He hadn’t thought much of the gift when he’d gotten it. The last thing a healthy eleven year old boy wanted was to get a book for his birthday. He’d thrown it carelessly on a shelf and hadn’t looked at it for almost a year.
But now, with everything that was going wrong, he had to stay home for a few days. His parents told the teachers he was sick, but really he was having problems…changing in weird ways that weren’t normal, or human.
Setting fire to things by looking at them, seeing through walls….he’d been banished to his treehouse, his fortress of solitude with a bucket of water and a bag of sand. His mother had also given him the book.
It was a whole new world. A world where it wasn’t just ok to be different from everyone else, but encouraged. A place where boys could be heroes and find the one girl who could love them, even if they couldn’t quite love them back.
He imagined himself as Peter Pan.
Wouldn’t it be wonderful to fly?
