Rufio's frown had turned dangerous. "All grown-ups are pirates. We kill pirates."

Peter drew himself up. "Well, I'm not a pirate. It happens that I'm a lawyer!"

A howl went up from the Lost Boys. Rufio thrust his sword into the air. "Kill the lawyer!" he cried.

The chant rose from every quarter. Peter hesitated only long enough to admit to himself that quite possibly he had said the wrong thing, and then he was off and running.

"Kill the lawyer! Kill the lawyer!"

Peter fled into a tunnel and found himself on the sailboard track. He scrambled along, not caring where he was going, knowing only that he had once read Lord of the Flies, remembering how things had turned out there. He called desperately for Tink-perhaps she could make things right-but there was no response. The shouts and cries of the Lost Boys followed after him, spurring him on. He emerged from the tunnel on a span of track that bridged a grassy stretch close by the lagoon and a waterfall.

Thud! Thud!

He looked down to find arrows sticking out of him. Or, rather, sticking to him-knobby things that seemed to have adhered to the front of his dress shirt. One was dangling from his crotch.

"I've been shot!" he exclaimed in horror.

A ragged cheer rose from a small group of Lost Boys gathered below.

"Heart Stopper, Rib Tickler, Barf Button, and Nutcracker!" declared Don't Ask, plaid-jacketed arm pointing to the diagram held by Thud Butt. There were names and point totals indicating a score for every hit.

Peter examined himself. "What is this stuff?" He touched the end of detached arrow experimentally. Glue! How disgusting!

A rolling sound from ahead signaled the arrival of Rufio aboard the coaster. Peter turned and raced back into the tunnel, panting for breath. Cries sounded from that direction, too. Having no choice, he ran on, back the way he had come, emerging from the tunnel to find Latchboy and No Nap running away from him.

"Help, somebody!" cried Latchboy and No Nap. ''He's chasing us!"

"I'm not either!" Peter insisted between breaths. "You're chasing me!"

"No," they persisted with small-boy logic, "you're chasing us!" And they dived off the track into the grass.

Twins in tattered, old-fashioned Boy Scout uniforms rushed to intercept Peter, but now Tink appeared, flashing to intercept them, yanking up a vine, which tripped them and knocked them flat.

She buzzed in front of their faces. "He married Wendy's granddaughter! Hook kidnapped his kids! We have to get him in shape to fight!"

The twins stared at each other. "What's she talking about?" they said as one.

The coaster and Rufio caught up with Peter seconds later and bumped him off the track. He sprawled in a heap, gasping for breath. How could this be happening to him? Lost boys cheered all about. Peter dragged himself to his knees-only to discover flowers sniffing at him once again. Sniff, sniff. They seemed to like the glue. He slapped them away, struggled up, and began running once more.

Lost Boys charged after him in pursuit, yelling gaily. For them, it was all a game.

"Help me!" howled Peter.

"Help me!" howled the Boys.

Ace rushed to the forefront of the pack, notched an arrow in place on his bowstring, aimed, and fired. The arrow fastened onto Peter's rear, bobbing as he ran.

"Poop Shoot-five thousand!" Ace cried jubilantly, cocking back his top hat.

Don't Ask propelled Thud Butt and the point chart up beside him. "Nope. Butt Tick-two hundred."

Ace whirled about angrily. "I complain of you!"

"I double complain of you!" Don't Ask snapped back.

Tink darted between them and sent the point chart spinning. "I complain of all of you! Pan's your captain! He needs you!"

Up ahead, Rufio was aiming a slingshot at a fleeing Peter. Tink flew to stop him, grabbing his red v-tipped black hair and pulling him to the ground. "Rufio, you're the best with a sword! Teach him! We have to make him remember who he is!"

But her efforts were for naught. The Lost Boys continued in pursuit, harrying Peter through a bamboo gate that led to the Nevertree's inner sanctuary. Bursting through the graffiti-covered gate, his strength almost gone, his breath so short he was certain he was on the verge of a major heart attack, he found himself trapped and encircled by Lost Boys. Many of the Boys were on makeshift skateboards and roller skates now, darting and dodging about him, zipping up and down banked walls, yelling and whooping and jumping about. Someone with a basketball dribbled past. Someone leaped on a trampoline, vaulting over his head. Vines swung down with Lost Boys attached. Peter ran this way and that, but there was no escape.

Finally, he turned back to the entrance he had come through-only to find Rufio standing atop the bamboo gate, waiting. Down the leader of the Lost Boys leaped, his sword drawn and held high. Peter faltered, stumbled and gave it up.

Rufio came to a skidding halt before him and tapped the sword playfully on his shoulder. "You're dead, jollymon."

Peter blinked. "What the heck?

Now Ace swung down as well, clutching a vine. He released his grip as he landed, brought up his war club, and tapped Peter a second time.

"Bangerang!" he yelled.

Rufio grabbed an astonished Peter and shoved him into the fence. Peter tried to climb, completely confused now, beginning to think he was in a madhouse. He grappled unsuccessfully with the bamboo and ended up sliding down again,/trapped as the Lost Boys closed about, war clubs thumping, feet stamping, voices taunting and howling in victory.

Rufio jerked Peter back to his feet contemptuously. "Look, if you're the Pan, prove it. Let's see you fly!"

There was a whisper of "fly, fly," which grew quickly to a shout. "Fly! Fly! Fly!" they all cried, and waited expectantly.

Peter stared back helplessly.

"Can you fight, then?" demanded Rufio.

The Lost Boys drew their swords and knives and pointed them at Peter. Ace shoved a broadsword into Peter's hands. Peter stood holding it, a blank look on his face, until Rufio knocked it away.

"Last question, Pops," declared Rufio. "Can you crow?"

Peter took a deep breath and let out a sound that closely resembled a chicken's cluck. Rufio plugged his ears in disgust. Lost Boys groaned and jeered.

Tink reappeared, confronting them all. "Silly asses! I could have told you he can't do any of those things! He can't even play simple games! He's forgotten how! What matters is that Hook's got his kids, and I've got three days to get him ready to fight the captain! He needs everyone's help!"

From somewhere among the sea of Lost Boy faces came a low, astonished voice. "Peter Pan's got kids?"

"A family, responsibilities, and a few extra pounds," Tink advised solemnly. "But he's still our Pan."

Rufio growled something unintelligible, backed the Lost Boys away from the fence, and drew a line in the earth with his sword. He crossed the line to stand alone and pointed at Peter.

"He can't fly, fight, or crow-so any of you says this ain't the Pan, cross over to me!"

Peter immediately started across the line, but Tink grabbed him by his suspenders and yanked him back. "You're embarrassing me!" she snapped.

The Lost Boys looked from Rufio to Peter and back again and then crossed the line one by one until only Pockets was left, peering out at Peter from under his floppy hat. He approached hesitantly, reached up to tug on Peter's shirt, and kept doing so until Peter bent down so that they were face-to-face. Solemnly, Pockets stared into Peter's crumpled, worn visage, then methodically began to smooth out the wrinkles and lines, to push back the sagging cheeks and chin, to knead and prod the flesh of Peter's face. Suddenly he stopped, hands held carefully in place, and a huge smile appeared.