Chapter 3
"I don’t know what you think of me, darling, but there’s no way I’m stepping in there, yeah? Not my scene."
Those were the first words Hobie said as soon as he arrived at the bathroom, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and a relaxed posture—contradicting the worried expression on his face—while looking at the door of the women’s bathroom.
"I know, Hobie. Just a minute, please." Gwen replied from inside the bathroom, with a sniffle.
"Take all the time in the bloody world, Gwennie. But don’t think I’m not gonna press for an explanation."
Gwen was, at that moment, standing in front of the sink, trying to pull herself together so she wouldn’t look as bad as she felt. After a few moments, having accepted that there wasn’t much to be done about the remnants of smudged mascara and red eyes—not to mention the few drops of blood that had stained her white uniform below the vest—she took a deep breath and prepared to step out and face Hobie, knowing he would ask questions, a lot of them, in fact. Part of her regretted texting Hobie almost immediately, knowing she’d have to explain what happened and admit things to him that she hadn’t even admitted to herself, like her feelings for her best friend—perhaps a bit stronger than just a simple crush—and the strange petals she had spat into the sink drain, the possible cause of which she had an idea but didn’t want to consider.
"Gwen-dyyyyy."
"I’m coming, I’m coming." She stood up, adjusted her skirt, and headed to the bathroom door to leave.
"Blimey, you look like you've had a row with a bus... and lost."
"Thanks for the necessary comment, B'. I hadn’t noticed. REALLY." Sarcasm dripped from the girl’s tongue like water, making Hobie flinch slightly. Gwen could be a bit rude at times, but never this unnecessarily so.
"Alright, where do I even begin, eh?" Hobie murmured, eyeing the girl up and down, squinting.
"How about suggesting we go grab a snack and pretend nothing happened?" Stacy offered, knowing full well it was a futile effort.
"Nah, no can do. We’re talking about what the hell’s going on right here and now." He pushed off the wall and gestured toward Gwen, pointing at her with both arms wide open. "Why is there blood on your undershirt? Why were you crying? And why the hell didn’t you give me a heads-up earlier??"
"I’d really rather not talk about this at school, especially since the bell rang a while ago." Hobie shot her a look that said 'don’t even’, fitting for someone who had spent an hour waiting and looking for her. "Can we just leave, stop by a diner, and grab something to eat? I promise I’ll explain everything there."
The boy considered it for a moment. He was genuinely hesitant about this agreement, knowing his friend might use it as a distraction to dodge the subject and never bring it up again, burying it deep inside until it eventually exploded. However, the puppy-dog look she gave him, combined with a tired sigh, made him relent. Insisting on this now wouldn’t help anyone; they could have a better conversation in a more relaxed setting with food nearby.
"Alright, you win, darling. Let’s go, and we can talk while we eat something."
The blonde’s smile was instantaneous. She felt relieved to have more time to organize her thoughts and still get free food since she would obviously make him pay—despite his protests wrapped in complaints about capitalism. She turned toward the exit and began walking, with Hobie trailing behind, without looking back. Maybe, if she had looked back, she would’ve seen the boy standing a few feet away, with an expression that seemed more worried than anything else.
"What do you think it is?"
"What do I reckon what is?" The Brit asked, mouth full as he chewed on his sandwich.
His relaxed posture might have fooled others, but Gwen knew better. Hobie was worried. Although not as much as moments before, which puzzled her—he should be more worried now that she had told him about the petals and the blood in the bathroom, not less. Not that she wanted him to worry, but his reaction was still strange.
"This, Hob. EVERYTHING. Margot and Miles and—"
"Oh, come on, Gwen. It’s obvious—they’re having a laugh, and you’re falling for it like a muppet."
Gwen frowned, both at the abrupt interruption and at the statement itself.
"Whatever," she said, resting her hand on her temple and sighing. "What I really want to understand are the petals. They don’t make sense... I mean, I think I’d remember if I accidentally ate one of the houseplants." Actually, she knew of one possibility, but she preferred it not to be what she was thinking.
"Oh, but that’s obvious, Gweny Gweny," The Brit responded. "Sunflower petals… ring any bells, yeah? Think real hard."
"Hm?" she murmured, raising an eyebrow and thinking about it. "I mean, it’s Miles’ favorite flower; I know that."
"Fair play. You get a point for that one, Gwanda." He said, snapping his fingers at her. "You do know what it means, yeah? Spitting up petals… favourite flower of someone you fancy… Not exactly subtle, is it?"
The anarchist left the sentence unfinished, leaving its conclusion hanging. It wasn’t hard for Gwen to understand what he was talking about—it was exactly what she had been suspecting but didn’t want to accept—so it only took an instant for her face to go pale as if she’d seen a ghost.
The Hanahaki Disease.
This wasn’t an unfamiliar concept to Gwen or anyone over ten years old, really. Stories of people who fell in love and contracted the disease were numerous, each with a different ending. Some people had their love reciprocated and were cured; others underwent surgery to be cured and ended up losing their memories of their loved ones; and, in most cases, people never confessed and died, or were rejected and ended up with the same fate.
And that’s what scared Gwen the most—it was undeniable which of those endings she fit into. If she truly had Hanahaki, she only had one obvious option: she would have to—
"Nah, don’t even start down that road, love. I can see it written all over your face."
"Huh?" Gwen blinked, snapping out of her thoughts. "What did you say?"
"Exactly what you heard, Wen'. It’s obvious your plan is to run away and pretend nothing’s happening," She swallowed hard at her friend’s words—she hadn’t expected to be so transparent—"and that would be the stupidest thing you could do." he finished.
"What do you expect me to do, then? I’d rather die maintaining Miles’ friendship than be rejected and die with him hating me."
"Mehh, sod it." He rolled his eyes. "Stop chatting rubbish. Peter Pan wouldn’t say no to you even if it was to bury a body. He’s got that 'kill-you-for-looking-at-her' stare whenever I’m around, you know." He laughed ironically. "I can’t believe you’d even consider rejection when he looks at you like you hung the moon."
"I don’t know what you’re talking about," the blonde grumbled, her ears burning. "Miles is like that with everyone. He thinks lots of people are amazing and acts like they’re gods on earth or something."
"Fine, I’ll humor you. Let’s say he would actually reject you, which is impossible in any universe. Even then, I doubt he’d hate you or anything. My guy, Miles, is way too nice for that." The boy replied, relaxing into the diner seat after finishing his meal.
Stacy just curled up in her seat, playing with her half-eaten fries, and shrugged. Of course, Hobie was right, logically speaking, even if she didn’t want to admit it. Miles would never hate her, whether he returned her feelings or not. The Puerto Rican seemed almost physically incapable of hating anyone. Still, she couldn’t shake the small voice in her head that told her she’d ruin everything if she confessed how she felt. She always managed to mess things up in the end.
“…Alright, Wendy.” Hobie sighed. “How about I help you? We’ll figure out a way to make sure Peter Pan loves you too, or if he doesn’t, we’ll get him to start loving you. Easy as pie.” Hobie clapped his hands together decisively. He knew it was impossible for Morales not to return Gwen’s feelings anyway, so there was no reason to hesitate. If some silly plan made Gwen realize that, he’d fully embrace it.
“…Actually…” Gwen began. It wasn’t such a bad idea, from her perspective. “I think we could try that. After all, I already have a ‘no,’ right?” She was pretty sure she heard Hobie mutter “Utter bollocks,” but she decided to ignore it—she barely understood his British slang anyway. Instead, her eyes sparkled at the prospect of actually making Miles like her back. “Yeah, I think we can try that.”
"Great, it’s sorted, then! Operation Make Miles Love Gwen Too is officially a go." Hobie declared, muttering an almost inaudible “even though it’s already done” afterward.
“Wait, who said anything about love?!”
“And here we go…” Hobie sighed.
The first part of Hobie and Gwen’s plan was simple: get Miles to start walking home with her again. In fact, it was the only part of the plan so far. Hobie told her this was the most important step, and they could think of more later—as if she’d even have a ‘later’ if they took too long.
Their conversation had been two days ago, and Gwen spent that time avoiding Miles and coming to terms with the fact that she really did have Hanahaki disease—the new petals she’d coughed up over the last two days, missing Miles, were proof of it. From her perspective, this was the worst thing that could have happened. Her only options were dying or forgetting Miles forever—she didn’t even consider the possibility of him reciprocating her feelings—and she didn’t want either of those outcomes.
So, even though she’d had time to think and realize how ridiculous a plan to make Morales like her was, she still wanted to try. Maybe, just maybe, she could avoid an early death or a painful rejection. Even though she felt this wouldn’t work anyway, what could she possibly offer to make Miles like her? She was a mess, always ruining everything, and Miles was just… Miles.
Miles Morales was the most incredible person Gwen had ever met. He was always so brilliant, with his optimistic attitude and goofy smile. He was one of the smartest people alive (in her opinion) and always had some silly but clever joke that could brighten her day in seconds. How could she even think that someone like him would like her? More importantly, how could she *want* someone like him to like her?
This was a problem. Hobie told her not to overthink.
But now she was overthinking.
Oh, no.
What was she trying to do?
How could she seriously think about making Miles like her and dragging him into the broken mess that she was? How could she even consider bringing the brightest boy in the world into her life, where she would just end up disappointing and hurting him?
She shouldn’t do this.
She REALLY shouldn’t do this.
She should text Hobie and cancel this whole stupid idea.
She should—
“Gwen? Are you okay?” A worried voice pulled her out of her thoughts, one she knew all too well and couldn’t mistake even from a miles away.
“Miles!” She turned around, only to come face-to-face with those brown eyes she adored.
“Hey, are you alright? Why are you standing here?” He gestured toward where she stood, leaning against the school gate. “Where’s Hobart?”
“Um, actually…” OK, now it was way too late to back out. “I told him to go without me today. I thought maybe we could go… together, you know?” She really should’ve backed out earlier. “I know you’ve been walking with Margo the past few weeks…” She barely managed to say the name, her tone unintentionally acidic. “But, I don’t know, maybe today it could be just the two of us? You know, like before…” She shrank into herself as she finished speaking, trying not to ramble. She expected him to take a moment to think before answering, giving her time to regret all her life choices or something. But he answered almost instantly.
“Of course, Gwen.” He smiled, one of those big smiles that showed all his teeth and made Gwen’s heart skip a beat or two.
“Great, that’s great, really.” Gwen said, feeling her face burn—she prayed it wasn’t noticeable—and adjusted herself to start walking home, Miles by her side.
The Puerto Rican simply nodded and began following her. However, before they left, Gwen noticed Miles look back for a moment and decided to see what had caught his attention. She wished she hadn’t. A few meters behind them stood Margo Kess, smiling at Miles, who smiled back. Gwen didn’t recognize that smile on Miles’ face, but Kess seemed to, and that bothered her more than anything. Since when had they gotten so close? She felt her stomach churn, as if the petals weren’t just trying to rise up her throat but were spreading inside her, suffocating her with the thought that he might rather be by her side instead.
“So… how are you?” Miles asked hesitantly after a few minutes of uncomfortable silence.
“Fine.”
“Uh, alright, that’s good… Anything new?” He pressed on, trying to start a conversation and break the awkward atmosphere.
“Nothing.” That was all she gave him. She knew she was making things more uncomfortable, but she couldn’t help it. Her thoughts were already racing before Miles appeared at the gate, and now, after seeing Margo and Miles sharing looks and smiles she didn’t recognize, they were even worse. She couldn’t stop her brain from overthinking.
“Gwen…” He murmured with a sigh. “Look, maybe you should’ve gone with Hobart today. Like, I don’t know…” He said, shrinking into himself a little.
And there she went, overthinking again. Miles wanted her to go with Hobie. Why? Because he didn’t want her company anymore. Because he preferred walking with Margo. Because he liked Margo more. Because he—
“Gwen,” he called, more firmly this time. “Are you really okay?” He looked at her with concern.
“I’m fine. Don’t worry. Tomorrow, I’ll go with Hobie again, and you can go with Margo.”
“Alright,” he nodded in confirmation. “Wait, what do you mean ‘can’? Gwen, I didn’t mean—”
“Relax, Miles. It’s fine, really.” She smiled to show she wasn’t bothered at all. It wasn’t true, but she hoped he wouldn’t notice. “Hey, we’re here. I’ll head inside now, see you later.”
She hoped it wasn’t too obvious that she was trying to flee, but she really needed to. She’d been holding back a cough for several minutes, and she couldn’t keep it in any longer.
Gwen gripped the stair railing tightly, her knuckles white as if holding on for dear life. A knot seemed to form in her throat, tight and suffocating. Her vision blurred momentarily as a sharp pang radiated from her chest, like something was growing inside her, pressing against her lungs and stealing her breath. Her heart felt constricted, weighed down, as though wrapped in roots that tightened with every beat, squeezing the air from her lungs.
She quickly entered the apartment she shared with her father, but things only got worse. She coughed, harder this time, feeling something rough and jagged rising up her throat. The metallic taste of blood was unmistakable, and the effort to suppress it forced tears to stream down her cheeks, burning against her pale skin. When she glanced down, she saw sunflower petals speckled with red scattered across the floor. She wiped at her mouth with trembling fingers, only to see blood staining her palm, mingling with crumpled petals. Her stomach churned as she stared at them, her breath catching in her throat. Panic clawed at the edges of her mind, but it was quickly overshadowed by a bitter resignation that settled deep in her chest.
She had never been so grateful that her dad was at work.