Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One: No Cookies — or Popcorn — for You

  Chapter Two: The Invitation

  Chapter Three: Off to Neverland

  Chapter Four: Pizza Tree

  Chapter Five: The Dragons

  Chapter Six: Save the Boys

  Chapter Seven: Splash

  Chapter Eight: This Way or That Way

  Chapter Nine: Not So Jolly

  Chapter Ten: Waterlogged

  Chapter Eleven: The Tower

  Chapter Twelve: The Crowded Tower

  Chapter Thirteen: Two of a Kind

  Chapter Fourteen: Back in the Basement

  Special Edition Games and Puzzles!

  Sneak Peek at Best Wishes

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Read all the Whatever After books!

  Copyright

  This is not shaping up to be a great Friday night.

  I’m flopped on the couch in the living room, feeling lonely and looking for something to watch on TV.

  My best friend Robin is at a sleepover at her other best friend Penny’s house. No, I was not invited. Yes, I would have liked to be invited, even though Penny is not my favorite person on the planet. She and Robin are making their own pizzas! And putting on cucumber-seaweed masks!

  How fun does that sound?

  My other best friend, Frankie, wasn’t invited to Penny’s sleepover, either. But she’s busy with her dad’s birthday dinner tonight.

  “Ha! Got you!” I hear someone shout from the basement, followed by a loud THUMP.

  I sit up. Oh, no. My little brother, Jonah, has his two best friends here for a sleepover (yes, my seven-year-old brother has more fun plans than I do tonight). The three boys are playing loudly in the basement, where they’ll be sleeping.

  “Jonah! Everything okay?” I call out.

  “Yep!” he shouts back, sounding happy.

  Good.

  I’m a little worried about Jonah or one of his friends getting injured — they’ve been fighting with these giant toy swords. But I’m also worried about the magic mirror in our basement.

  Yes, that’s right. We have a magic mirror in our basement.

  There is also currently a fairy sleeping upstairs in my bedroom.

  The fairy, Maryrose, used to live inside the magic mirror. (Well, technically she was trapped in there.) But one day Jonah accidentally smashed into the mirror with his skateboard, and she escaped.

  It’s a long story.

  So you can understand why I’m concerned about Jonah doing damage to the mirror again.

  This is how the magic mirror works: If you knock on it three times at midnight, it turns into a swirling purple portal that takes you into different fairy tales. So far Jonah and I have visited fifteen fairy tales, from Sleeping Beauty to Hansel and Gretel. I’ve also been inside two books — The Wonderful Wizard of Oz and Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland — but I didn’t get to those stories through the magic mirror.

  I hear another THUMP from the basement. I’m wondering if I should go downstairs to make sure the mirror is still intact when the most delicious scent wafts toward me from the kitchen. Mmm. Mom has been baking butterscotch cookies. I know! I’ll go grab some cookies and then come back to find a movie to watch on TV. This night is looking up.

  I hurry into the kitchen, where Mom is taking the cookies out of the oven.

  “Can I have one?” I ask, coming to stand right next to her.

  “Not yet. They need to cool,” she says a little testily. She has flour on one cheek and an oil stain on her apron.

  Usually my dad is in charge of making dessert, but he’s out of town this weekend for his college reunion. When Dad bakes, the kitchen stays pretty neat. Tonight, pots, pans, and plates from dinner are soaking in the sink, and spoons, spatulas, and flour spills are everywhere.

  Hmm. What else could be a good snack? Ooh! My eyes land on the hot air popper on top of our fridge. Popcorn. Buttery, salty, yummy popcorn. Nothing goes better with a movie. Plus, I’m finally allowed to use the hot air popper by myself.

  As Mom is transferring the cookies to a big plate, I wriggle past her to get the stepladder from the pantry.

  “Abby!” my mom snaps. “What are you doing?”

  “Making popcorn,” I explain, climbing up the stepladder to reach the hot air popper.

  “Now?” my mom cries. “I just made cookies. You’re getting in the way.”

  My cheeks turn hot. My mom doesn’t snap at me too often. Usually Jonah is the one getting on her nerves.

  And right then, I hear feet thudding up the stairs from the basement. My brother and his friends, Isaac and Ben, come bursting into the kitchen, the three of them wearing pajamas and waving their toy swords. Jonah’s in his soccer pajamas; Isaac’s pajamas are printed with tiny dragons; and Ben’s pj’s have little pirates.

  “The cookies are ready!” Jonah exclaims.

  “Cook-ies, cook-ies, cook-ies!” Ben chants, thrusting his sword up in the air. Ben is the loudest of the three, which is saying something when Jonah is in the group.

  Isaac, who always goes along with Ben, joins in the chant, and then Jonah does, too.

  “Boys, quiet down,” Mom tells them, but they keep chanting.

  “Cook-ies, cook-ies, cook-ies!”

  Mom closes her eyes.

  I take that opportunity to reach up and grab the hot air popper off the top of the fridge. As I step down off the stepladder, Ben jabs his toy sword at Jonah’s belly.

  Jonah darts backward …

  And he bumps into me …

  And my elbow knocks into the plate of butterscotch cookies and —

  Crash!

  The plate falls off the counter. It doesn’t break, but the warm-from-the-oven melty butterscotch cookies land all over the floor.

  Crumbs.

  (Literally.)

  “Jonah! Abby!” my mom cries.

  “It wasn’t my fault!” Jonah and I say at the same time.

  Isaac and Ben can’t stop laughing.

  Our dog, Prince, races into the kitchen and heads straight for the cookie mess. He starts gobbling away. With his floppy brown ears and furry little body, Prince is so cute that it’s hard to yell at him.

  “Prince, no!” I say. He manages to steal a few more bites before trotting out of the room, his tail wagging.

  “That’s it,” my mom snaps. “Everyone out! Jonah, take your friends back downstairs and go to sleep.”

  “Aw, we can’t have those cookies?” Jonah asks, pointing at the mess.

  “You want to eat the cookies off the floor?” I ask my brother. “Gross!”

  Jonah shrugs. “Five-minute rule.”

  “It’s a five-second rule, Jonah!” I say with a laugh.

  “Jonah, downstairs,” Mom repeats sternly. Jonah motions to Isaac and Ben and they reluctantly tromp back down to the basement with their swords.

  “Be careful down there, Jonah!” I call, still thinking of the mirror.

  Then Mom turns to me. “Abby, go upstairs to your room.”

  “What?” I cry. “Why? It’s still early. I was about to make popcorn. And I can help clean up …”

  “Abby, upstairs. Brush your teeth and go to bed. Now,” my mom orders before I can protest again. “I’ve had enough. I’m exhausted. No cookies. No popcorn. I’m calling it a night.”

  I know that tone. There’s no arguing with that tone. But it’s so unfair! I didn’t do anything wrong. And now I can’t even watch a movie with popcorn. Or cookies.

  I feel a small lump in my throat as I put down the hot air popper and hurry out of the kitchen. Mom is being so tough on me, for no reason!

  I shut off the TV in the living room, then sulk my way upstairs. After I brush my teeth and wash up, I emerge from the bathroom to find the whole house dark. I can hear Jonah and his friends giggling in the basement.

  Before I go to my room, I knock on Mom’s door and peek in to find her lying in bed, reading a book. I guess she really did call it a night.

  “Yes, Abby?” she asks me, sounding annoyed.

  I’m not even sure what I wanted to say, but it’s clear Mom isn’t thrilled to see me. “Nothing. Good night,” I huff.

  I walk down the hall into my room and close the door behind me. My window is open a tiny crack and a warm breeze blows in. I change into a blue nightgown and then call out softly, “Maryrose?”

  A purple mist drifts out from my jewelry box. And suddenly, Maryrose appears.

  Maryrose has long, swirly brown hair and wears a flowy silver dress and silver shoes. It’s hard to tell her age — she looks like she could be anywhere from twenty to forty — but she’s actually hundreds of years old. Right now, she’s the size of a grown-up, but she can shrink down to a tiny size to fit inside my jewelry box, where she spends a lot of time sleeping.

  My jewelry box has illustrations of fairy-tale characters painted on it, and the illustrations change whenever I change something in a fairy tale. So maybe the jewelry box is magic? I don’t know.

  I do know that Maryrose needs to sleep to regain her fairy strength. She also has a magic ruby that helps her. She’s much stronger than she was when she first came out of the mirror, but not even close to one hundred percent full fairy power.

  “Hi there, Abby,” she says. “Everything okay?”

  I sit down on my bed, frowning.

  “No,” I say. “My mom yelled at me and Jonah. And then she j ust went to bed. It’s like she gave up on being a mom tonight.”

  “Sorry about that,” Maryrose says, tucking a long strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m sure she didn’t give up on being a mom.”

  “She basically did. And Jonah and I aren’t bad kids! We behave. Most of the time. It’s not that hard to be a mom, is it? And,” I go on, feeling sorry for myself, “all my friends and even Jonah are doing fun things without me. This night was a bust.”

  “Well, sometimes things get better when you least expect it,” Maryrose says.

  Suddenly, something tiny and glowy darts in through the slightly open window. It looks like a yellow-and-orange sparkling swish.

  Is it a firefly?

  A bee?

  I watch as it flies all around my room.

  The sparkly swish lands on top of my dresser. I stand up and walk over to get a closer look — and gasp.

  The sparkly swish has a tiny nose, a tiny mouth, a tiny chin … and a tiny face. A human face.

  What the what?

  “It’s a fairy!” Maryrose exclaims, coming over to stand beside me.

  My eyes widen. Another fairy?!

  This fairy has tan skin and pink hair in a high ponytail. Her eyes are onyx. She’s wearing a silver jumpsuit with a bright pink belt and silver boots with tassels on the back. She has silver glitter on her eyelashes and sparkly silver gloss on her lips. She looks like a teenager, but who knows how old she really is.

  And I have no idea if she’s good or evil.

  Trust me, there are evil fairies.

  “Do you know her?” I ask Maryrose.

  Maryrose shakes her head. “I can tell she’s a fairy, but I don’t recognize her. Hi,” Maryrose says to the tiny fairy. “I’m Maryrose, and this is Abby. What’s your name?”

  “I’m Tink!” the fairy replies, in a voice that almost sounds like a bell. She zooms off my dresser and flies toward the ceiling. Sparkly orange-and-yellow dust follows in her wake, but the dust disappears before it can even land on my rug.

  “Tink?” I repeat. That sounds familiar. A fairy named Tink. “Is that short for —”

  “Tinkerbell,” she says. She gives her hips a shake and more yellow-and-orange fairy dust floats down and disappears.

  Tinkerbell!

  “I know you!” I cry. “Are you from Neverland?” I doubt there are two Tinkerbells, right?

  “I am,” she says, eyeing me suspiciously. “You’ve heard of Neverland?”

  “I have,” I say, not explaining any more. “Why are you here?” Story characters don’t usually come to me. I go to them.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see another figure hovering in the air outside my window. Not a tiny fairy like Tink.

  A full-sized boy.

  I turn to look at him. He’s about my age, ten-ish, with brown hair and big brown eyes. He’s wearing a green shirt, green pants, pointy brown boots, and a green felt cap decorated with leaves and twigs.

  He waves at me and smiles.

  Oh, wow. Wow wow wow.

  If the fairy in my room is Tinkerbell, then the boy outside my window has got to be — the one, the only — Peter Pan.

  That’s Peter Pan!” I cry.

  “You know Peter, too?” Tinkerbell asks, sounding even more suspicious. She flies over to me and flutters by my ear.

  I nod and watch as Peter Pan taps on my window.

  Peter Pan is tapping on my window! Wait until I tell Jonah.

  Peter taps again. He points at the window. Then at himself.

  “Uh, hellllloo. He wants you to open it all the way,” Tink says. “He can’t fit through the crack like I did.”

  “Oh! Right!” I say, then hesitate. Should I let him in?

  He’s not a stranger. My nana read the story of Peter Pan to me when I was little. I even have the book Peter Pan on my shelf. And of course I’ve seen a bunch of the movies.

  I know Peter Pan’s not a bad guy. He’s not very responsible, sure, but his main issue is that he doesn’t want to grow up.

  I, on the other hand, can’t wait to be a grown-up. Then no one can tell me when I can or can’t make popcorn.

  I rush over to the window and open it all the way. Peter flies right in. He’s standing straight up, but in the air. So cool. I wish I could do that.

  “Hiya, I’m Peter,” he says, taking off his cap and casually running his fingers through his hair.

  “These are Abby and Maryrose,” Tink tells him.

  Peter smiles at us. “Nice to meet you. By any chance,” he says, “have either of you seen my shadow?”

  Oh, yeah. I remember that part from the book.

  “Your shadow?” repeats Maryrose, frowning.

  “Yup. It came loose while I was flying. I think I saw it slip in here?”

  Obviously shadows don’t normally come loose, but the same thing happened to Peter Pan in the original book.

  Anything and everything can happen in a book.

  “My shadow likes to play tricks on me,” Peter goes on. He looks all around my room. “Where are you, Shadow?” he calls.

  I look around, too. Wait — I see it!

  It’s on the far wall of my room. It’s dark gray and the exact size and shape of Peter. And it’s tiptoeing toward my closet!

  So cool. So creepy.

  “There it is!” I call, pointing.

  The shadow stops and races for the closet. But Peter flies over and jumps right onto the shadow, matching the exact pose.

  “Gotcha!” Peter says triumphantly. He gives his arms and legs a shake. “Yup, it’s on good and tight. Thanks, Abby.”

  “Anytime,” I say, puffing up with pride.

  Tinkerbell flies over to Peter. “I could have helped,” she tells him.

  “That’s okay, Tink,” he responds. “Abby did great.” He gives me a big smile.

  Tink looks at me — and rolls her eyes.

  Uh-oh. What did I do?

  “Is something wrong?” I ask her.

  “No,” she says quickly, but she’s scowling.

  Hmm. “So, I’m curious,” I say. “Why are you two here? In Smithville, I mean. And in my house?”

  “To get my shadow back,” Peter explains. “We’ve been chasing it all over the place.”

  “Well, I’m glad I could help,” I tell him. “But why was it here?”

  “Who knows why shadows do what they do?” Peter says with a shrug. “Anyway, to properly thank you, I’d like to invite you and Maryrose back to Neverland with me and Tink. Neverland is the most magical place and you’ll love it!”

  Ooh. Neverland? I’m tempted, of course. It would be awesome to go to that enchanted island full of lagoons and mermaids and fairies. And I know Jonah would want to go, too. But how could we possibly go to Neverland right now?

  “Thanks for asking,” I say. “But I can’t go to Neverland tonight. It’s only nine o’clock. My brother has friends over and my mom’s still awake. She’d notice if we left.”

  Peter rolls his eyes. “Ugh, parents. They’re the worst.” He turns to Maryrose. “But you’ll come, right? You’re a fairy! You don’t have to listen to parents.”

  “I appreciate the offer, but I’m still regaining my strength,” Maryrose says. “I don’t think my magic would take me that far.”

  “You don’t need your magic,” Peter says, and nods toward Tink. “Tink will sprinkle you with pixie dust and you’ll be able to fly all the way to Neverland. You’ll see. Pixie dust is amazing! Please?”

  Maryrose hesitates. “I’m sorry. I can’t. Another time.”

  Peter stomps his foot in midair and grumbles to himself.

  Someone’s acting a little immature.

  Then Peter whispers something to Tink and she nods.

  “Okay,” Peter says to me and Maryrose. “We’ll leave some pixie dust here. In case you change your mind.”

  Pixie dust! Fun!

  Tink glares at me and tosses a cloud of pixie dust in the air. “Catch!”

  “Oh!” I exclaim. I go chasing after the pixie dust and manage to collect it in the palms of my hands. I put the small mound on the dresser next to my jewelry box. You never know when pixie dust will come in handy. If I’d had it earlier tonight, it totally would have helped me get the air popper!

  “Thanks,” I tell Tink.

  She rolls her eyes at me and flies to the window. I frown. Does Tink not like me? Is she mad that I don’t want to go to Neverland?

  “If you want to fly, just sprinkle yourself with the dust and think happy thoughts. Got it? Good?” Peter says.

  “Sure,” I say.

 

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