Chasing Neverland: A Retelling | ✔️

Chapter One

Chapter One

"Wendy, it's time to get up, kiddo." Wendy's dad poked his head into her room. "How'd you sleep?"

Morning already?

Wendy sighed and stretched in bed, elongating her weary muscles. How much sleep would she need to get for her body to finally feel normal again? It seemed she'd already broken records on the number of hours spent in one day with her eyes closed.

"I slept alright. Thanks, Dad." Sometimes it was best just to lie.

Her dad stood in the doorway for a long moment, watching her. "Mom made breakfast. Better get it while it's still warm — or before your brothers eat it all." He gave her a grin that never reached his eyes, then vanished down the hallway leaving her alone.

Wendy let out a long yawn, not even bothering to cover her mouth. The past several nights she'd experienced the annoyance of being only half asleep, her slumber interrupted by periods of uninvited wakefulness. All to be expected, she supposed. But Dad didn't need to hear about it. All he'd do is worry. She yawned again.

Untangling herself from the covers, Wendy crawled out of bed and stood up on one shaky leg and then another. She slipped her arms through the sleeves of her favorite fuzzy pink robe as her foot fished around for the slippers hiding underneath her bed. One by one, she slid them onto socked feet. If she didn't dress appropriately, her parents would have a fit. "You'll catch your death of a cold," her mother would no doubt scold. Wendy knew they meant well, but she wished her parents would stop treating her like a child. After all, she was fifteen. Old enough to dress herself, that was for sure.

In the bright morning sun that filtered in through slanted blinds, Wendy fixed her hair and shuffled down the stairs. The smell of maple and warm brown sugar grew stronger as she made her way closer. Stepping slowly so she didn't trip, every other stair creaked underneath her weight.

Chaos filled the kitchen as the Darling's lost themselves to their morning routine. Her mom scrambled around, serving breakfast and packing lunches; her dad grabbing a quick bite before racing off to the office. As usual, John and Michael argued about God knew what, as they shoved forkfuls of pancake into their mouths before the school bus arrived.

With amusement, Wendy sunk into a chair at the table, her gaze fixed on her younger brothers' antics. Absentmindedly, she scratched around the catheter embedded into the crook of her arm.

"Leave it alone," her mother warned, glancing from the corner of her eye.

Wendy's mouth tugged up at the corner and she folded her hands into her lap to keep them still. The damn thing itched like crazy sometimes, how could she not scratch? Of course, her mother never missed a thing.

Her attention returned to John and Michael, and she smiled as they dashed around, gathering their supplies.

Compared to her siblings, Wendy had always felt rather ... ordinary. There was nothing really special about her. She was no great intellect like John, or sports hero like Michael. She'd never won any awards or trophies, and she certainly wasn't on anyone's list of most promising individuals. Although, she did enjoy painting. Wendy could lose herself in a mural, spending the whole day blending colors until they swirled together perfectly. And as of late, that's exactly what she did. It was one of the few things she had to look forward to.

Her father had recently painted one wall in Wendy's bedroom white and provided her with the materials she'd need to create her own masterpiece. She'd already covered the surface twice with her imaginative doodles. And after she'd finished, her father repainted, giving her a blank slate to start all over again.