“If you cannot teach me to fly, teach me to sing.” – Peter Pan
It was official. Lyric was no shrinking violet, but she didn’t feel like a bright sunflower, either. She felt more like a dandelion, the white, fanciful, and persistent garden pest young children made wishes on. She’d always been fond of dandelions, but feeling like one was something else altogether. She felt dazed and wind-blown.
Her evening had become something between a dream and a nightmare. She had faced her greatest fear, only to be taunted by a new one, one that felt just as terrifyingly surreal as her short-lived victory. She had sung once. Could she do it again? And what were those shadows? It had to be nerves. Just her imagination. Something as wild and vivid as that … How else could she explain it? No one else had seen the black mass of shadows. Except for Peter. Maybe?
She searched for Peter after her performance, but he wasn’t in the café’s kitchenette or anywhere in the bookstore. He hadn’t responded to her text, either. Worst, he’d left her message on read.
“Thanks for the tea?” Mel repeated her text for the fifth time. They were back at Grandpa Selah’s place, settling in for the night. The rest of the house was silent, everyone else deep in sleep. But Lyric was restless, pacing the wood floors of the room she shared with her twin.
“Okay, I get it. It’s not the best line,” Lyric grumbled.
Her sister flung herself on the bed. “You think?”
“Well, what would you have said?” Lyric asked, pausing her restless pace in favor of glancing out the open window. She peered outside, leaned over the frame, and breathed in the warm night air. The smell of pinecones and the itchy pollen in the air made her nose tingle.
“I would’ve asked him out,” her sister said.
She could hear the calculation in her sister’s voice. Mel could probably smell the anxiety rolling off her, just like she could sense her need to mettle. The small hairs on her arm bristled with alarm.
Mel sat up. “Give me your phone.”
Lyric threw up her hands. “Can we forget about him for a minute,” she said, “And can we talk about the fact that I did it? I sang in public, in front of an entire crowd of people!”
Mel’s face softened with a genuine smile, her scheming momentarily forgotten. “I knew you could do it.” Mel tilted her head, offering her sister a considerate look. “You’re like a person who’s photogenic when they don’t know the camera is on them. You sound amazing until you know someone’s listening. But tonight …”
Mel broke into song, mimicking Lyric’s voice. When her voice cracked at the end of a run, the sisters laughed. Lyric nudged her, repeating the note back with ease. Mel rolled her eyes. “Show off.”
Lyric repeated the run, moving her hips to the rhythm.
Mel fanned her like she was on fire. “Ooh, sing it again.”
Lyric obliged, repeating a few lines, only stopping when a slow, satisfied smirk spread across her sister’s face. That meddlesome look was back. She couldn’t figure out just what Mel was up to, but judging by the instinctual discomfort in the pit of her gut, she knew it wasn’t good. “What? What did you do?”
Mel’s eyes slid past Lyric to the window behind her, and she scrambled up and toward the door. “Nothing. Love you. Bye!”
Mel fled from the room so fast, Lyric could barely get a word out, but her heart pounded so hard in her chest, she could feel it in her ears. Her sister was gone, but she wasn’t alone.
She felt invisible eyes on her, like static prickling against her back. Lyric spun on her heel to face the open window. Just outside, perched on the branches of the tall evergreen, was a boy. He was dressed in a black tee and dark jeans. His curly fro was captured haphazardly under his matching beanie cap, a few strands obscuring the view of his bright brown eyes. Lyric yelped when she saw him, but instead of slamming the window down, she stumbled back in surprise.
“You!”
Peter put a finger to his lips, his eyes darting around the yard before he edged closer toward her. As nimble as a cat on the limb, he almost looked at home there, staring up at her. “Well if it isn’t the legend herself. I should’ve known it was you …”
“What are you talking about?”
“The Angel of Olde Glory East,” he explained without explaining much at all.
Lyric glared at him, not at all charmed by the admiration in his tone or that same look of wonder he’d shown when she sang at the bookstore before he ghosted her.
“You going to let me up?”
She snorted. “Not unless you can fly.”
He had the nerve to sigh. Not in an irritated way, but in a thoughtful, dreamy kind of way she never imagined a boy might. At least, not when it came to her. “Sing for me and I might,” he said.
Her cheeks grew hot, and she fought the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “I think you should go.”
She moved to shut her window, but Peter shot up so fast she paused.
“Wait! Please,” he said.
Lyric hesitated. “Why did you disappear back at the bookstore?” she asked. “And what are you doing here? Did you follow me?”
He looked insulted. “No! I’m staying with my aunt next door. And I can explain.”
She blinked. “You’re related to Miss Nova?”
She stopped short of asking how many cats her grandfather’s neighbor actually had, and if she was really dating Mr. Hill from down the street. The retired accountant was infamous for thrifting in neighborhood trash bins and repurposing unwanted curb items into odd homemade gadgets. Mel swore she saw him leave Miss Nova’s house at odd hours. But confirming the Olde Glory East rumors should be the least of her concerns, a thought that echoed with Peter’s flash of irritation.
“I don’t have all night, Snickerdoodle. The neighborhood is in trouble, and you’re our only hope.”