Staying in Routine
Miles is ripped from his pleasant dream with the beeping of his alarm clock. 4:30, early for every other kid going to school on a Monday, but optimal time for Miles Morales and his twin brother dubbed Mi. He hoisted himself from his bottom bunk in their shared childhood room and shook his brother awake.
“Mi. Mi. Wake up or I’m showering first.” Despite the sky blue darkness, Miles can hear his brother shift slightly, finally willed to wake up. If it weren’t for Miles, he’d find a way to get out of waking up for school and mornings as a whole. As he trudges out the room, almost like a zombie, Miles brings down the ironing board in the living room and gets to work on their uniforms. Normally, the first Monday back to Visions Academy and it’s dorm rooms after a weekend of sleeping at home would’ve ended with a hug and kiss from both parents and a fair share of help getting ready, but both his mom and dad had to go into work the night before. Under normal circumstances, sure, he’d be a little upset about starting a new week without them but at this point in his sophomore year itd happen every now and again, so he was content with his parentless morning routine at the cost of a hug goodbye the night prior.
Despite this, he still sighs as the weight of the morning settles on his shoulders. He sets the iron down carefully (he gets nervous around them), and grabs towels and the uniforms, hanging them up on the hook of the bathroom. He never has to knock because when you grow up sharing a bathroom in a busy family of 4, all times when someone isn’t actively naked in front of you is fair game to take a quick pee or brush your teeth.
“Other people have to shower too, y’know. You’re gonna use up all the hot water.” He lectured his brother tiredly, squeezing sensitive teeth toothpaste onto his red brush. He didn’t get a reply, so he continued brushing his teeth with the water off, slightly annoyed.
Eventually, he finished and left the bathroom so Mi could change, occupying himself with folding the laundry he conveniently hid in the pantry when he was too tired to attempt it last night. Finally, Mi exited the bathroom in his uniform and Miles could try and wake up in the shower a bit. Mi followed the dress code, and dressed exactly like Miles did when it came to their uniforms (button down, tie, slacks, vest, blazer) which bugged Miles to a high degree, because going to Visions was technically his idea, even if Mi was asked to apply first.
Piece by peace, he felt some of his sleepiness fall away, but not completely. His head still felt cloudy, like it was still getting use to being in motion. He ran his soapy rag along his shoulders. What was he gonna have for breakfast today?
His thoughts were interrupted by the opening of a door and the slamming of a toilet seat. “Seriously?” He complained from behind the shower curtain, trying to block out the sound of dribbling onto porcelain.
“You couldn’t wait?” He was still crinkling his nose in disgust.
“You said some people gotta shower. Mind your own.” Mi laughed quietly. Mi was never sorry for anything, not unless he hurt someone physically and didn’t intend to. Miles didn’t mind though, he knew his brother had remorse, just not the kind he could express openly. He still couldn’t understand why he let other people make those kinds of assumptions of his character and just…not care. It’s how he earned his street cred, at least.
Mi, pronounced “my” was 4 year old Miles’ attempt at his brothers birth name, which has since gotten forgotten to time since their parents thought Mi was just so much cuter. Seriously, it’s on his school records and what his parents sign him off as. A year or two ago, he took a stand to not respond to anything but his birthname (miles wasn’t sure if Mi even remembered it at this point) after dinner, announcing that it wasn’t fair that he was older and got stuck with a nickname. He sat defiantly on the couch, only breaking his protest when their mother grabbed him by his ear after calling him to do the dishes 4 times. So much for his strong will.
Miles chased his brother out so he could get dressed, and let him back in as he unscrewed the cap of his acne cream. He smoothed his hands over his cheek suffering a break out, bending a finger…
“Don’t pick at your face.” Mi ordered him flatly, running a ravor on his face. How unfair, that he was getting overnight facial hair and Miles couldn’t get his mustache to work with him. He scoffed.
“Yeah don’t nick yours.” He wiped down the wet counter top. “Wanna get breakfast at the corner store ?” Mi wiped his face.
“You got corner store money? I was gonna make eggs.” Miles retorted, walking out to the living room to pack, acne cream in hand.
“I got a $20, you want your shitty bagel or not?” He was staring at his unbraided hair in the mirror with a worried expression.
“Alright, damn,” Miles complied, bag in between his legs. “What’s wrong?”
Mi’s eyebrows furrowed at the sheer amount of hair he had staring back at him. “Mami couldn’t do it last night…”
Miles sighed, picking up the bookbag and moving it to the side. Mi had a fairly high maintenance attitude about his high maintenance hairstyle for someone who didn’t know how to do hair, needing it braided in two cornrows before he went to school or even down the block. Mami complained every now and again but it’s been his go-to style since he was given his name, still withstanding the day he earned his nickname. “Sit down.”
Mi looked disgusted at the idea. “No way. You don’t do it right. Mami-“
Miles cut him off. “Then you can go to school like that and lose your lil’ friends, ‘cause Mami’s not here.” Miles raised an eyebrow at him, knowing he was right. Mi grumbled, but still took his seat in between Miles’ legs. Miles knew how particular his brother was about his hair, so he persisted despite his protests. “You not doing it tight enough, make my part straight, etc.” He wasn’t godly at hair, he had a fro that didn’t need much attention and upkeep, but he think he did just a good of a job as Mami. He even put some gel on his edges like he’d seen Mi do. He let his brother get up and inspect his hair in the mirror. “‘s alright but-“
Miles tuned him out as he gathered their stuff, including two winter jackets and scarves as they descended the building steps. He’d taken their gloves and hats as well, but only so Mami couldn’t find them and proceed to lecture them about going out and about in the cold all week without layering. With their jackets around them, they round the block lightly dusted with frost and enter the older bodega, the sleepy atmosphere still not doing much to get Miles ready for a long day. Mi took care of ordering their usual, 2 bagels, one with bacon, sausage, cheese, eggs, ketchup, AND mayo (miles, obviously), and one with just plain, low-fat cream cheese (mi). Miles picked up their additional usual, 1 water, 2 bags of tostones chips and a pop tart for Mi’s girlfriend, Margo. Miles used the opportunity of his brothers’ intense focus at finding either brown sugar cinnamon or blueberry (and ONLY those flavors) to get an ice cup and quickly fill it with black coffee. A certain someone, specifically with blonde hair and a gap in her front teeth, liked coffee, specifically with milk, 3 sugars, and carmel flavoring, and Miles thought he’d be such a good friend and surprise her with it. No biggie, really.
“Since when you drink coffee?” Mi paid the cashier, unwrapping his plain bagel while exiting the store. Miles clocked the digital clock before walking out. 6:47 AM. He could see Mi’s breath in the cold air as he talked.
“Since always,” Miles took a bite of his too big sandwich one handed. Mi looked away like he’d be sick. He hated the smell of most pork products, and he couldn’t stomach ketchup and Mayo in a similar proximity. He was, as their family called it, “finicky”, in that way. They almost always had to stop on their route so Miles could eat properly while Mi watched in contempt, his dark purple jacket held tightly around him. Miles knew he would never stop him from making his usual order though, because his brother knew he was equally as finicky and had a slowly expanding list of foods he could eat over and over again without flavor fatigue. It was a slowly expanding list, but expanding nevertheless. They understood eachother in that way, in a way their parents just…couldn’t. He didn’t blame them, they were very accepting people who accommodated their sons’ “quirks”, but it always seemed to
be in hushed tones. Probably just a generational thing, he shrugged. He wiped his mouth and laughed at his brothers face, throwing away their trash, uncapping his water.
They rounded another corner, and the neighborhood got visibly more downcast as they ventured down the sidewalk. They stopped at a large apartment building, where two men smoked and talked on the frosted grass while trash sat on the sidewalk, overgrown with weeds. Margo was sitting on the stoop, taking care of a bright purple tomagatchi pet and fostering the cold environment in a purple zip up hoodie.
“You guys took a while!” She descended the steps and wrapped her hands around Mi’s arms. Miles rolled his eyes behind closed eyelids and raised eyebrows, having heard the whole spiel almost everyday since middle school.
“Yeah I know, but we gotchu something.” He hands her the pop tart, having settled on brown cinnamon sugar. They continue walking, this time out the neighborhood and towards Visions Academy, Margo still on Mi’s arm. They really, really liked eachother. Since 6th grade. Margo was in their house and space a lot, on Mi’s top bunk braiding her hair or taking Mi down to the computer store to see what new things were on the market, because according to her mother she was too fat, too gap toothed, or too darkskin and stupid to deserve to get her hair done or be inside her house. Once past the guilt, Miles assumed it would be awkward, ever since Margo had a crush on him first in 6th grade. He took too long to answer, and she eventually changed her mind and held Mi’s hand during lunch. Even though it was critical ego-death and he cried into his pillow the day after, he was happy his brother was having his moment. Margo was the only person Mi loved on the same par as family, and it didn’t take a genius to see that.
Margo and Miles still stayed friends, and Miles thanks the stars every day for this. She’s much more computer savvy, and as much a nerd as he was. “I’m not like y’all. I’m a geek, not a nerd,” Mi would tease. She wore her uniform like she always did, just the white button up with the sleeves rolled up, plaid skirt, blue tie, and black socks. Margo, however, had a personal style that just…shined. Miles would compare her to the girls on tv, decked out in pink and glamour. What set her apart, however, was her love for purple. Purple grown out nails, purple eyeshadow, 2 purple hairties holding in afro puffs, purple-clear lip gloss, and a purple camisole that made itself known under the sheer white shirt. She couldn’t care less though, “it’s hot!” She’d tell anyone who blushed or complained at the sight. She really was in a league of her own. And perfect for Mi, as he’d shared a love for the color since childhood, and had a love for girls with their own sort of confidence.
“My dad freaked at a MySpace post that wasn’t even that bad. He almost threw my computer out the window. Old asshole.” Margo had to be the queen of MySpace, and posts that weren’t even that bad.
“I saw. I thought it looked good, ma. Don’t listen to him.” He slung his arm around her shoulders Miles almost vomited. Hood ass love story. His coffee-favor was getting his hands wet as the ice melted.
“Did you finish the take-home-quiz?” Miles leaned forward to ask her, gripping the strap of his backpack.
She laughed like it was a ridiculous question. “Hell no. You know her quizzes make no sense. It’d take an hour decoding her crypts.” Miles smiled at their shared plight, though his brain stirred at the thought of needing to organize getting the answers before 6th period.
The street got busier, with less early morning commuters and more uniformed highschool students not yet ready to start another week. He spotted two of his best friends, leaning against the staircase entry.
“G’morning Miles! Hi Mi, hi Margo.” The shorter blonde greeted them with an air of coolness. They followed the pair inside while the taller bothered Mi.
“I got you this- I think I remembered your order?” Miles held out the semi-melted iced coffee. The girls smile made his stomach swirl.
Gwen Stacy- just about the coolest girl he’d ever known. She was good friends with Margo, but she didn’t have to try to be cool, not saying that Margo was trying too hard or anything, but Gwen’s coolness was almost effortless. She wore the standard white button-down and tie, but she topped it with the school sweater. Normally she’d roll up her sleeves, but she’d been wearing them down as the weather got colder. She’d swapped out her pointe shoes (an interesting touch, Miles didn’t understand the practicality but he still thought they were cute) for turquoise chuck taylors, and let the leggings she wore under her skirt rip and tear a bit, defying the dresscode. Miles loved all her fashion choices, even the pink coat she held to her chest. She had an eyebrow piercing, which knocked the wind out of Miles the first time he saw it. Her cop dad! Let her pierce something other than her ears! It sparked a string of complaining to his own father that got shut down when he realized he’d just admitted he was, not only close friends with a girl, but one who was sticking needles into her face. It was how his parents met her, at least.
They’d met in freshman year, so it wasn’t a long friendship, but it was still a strong one. She was the first girl, hell, first person he ever truly liked, and it threw him for a whirlwind. He could get lost in her face sometimes. Her eyes were stunning, like they knew everything he ever wanted to say to her. It was a bit intimidating last year, when you include how she was slightly taller than him. And her smile was like she had personally created the moon, and taught it how to shine into the night. Miles is pretty sure he’d heard that quote with the sun, but the moon worked better in this scenario. The moon was Gwen’s thing. Same with drums, turquoise, dance, striped clothing, cardigans, and pink. If you liked any of those you were stealing from her and being very inconsiderate. Especially if you liked pink. He could stare at where her long hair went from blonde to pink all day. Despite all of this, she was still a nice person. You wouldn’t be able to tell, but she had a bit of a difficulty making friends. She was a little stubborn, and very deadset in her values, but she was still compassionate. She’d offer her heart to someone if they broke theirs. She was inclined in literature and could find the deeper subtext of a book or a poem faster than Miles could read the title. She had a rockstar air about her. She had cool clothes, cool interests, a cool room- Gwen Stacy was cool. And Miles really, really liked her.
“How was your weekend?” She asked, sipping some of the coffee from the straw. If it was bad, Miles wouldn’t be able to tell from her expression. The group made their way towards the dorm floors.
“Same old. Our dad took us out and tried to teach us how to change a tire and do an oil check.” Gwen laughed. “You?”
“Dad got a last minute overnight so I had the house to my self most of the time,” she perked up, “but he let me use the TV, I caught America’s Got Talent and-“
She was cut off by the voice of the taller male accompanying her. “Oi! If you spoil that shit I’m never talking to you again.” He’d taken a break from pestering Mi when the conversation in front of him caught his ear.
“Morning Hobie,” Miles turned around and dapped him up, bumping chests with him. “How was your weekend? Your mom doing ok?”
He looked around, like it was a bit of this and bit of that. Hobie went about life like that. “She’s aight. I took her to the doctor for her ankle and he prescribed her something she can’t have. I just called ahead and canceled. She was proper pissed, kicked me out for a bit.” Hobie Brown. The only person who exceeded Gwen in coolness. He had dark skin, and a kinda gaunt look but he made up for up with, not only 6 face piercings, but a head full of wicks, long and outspoken like him. Rather uncharacteristically, he complied in wearing the uniform, though he has the blazer tied around his waist and his button up sleeves rolled up his forearms. He was lanky, pushing 6’4, though not unexpected for a 17 year old highschool junior. He wore ripped fishnets on his exposed arms, and each had a spiked cuff, with a spiked choker to match. He had dark red boots, with yellow and blue laces. His full lips had been painted with black lipstick, and his deep set, uninterested eyes were lined with smudging eyeliner. Needless to say, Hobie Brown did not follow rules. Especially ones like a dress code that “were built to stifle individuality and free thinking, mate.” If his look didnt get you, it was his accent. In fact, the only reason he was in “an elitist factory for ignored scientists” was because he was selected to get out of his underfunded school in London due to his impressive academics.
He didn’t *do* school, he understood it completely, but he had a laundry list of grievances against the education system. But, as he explained once to Miles, if he becomes truant, he loses his scholarship visa, and he and his mom get deported. And Miles didn’t need an explanation on why that wasn’t an option. Hobie’s situation in England was, as described, “piss-poor,” and Miles could see how. His mother was a Jamaican immigrant, addicted to various substances, his father deceased. They lived in a poor neighborhood with lots of different crime and struggle. The only good thing Hobie thought ever came out of his experience there was his exposure to punk culture, mohawks and leather raising him more than his mom ever could when she was high. And everything about Hobie was undeniably punk. It’s probably why he’s preserved so long, anyway. His life in New York was still hard, with his mother working 2 jobs cleaning houses to make rent on a house that really was not worth the effort. Hobie and his mother got in frequent spats, partly because she’s going through withdraws, partly because she slipped up, and partly because she thought Hobie shouldn’t be wearing makeup, shouldn’t be out so late, shouldn’t listen to that kind of music. Hobie couldn’t care less though, at least that’s the face he puts on for others. Either way, he knew what made him happy, and that included music and friends. And Hobie and Miles just so happened to foster a strong friendship ever since Miles was crazy lost trying to find the gymnasium in his freshman year.
“See you lot later,” Hobie grabbed Mi, who was getting a farewell kiss from Margo. “Mate, did you…gel your edges? I don’t hate it.” They walked towards their shared dorm, bickering. Margo and Gwen were next, the girls dorms being at the next turn. Stupid split dormitory.
“Later, Miles.” Margo waved him goodbye.
“I’ll see you in English,” Gwen added, giving him a fist bump. Now, at 7:30, Miles was awake, and ready to take on the day. He felt his steps get lighter and lighter as his fingers lightly brush his knuckles.