Wendy has a secret, kept locked away inside her so that it sits behind her eyes the way that unkissable kiss sits at the corner of her mothers smile. She knows Peter sees it because sometimes he catches her by the hand and flies her somewhere quiet to stare at her with that expression that says he's not sure if he's annoyed or amused by a secret he cannot find out. Eventually he gets bored with perching on the swaying tops of trees, or crumbling mountain sides with Wendy tucked safely in his lap and flies them off to adventure or dinner and Wendy knows she's very lucky that so far Peter has yet to dash off on a rescue or distraction and leave her because Wendy's secret is that she cannot fly without Peter.

She tries, of course she does, but it doesn't work. Her knees are always scraped, elbows always bruised from hurling herself off rocks and branches. She thinks of puppies, mermaids, Mother, and fairies. She thinks of Peter, John, Michael to no effect. It's always the same. A rush of air, the thrill of freedom, and then the wobble as her traitorous brain says 'where's Peter? We can't fly without Peter' and down she plummets.

The lost boys accept her reasoning when they soar in circles around her head crying 'come fly Wendy, come fly Mother' and she tells them gently that mothers don't soar and wheel playing tag between clouds. At least not without father. 'It wouldn't be proper dearhearts, now stay where mother Wendy can see you.'