America Chavez has done it again, portaled into another universe somewhere very far from her own. One second she was walking down the streets of Egypt, and the next, after a close call with a scarily pleasant man wielding a crocodile cane, she was in a very nice bedroom in what appeared to be a version of Jersey City.
Over the years, America has gotten quite good at picking out the names of cities. She travels alone, pushing the boundaries of the multiverse and trying not to die. Just a few weeks ago she was here, in New Jersey. It looked different then, as cities always do. The sky was dark red and the buildings were only bone. To her dismay, she spent a few weeks there, unable to call to her powers to take her somewhere more comfortable. Only when the building she was staying in collapsed did she move on.
Shaking the morbid thoughts out of her head, she looks around. The bedroom is small, sure, but posters of superheroes and colorful art line the walls. It’s cozy. America feels right at home. The bed is soft and warm as she sinks into the mattress. She lets out a sigh of relief, hopefully she can evade the problems that always seem to follow for a while. Outside, traffic whirs, and the noise lulls her to sleep.
The next few hours pass in the blur of the city. She wakes up a few times, rolls over and falls asleep again. She doesn’t dream. She never does. Being the only version of herself in the entire multiverse scares her sometimes. There is no one to draw hope from, no better version of herself. She just is.
Around three, the door goes tumbling open. America jolts out of a restless sleep, shocked.
“Who are you?”
America rubs her eyes, still adjusting to the light, then blinks a few times, before fully focusing on the owner of the voice. A girl about her age, maybe a little older, stands in the doorway, brown eyes shooting lasers.
“Should I be running and screaming to the police? Are you here to murder me? Ooh, no, you’re here to steal my bangle!” The girl holds the arm with her bangle close to her chest. She steps inside the room and closes the door behind her. “No, I know, you work with Captain Marvel. Or, maybe, did I meet you at AvegerCon? I don’t think so? Do we go to school together? No? Are you a friend of Bruno’s? That’s not it either; he would have mentioned you.”
America stands frantically and makes her way in front of the bed. “Bruno? No, no. I don’t know Bruno. I swear I can explain.” She holds her hands up, saying 'I come in peace'.
“Let me guess, you’re an inter-dimensional traveler who somehow ended up here in the middle of a big fight and you don’t know how to get back? No, probably not. Wish you were, though. That’d be so cool!” The girl throws out her arms on the word ‘so’, obviously excited at the prospect of an “inter-dimensional traveler”.
America lets out a groan. Her arms drop down to dangle beside her waist.
“Or you’re just tired. I get that. I can hide you in my room, steal food from Ammi for you, find somewhere for you to go. We can figure something out.”
They stand in the middle of the girl’s room, staring at each other. America sees something in the girl across from her she recognizes but can’t quite pinpoint.
“No, I…It’s complicated. I don’t need somewhere to stay. Not really. Maybe? I don’t know.”
“Okay. I’m Kamala. Kamala Khan.”
Kamala holds out her hand and America takes it carefully.
“America. America Chavez.”
Kamala hums, and they drop each other’s hands. The pair stands for a second, eye contact unwavering. America wonders how long she’ll be in the universe, if it’s worth it to make a friend. Last time she had people in her life she deeply loved, they got sucked away through one of her star-shaped portals. Maybe she needs to let someone in, though. Maybe she’s too lonely. Kamala breaks the silence.
“Do you want to borrow some clothes? Yours look…sandy.”
America looks at her herself for the first time since arriving in Jersey. She cringes at her own appearance; she must have snagged her shirt on something wiggling away from the crocodile man.
“Sure.”
***
Later, the sun setting below the city skyline and America donning a Captain Marvel t-shirt, the pair sits on the roof. Their legs dangle towards the sidewalk below and their shoulders brush lightly together. For the first time in years, America doesn’t feel alone.
“How was your day today?” America doesn’t know if she has permission yet to ask such a simple question, but it feels natural, and she needs to make conversation.
“School was boring. My counselor told me for, like, the ninth time that my future ‘doesn’t just decide itself’ and I need to figure out what it's going to look like.” Kamala puts on a little voice when she quotes her counselor, and America lets out a laugh. “How was your day?”
“That’s quite a question. I spent the first half of the day as lost as I could be,” America sucks in a breath and looks over at Kamala, “And then I found myself in your room.”
“How’d you get in?”
“Window,” She lies.
They fall to silence for a while. The city around them dies down to a silence, too. Fewer cars speed down the road and less people pass below their feet.
America thinks back to the morning, when she was running through Egypt, dodging street vendors and kicking up dirt. She can’t really remember it. Just small bits. After years of jumping from universe to universe, some memories get lost. Some stay forever.
What she does remember of Egypt, though, is that something about her portal felt different. It popped up like it always did in moments when she was scared, a star shaped beacon of safety. But this time it came easier. America almost felt more in control. She’s never been in control.
“I—why did you trust me? You know I’m a complete stranger, right? Like you said, I could be planning to steal your bangle in the middle of the night. Why is it so important anyway?” America rambles, trying to get her mind off of the obvious lies she told, and to stop herself from worrying about her powers.
“Whoa, slow your roll,” Kamala pushes her hand towards America, almost as if to stop the words being thrown at her, “One: I trusted you because — well, I don’t really know. Let’s just say I have a gut feeling we are more similar than we think. Two: the bangle is a family heirloom. I didn’t even mean to mention it. I was just shocked.”
“Shocked by me?”
“Wouldn’t you be shocked if you walked into your room to find a random person you’ve never seen before?”
“Yeah, I guess,” America lets out a tiny, uncomfortable laugh. She doesn’t want to tell her new friend that she hasn’t been home for almost a decade, instead turning the conversation back to the bangle. “Why would I steal a family heirloom?”
There is a slight pause before Kamala continues. America can almost see the thoughts rolling around in the other girl’s brain.
“My mom says I have a very active imagination.” Kamala purses her lips and nods her head. Her hand grips the bangle on the opposite wrist.
America is not surprised. The girl’s room says more about her personality than her personality does. She nods her head slowly. “I can tell.”
“Really? Whatever made you think that?”
Smiles split across the pair’s faces, and the moon slivers out from behind a cloud. It casts light on the shadows of Kamala’s face as she laughs. America watches this person who took her in so gratefully and, all the sudden, she feels a surge of hope.