Darling - K. Ancrum Page 0,15

to go home and pick up a few friends. Then, we’re getting dinner at a place called the Mermaid’s Lagoon. Afterward, we’re heading south to the warehouse, where the party is.”

“That’s a lot of traveling,” Wendy remarked.

Peter nodded in the direction of the train station up the street. “The night is young.” That smile was plastered back on his face. “And what sort of adventure would this be without a bit of travel?”

CHAPTER 5

Wendy texted Eleanor while Peter and Tinkerbelle were busy fiddling with the train ticket machine. She opened the camera on her phone, zoomed in on one of the train platform’s round security mirrors, and got a decent snapshot of Peter’s and Tinkerbelle’s faces without either of them noticing.

Eleanor: Oh wow, he looks like a model. Your idiocy from earlier in the night is beginning to make sense to me.

Wendy: He’s really nice, too. He’s buying my train ticket and everything.

Eleanor: Train tickets are $2.50, do not sell your dignity to men for $2.50.

Wendy chose to ignore that.

Wendy: I’m surprised you don’t have anything to say about his friend? She’s a knockout.

Eleanor: She’s ok. She’s not my type. I like brunettes.

Wendy: Valid. She’s also kind of a bitch. Apparently, she and Peter used to date??? Peter helped me get outside and I guess we were standing too close and she was HEATED.

Eleanor: lmao

Wendy: She was like “get away from him” and we hadn’t even properly said hi. It’s like b I don’t want your boy

Eleanor: u do tho

Wendy: I DO THO

Eleanor: MESSY

“Come on, we don’t have all day,” Tinkerbelle said, pushing Wendy’s ticket into her hand. Peter scanned his card but then hopped the turnstile just for the fun of it. Tinkerbelle pushed Wendy through behind him, and they both followed him up the stairs to the platform.

The train stop felt much stranger at night than when Wendy had come here with her mom. There was a completely different kind of population this late. None of the chipper stay-at-home moms in Lululemon with designer strollers were out anymore. It was just tired, late-shift workers, people in their thirties going out to have a good time, and a few college students. From this high up, the streetlights glittered in the distance, and the city looked like a movie set. Like real people weren’t living in all those buildings; they were just put up to complete a skyline for a postcard view. There was such a large difference between seeing places like this on TV and standing in the middle of them in real life. She turned to say something about this, but Peter was looking off into the night, his pretty face stony and expressionless.

What’s wrong? Wendy almost asked, but to her surprise, Tinkerbelle tugged the sleeve of her sweater and then shook her head urgently. Wendy paused. Peter stood like that for almost a minute, so still it was eerie. People coming up the stairs to wait for the train gave the three of them a wide berth. Peter’s eyes shifted back and forth rapidly, like he was thinking very fast. Then he closed them, paused, and seemed to breathe life back into his body all at once. When he finally turned back to Wendy and Tinkerbelle, it was as if all that had never happened.

“The train’s coming,” he said. “We’re heading up to Wilson.”

“How many of the boys are coming with us?” Tinkerbelle asked.

“Only a few of the older ones,” Peter replied. “Since we’ll be out late.”

The train came into the station fast enough to blow everyone’s hair back before slowing to a stop with the doors directly in front of them.

“THIS IS FULLERTON. TRANSFER TO BROWN- AND PURPLE-LINE TRAINS AT FULLERTON,” the train blared loudly, and the doors slid open with a soft bang.

To Wendy’s surprise, the train was already very crowded. Peter pushed through the throng and held the metal bar above the seats so that there was an alcove of space beneath his arms for Tinkerbelle and Wendy to stand in. Tinkerbelle ducked underneath and wrapped an arm around the back of his waist. Wendy, thinking about what happened the last time she was wrapped around Peter, reached up and grabbed the bar above them instead. She tried not to inhale the smoke-and-flowers scent radiating from Peter’s body.

The doors closed and the train lurched forward.

“So, how far is Wilson?” Wendy asked.

“Not far,” Tinkerbelle replied. “It’s a decent walk from your place, but it’s walkable if you don’t have train fare. Maybe thirty minutes?”

“Do you