag me to the building, but I pulled back.

"Noo! I don't wanna go the nurse! She's mean!" I kept pulling until we got the door, when she finally let out her breath all huffy-like and let me go. I fell down, but got up and ran away, ignoring what she muttered about me.

I went to the new kid we'd saved, and sat down in front of him, crossing my legs and leaning forward to look at his face. "Hey, what'cha sad for?"

"Those guys are mean," he whined, and I felt bad for him.

"No they're not," I said, but it wasn't because I was mad at him. I tried to explain our game to him, so he would understand and not think they were mean. "They're just the Pirates." He gave me a weird look, so I sighed and kept going. "We play Peter Pan. The guys that were helping me are the Lost Boys, and Bligh is the one that got away from Mrs. Hall - he's Captain Hook - and everyone else is the Pirates."

"Well... What are you?"

"I'm Peter Pan!" I grinned as big as I could; I felt really cool being Peter Pan. "I'm the oldest - I'm nine, and Bligh's eight, so we get to be the leaders."

"But... But why would they attack me?"

"It's 'cause you're a civilin," I explained, nodding my head slowly.

"A... Civilin?"

"It's when you just live in the city. The playground is like the city here. Peter Pan doesn't live in a city, but we pretend he does, 'cause we don't have a Wendy."

"Oh..."

"Hey! You could be Wendy!" I announced happily, but he wasn't as happy as I was.

"I can't be Wendy, Peter Pan, I'm a boy."

"You look like a Wendy to me," I mumbled, slightly darkly, but then brightened, thinking of something else. "How old are you?" I asked; I'd given him how old I was, he could tell me back at least.

"Uhm... I'm s-six..."

"Oh, well... Hey! You could be a Lost Boy!'

"Really?" He looked a bunch happier after that.

"Yeah! But you'll have to listen to Jake, since he's the next oldest one..." I said the last part sadly.

"...Why?"

"'Cause I'm leaving tomorrow. We're moving," I explained. "I told them someone else was coming to be here while I was gone, but no one believed me. Wait..." I suddenly figured it out; if this new kid was here to take my spot, that meant... "You're the new Peter Pan! 'Cause you're not a Wendy, so you're a Peter Pan!" I suddenly yelled, my mouth dropping open. I shut it, and stared at him. "Come onnn, I've gotta go tell the Lost Boys!" I got up, and he followed, running after me.

"Peter, look out!" I turned my head just in time to see a basketball bounce off the courts and right for me...

"Shit!" I yelled, bolting upright in my bed, breathing heavily. Well... It had been a nice dream until the stupid basketball came along and ruined it. Well... The only part of it that was really a 'dream' was the basketball; the rest of it was memory.

"Pete? You okay?" My mom's voice filtered up from downstairs, and I sighed, rolling out of bed and standing up.

"I'm fine, Mom," I called out almost lazily, walking over to my dresser and pulling out some skinny jeans and a random band shirt, not feeling up to doing anything exuberant today. I slipped on some Vans and headed downstairs; I'd probably blend right in today, which was fine. Today just wasn't going to be one of those days for exciting things, not even if it was just people looking at me and my 'interesting' outfits.

I tramped downstairs, glancing at the clock; it was already eleven. I sighed and headed for the door; apparently, Joe had someone he wanted me to meet. He'd met the guy in some bookstore or other, some guy who wanted to do nothing more than 'write music'. I guess he was a producer of sorts, but he also played guitar, so we were accepting him into the band, if you could call it that. Joe and I tramping around the city to play on different stages and try to make a few decent songs out of a guitarist and a bassist who could kind of sing... Well, let's say I've had better luck than that.

Mom headed out after me, and climbed into her car, pulling out and driving away, headed for work. Wait... I remembered that this kid had supposedly heard of me, as a sort of 'legend' in Chicago. In seven bands at once and all that; I was pretty intent on music, you see. So maybe, since this kid apparently looked up to me, I should dress a little better? I headed upstairs, and paused, trying to make a decision before I just changed into some red pants and some more interesting shoes, grabbing a black hoodie and zipping it up before heading downstairs again, waiting outside for Joe to show up in his car.

As I waited, I thought; apparently, this kid had a bunch of promise. I imagined a stylish and attractive guy, probably taller than me, which wouldn't be much of a feat, with some modern-rocker haircut, but simple, you know? Probably brown, with bangs that hung in his eyes.

Joe pulled up, and out climbed him and this guy who looked like he was twelve, not quite skinny, but not quite chubby either. He had a boyish face, glasses, and a little bit of baby fat clinging to him; I guess he was cute, but he was really freakin' young! Joe climbed out and stood between and to the side of us, giving me this little expectant look. The kid and I both pointed to each other, turned to Joe, and said, at the exact same time, "Who the fuck is this?" The only difference was I put some emphasis on the 'fuck'. Joe had some explaining to do.

"Aren't you a little young to be cussing?" I shot at the kid; he was being a bit contemptuous for a twelve-year-old looking to join a band with a 'legend'.

"What do you mean, 'young'?" he demanded, turning to me, with a peeved expression on his face. Oh, that's right; little kids didn't like to be told they were little. My bad. Notice the sarcasm there.

"I mean, you're like, twelve! Joe! What the hell were you thinking!"

"Twelve?" He looked appalled. I turned back to him, giving him this little look that pretty obviously said that I figured I'd gotten his age totally wrong. "I'm freakin' seventeen!"

"...Oh. Well." I felt a grin split across my face, and I looked at the guy in a whole new light. "That's a totally different story, then. Sorry, man, I just woke up." Unfortunately, the kid seemed a bit put off by my sudden kindness, and Joe just shook his head. I turned to him and asked the million-dollar question: "So where's the guy that wants to write music for us?" I turned yet again at the sound of the kid slapping his hand against his face.

"You're... Pete?" he asked, almost darkly, but I think it was more like dread. Jerk.

"Yes, Patrick... He's Pete," Joe said, sighing. I was getting a little annoyed here; they were acting like I was some kind of disappointment! I mean, in some aspects, maybe, but not in music!

"Wait... He's the guy?" It was now my turn to gawk.

"Figured that one out on your own, did you?" Patrick muttered, and I stared at the two of them, feeling rather put off, then sighed and turned to the house, jerking my hand in its direction.

"Come on, let's get started on this."

Fifteen minutes later, the kid turned out to be much more promising than I had thought he would be. I studied him for a while as he talked and explained some ideas for rhythms and beats and such, strumming away at his acoustic, which he'd dragged in from Joe's car. He noticed my staring and stopped, looking at me oddly; I was leaning forward in my seat, brows furrowed as I scrutinized him. "...What?" he finally asked, looking and sounding rather weirded out.

"You know, you're actually kinda cute," I announced. He gawked, then began stuttering.

"W-what?"

"Ohhh, yeahhh..." Joe broke in, chuckling nervously. "I forgot to mention Pete's bi. But don't worry, he won't do anything. Will you, Pete?" he asked me, almost dangerously.

"Not making any promises. Anyway, I was just gonna say that this'll work out good for photoshoots and such, you know? Like, I can see him getting some fangirls." Patrick blushed, and I grinned; this was going to be fun.

---

Turns out, Pat wasn't as outgoing as I might have thought; he was actually pretty shy. When I'd first met him, I'd struck a nerve by saying he looked young. Other than that, the only time he was really forceful at all was when discussing music. He began coming over to my house more and more, and we would sometimes stay up until two in the morning arguing over a chord progression for like, eight measures. I took an immediate liking to him; he was cutting straight to business, and he was actually pretty good.

After maybe two weeks, I started letting him stay the night, no longer worried about having any dreams; if I actually fell asleep, that was. He soon figured out that I was an insomniac, and that I only slept a few hours. The plus side to this was that if I did, in fact, have any memory-dreams, they didn't usually last too long.

Of course, maybe the fifth night he stayed with me, I had one. I fell asleep around eight, when he actually began to wake up, and was dimly aware of him getting up and moving around the room, before removing the notebook that was in my lap and setting it aside, then moving the blanket from my bed to cover me up. He apparently pulled out his guitar, because I heard the soft acoustic chords just before I fell asleep; more often than not, that would make me fall asleep, and he had figured it out pretty quick.

In my dream, I was thirteen, visiting my hometown again. I was hanging out with some old friends, finding out that people still remembered me, and also found out that while I was gone, most of my Lost Boys had turned into total pricks. Being unconfident in myself at the time, I conformed.

"Hey, fatass!" We were skateboarding down the street, and I sneered along with them, trying to think nothing of what they were doing, of what we were doing. The kid wasn't even chubby! He just wasn't as skinny as we were... It was pretty ridiculous, but I wasn't about to back out; I liked being considered a 'cool kid'.

"Fuck off," the boy muttered, and ducked his head, hurrying to leave.

"Ah ah ahh, not so fast!" One of the guys turned on their boards sharply, popping off right in front of the kid and shoving him back. He fell back and onto the ground there, but got back to his feet, attempting to push through, but they wouldn't let him. "What's the matter?" they jeered. "Is the little baby afraid?" I laughed along with them, but secretly, I felt sick. And their insults weren't even that good; but then again, I was thirteen and most of them were eleven or twelve, and we thought we were total badasses, what with how we were cussing and all.

They shot the kid down pretty badly, while he just stood there and took it. I didn't really participate, but when they left, I told them I had to head back to where my dad and I were staying, and stayed to help the kid back to his feet; they'd knocked him down a few times. He took my hand, but immediately backed off, glaring at me darkly.

"Hey, I'm sorry, I... I didn't know they were like that."

"Yeah, well you were laughing along, too."

"I didn't want to, I just didn't want them to think I was lame," I admitted, a bit quietly.

"Whatever, go away," he said, and shoved me back. This time, I stumbled to the ground, and I gawked at him.

"I just apologized!"

"For what? Bullying me? For not being able to stand up to your friends? For not being yourself? For being a complete and total coward? I thought Peter Pan was brave," he sneered, glaring at me, and I gasped; he was the kid who'd replaced me! I wanted desperately to know why he had stopped being cool, because everyone had accepted him pretty eagerly into the group, but realized that maybe he didn't want to be cool, if it meant being a jerk. I pushed myself to my feet, feeling ashamed of myself and pretty horrible.

"I... I guess I'm not brave enough to be Peter anymore," I said, quietly. He scoffed, and flipped me off, then walked away, not even looking at me as he called me pathetic. The fact that he wouldn't even look at me and say it only hurt that much worse. It was like I wasn't good enough for him to look at me. I turned, and sullenly scooped up the skateboard, staring at it. My 'friend' had given it to me...

About an hour later, I rang his doorbell and ran, leaving the remains of his now-shattered board on the doorstep; trucks, wheels, everything. I'd taken a sledgehammer to what I couldn't destroy by hand. He stared at it for a moment in shock, saw me bolting down the street, and sprinted after me, catching up and jumping forward to tackle me to the ground...

Rude awakening suck, I've got to say. Although, in this case, the rude awakening thing had actually happened. I'd ended up getting in a fight with him, almost losing, but hauled ass back home after knocking him silly for a moment, and told Dad that we needed to leave.

Still, though, the shock of getting tackled to the ground made me wake with a jolt. I hit the back of my head against the wall I'd been leaning against, and kicked my legs out. Patrick, who'd been playing on my bed, jumped, causing the chord to basically kill itself. He stared at me as I looked around the room, wide-eyed, then ran a hand through my hair and rubbed the back of my head, moving it to rub the back of my neck as I attempted to remember what had happened. I'd fallen asleep trying to write some lyrics, leaning back against the wall...

Which was why I wasn't in my bed. That's right. I let Pat crash there, because we both knew I wouldn't sleep anyway.

"Sorry," I mumbled. "Bad dream."

He set aside his guitar quietly, shrugging. "It's fine; not like you could help it... What was it about, anyway?" He fixed with this little caring but uber-serious stare, and my hand paused in its rubbing of my neck; for once, I felt like I couldn't bluff my way out of something. "Telling me might help..." He was so damn innocent... But I didn't want him to think badly of me... But I couldn't lie to him... But what if he hated me? But what if I lied?

"Just... I did some mean things as a kid, and it still kinda haunts me sometimes, even now, I guess." I let my hand from earlier fall, resting in my lap, only for me to find with some surprise that my blanket had been thrown over me. I looked up at him questioningly, and he blushed a little, ducking his head and avoiding the subject.

"You know... I once knew this kid."

"No kidding?"

"No, shut up," he chuckled, then continued, staring off as he relived the memory. "I was... Six, he was nine. I moved to this new school and was absolutely terrified." I listened to his story with interest, standing up and grabbing a glass of water from off of my dresser, drinking it as I listened. "And... He played this game, right? He liked to pretend he was Peter Pan-"

I coughed, nearly throwing up what I was drinking, and sank into a small coughing fit. He went to get up from the bed, but I held up my hand, choking out, "No, I'm fine; water just went down the wrong pipe, I guess." Oh. My. God. It was him. What if he figured it out? What if he ended up hating me? I turned away from him and began to get changed rather slowly, not wanting my expression to betray my thoughts.

"You're... Not doing too well today. Let's hope you don't have a heart attack," he joked, but I was beginning to seriously worry; my heart was beating rather fast. "Anyway, he even had Lost Boys and everything. And there was another group of kids that were the pirates, and they began to pick on me, because I was a 'civilin'." He laughed, then continued, chuckling on occasion. "And he rushed over to have a 'fight scene' with them... He got a busted lip, and thought it was amazing. He was feisty, too; he wouldn't even let the teacher drag him to the nurse. He finally gets away and comes running for me, and just kinda sits down in front of me, and asks what's wrong. Since I was so young, you know," he began to explain, blush forming in his cheeks. "I... I was almost crying." Liar; he was crying when I came up to him. Admittedly not much, but still. "And... Well, I told him that the kids were mean, he explained that they were pirates, and all kinds of stuff, and told me I was gonna be Peter Pan since he was leaving." He laughed at this, but I noticed he left out the Wendy part. "Anyway, like... God, five years later? Anyway, he shows up with his old friends, who had turned into total pricks and picked on me because I wasn't a twig. And... Well, he sat there through it and acted like nothing was wrong, and laughed with them and everything, but I could tell he wasn't really into it." ...What? He'd been able to tell? "Anyway, he stayed behind to apologize, but I pushed him down and told him off pretty bad... I felt kinda bad for it earlier, but I'd done it hoping it'd make him change, you know? And... I'd like to think that I did." I sat there, now fully dressed, and shoved my shaking hands into my hoodie pocket.

"Yeah... I'm sure you did."

He chuckled dryly. "How would you know?"

"You've got that... Quality, Pat. You understand people," I said softly, and he fell silent behind me. "What... What happened to the boys?"

"Oh, about half a year later they tried to jump me and got the shit beaten out of them by god knows who, but I ended up moving a week after that when they'd finally stopped messing with me... Kinda sucked, I'm not even gonna lie."

"At least they got what they deserved," I muttered, then turned suddenly, a smile on my face. "Come on. I have a feeling Mom's making pancakes."

He shook his head and laughed, but slid off the bed, almost scolding me. "You know, for a twenty-one year old you sure do act like a kid."

"There's nothing wrong with being a kid," I replied, shrugging my shoulders as I opened the door, and sped down my stairs, calling out to Patrick to race.

---

Pat didn't stay the night that night, since he had school the next day, and for that I was actually rather glad. It killed me to realize who Patrick really was; though I had to very grudgingly admit it, I was beginning to have a crush on Patrick. I didn't really feel guilty about it; after all, I had said that I wasn't making any promises about not doing anything. Not that I was going to period, but, you know...

Sighing, I sat at my bed, at eleven PM, and recalled it, sinking into a half-asleep state as I remembered.

I spent an entire year tortured by his comments. For some reason, they'd really hit home. I couldn't help but hate how I kept doing what was 'cool'... Stupid thing was, I wasn't even that popular! Maybe faking really didn't get me that far...

I had a few friends that had always known the real me, had always understood everything about me. They knew how I really thought, and they were the only people besides myself and Patrick who knew what I had done with my old friends.

When I went into high school, I stopped caring so much; I began skipping, I was failing, and Pat's words were bothering me more and more. Finally, one day, much to the approval of my 'real' friends, I stopped doing what my group wanted me to, and decided that, from that day on, I was going to be myself. I cut my hair, I bought new clothes, I talked to who I wanted how I wanted, and surprisingly enough, my popularity grew... And I owed it all to the boy, who, unknown to me, was named Patrick, and who probably still thought I was a total douche. No matter how happy I was at time, it always came back to nag at the back of my head and remind me of what I'd done.

So, for my own redemption at least, I was going to fix things.

I rallied together a few friends, and we all told our parents we were staying the night at a friend's house for a few days to work on projects or whatever, and instead piled into Jake's truck and drove off. There were five of us, and five of that stupid skater gang back at my old home. We arrived late at night, found the cheapest freakin' hotel around (thank god I had senior friends) and the next morning, we went on the hunt.

It actually didn't take too long. We went to a nearby park, and almost immediately spotted them... Trying to gang up on Patrick. This was it, this was it: not only a chance to redeem myself within myself, but maybe help out the kid in return, although I seriously doubted he'd recognize me... For some reason, I didn't want him to. I pulled up the hood to my black hoodie, a beanie already jammed down over my head, and we piled out.

It took, what, five minutes? Ten? Anyway, the fight didn't last that long, and we beat the shit out of those kids. Of course, we didn't escape unscathed, but the thrill of victory had us pumped. We piled back into Jake's car, and drove off, headed back home, and I looked back one final time (since I was in the back of the truck with maybe three of the other guys until we could pull over somewhere else) to see Patrick, standing in shock at the scene, before he turned and caught and held eye contact with me. I finally pulled my gaze away, turning to the congratulating slaps on the back from my friends; in my adrenaline rush, I'd done the most damage, and totally destroyed their little 'leader'.

We drove through the night, and were so tired the next morning (since it's hard to sleep in a truck with every single seat occupied) that we just went straight to Jake's house and crashed. We in total skipped three days. Straight. And that wasn't including my previous and numerous skips from earlier on in the school year. I had every intention of cutting down, but then... Second period, I was sitting there bored out of my mind, (leading me to realize why I always skipped it) when I was called to the counselor's office...

And sent to Juvi. For skipping.

"Pete!" I jumped, surprised out of my little daydream and actually shifting just enough that I fell off of my bed.

"Ow... What?" I called back, glancing at my clock in surprise; it was already seven in the morning! Which was actually pretty good for me, considering how damn early I'd fallen asleep. I'd gotten what, six hours of sleep? Ho... Ly... Crap.

"Want some pancakes?"

I sighed, and stood up, shuffling down the stairs. "Sure, Mom..."

"Did you sleep good?" she asked, though she basically knew it was futile.

"Yeah, actually. I know; it surprised me, too." I offered her a weak smile, then began to dig in, still half-asleep, when I remembered the note I'd written Pat and suddenly lost my appetite.

---

Here's a funny story about Peter Pan... Well... I'm Peter Pan. I was the boy in elementary school. It wasn't just because I was oldest that I was Peter.

'Cause sweetie, it would seem
You look like a Wendy to me.

Description
"Please, stop..." I paused in my playing of the make-believe game of Peter Pan me and some friends had going, looking over near the basketball courts. My Lost Boys (who were really just my friends that looked up to me and stuff) crowded around me, trying to find out what I was looking for.

"What is it, Peter?" One of them asked.

"There," I said defiantly, pointing my finger towards the new kid. He was surrounded by some other kids in our school, the ones we didn't like most of the time. They were the Pirates, to us anyway. And we always won, so of course they were the bad guys. How can you be a bad guy if you lose all the time? "Come on, boys, it's time for a rescue mission!" I announced bravely, and ran full speed for the Pirate kids. All my Lost Boys came after me, and soon, I was face to face with the Captain Hook of the other kids. His real name was Bligh, but his name was kinda weird and since he played our game, too, we called him Captain Hook. He was from British or something.

"Go away, Peter Pan!" Hook yelled at me, looking angry.

"No!" I yelled even louder back, stomping my foot. "I'm tired of you messing with everyone, Hook! Now go!"

"You'll have to make me!" he announced suddenly, and ran at me. Of course, it wasn't a fair hit, since I thought we were gonna talk more, but Captain Hook is never fair, so it makes sense.

We all had a fight scene, until the teacher came up. My Lost Boys and the Pirate kids all ran away, leaving me and Hook to fight it out. We didn't even notice the teacher until she began to pull us away, when we both started running, too. Hook and Peter Pan never ran away from anyone, but Mrs. Hall didn't believe in playing the Peter Pan game, so when she came in we had to stop.

She grabbed our arms and held us real tight in place, yanking us away from each other. "Owww," Hook began to whine, but I bit my tongue; Peter Pan wouldn't let some pinch on his arm bother him.

"I swear, if you kids don't stop fighting-"

"We weren't fighting, were we, Peter?"

"No, we weren't! I wouldn't actually fight Hook, we just have to have a fight scene! It's pretend fighting, like in the movies!"

"And you're going on about Peter Pan again..." she sighed, looking really angry at us.

"But Mom said! She said that the fight scenes in the movies aren't real! They just pretend!"

"There's a difference," she snapped, and I felt fear grow in my chest as she began to talk to us real mean; if she sent me to the office, I'd get a spanking, and those hurt. "This isn't a movie, and your lip is bleeding."

"It is?" I touched my lip with my free hand, wincing when it hurt, and pulled back to see something red. I smiled real big, really happy. "I got a busted lip!" I cheered. "I was wounded in battle! Come on, Hook, let's go-"

"No," Mrs. Hall yanked on my arm again, but this time it hurt a bit more.

"But-"

"No."

"We weren't really fighting, honest..." Bligh and I gave her the kind of look you give to your mom to get a present because she doesn't want to. It makes women all melty inside or something like that. That's what Mom said, anyway.

"Fine, you're not in trouble. Come on, you're going to the nurse," she said. She let go of Hook and started to drag me to the building, but I pulled back.

"Noo! I don't wanna go the nurse! She's mean!" I kept pulling until we got the door, when she finally let out her breath all huffy-like and let me go. I fell down, but got up and ran away, ignoring what she muttered about me.

I went to the new kid we'd saved, and sat down in front of him, crossing my legs and leaning forward to look at his face. "Hey, what'cha sad for?"

"Those guys are mean," he whined, and I felt bad for him.

"No they're not," I said, but it wasn't because I was mad at him. I tried to explain our game to him, so he would understand and not think they were mean. "They're just the Pirates." He gave me a weird look, so I sighed and kept going. "We play Peter Pan. The guys that were helping me are the Lost Boys, and Bligh is the one that got away from Mrs. Hall - he's Captain Hook - and everyone else is the Pirates."

"Well... What are you?"

"I'm Peter Pan!" I grinned as big as I could; I felt really cool being Peter Pan. "I'm the oldest - I'm nine, and Bligh's eight, so we get to be the leaders."

"But... But why would they attack me?"

"It's 'cause you're a civilin," I explained, nodding my head slowly.

"A... Civilin?"

"It's when you just live in the city. The playground is like the city here. Peter Pan doesn't live in a city, but we pretend he does, 'cause we don't have a Wendy."

"Oh..."

"Hey! You could be Wendy!" I announced happily, but he wasn't as happy as I was.

"I can't be Wendy, Peter Pan, I'm a boy."

"You look like a Wendy to me," I mumbled, slightly darkly, but then brightened, thinking of something else. "How old are you?" I asked; I'd given him how old I was, he could tell me back at least.

"Uhm... I'm s-six..."

"Oh, well... Hey! You could be a Lost Boy!'

"Really?" He looked a bunch happier after that.

"Yeah! But you'll have to listen to Jake, since he's the next oldest one..." I said the last part sadly.

"...Why?"

"'Cause I'm leaving tomorrow. We're moving," I explained. "I told them someone else was coming to be here while I was gone, but no one believed me. Wait..." I suddenly figured it out; if this new kid was here to take my spot, that meant... "You're the new Peter Pan! 'Cause you're not a Wendy, so you're a Peter Pan!" I suddenly yelled, my mouth dropping open. I shut it, and stared at him. "Come onnn, I've gotta go tell the Lost Boys!" I got up, and he followed, running after me.

"Peter, look out!" I turned my head just in time to see a basketball bounce off the courts and right for me...

"Shit!" I yelled, bolting upright in my bed, breathing heavily. Well... It had been a nice dream until the stupid basketball came along and ruined it. Well... The only part of it that was really a 'dream' was the basketball; the rest of it was memory.

"Pete? You okay?" My mom's voice filtered up from downstairs, and I sighed, rolling out of bed and standing up.

"I'm fine, Mom," I called out almost lazily, walking over to my dresser and pulling out some skinny jeans and a random band shirt, not feeling up to doing anything exuberant today. I slipped on some Vans and headed downstairs; I'd probably blend right in today, which was fine. Today just wasn't going to be one of those days for exciting things, not even if it was just people looking at me and my 'interesting' outfits.

I tramped downstairs, glancing at the clock; it was already eleven. I sighed and headed for the door; apparently, Joe had someone he wanted me to meet. He'd met the guy in some bookstore or other, some guy who wanted to do nothing more than 'write music'. I guess he was a producer of sorts, but he also played guitar, so we were accepting him into the band, if you could call it that. Joe and I tramping around the city to play on different stages and try to make a few decent songs out of a guitarist and a bassist who could kind of sing... Well, let's say I've had better luck than that.

Mom headed out after me, and climbed into her car, pulling out and driving away, headed for work. Wait... I remembered that this kid had supposedly heard of me, as a sort of 'legend' in Chicago. In seven bands at once and all that; I was pretty intent on music, you see. So maybe, since this kid apparently looked up to me, I should dress a little better? I headed upstairs, and paused, trying to make a decision before I just changed into some red pants and some more interesting shoes, grabbing a black hoodie and zipping it up before heading downstairs again, waiting outside for Joe to show up in his car.

As I waited, I thought; apparently, this kid had a bunch of promise. I imagined a stylish and attractive guy, probably taller than me, which wouldn't be much of a feat, with some modern-rocker haircut, but simple, you know? Probably brown, with bangs that hung in his eyes.

Joe pulled up, and out climbed him and this guy who looked like he was twelve, not quite skinny, but not quite chubby either. He had a boyish face, glasses, and a little bit of baby fat clinging to him; I guess he was cute, but he was really freakin' young! Joe climbed out and stood between and to the side of us, giving me this little expectant look. The kid and I both pointed to each other, turned to Joe, and said, at the exact same time, "Who the fuck is this?" The only difference was I put some emphasis on the 'fuck'. Joe had some explaining to do.

"Aren't you a little young to be cussing?" I shot at the kid; he was being a bit contemptuous for a twelve-year-old looking to join a band with a 'legend'.

"What do you mean, 'young'?" he demanded, turning to me, with a peeved expression on his face. Oh, that's right; little kids didn't like to be told they were little. My bad. Notice the sarcasm there.

"I mean, you're like, twelve! Joe! What the hell were you thinking!"

"Twelve?" He looked appalled. I turned back to him, giving him this little look that pretty obviously said that I figured I'd gotten his age totally wrong. "I'm freakin' seventeen!"

"...Oh. Well." I felt a grin split across my face, and I looked at the guy in a whole new light. "That's a totally different story, then. Sorry, man, I just woke up." Unfortunately, the kid seemed a bit put off by my sudden kindness, and Joe just shook his head. I turned to him and asked the million-dollar question: "So where's the guy that wants to write music for us?" I turned yet again at the sound of the kid slapping his hand against his face.

"You're... Pete?" he asked, almost darkly, but I think it was more like dread. Jerk.

"Yes, Patrick... He's Pete," Joe said, sighing. I was getting a little annoyed here; they were acting like I was some kind of disappointment! I mean, in some aspects, maybe, but not in music!

"Wait... He's the guy?" It was now my turn to gawk.

"Figured that one out on your own, did you?" Patrick muttered, and I stared at the two of them, feeling rather put off, then sighed and turned to the house, jerking my hand in its direction.

"Come on, let's get started on this."

Fifteen minutes later, the kid turned out to be much more promising than I had thought he would be. I studied him for a while as he talked and explained some ideas for rhythms and beats and such, strumming away at his acoustic, which he'd dragged in from Joe's car. He noticed my staring and stopped, looking at me oddly; I was leaning forward in my seat, brows furrowed as I scrutinized him. "...What?" he finally asked, looking and sounding rather weirded out.

"You know, you're actually kinda cute," I announced. He gawked, then began stuttering.

"W-what?"

"Ohhh, yeahhh..." Joe broke in, chuckling nervously. "I forgot to mention Pete's bi. But don't worry, he won't do anything. Will you, Pete?" he asked me, almost dangerously.

"Not making any promises. Anyway, I was just gonna say that this'll work out good for photoshoots and such, you know? Like, I can see him getting some fangirls." Patrick blushed, and I grinned; this was going to be fun.

---

Turns out, Pat wasn't as outgoing as I might have thought; he was actually pretty shy. When I'd first met him, I'd struck a nerve by saying he looked young. Other than that, the only time he was really forceful at all was when discussing music. He began coming over to my house more and more, and we would sometimes stay up until two in the morning arguing over a chord progression for like, eight measures. I took an immediate liking to him; he was cutting straight to business, and he was actually pretty good.

After maybe two weeks, I started letting him stay the night, no longer worried about having any dreams; if I actually fell asleep, that was. He soon figured out that I was an insomniac, and that I only slept a few hours. The plus side to this was that if I did, in fact, have any memory-dreams, they didn't usually last too long.

Of course, maybe the fifth night he stayed with me, I had one. I fell asleep around eight, when he actually began to wake up, and was dimly aware of him getting up and moving around the room, before removing the notebook that was in my lap and setting it aside, then moving the blanket from my bed to cover me up. He apparently pulled out his guitar, because I heard the soft acoustic chords just before I fell asleep; more often than not, that would make me fall asleep, and he had figured it out pretty quick.

In my dream, I was thirteen, visiting my hometown again. I was hanging out with some old friends, finding out that people still remembered me, and also found out that while I was gone, most of my Lost Boys had turned into total pricks. Being unconfident in myself at the time, I conformed.

"Hey, fatass!" We were skateboarding down the street, and I sneered along with them, trying to think nothing of what they were doing, of what we were doing. The kid wasn't even chubby! He just wasn't as skinny as we were... It was pretty ridiculous, but I wasn't about to back out; I liked being considered a 'cool kid'.

"Fuck off," the boy muttered, and ducked his head, hurrying to leave.

"Ah ah ahh, not so fast!" One of the guys turned on their boards sharply, popping off right in front of the kid and shoving him back. He fell back and onto the ground there, but got back to his feet, attempting to push through, but they wouldn't let him. "What's the matter?" they jeered. "Is the little baby afraid?" I laughed along with them, but secretly, I felt sick. And their insults weren't even that good; but then again, I was thirteen and most of them were eleven or twelve, and we thought we were total badasses, what with how we were cussing and all.

They shot the kid down pretty badly, while he just stood there and took it. I didn't really participate, but when they left, I told them I had to head back to where my dad and I were staying, and stayed to help the kid back to his feet; they'd knocked him down a few times. He took my hand, but immediately backed off, glaring at me darkly.

"Hey, I'm sorry, I... I didn't know they were like that."

"Yeah, well you were laughing along, too."

"I didn't want to, I just didn't want them to think I was lame," I admitted, a bit quietly.

"Whatever, go away," he said, and shoved me back. This time, I stumbled to the ground, and I gawked at him.

"I just apologized!"

"For what? Bullying me? For not being able to stand up to your friends? For not being yourself? For being a complete and total coward? I thought Peter Pan was brave," he sneered, glaring at me, and I gasped; he was the kid who'd replaced me! I wanted desperately to know why he had stopped being cool, because everyone had accepted him pretty eagerly into the group, but realized that maybe he didn't want to be cool, if it meant being a jerk. I pushed myself to my feet, feeling ashamed of myself and pretty horrible.

"I... I guess I'm not brave enough to be Peter anymore," I said, quietly. He scoffed, and flipped me off, then walked away, not even looking at me as he called me pathetic. The fact that he wouldn't even look at me and say it only hurt that much worse. It was like I wasn't good enough for him to look at me. I turned, and sullenly scooped up the skateboard, staring at it. My 'friend' had given it to me...

About an hour later, I rang his doorbell and ran, leaving the remains of his now-shattered board on the doorstep; trucks, wheels, everything. I'd taken a sledgehammer to what I couldn't destroy by hand. He stared at it for a moment in shock, saw me bolting down the street, and sprinted after me, catching up and jumping forward to tackle me to the ground...

Rude awakening suck, I've got to say. Although, in this case, the rude awakening thing had actually happened. I'd ended up getting in a fight with him, almost losing, but hauled ass back home after knocking him silly for a moment, and told Dad that we needed to leave.

Still, though, the shock of getting tackled to the ground made me wake with a jolt. I hit the back of my head against the wall I'd been leaning against, and kicked my legs out. Patrick, who'd been playing on my bed, jumped, causing the chord to basically kill itself. He stared at me as I looked around the room, wide-eyed, then ran a hand through my hair and rubbed the back of my head, moving it to rub the back of my neck as I attempted to remember what had happened. I'd fallen asleep trying to write some lyrics, leaning back against the wall...

Which was why I wasn't in my bed. That's right. I let Pat crash there, because we both knew I wouldn't sleep anyway.

"Sorry," I mumbled. "Bad dream."

He set aside his guitar quietly, shrugging. "It's fine; not like you could help it... What was it about, anyway?" He fixed with this little caring but uber-serious stare, and my hand paused in its rubbing of my neck; for once, I felt like I couldn't bluff my way out of something. "Telling me might help..." He was so damn innocent... But I didn't want him to think badly of me... But I couldn't lie to him... But what if he hated me? But what if I lied?

"Just... I did some mean things as a kid, and it still kinda haunts me sometimes, even now, I guess." I let my hand from earlier fall, resting in my lap, only for me to find with some surprise that my blanket had been thrown over me. I looked up at him questioningly, and he blushed a little, ducking his head and avoiding the subject.

"You know... I once knew this kid."

"No kidding?"

"No, shut up," he chuckled, then continued, staring off as he relived the memory. "I was... Six, he was nine. I moved to this new school and was absolutely terrified." I listened to his story with interest, standing up and grabbing a glass of water from off of my dresser, drinking it as I listened. "And... He played this game, right? He liked to pretend he was Peter Pan-"

I coughed, nearly throwing up what I was drinking, and sank into a small coughing fit. He went to get up from the bed, but I held up my hand, choking out, "No, I'm fine; water just went down the wrong pipe, I guess." Oh. My. God. It was him. What if he figured it out? What if he ended up hating me? I turned away from him and began to get changed rather slowly, not wanting my expression to betray my thoughts.

"You're... Not doing too well today. Let's hope you don't have a heart attack," he joked, but I was beginning to seriously worry; my heart was beating rather fast. "Anyway, he even had Lost Boys and everything. And there was another group of kids that were the pirates, and they began to pick on me, because I was a 'civilin'." He laughed, then continued, chuckling on occasion. "And he rushed over to have a 'fight scene' with them... He got a busted lip, and thought it was amazing. He was feisty, too; he wouldn't even let the teacher drag him to the nurse. He finally gets away and comes running for me, and just kinda sits down in front of me, and asks what's wrong. Since I was so young, you know," he began to explain, blush forming in his cheeks. "I... I was almost crying." Liar; he was crying when I came up to him. Admittedly not much, but still. "And... Well, I told him that the kids were mean, he explained that they were pirates, and all kinds of stuff, and told me I was gonna be Peter Pan since he was leaving." He laughed at this, but I noticed he left out the Wendy part. "Anyway, like... God, five years later? Anyway, he shows up with his old friends, who had turned into total pricks and picked on me because I wasn't a twig. And... Well, he sat there through it and acted like nothing was wrong, and laughed with them and everything, but I could tell he wasn't really into it." ...What? He'd been able to tell? "Anyway, he stayed behind to apologize, but I pushed him down and told him off pretty bad... I felt kinda bad for it earlier, but I'd done it hoping it'd make him change, you know? And... I'd like to think that I did." I sat there, now fully dressed, and shoved my shaking hands into my hoodie pocket.

"Yeah... I'm sure you did."

He chuckled dryly. "How would you know?"

"You've got that... Quality, Pat. You understand people," I said softly, and he fell silent behind me. "What... What happened to the boys?"

"Oh, about half a year later they tried to jump me and got the shit beaten out of them by god knows who, but I ended up moving a week after that when they'd finally stopped messing with me... Kinda sucked, I'm not even gonna lie."

"At least they got what they deserved," I muttered, then turned suddenly, a smile on my face. "Come on. I have a feeling Mom's making pancakes."

He shook his head and laughed, but slid off the bed, almost scolding me. "You know, for a twenty-one year old you sure do act like a kid."

"There's nothing wrong with being a kid," I replied, shrugging my shoulders as I opened the door, and sped down my stairs, calling out to Patrick to race.

---

Pat didn't stay the night that night, since he had school the next day, and for that I was actually rather glad. It killed me to realize who Patrick really was; though I had to very grudgingly admit it, I was beginning to have a crush on Patrick. I didn't really feel guilty about it; after all, I had said that I wasn't making any promises about not doing anything. Not that I was going to period, but, you know...

Sighing, I sat at my bed, at eleven PM, and recalled it, sinking into a half-asleep state as I remembered.

I spent an entire year tortured by his comments. For some reason, they'd really hit home. I couldn't help but hate how I kept doing what was 'cool'... Stupid thing was, I wasn't even that popular! Maybe faking really didn't get me that far...

I had a few friends that had always known the real me, had always understood everything about me. They knew how I really thought, and they were the only people besides myself and Patrick who knew what I had done with my old friends.

When I went into high school, I stopped caring so much; I began skipping, I was failing, and Pat's words were bothering me more and more. Finally, one day, much to the approval of my 'real' friends, I stopped doing what my group wanted me to, and decided that, from that day on, I was going to be myself. I cut my hair, I bought new clothes, I talked to who I wanted how I wanted, and surprisingly enough, my popularity grew... And I owed it all to the boy, who, unknown to me, was named Patrick, and who probably still thought I was a total douche. No matter how happy I was at time, it always came back to nag at the back of my head and remind me of what I'd done.

So, for my own redemption at least, I was going to fix things.

I rallied together a few friends, and we all told our parents we were staying the night at a friend's house for a few days to work on projects or whatever, and instead piled into Jake's truck and drove off. There were five of us, and five of that stupid skater gang back at my old home. We arrived late at night, found the cheapest freakin' hotel around (thank god I had senior friends) and the next morning, we went on the hunt.

It actually didn't take too long. We went to a nearby park, and almost immediately spotted them... Trying to gang up on Patrick. This was it, this was it: not only a chance to redeem myself within myself, but maybe help out the kid in return, although I seriously doubted he'd recognize me... For some reason, I didn't want him to. I pulled up the hood to my black hoodie, a beanie already jammed down over my head, and we piled out.

It took, what, five minutes? Ten? Anyway, the fight didn't last that long, and we beat the shit out of those kids. Of course, we didn't escape unscathed, but the thrill of victory had us pumped. We piled back into Jake's car, and drove off, headed back home, and I looked back one final time (since I was in the back of the truck with maybe three of the other guys until we could pull over somewhere else) to see Patrick, standing in shock at the scene, before he turned and caught and held eye contact with me. I finally pulled my gaze away, turning to the congratulating slaps on the back from my friends; in my adrenaline rush, I'd done the most damage, and totally destroyed their little 'leader'.

We drove through the night, and were so tired the next morning (since it's hard to sleep in a truck with every single seat occupied) that we just went straight to Jake's house and crashed. We in total skipped three days. Straight. And that wasn't including my previous and numerous skips from earlier on in the school year. I had every intention of cutting down, but then... Second period, I was sitting there bored out of my mind, (leading me to realize why I always skipped it) when I was called to the counselor's office...

And sent to Juvi. For skipping.

"Pete!" I jumped, surprised out of my little daydream and actually shifting just enough that I fell off of my bed.

"Ow... What?" I called back, glancing at my clock in surprise; it was already seven in the morning! Which was actually pretty good for me, considering how damn early I'd fallen asleep. I'd gotten what, six hours of sleep? Ho... Ly... Crap.

"Want some pancakes?"

I sighed, and stood up, shuffling down the stairs. "Sure, Mom..."

"Did you sleep good?" she asked, though she basically knew it was futile.

"Yeah, actually. I know; it surprised me, too." I offered her a weak smile, then began to dig in, still half-asleep, when I remembered the note I'd written Pat and suddenly lost my appetite.

---

Here's a funny story about Peter Pan... Well... I'm Peter Pan. I was the boy in elementary school. It wasn't just because I was oldest that I was Peter.

'Cause sweetie, it would seem
You look like a Wendy to me.