The table was crowded from end to end, with Rufio and his pack occupying most of it. Peter's bunch was gathered in a small section at the opposite center. A space had been left for him, and he settled into it gratefully, sandwiched between Pockets and Ace. Tink was seated at the center of the table in a place of her own.

Rufio sat directly across from Peter. He smiled disdainfully as Peter sat down, mischief dancing in his eyes. Peter ignored him.

I have to eat. I have to build up strength.

He took a deep breath.

I can't stop trying.

A handful of Lost Boys appeared, bearing steaming dishes from clay ovens fired red-hot. Peter inhaled the aromas and sighed. Whatever it was, it smelled wonderful!

Ace passed him a dish, and he set it down in front of himself, brushing away the steam to see what was on it.

The dish was empty.

Peter stared blankly, then lifted his gaze to look down the table. Everyone was eating ravenously, scooping food into their mouths, chewing in delight. Except that they were eating nothing. All the dishes were empty.

"Mmmm! All my fav'rite Neverfood!" declared Pockets next to him, his mouth full of nothing. "Yams, mammee apples, banana splash, wash id down with a calabash of poe-poe. Then Neverchicken and… Hey, Tink! Led go!"

Tink was tugging at one end of nothing while Pockets tugged at the other. Peter blinked. Across the table, Rufio was watching intently,

"Drink your poe-poe, Peter," invited Ace, and poured nothing from a pitcher into Peter's empty mug. Don't Ask and Thud Butt clinked mugs and drank air.

Peter sat there without moving for an instant longer, then threw up his hands. "I don't get it!" he exclaimed. "Where's the food?"

Tink glanced up. "If you can't imagine yourself as Peter Pan, you'll never be Peter Pan."

"What's that got to do with… this!"

She gave him a stern look. "If you don't eat, you won't grow."

Peter was as steamed as the dishes. "Eat what? There's nothing here to eat!"

"That's the point," said Tink. "Peter, have you forgotten how to pretend as well? That's how we eat."

Rufio laughed. "He can't! He doesn't get it!" Then he jeered, "Eat your heart out, you crinkled, wrinkled bag of fat!"

And he tossed his empty dish across the table and hit Peter directly in the chest. Peter jerked away, the blow sharp and stinging. He was stunned.

"My God, you are a badly raised child," he managed.

Lost Boys all about repeated the words "badly raised child," laughing and jeering as they did, mocking Peter.

Rufio straightened. "Slug-eating worm," he taunted.

Tink leaped up, hands on hips, sunrise eyes fiery. "Come on, Peter! You can do better than that!"

Rufio laughed. "Yeah, mon-show me your fast ball. C'mon, dustbrain. You pouchy, old, sag-bottomed, puke-pot!"

"Bangerang, Rufio! Bangerang!" shouted the Lost Boys. Even Peter's group joined in.

Peter had had enough. He pointed at Rufio and shook his finger. "You are an extremely poor role model for these children."

The Lost Boys whistled and used their hands to mimic the crashing of airplanes.

"All right!" snapped Peter, not wanting to back off. "You… you are a third-rate person!"

"Hemorrhoidal sucknavel!" Rufio sneered. He looked cocky and self-assured sitting there, his eyes laughing.

"Fourth-rate person!" charged Peter.

More whistles and crashes sounded, and the entire table began to jeer.

Rufio leaned forward. "Boil-dripping, beef-fart sniffing bubblebutt!"

"Bangerang, Rufio!" screamed the Lost Boys in glee.

"You are a scatologically fixated, psychotic, prepubes-cent child!" shouted Peter.

Boos sounded from every quarter accompanied by less polite indications of disdain. More whistles. More crashes. Peter knew he was losing this contest as well.

"Fungus factory!" taunted Rufio.

"Bangerang, Rufio! Bangerang!"

"Slug-slimed sack of rat guts and cat vomit!"

The cheers were deafening. Lost Boys were leaping up and down in their seats, hands clapping.

"Cheesy, scab-picked, pimple-scoured, finger bandage!"

Fake moans and retching sounds rose from the assemblage, the Lost Boys now become connoisseurs of revulsion, loving every dreadful image Rufio's words conjured in their minds. Rufio beamed.

"Week-old, double maggot burger with everything on it and flies on the side!"

Peter surged to his feet, his hands braced on the edge of the table, his face flushed dark red. He had lost his composure completely. Everyone scrambled to get out of the way. Even Rufio jerked back uncertainly.

Peter's teeth were clenched. "Arbitrageur!" he howled.

Everyone stared. Glances were hurriedly exchanged.

"What's that?" demanded Rufio finally.

Peter recognized an opening when he saw it. He smiled, disdaining to answer. "Dentist!" he hissed.

Lost Boys everywhere gasped in recognition of that one, recoiling as if struck. Rufio flinched, then quickly straightened.

"Nose hairs infested with lice and ticks!" he tried.

"Substitute chemistry teacher!" Peter retaliated.

"Slug-eating worm!"

Too Small leaped up. "Repeat! Repeat! Rufio repeated. He loses points!"

All the Lost Boys began to shout at once. "C'mon, Rufio!" cried his supporters. "Hit 'im back! Don't let 'im get to you!"

Rufio made a last run. "Lizard lips! In yo' face, camel-cake…"

"French tutor!" Peter cut him off. "Assistant Dean of Students! Parole officer! Accountant! Theatrical agent of animal acts! Prison-"

"Lying, crying, spying, prying, ultrapig!" screamed Rufio.

Peter laughed. "Easy for you to say-you lewd, rude, crude bag of prechewed food!"

That brought the Lost Boys to their feet with a howl. "Bangerang, Peter!" they cried out. "Peter's Bangerang!"

Now it was Rufio's turn to be stunned. The smug look had disappeared from his face. There was genuine shock mirrored there-and hurt.

"You… you man!" he howled. "You stupid, stupid man!"

Peter had him. He took a deep breath. "You tight-brained, three-button, gold-card, alligator-belted crock of shishkababble-toothed, liberal left-wing corporate lawyer, eating his boogers… like a Paramecium suffering from Pan envy!"

There was dead silence. Peter's gaze stayed locked on Rufio.

"What's a par-a-meeze-e-um?" asked Too Small softly.

"A one-celled organism with no brain," Peter answered triumphantly.

Shouts of glee rose from the Lost Boys. Mugs thumped down on the tabletop, feet stamped the ground, and everyone went absolutely bonkers.

"Banning! Banning! Banning! Bangerang Banning!" they all roared, including Rufio's followers.

Peter grinned, caught up in the moment. Without thinking, he reached down to his plate and scooped up a handful of nothing.

"While I'm at it, Rufio," he hissed, drawing the other's downcast eye, "something else just occurred to me. Go suck a dead dog's nose!"

And he hurled the handful of nothing into Rufio's face. Cheers and shouts rose anew from among the Lost Boys. The nothing struck, and green and orange globs of vegetables dripped suddenly from Rufio's dark face. Peter stared at him momentarily, then glanced down at his empty hand. How about that? His smile was reborn in that instant, alive with the wonder of discovering something he had thought impossible.

Across the table, Rufio reached down to a nearby plate, came up with a fistful of nothing, and hurled it back at Peter. It struck him squarely in the face as well-hot steamy dressing, thick rich gravy, and candied yams. It ran down into his mouth, and he licked it away, his smile even broader. It was real! It tasted wonderful!

When he looked down again, the entire table was laden with food, all of the empty platters piled high. Stunned, delighted, an unimagined sense of joy taking hold, Peter seated himself and began to eat ravenously.