Lost in the Never Woods(16)

Wendy half ran up to the porch and rang the doorbell. A large knot lodged in her throat.

Jordan opened the door. She stood, shoeless, in a pair of gray sweatpants. One arm stretched above her head, scratching her back and pulling up the hem of her beat-up Red Cross shirt. While Wendy always got up early—both every day during the summer and on the weekends during the school year—Jordan had the sleep habits of a very lazy house cat. Jordan had a piece of toast sticking out of her mouth, a sleepy smile playing on her lips. Her brown hair was a pile of springy ringlets framing her heart-shaped face.

“Hey, you—” Jordan cut herself off, brows furrowing as soon as she got a proper look at Wendy.

Wendy rocked forward onto the balls of her feet, wringing her hands.

Jordan’s arm fell to her side. “What’s wrong?” she demanded through a mouthful of toast.

Wendy opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She felt her lower lip wobble.

In one fluid motion, Jordan pulled her inside. They quickly started down the hall, passing the kitchen on the way. Jordan tossed the rest of her toast onto the counter and Wendy heard Mr. Arroyo say, “?Ay, Jordan! ?Qué haces?” She caught a glimpse of Jordan’s dad, frowning as he picked up the piece of soggy toast and threw it in the trash.

“My bad!” Jordan maneuvered herself to block Wendy from her father’s view. “Wendy just got here. We’ll be in my room,” she said casually.

“Oh, okay, fine— Hi, Wendy,” Mr. Arroyo said distractedly as he wiped up the melted butter with a dish towel.

Jordan ushered Wendy down the hallway before she could attempt a reply. It was lined with pictures of Jordan and her dad at varying ages, all smiling and doing things like fishing, camping, or going to soccer games. There were even a couple of Mrs. Arroyo from when Jordan was a baby, before she passed away.

Wendy’s house didn’t have any family photos like that. The walls were mostly bare, except for a few Monet prints her mother had bought ages ago. Time had faded the vibrant colors to mostly pale shades of blue.

Wendy stepped into Jordan’s room and Jordan shut the door behind them. The four walls were covered in black, red, and purple—a complete eyesore. There were pennants and posters of the Portland Thorns—Jordan’s beloved soccer team—covering the walls, all clad in crimson and black. Jordan’s medals hung on the wall from purple ribbons. The rest of her room was an absolute mess, as always. There was a heap of clothes in the corner and every surface was littered with a combination of magazines, trophies, and actual garbage.

But Jordan’s room also had a window that cast the best light and a watery blue comforter. She had pictures of herself and her friends taped all over her headboard. Several included Wendy. Most were of her grimacing while Jordan, arm hooked around her, beamed widely at the camera.

Wendy sat down on the edge of the bed. Jordan tugged out her desk chair, pushed off the pile of shoes, and sat in front of her. “What happened?” Jordan asked, leaning forward and placing a hand on her upper arm.

Wendy could feel panic starting to reach its way up her throat again. She licked her lips and took a deep breath before telling Jordan everything that had happened the night before.

Jordan sat and listened intently, the corners of her mouth pulled down in a frown. Her eyebrows flickered upward now and then, but she never cut Wendy off to ask questions.

When she started to tell Jordan about that morning, words failed her.

“And the detectives said … they said maybe he had been with us—wherever we were—so he might know something?” Wendy rubbed her arms, trying to fight off the goosebumps. “Maybe he knows where my brothers are?”

There was silence. Jordan sat back and let out a puff of air. Wendy tried to steady her breathing, but that just made it even more difficult.

“How old is he?” Jordan asked.

“I don’t know. He looked about my height, younger than us, though … Maybe a freshman?” Wendy pressed her thumbnail into her palm as she watched Jordan nod. It occurred to Wendy that if this boy was around her and her brothers’ ages when they went missing, maybe that could provide some kind of connection.

“And you don’t recognize him?”

Again, the question made her heart beat faster. She couldn’t tell Jordan she thought he could be Peter Pan. Jordan, who had been the only one at school to really believe her when she said she couldn’t remember what had happened to her and her brothers, had never pressed or doubted her, but even her best friend would never believe something like this. No, Wendy couldn’t do that, not when it was just so entirely impossible.

Wendy shook her head.

“And they haven’t found him?” Jordan asked, running a hand through her curls.

“Not that I know of … But I—I don’t—”

“You don’t want them to?” she guessed.

“No!” Wendy shook her head. “It’s not that. If he does know, then of course I want the police to know so they can find my brothers.” She was having a hard time meeting Jordan’s watchful gaze. “This is the first time in five years we’ve had any new information, any hope of finding them,” she went on. “But, it’s—it’s still…”

“Terrifying,” Jordan finished quietly.

Wendy nodded.

Jordan stared past Wendy, frowning at the opposite wall.