We were still children, for all that we thought we weren’t. We were in that in-between place, the twilight between childish things and grown-up things.

It was Peter’s island, Peter who’d brought us here, and in the back of every boy’s mind was some form of the same thought— He could send me back, if he wanted.

Peter had just forgotten, the way that Peter did forget about anything that wasn’t right in front of him at the moment.

Yes, because it’s obviously better if you beat each other to death with rocks instead of stabbing each other like civilized human beings,” Sal muttered, looking away.

They all thought they were special, but only I was. I was first and none of them could take that from me. I was first and best and last and always.

Was this, too, part of growing up? Was it facing the bad things you’d done as well as the good, and knowing all your mistakes had consequences? Peter made mistakes all the time— he was thoughtless; he hurt people. But it never troubled him, not for a moment. He forgot all about it in an instant. That was being a boy.