@johnisdarling
One thing Tinka had refused to do, even in the thick of their friendship, was show up at the Darling’s house. Almost always had she opted instead to pick John up in her rattling car from some nondescript location, before driving them to some other nondescript location or else just back to her apartment, where they could talk undisturbed for hours, idling in her driveway or picking through her room. But the last person that had been in her room other than herself was PETER, and that was still such a surreal fact that she couldn’t bear to change it.
She hadn’t told Johns she was coming; she hadn’t seen his soft smile or dorky drawings since Leader Lost Boy made his grand re-arrival, and she tried not to think about the ways that may have changed whatever had been happening in his absence. Palming the tiny box in her right hand anxiously, contemplating the scratch of its ribbon, Tinka raised her left fist to bang on the front door: a shiny blue, the perfect front door for the perfect Darling family. Gag. Moments before contact, Tink caught herself, suddenly digging through her giant black purse for her phone and typing a one-handed, haphazard text:
sent to ⤑ LOST BOY JOHN: “im here”
