“We’re watching a movie?” Peter asked, confused.

            Tony nodded, his back turned as he put the coffee pot back in place.

            Peter did a mental search of a movie that both Tony and the AP Physics course would deem acceptable. “Which movie?”
            “Titanic,” Tony announced.

            “What?” Peter’s eyes widened. “What does that have to do with physics?”

            Tony started out the door. “Nothing, but I was up all night working on the prototype for a Stark security system and I didn’t want to teach. I’ll tell them to…I don’t know, diagram a better design.”

            “You can do that? Just show a movie and take a nap?” Peter followed Tony.

            He shrugged. “Yeah. Sure. I don’t know. I’m doing it today, so. Yeah, we’ll go with that. I’m skipping to the fun part anyway.”

            Tony unlocked his door and strode to the projector, dropping off his coffee at the front of the room. He crouched next to the cart and fiddled with the controls.

            “Hey, Tony?”

            He looked up and spotted Steve leaning in the doorway. “Hey, Rogers! How’s it going?”

            “Not too bad, thanks. I was wondering if I could borrow Peter for first hour? I’m staging a debate and I think I need another person to keep everyone in check,” Steve explained.

            Tony glanced at Peter, who shrugged. “Sure. Though he will be missing my famous movie day.”

            Steve shuddered. “Thanks, Tony. Come on, Peter, you can thank me later. We need to get the room split up before kids start coming in.”

            Peter struggled to keep up with Steve’s long strides. “Split up the room?”

            Steve noticed Peter’s struggle and slowed down. “The left half of the room will seat the students representing the Patriots. The right half of the room will seat the students representing the Loyalists.”

            “A Revolutionary War debate? That actually sounds kind of fun,” Peter laughed. “How are you choosing teams?”

            Steve pushed open his door. “I’ve got a jar of toothpicks. Half of them have red tips. Those ones mean they’re on the side of the Patriots. The plain ones mean they’re Loyalists.”

            Peter and Steve yanked and pushed the desks around, isolating two in the front of the room and leaving a wide aisle down the middle. Steve glanced at the clock and took up his place at the door, jar in hand. As students began trickling in, Peter directed them to their seats and collected their toothpicks, fielding questions about why he’d left Mr. Stark.

            “Oh, I think he can manage on his own for an hour. He’s mostly house trained,” Peter teased, knowing Tony would laugh when it reached him.

            A couple of minutes before the bell rang, Becca came stumbling down the hall, looking like she’d stopped a truck with her face.

            Steve grimaced and held out the jar. “Good morning.”

            Becca whimpered. “Oh, god. Is it really that bad?”

            “No, no!” Steve tried to assure her. “You can barely tell.”

            Becca sighed glumly. “Ow.”

            Steve jangled the jar. “Pick one. It’ll make you feel better.”

            Becca gave him an uncertain look and drew a toothpick with a scarlet tip. “It didn’t work.”

            “Yes, but you’re an injured Patriot. Vent your frustrations in the debate,” Steve suggested, sympathy swelling for the girl.

            Becca took a deep breath, visibly bracing herself, and strode into the room.

            Peter held out the collection jar absently. “Hey, Bec- holy crap! I mean, um, y-you’re a red, right? Left side.”

            Peter shot Steve an astonished look, his eyes widening at Becca’s retreating form. Steve pulled a face before surveying the room. The sides looked to be about even. He called the class to attention and gave the guidelines. He told each side to pick a representative to begin the debate, though they could change that person at any time. A low murmur rose amongst the two sides of the room. Peter moved over to a stool by the window. He was keeping score. Steve sat behind his desk with his notes for the debate. A minute or two passed, and both chairs at the front had been filled. The Loyalists were represented by Jason Marion, and the Patriots by Becca.

            Steve stood. “All right, here’s how it’s going to work. I’ll give a topic or question that each person must respond to. You’ll have a set amount of time, and Mr. Parker will be enforcing that time limit. If you go over, you lose points. If your team goes over more than four times, you lose all points. Same goes for interrupting your opponent. Any questions?”

            A boy with shaggy red hair raised his hand. “What time period can we use for defense?”

            “Anything up to the end of the war,” Steve answered. “Our first topic will be taxation. Jason will have the floor first. Jason, you have two minutes.”

            Jason sat up straighter, the arrogance practically dripping off of his upturned nose. “We Loyalists believe that we are rightly being taxed by the Great Britain and the king. We are their subjects, to be ruled as they see fit. As citizens, we should be honor bound to pay these taxes without complaint for the exchange of protection and our rights. Patriots disagree with this sentiment because they have no such loyalty to the crown, and no respect for all the king has done for us.”

            Steve waited for him to continue. “Uh, Jason? You still have a minute.”

            “I don’t need it,” Jason sneered at Becca.

            Becca cleared her throat. “Jason appears to be misinformed. Patriots are far from unloyal to the crown. In fact, we completely accept their rule. All we want is a say in the law making body that governs us. We also refuse to accept that the debt of Great Britain is our burden to bear. The king started a war with France, and the colonies were dragged into it. We didn’t ask for British troops to flood into our lands, confiscating any supplies they thought necessary, and picking fights, so we don’t believe that we should be any more responsible for the debt that the citizens residing in the mother country. We’re glad to pay taxes, so long as they’re reasonable and we have some say in it.”

            Peter looked up from his stopwatch. “One point to Jason. One to Becca for a quick response, one for a valid rebuttal, and another for illegitimizing part of Jason’s statement.”

            Steve tallied this on the board. “Good start. For your first questions, I’d like each of you to tell me why you think the other side is wrong. One minute each, and you’ll respond to the other side’s argument.”

            Jason fidgeted. “The Patriots are wrong because…uh, they think they don’t need the crown. They do need the crown. The crown directs them every day of their lives. The crown dictates how and what they do, and they have to abide by the laws or face serious consequences. The colonists should give in. It would be nearly impossible to overpower the force that is the British Empire.”

            “I disagree. We aren’t directly ruled by the king. Laws and decrees take months to reach the colonies. We are separated by an ocean. Not even the fist of the King of England and reach that far. No power could withstand that distance for very long and maintain its hold. And because the crown cannot constantly watch over the colonies, it was actually rare to receive punishments for violating the decrees issued by Great Britain. Essentially, the colonies have been on their own for a while.”

            Peter nodded and held up two fingers. “One for Jason, one for Becca.”

            “Ms. Barnes, your stance,” Steve called over his shoulder, adding the points to the board.

            “I believe that the Loyalists are wrong because they are under the impression that they, realistically, have no choice in the matter. It’s true that Great Britain is powerful, and that it would do a great deal to keep its hold on the colonies, but they are not invincible. They believe that the only way to be a true and faithful subject is to submit to every word the kind utters. You can disagree with the king or the government and still love your country, still be a loyal citizen,” Becca stressed.

            Jason stammered. “But, y-you can’t. You can’t just disagree and still be loyal. It doesn’t fit together. It’s an oxymoron!”

            Jason’s shoulders slumped. His side of the room groaned mutinously and Steve held up a hand. “No points will be awarded for that rebuttal. I’m guessing you’d like another representative?”

            A noise very much like a snarl was the response he got. Steve turned back to the board and caught Becca’s eye. He winked and she smiled proudly, ignoring the twinge in her cheek.

            “Are you sure you don’t need me to stick around for the rest of your classes?” Peter asked as students began filing out of the room.

            Steve held the door open. “No, I can handle it. You’re welcome to stay if you need to hide from Tony, though.”

            Peter made a face. “No, I should go check in with him. Make sure he hasn’t passed out on the keyboard again. Hey, Becca!”

            She paused at the door. “Yeah?”

            “Would you mind coming with me to grab the study guides from the copy room? I might need a hand getting them all to the classroom,” Peter explained.

            “No problem, Mr. Parker. I just need to grab my Physics book,” Becca gestured to the hall.

            “You don’t need it. We’re watching Titanic,” Peter waved her off.

            Becca stared at him before exploding into laughter, her hand going to her bruised cheek. Steve instinctively took a step forward, his hand reaching out. She waved him away.

            “No, no, I’m fine. It just stings when I laugh,” Becca chuckled. “Come on, Mr. Parker. We’re going to be late. Have a good day, Mr. Rogers.”

            Steve watched them go. “You, too.”

            “Parker! Barnes!” Tony yelled. “You’re with me at the judges’ table!”

            Peter and Becca shared a worried look before making their way to Tony. He handed them blank sheets of paper and thick black markers.

            “Get ready. I’ve got it cued up to three minutes before the best part!” Tony clicked a button on the remote and collapsed into his chair.

            The movie began and Peter spaced out, thinking about how in the hell he was going to explain all of this to his college friends. His mind wandered wistfully. That is, until Tony sat bolt upright and lost his fucking mind.

            “7.5!” he shouted.

            Peter stared at him. Stared at the screen. Stared at Becca. Stared at Tony again. There was a splash onscreen.

            “5.8!” Becca yelled, catching on.

            “His form was terrible. The belly flop method is not recommended,” Tony agreed. “6.1, tops.”

            Peter went back to the screen. An old man lept from the rail, his hat held in his hands.

            “8.3,” Tony announced.

            Becca grinned. “8.5 for the perfect amount of splash.”

            Peter was slightly appalled, but partly thrilled. “I don’t know, his mouth was open when he hit the water. He’ll sink like a rock. 7.8.”

            Tony shot him an approving look. By this point, most of the room was glancing between the screen and the judges’ table. Peter uncapped his marker, poised for the next jumper. This one was a woman with thick red hair and shabby skirts. She hit the water screaming.

            “6.5!” Peter scrawled it on the paper and held it in the air for all to see.

            Tony followed suit. “7.1!”

            “6.2!” Becca laughed.

            By the end of the hour, the entire class was judging the jumpers.

            Tony had never been prouder of his students than in that moment.