The Island of Lost Children

By Kim Batchelor

Peter is still the boy who doesn’t grow up. Wendy is a girl who had to grow up too soon. And Wendy’s brother, Michael, has autism and a connection to The Island of Lost Children. When Peter leaves his island home, it’s to search for pick-up soccer games and mock sword fights. Wendy spends her evenings looking after her two brothers, bratty JJ as well as Michael, while her parents work nights. In the midst of several unusual events—including the disappearance of her classmate, Lily, at odds with her adoptive mother—Wendy doesn’t realize that Peter’s pirate nemesis is keeping an eye on her. Everything changes for Wendy and her family when a peculiar fairy named Bellatresse helps Peter find the girl whose stories he once listened to outside her bedroom window.

With its quirky humor and occasionally touching moments, The Island of Lost Children is about children creating their own stories, families, and communities, all while swashbuckling, navigating mystical rivers, riding child-made roller coasters, and, of course, sailing high through the open skies.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kim Batchelor
• Release date: May 24, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310369131

Kim Batchelor

I’m Kim Batchelor and I write children’s books, novels for adults, and I'm currently working on my first young adult book, Gem of the Starry Skies. My latest children’s book is The Island of Lost Children, a contemporary re-imagining of the classic tale of Peter and Wendy.I’ve been privileged to spend time in workshops with authors like Pam Houston, Jonis Agee, Cristina Henriquez, and Lee Abbott, at places like the Iowa Summer Writers Festival and the Taos writing workshops sponsored by the University of New Mexico.I live in Dallas, Texas, with a spouse, one dog, and far too many cats. One of my prized possessions is a busted tambourine presented to me by Eddie Vedder. Okay, he tossed it to me in a dark stadium in Kansas City, Missouri, but the real story is never as interesting as the one I make up.

Book preview

A Boy in the Sky, A Girl on the Ground

Peter dove through the rim of the sky and plunged into the buoyant clouds. The wind lofted him upward, and with a twist he wedged his reedy frame between the currents of air. After a free fall sent him spiraling down, he caught himself in time to settle ever so slowly into a hover just above the trees. The wind pushed aside his dark and disorganized hair as he swam above the ground surveying everything below him while the sun withdrew its remaining strands of light.

The smell of sweat and stale popcorn drew his attention to the late afternoon soccer game not too far away. Peter quickly skirted the topside of the clouds to make his way toward it thinking that the teams would have to finish soon because the field had no lights. An old backstop and the cluster of trees behind it made a great place to hide while it still gave him a good view of the game.

The teams were evenly matched. Players in yellow shirts were up one goal over the players in sky blue and the sky blues with the ball were making a push for the yellow team’s goal. The small crowd erupted as the players advanced.

Go! Go! Go! Peter shouted and resisted groaning when a blue shirted forward, after some fancy dribbling, mistakenly kicked the ball right at the shins of a midfielder in yellow. After trapping the ball, the center midfielder booted a long pass down the field to one of his forwards.

As he watched the yellow shirted forward, Peter pictured himself sailing down the field just like him, dodging players, determined to score. Usually Peter ignored the people in the bleachers, but he couldn’t help noticing the man and woman and the two boys beside them throwing their hands in the air, yelling and cheering the nimble forward in yellow as he drove toward the goal.

Suddenly, the referee signaled offsides, and the teammates grumbled and the opposition players stifled their happiness at the break.

Instead of screaming at the referee or their son’s teammates, which a lot of adults did in that situation, the family smiled and yelled, Good job, Miguel!

Good job? Peter thought. He got ahead of the team and didn’t score. The player’s family didn’t seem to mind at all because they continued to grin and wave at him as the game started up again.

Peter hung around a few more minutes until he decided the game would be over soon and he had other things to do. He drifted into the growing shadows and left the field behind.

Under the cover of night, Peter searched for groups of boys to play with or wayward pirates or anything else that might interest him. Car tires screeched. Sirens blared. Dogs barked. Voices shouted. Through a nearby window, a cartoon flashed across a television screen. After weaving a path around the upper floors of buildings, he soared above them to scan their rooftops.

In the scattering of lights where families lived their lives, he wondered who would come with him next. Who would send out an unspoken wish into the sky? Who would whisper a secret longing to fly away? If you asked him, he'd tell you that those wishes and longings are what brought him there. Deep down inside, though, Peter had a few wishes of his own—wishes for a game of basketball or the sight of his missing nemesis or to finally find the new home of a girl whose stories always called him back to that place.

* * * * *

Wendy Darling did not belong with anyone. Not with her parents, who argued all the time. Not with her brother John, known in the family as JJ, who crashed and thrashed like a thunderstorm. And not with her youngest brother, Michael, who one minute fixated on the crackle of a candy wrapper against his ear and the next minute tore through whatever room tried to hold him. There were times when he slipped into Wendy’s lap and they came close to belonging with each other, but those times didn’t happen often enough.

Most of all, Wendy didn’t belong with her classmates. They taunted her on the playground by flailing their arms about as they made whooshing noises. They puckered their lips—kiss kiss kiss—and yelled Wen-dy! Dar-ling! She just rolled her eyes and ignored them.

With all this noise, Wendy preferred to be alone. Those rare afternoons when she didn’t have to care for her brothers, she made her way to a small market for a little chocolate or fruit by taking the long route through a neighborhood of neat brick houses. She sensed old spirits pressed into the cracks of their brick walls as she passed them. And if she took her time and the night began to fall and the moon hung silver over them, something outside the world she lived in but not really frightening hovered near her. She didn’t need to look up to know it was there.

On her way back home, Wendy always passed the park where she had first arrived in this world as a baby nestled in a small box. The ground where the box appeared still buckled in the shadow of a gnarled willow tree. Eleven years ago, her mother and father lovingly lifted her into their arms, covering her with their woolen scarves and whispering their concerns that they could not afford to keep her, for they struggled to survive just the two of them. But they decided to take the chance anyway and did not return her to the small box in the buckled ground even after their two sons were born.

Wendy’s finding story, one she created from her imagination, relieved her of considering any other way she could have come to live with this family. No matter how much she thought about it, Wendy knew she didn’t belong with anyone. Not anyone. At least she didn’t belong with anyone in this world.

2

The Playground

Even though Peter could fly, he still liked to swing, especially early in the morning after he’d been up all night. He liked this one park in particular, because not only could he use the playground equipment, at the beginning of just about any day, a few boys passed through it.

That morning, it didn’t take long before one wandered by. The boy stopped, then shouted, Hey! Aren’t you the dork who…?

Beat you in sword play? Badly?

The boy threw down his books. Did not! You cheated.

How did I cheat?

You had a real sword!

Peter slowed the swing and scraped his bare feet against the ground. It just looked like a sword. Wasn’t a real one. And I didn’t get close to you with it.

The boy narrowed his eyes. My mother said I should call the police if I see you again.

Really? What would your friends think about that? Just as Peter finished speaking, a group of four boys approached the first one. When the first boy turned to look at them, Peter floated up to the lowest tree limb and hid amongst the branches and leaves.

Hey, one of the other boys said. Who were you talking to?

That loser from last week. The one with the sword.

The boys all laughed and one of them asked, The loser with the sword who had you trapped behind the dumpster?

The first boy struck out at one of the others and in no time the two of them were wrestling on the ground. They finally stopped, got up, and picked up all their things scattered about.

Peter felt kind of bad when the others started mocking the first boy. He felt especially bad when he thought about how much promise the boy had as a swordsman. The island might need someone like him if the pirate ever came back.

After a few minutes, the group tumbled out of the park, and their shouting died down. Once they’d gone, Peter found a nice spot in the tree branches and settled in for a long nap before going on his way.

Michael wore a stubbled ring of cereal affixed to his right cheek and eased the spoon into his mouth while JJ blew into the bowl of milk as if it were soup.

Wendy winced. Gross! Dad, JJ’s spitting in his cereal. After she wiped a few drops from her glasses, she pulled her brown curls back into a ponytail and out of the way.

Wendy’s father, Matthew, sat sideways with his feet resting on the chair where their mother, Molly, usually sat. He looked down at his cell phone through hair scattered over his forehead and spoke through strands of beard beaded with drops of tea. J, don’t spit.

I did not spit! JJ’s voice almost cracked the tabletop.

Spit! Michael emphasized JJ’s final word by slapping his hand against the bowl, which fortunately only tipped slightly and did not go flying across the room. Spit! Spit! Spit! He then dragged one finger through the white liquid pooling on the table and stared at his fingertip.

Matthew slipped the phone back into his pocket. Listen, guys, you don’t have much time to get ready for school. The bus will be here soon.

Wendy immediately felt the lump thicken in her throat, even though she didn’t want it there. I thought you were driving us today? We took the bus all last week.

Matthew looked over at the clock. Sheesh! I’ve got to go. He jumped from the chair and darted into the other room, then came back wearing his jacket. All right, Wendy. Get your brothers ready and I’ll take you. We need to hurry. I’m late.

Wendy retrieved her backpack, then Michael’s. JJ, get your books. He stood in front of her in the cluttered living room, dressed in an orange sweater and purple pants with stained knees, but it was too late to fix his clothes. With eyes wide he let his curved tongue dart through his lips and then laughed as if to illustrate the word guffaw that Wendy had learned last year for the spelling bee.

She ignored him, grabbed Michael’s hand and jackets for both of them, and left her middle brother to fend for himself. We’re ready, Dad! she shouted above the noise of water coming from the bathroom and slipped the jacket over Michael’s arms before sticking a wool cap onto his head.

With a toothbrush lodged in his mouth, Matthew burst back into the room. Grr…ea..t! He took the brush from his mouth and tossed it into the bathroom sink.

Come on, guys! We’ve got to get going. He grabbed JJ’s and Michael’s hands and led them through the door.

Here’s JJ’s backpack. And his jacket.

Thanks, Wen.

Wendy slipped out ahead of the group and ran down the four flights of stairs. Just as she approached the last flight, she hesitated. Traffic sounds came through the perpetually open door. She listened carefully for scratching or shifting as she took each step slowly, hoping and hoping. But nothing waited for her at the bottom of the stairs, and because of that, she felt particularly sad.

3

Wendy and Mr. Deets

Mr. Deets stood over Wendy as he slowly placed the paper on her desktop, letting it slip from between his permanently curled fingers. Miss Darling, is this your work or did someone help you?

All Wendy could see was the grade. An A, it seemed. Or maybe an O. Either good—an A, or O for outstanding. What worried her was that it seemed that the circle didn’t completely close. Yes, sir. This is my work. No one helped me.

He hummed. Seems too…well, good work then. He went on to the next student. An A it was. Probably.

Mr. Deets was like no other teacher she’d ever had before. He was nothing like Ms. Delgado who created elaborate and fun science experiments, or Mr. Jones who took the students onto the basketball court to have them act out Shakespeare instead of just read his plays. And even her teachers who didn't leave the classroom spent more time on discussing the readings or explaining in a way that the students could understand how to do a math problem. But Mr. Deets insisted on being by the book, as her father called it, counting on the students to read a book or essay and write pages and pages while he had very little patience with their questions. He always wore a dark blue suit, a white shirt, and a narrow tie that came to a very sharp point that often hovered above the heads of the students as he leaned over them in their seats.

Wendy glanced at her classmates, many wearing expressions of dismay as they saw their grades. Most unhappy of all: Lily. Lily stared at her paper with narrowed eyes, her lips drawn up as if she were about to shout at Mr. Deets. Instead, she dropped the paper back onto the desktop, slunk back in the chair, and crossed her arms.

Lily was hardly ever happy, at least not in the last few months. She had been Wendy’s classmate four out of the last five years but recently kept to herself, except when she had a boy down on the ground who annoyed her in some way, punching him repeatedly but damaging his ego more than his face. Once Lily even rescued Wendy from the taunts of the other students. This from a girl thin and agile, not like Mary Alice who wanted to be a linebacker when she grew up and who had the physique to make it possible. According to Wendy’s mother, Lily had been adopted from China, and despite her being truly wanted, this fact accounted for her discontent.

Miss Darling!

Wendy snapped out of her thoughts and returned her attention to class.

"You must listen to every word I speak! Please read your essay so that the rest of the class can