"Substitute chemistry teacher!" Peter retaliated.
"Slug-eating worm!"
Too Small leaped up. "Repeat! Repeat! Rufio repeated. He loses points!"
All the Lost Boys began to shout at once. "C'mon, Rufio!" cried his supporters. "Hit 'im back! Don't let 'im get to you!"
Rufio made a last run. "Lizard lips! In yo' face, camel-cake…"
"French tutor!" Peter cut him off. "Assistant Dean of Students! Parole officer! Accountant! Theatrical agent of animal acts! Prison-"
"Lying, crying, spying, prying, ultrapig!" screamed Rufio.
Peter laughed. "Easy for you to say-you lewd, rude, crude bag of prechewed food!"
That brought the Lost Boys to their feet with a howl. "Bangerang, Peter!" they cried out. "Peter's Bangerang!"
Now it was Rufio's turn to be stunned. The smug look had disappeared from his face. There was genuine shock mirrored there-and hurt.
"You… you man!" he howled. "You stupid, stupid man!"
Peter had him. He took a deep breath. "You tight-brained, three-button, gold-card, alligator-belted crock of shishkababble-toothed, liberal left-wing corporate lawyer, eating his boogers… like a Paramecium suffering from Pan envy!"
There was dead silence. Peter's gaze stayed locked on Rufio.
"What's a par-a-meeze-e-um?" asked Too Small softly.
"A one-celled organism with no brain," Peter answered triumphantly.
Shouts of glee rose from the Lost Boys. Mugs thumped down on the tabletop, feet stamped the ground, and everyone went absolutely bonkers.
"Banning! Banning! Banning! Bangerang Banning!" they all roared, including Rufio's followers.
Peter grinned, caught up in the moment. Without thinking, he reached down to his plate and scooped up a handful of nothing.
"While I'm at it, Rufio," he hissed, drawing the other's downcast eye, "something else just occurred to me. Go suck a dead dog's nose!"
And he hurled the handful of nothing into Rufio's face. Cheers and shouts rose anew from among the Lost Boys. The nothing struck, and green and orange globs of vegetables dripped suddenly from Rufio's dark face. Peter stared at him momentarily, then glanced down at his empty hand. How about that? His smile was reborn in that instant, alive with the wonder of discovering something he had thought impossible.
Across the table, Rufio reached down to a nearby plate, came up with a fistful of nothing, and hurled it back at Peter. It struck him squarely in the face as well-hot steamy dressing, thick rich gravy, and candied yams. It ran down into his mouth, and he licked it away, his smile even broader. It was real! It tasted wonderful!
When he looked down again, the entire table was laden with food, all of the empty platters piled high. Stunned, delighted, an unimagined sense of joy taking hold, Peter seated himself and began to eat ravenously.
Too Small's round face was beaming as he clapped his hands. "You're doing it! You're doing it!"
Peter looked up, genuinely puzzled. "Doing what?"
"Having fun with uz, Peder," Pockets answered softly.
All the Lost Boys crowded to him with a cheer-Ace, No Nap, Don't Ask, Thud Butt, Latchboy, Too Small, and Pockets in the vanguard, hands raised to exchange high-fives. Cries of "Pan the Man" lifted. Peter ate, and never had food tasted so good. Across from him, a Lost Boy smiled and showed him a mouthful of food. Peter grinned and showed him a mouthful back.
Tink flew from the table into the limbs of the Nevertree and down again, crying to anyone who would listen, "I knew he could, I knew he could!"
A Lost Boy belched as he finished eating. Another mimicked him. And another. Peter reared back and gave a gigantic belch that sent them all into gales of laughter, a few so overcome with merriment that they tumbled from their seats to the ground. Peter laughed harder than any of them. He had forgotten who he was or why he was there. He had forgotten his aches and pains. He was too busy having fun to worry about any of it. He grabbed a turkey leg and pretended to make off with it. Lost Boys grappled playfully to stop him. Peter sprang up as if to hurdle the table, turkey leg held high.
As he did, a sullen Rufio, nursing his anger in silence until now, finally lost control. Seeing this "Pretend Pan" playing and cavorting as if he were one of them was just too much to stomach. With a howl of rage, he snatched up two coconuts and threw them with all his strength at Peter's head.
What followed was to be a blur in Peter's mind ever after. Someone yelled in warning, Peter whirled, dropped the turkey leg, and caught a sword thrown by Ace all in one motion. He spun-gracefully, easily, as if he had been doing such things all his life. The sword became a natural extension of his hand, its blade whipping through the air, cleaving both coconuts apart in a single stroke so that the halves fell neatly at his feet.
A gasp came from the throats of the Lost Boys followed by silence. Everyone, Rufio included, stared at Peter in undisguised awe. Peter stood for an instant without moving, sword in hand, balanced on the balls of his feet, uncertain even then what it was he had done or how he had done it. Then he let the sword drop, and he slowly sat down again to finish his meal.
Tinkerbell was hovering in the air above them all, her face alive with joy. "What times," she whispered to herself. "What great games."
There were tears in her eyes.
Magic Hour
The sunset colored the western skies scarlet as day faded and night approached, and the waters of Hook's pirate harbor were turned to blood. At anchor, the Jolly Roger rocked in slow cadence to the lapping of the waves against her dark hull. The waterfront was quiet now, the day's work finished, the pirates gone to the alehouses and taverns and less reputable dens for an evening's fun. The ramshackle hulls of the cannibalized ships formed stark skeletons in the gloom, bones jutting out, faces blanched and peeling paint.
Jack, wearing a tricorne hat that was a smaller version of Captain Hook's, stared down from atop his perch on the muzzle end of Long Tom, a knight astride his charger, the master of all he surveyed. The redoubtable captain rode the breech, hands in place on the barrel as Smee steadied him against a possible fall. Like children on a seesaw, boy and man faced each other watching the moons of Neverland grow large in the sky.
Jack waved his hand impulsively, and his smile was dazzling.
What a wonderful, exciting day it had been!
School in Hook's cabin hadn't lasted much longer than the discovery of the chest of baseball cards. From there, Hook and Smee steered Jack out on deck and down the gangway to the docks, where lines of pirates were practicing with cutlasses. Back and forth the pirates surged, the blades of their weapons glistening in the sunlight. With barely a pause Hook led his bosun and Jack right through the center of it all, seemingly oblivious to any danger from the sharp edges. Down through the scything iron he strolled, as bold as you please, Jack and Smee following with heads ducked and eyes wide.
Exiting safely at the far end of the deadly gamut, Hook paused, excused himself to Jack, snatched a cutlass from Smee, parted the final pair of fighters, and engaged one in combat.
"Parry and thrust. Parry and thrust." He forced the hapless pirate back. "Lean right, and…"
Ugh! He ran the pirate through, swift as thought.
"Odds bodkins, did you see that, Smee?" Hook sniffed as the pirate collapsed at his feet. "He bent his knee!"
Smee shook his finger at the fellow. "You have to concentrate!" he had admonished.
"Tense your abductor muscles and the movement follows!" Hook added.
Jack thought he saw the pirate nod dutifully just before he died. At least Smee seemed to find some reason for giving him a reassuring pat on the back.