risk

MJ got her first period two days before her eleventh birthday. She was on the bus, reading Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban when she felt something drip down her leg. Luckily, her mother had not shied away from explaining “the wonders of womanhood,” so she instantly knew what it was. The realization didn’t make the cramps any better, though.

After a year of irregularity, her cycle has remained very steady—twenty-eight days, in fact. So it’s a little weird, but not worrying, that it’s almost two weeks late. It must be stress, she figures, from college applications and whatnot. Although she feels rather zen about the whole thing, using her go-to motto: expect disappointment. Still, it must be repressed anxiety or something. 

Speaking of repression. “Can you believe our eight-page essay on Freud is due right after Christmas?” Ned groans, furiously typing on his computer before slamming it shut in frustration. “Tell me, what is festive about learning about the oral stage—MJ?”

“Hm?” MJ’s eyes flit back to her friend, whose eyebrows are raised. “Oh. Sorry. Do you want more coffee?”

“No, I don’t. I want to know what you were looking at.”

Her cheeks burn. He must catch the sheepish look on her face because he adds, “Or who.”

“Nobody,” she’s quick to answer, but the door jingles and semi-regular patron Peter Parker enters after what looked like minutes of deliberation, wearing an adorably dorky shirt and a blue zip-up. He was making circles on the block, and well, MJ found the sight amusing. So maybe she was staring. Only a little.

“Hey, Peter Parker,” Ned waves enthusiastically.

“Hey,” he responds, smiling a little. He sets down his backpack, takes out his GED textbook, and lightly chews on the pencil eraser. “How’s it going?”

“Writing this stupid essay, man,” Ned complains. “Maybe I should do what you’re doing and just get a GED instead. How hard’s the stuff?”

“Uhh, it’s alright,” Peter says slowly, staring at his book, then looking up at Ned. You can look at me too, you know, MJ thinks, and she’s surprised to feel a little hurt instead of irritated. “Probably be a cakewalk for you guys, though.”

“You think?”

“Yeah, for sure. A freshman class at Midtown is harder than—” He clears his throat and looks at his watch. “Oh crap, it looks like I gotta run. I forgot I have an afternoon class. Um…” Peter’s eyes finally flicker towards MJ. “Do you think I could get my drink to-go?”

“Well, it is a coffee shop,” MJ says, not as cynically as she would with anyone else, but he still blushes. She evens her tone because for some reason she doesn’t want him to feel embarrassed. “Cappuccino again?”

Peter swallows. “Yeah, that’d be great, thank you.”

As she makes his drink, Peter and Ned exchange a few words about Star Wars or something (Ned’s gleeful Nice shirt, man! How big of a fan are you? makes her smile), she begins to feel nausea bubbling up her throat. She steadies herself for a moment, rubbing her temple. Then she stands up and extends the cup. “One cappuccino,” she says gruffly, trying to get rid of that icky feeling.

“Thanks,” he says softly, taking it from her. His hand brushes against her wrist as he does so, and they look at each other. His eyes widen, ever-so-slightly. “Are you okay?”

 The nausea has vanished now, replaced by some vaguely familiar sentiment gnawing at her. “Um, yeah. Yeah. I’m fine. Uh, have fun at your class today.”

Peter’s still looking at her intently, with concern that’s not really fit for a stranger. He snaps out of it and looks at his drink. “Um, yeah, I will. I’ll, um, see you guys later.”

With that, he grabs his stuff and heads out the door. Ned and MJ look at each other. She opens her mouth at the same time as him.

Ned speaks first. He’s smiling widely. “There’s something about that boy.”

“Yeah?”

“He’s really nice. I like being around him.” He runs a hand through his hair. “It’s just…I feel. I don’t know. It’s hard to explain it.”

MJ’s stomach flips. “I think I know what you’re trying to say.”

“It’s weird. But a good type of weird.” He sighs, then smirks. “You know, I approve of you two. If you’re thinking about asking him out—”
Her face heats up. “Oh, please, I barely know him.” As soon as the words leave her mouth, however, she feels the nausea return. She puts her head on the cool granite countertop before asking, “Ned, how does he know we go to Midtown?”

There’s a pause for a second. Then Ned says, “I’m sure we must’ve mentioned it sometime.” 

But she can detect the uncertainty in his voice.

●▬▬▬▬๑۩۩๑▬▬▬▬▬

Peter wonders how he made it through so many honors and AP classes if he is such an idiot. No matter how many tells himself he should STAY AWAY (in bold) from Ned Leeds and Michelle Jones, he ventures back to that coffee shop like a lost puppy.

To make matters worse, he let “Midtown” slip out of his mouth. God. They must think he’s from Joe from You or something. He shakes his cappuccino angrily, taking the last sip before shoving it into the communal dumpster. Which is overflowing, pungently so.

“Oh, you’re fucking kidding me,” he mutters. He can barely afford the rent (he’s currently using his diminishing college fund), the least they can do is actually take out the trash.

“Just throw it in the landlord’s office,” says a voice behind him. Peter turns around. It’s a pretty girl around his age who lives on his floor, and with a pang of guilt, he realizes he’s forgotten her name, despite her introducing herself to him a week or so ago. 

“Right,” he says, a little sheepish. “I’ll try.”

“Are you that against littering, Star Wars?” Her black eyes twinkle with amusement.  “I’ve been seeing you go at it for like, five minutes.”

“Mm, I guess,” he says, mustering a chuckle. The dorky shirts are clearly a discussion point. MJ—his heart sinks—had loved this one, even more than Ned, because it’s just so bad. It’s a picture of boba tea, with “Fett” after it. His stomach, once again, swarms with worry. She’d looked a little sick. He wishes he could just talk to her, the way he used to. A terrible thought enters. Was it because of him? Was he triggering some unpleasant feelings or even memories, despite the fact she was supposed to have forgotten his entire existence—

“I’m Riya,” the girl says. “In case you forgot.”

Peter scoffs, nonchalantly attempting to slam the dumpster without showcasing his superhuman strength. “I didn’t forget.”

“Sure, you didn’t.” She grins. 

“Well, do you know my name?”

“Yeah, I do. Peter Parker. You live in 3C. You never returned my mom’s casserole dish (remember, I dropped off zucchini bread as a housewarming gift?). And I’m pretty sure you’re a college student.”

“I’m actually doing my GED,” Peter says. He checks his watch nervously. Around this time in the evening, police radios are extremely active and most nights, he intervenes in crimes they can’t tackle. Protecting Queens is therapeutic and he really needs it right now.

Riya’s eyes light up. “Seriously? Me too. My parents say it’s a terrible idea but I absolutely hate high school, so…It’s nice to meet a fellow dropout.”

“Well, technically, it’s not dropping out.”

“Exactly what I tell them.” She runs a hand through her hair. “Do you think you could tutor me sometimes? I mean, it’s okay if you’re too busy, but I really want to pass the test.”

His phone beeps. Notifications informing him that the police are very well in need of help right now. He tries to check it as inconspicuously as possible. “Um, yeah, sure.”

“Awesome!” she says, beaming, taking a step forward. He’s suddenly hit with her perfume. Jasmine and vanilla. MJ’s signature scent. He breathes it in for a moment, sucked back into the best days of his life, the best nights of his life. Not too long ago, on a rooftop he’ll probably never be on again—at least not with her.

●▬▬▬▬๑۩۩๑▬▬▬▬▬

MJ keeps having weird dreams. Flashes of red and blue, orange halos, weightlessness. As if she’s falling down. For some reason, her school trip to Europe is often thrust in there as well. Gondolas and night-time walks by the water. Then it’ll always transition into sun-soaked days with a familiar grip on her, the wind hitting her face, and landing on a rooftop. Happy, free, content. Wanting and being wanted, loving and being loved. But then she’s falling down again, reaching for that feeling.

Tonight she wakes up gasping, drenched in cold sweat. Her hair is stuck to her forehead and she quickly ties it in a ponytail, walking to the bathroom. She looks in the mirror, at her thin frame and trembling arms, rubbing them as if she’s trying to soothe herself. Something is different, she realizes, and her heart sinks. 

“MJ?” her mom’s groggy voice reaches her. “Why are you up?”

“Uh, just had to pee,” she says quickly. She hates lying to her mom, but she doesn’t even know how to articulate how she’s feeling.

“Okay, well turn off the bathroom light, baby. I got an early shift tomorrow.”

MJ crawls back into bed, still feeling clammy. By the next morning, she feels better, but for some reason, recoils at her mom’s eggs. The scent is just too much. “But it’s scrambled, your favorite,” her mom says, pouting slightly. So she chokes down as much as she can before heading to work. Ned said he’d meet her there, but when she reaches the café, she receives a text: prob not gonna come today. Lola needs help cooking for some cousin’s birthday tonight.

have fun!! she texts him. and bring me any leftovers? 

ofc ofc, he replies, and she smiles as she wipes the countertops. She tries to not concentrate on the overpowering smell of lemon cleaning spray, instead focusing on the music blasting through her headphones.

“Hey, do you know where the mop is?” a voice comes from behind her. She takes out her earbuds, raising an eyebrow at a brown-haired boy wearing a work uniform. His nametag reads “Max.”

“Um, it should be behind that cabinet,” she says. “I didn’t know there’d be a new hire.”

“Yeah, it was kind of a last-minute thing,” he explains. “The boss thinks you’re going to quit soon because you—and this is his description, not mine— ‘are too much of a smart-ass genius to stay in the city, so you’re probably going to quit soon and fuck around at Harvard.’”

“Um. Wow.” She throws the rag in the bucket. “Not sure if I should be offended or flattered.”

“A little bit of both, probably,” Max says, retrieving the mop. “Hey, at least he didn’t fire you.”

“Yet.” She snorts. “I hope you’ll make you an appropriate replacement.”

He flashes her a shy smile, then looks at her nametag. “Maybe if you teach me how to run this place…Michelle.”

She laughs a little. “Call me MJ. And it doesn’t look like I have a choice, Max.”

“I’m a super fast learner,” he promises. “And you’re probably going to be a great tutor, considering you’re going to, erm, fuck around at Harvard.”

“MIT, actually,” she says, finding herself smiling.

“Ah. A woman in STEM. Computer science?”

“Yes, actually—”

“WILL YOU TWO GET TO WORK? WHO’S GOING TO FROST THOSE DANISHES, HUH?!” comes their boss’ voice from the back. It shouldn’t be funny, but Max and her look at each other and suddenly they’re giggling.

She spends the rest of the slow day teaching Max where everything is and how to deal with annoying customers (“although I’m really not an expert at that, to be honest”). She finds him quite easy to talk to; he’s smart and not at all immature like most guys her age. 

Yet he doesn’t manage to capture her full attention, despite his wit and charm. Because every twenty minutes or so, she finds herself looking at those glass doors, wondering if that damned customer Peter Parker will walk in.

●▬▬▬▬๑۩۩๑▬▬▬▬▬

The days pass for Peter, agonizingly slow. A repeat of walking around his neighborhood aimlessly, then patrolling it at night, then having a maximum of four hours of sleep because every time he closes his eyes he’s met with traumatizing recollections. Oh, and tutoring Riya.

Twenty minutes into their third session, she asks if he wants to smoke weed. There would be a time—pre-Spider-Man, pre-the-whole-everyone-forgetting-his-whole-existence-thing—where he would be severely hesitant and most likely refuse. But it surprises himself how quickly he says sure.

She lights a joint near the dumpster, chattering happily. Peter has found that her overenthusiastic presence is vaguely calming; he thinks that immersing himself in things is a good way to ignore his gnawing depression, whether it be with Spider-Man or making sure she passes her GED. She’s quite smart, he learns, just not confident enough.

That is evident by the way she tells him, “You know, I feel like I’m not paying you enough. You’re putting in a lot of effort for someone who’ll probably fail.”

She passes him the joint and he looks down at it before saying, “You are paying me enough.” And he is really grateful for the pay—most jobs he’s been trying to get require a social security number, which he doesn’t have anymore. “And you’re not going to fail. You need to stop being so hard on yourself.”

He takes his first drag and immediately begins coughing. Riya laughs, the sound echoing in the nighttime air. “First time?”

“Yeah,” he clears his throat. “Didn’t go to a lot of high school parties.”

“I feel like I’m corrupting you or something.”

Peter shrugs. “No, I’ve done much worse than smoke weed.”

“Really?” she asks amusedly. “Like what?”

“Well, every time I went on a school trip…” In my sophomore year, alien tech I smuggled blew up a chunk of the Washington Monument. And a year later, I assisted the world’s mightiest heroes on a different planet instead of going to the Met, where I would die, return, and see a man I considered to be like my father die in front of me. Oh, yeah, then I went to Europe and gave a pair of glasses to a psychopath, a decision that eventually contributed to the demise of the only adult figure left in my life, and to my best friend and love of my life and the rest of the world not even knowing who the fuck I am. “Well, let’s just say, I’d manage to sneak out.”

She laughs. “Interesting. There’s a lot about you I don’t know, then.”

You have no idea, he thinks. “Well, what do you want to know?”

“Hm, let me think.” An icy breeze wafts through the air and she rubs her palms together. “So how old are you? You don’t look over twenty.”

He can’t help but snort. “I’m seventeen.”

“Oh shit, seriously? Well, that’s what I thought at first, but you live alone, so…” 

Peter lets out a deep breath. “Yeah.”

“I’m kinda envious,” she says, taking the joint from him and smoking it expertly. “My parents…Well, they suffocate me. I know they’re never gonna be supportive of the path I take. To them, becoming an artist is the end of the world.”

His brow furrows. “I’m sorry.”

Riya shrugs. “Do you ever worry? About being considered a failure by your parents?”

His throat tightens. “I don’t really remember much about them. I was raised by…” He lets out a shuddery breath, then takes the joint from her. Takes another drag without coughing. “I was, uh, raised by my aunt. She passed away a few months ago.”

“Oh, Peter,” she says softly. “I’m so sorry.”

He looks at her, then down at the ground, dusted with snow. “You’re going to do great things. You really shouldn’t worry so much, you know. Things usually work out by themselves.”

“You’re right. And I know it’ll work out for you, too.”

He doesn’t have the heart to tell her that’ll never be the case for him. The only way things could ever work out is if MJ and Ned can find out who he is. And he can’t do that, not when it’ll put them in danger. That’s why he’s been keeping his distance. He wonders if they’ll even notice.

Sometime in the night they return to her apartment because of the cold. Her parents aren’t home and they sit on the sofa, quite high, watching reruns of The Office. He blurts out, “Can I tell you a story?”

“Sure.” She turns to him. “Is it like, a fable?”

“Not really.” He rubs his red-tinted eyes. “So basically, there’s this, um, guy. And he’s always putting his loved ones in danger. Like, his family and his friends. So he lets a spell be cast where—”

“Hold on,” she says. “What kind of job would be putting his loved ones in danger?”

“Uhhh. Superhero, I guess.”

“Oh, okay. Go on.”

“Yeah, so, he lets a spell be cast, basically a compromise with a magician in order to prevent villains from other universes—”

“Wait, what? I thought it was to protect his family and friends.”

“Okay, yeah. So that’s what he realizes after the spell is cast. That it’s probably better off with them not knowing. But he promised his best friend and his girlfriend that he would tell them everything. Yet he doesn’t.”

Riya is quiet for a moment. Then: “That sounds like the plot of a million movies I’ve watched. And it’s like, so selfish.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I don’t think you get it. He doesn’t tell—”

“Yeah, I know,” she interrupts. “I always find it selfish because that’s not his decision to make. I mean, he’s breaking a promise, and sometimes love is worth the risk. Besides, even if he doesn’t try, they’ll find their way back to each other.”

“You seriously think so?”

“Yes. They always do.” She yawns and closes her eyes, falling asleep near his lap. Peter, however, stays awake the whole night.

●▬▬▬▬๑۩۩๑▬▬▬▬▬

“Ned?” MJ asks tentatively, handing him a scone. “What do you remember about our trip to Europe?”

“Uhh.” He taps his chin. “It’s all kind of a blur, really. I feel like all the details are scrambled.”

She doesn’t say anything for a second. Then she asks, “Why do you think Peter Parker doesn’t come around anymore?”

“Who’s Peter Parker?” Max asks from behind her. It’s near closing time so they’re packing things up.  “Honestly, I really like names that are alliterations.”

“He’s this nice guy who used to drop by, I really like him,” Ned says. He grins mischievously. “I think MJ likes him a little too much—”

“Ned!” she grits her teeth. Max laughs, but he tilts his head and looks at her sideways. 

Ned’s phone beeps. “Oh crap, Lola’s gonna kill me, I didn’t pick up the milk. I’ll come back, guys.”

“Feel free not to,” she says as he leaves, to which he laughs. The air feels kind of awkward now with just the two of them, and MJ cleans the same plate three times. She’s pretty sure Max has a crush on her, and while she’s flattered…She only feels vague reciprocation. As if a part of her is preventing her from feeling everything.

“So,” Max says slowly. “Do you, uh, like this Peter Parker guy?”

“Uh, well. He’s kind of a stranger.” Not true, a part of her says. She closes her eyes. There’s a pause between both of them.

“Can I tell you something?” he asks quietly, taking a step forward. “Working with you for the past two weeks has been the highlight of my year. You’re smart, and gorgeous, and funny, I’ve never met a girl like you—”

“Max,” she says, looking up at him. Unsure of what else to say.

The lights flicker. He leans in, his lips connecting with hers. He cups her cheek. She kisses back for a moment, then takes a step back.

“Um,” she says. “I don’t think I—I’m sorry.”

“Oh.” He blushes. “I’m really sorry if I misconstrued things.”

“No, it’s just…” She takes a deep breath. “I don’t think I’m ready for a relationship. Or a fling. Or anything, right now.”

He nods. “I get it.”

“I really hope this doesn’t, like, put an end to our friendship or anything, because I really do enjoy being—”

“Are you crazy?” he says. “That’ll never happen. I love being friends with you.”

She smiles. They hug, briefly, and then he asks her if she wants to walk home together. “I’ll wait,” she says. “Ned will probably come back, so.”

And MJ really needs to talk to him right now. It’s a big relief when Ned knocks on the locked doors. He’s back with his grandmother’s amazing food. “God bless your lola,” MJ says, helping herself to abodo chicken.

Ned laughs, sitting down across from her. “Max left?”

She swallows. “Um, yeah. It got kind of weird—we kissed.”

Ned’s eyes bulge. “No way! I knew he liked you. It was so obvious. I mean, good for you, he’s dreamy. Sorry, is that a girl would say it?” MJ laughs. “So how was it? Was it…nice?”

“Um, I mean, I guess it should’ve been? He’s nice and not annoying like most guys. But it felt wrong.” She puts her face in her hands, stomach suddenly churning. “God, everything feels wrong lately. And scrambled, like you said.” She thinks of her mom’s eggs and begins to retch.

“MJ? Are you okay?”

She waves dismissively. “I’m fine,” she says, getting up. “I just need water—”

Next thing she knows, the tiles are pressed against her cheek and Ned’s faint voice full of concern lulls her to sleep, into dreams of red and blue, of the wind hitting her face, of that rooftop again.

●▬▬▬▬๑۩۩๑▬▬▬▬▬

Sometimes love is worth the risk. That’s what Peter tells himself when he makes his way to the coffee shop for the first time in weeks. He uses that little paper to rehearse, breathing shakily. He spends the whole day watching them from a distance, making sure he’s not seen. Ned and MJ are laughing. His heart skips a beat. He’s forgotten, or never fully appreciated, how beautiful she is.

There’s a new guy who works over there. Peter tries to ignore the burning jealousy in his stomach when he sees him put his arm around MJ as they seem to be laughing at a joke. How is he going to talk to them if he’s there? Just as he’s questioning this, Ned leaves, leaving MJ and the guy alone.

Peter feels his breathing constrict. He’s frozen to the spot as he sees the guy lean in. And when they begin to kiss, Peter flees.

For days he doesn’t leave his apartment. Not even for night-time patrols. But at some point in time, he begins to tail the guy (as Spider-Man, and he does his best to make it seem like he’s only around to prevent/heroically fight crime). Just to see what he’s like. And Peter does feel guilty for what is definitely considered stalking, but it does give him some relief that the guy—Max, he’s learned—seems to be genuinely nice, volunteering at animal shelters and town hall and going to a STEM-centered school, which means he can be the one to join MJ at MIT. It also makes him feel like shit.

More than anything, Peter wants her to be happy.

He tells himself it’s a sign. That MJ and Ned moving on with their lives is for the better. That nothing is worth the risk, not even love. Look what happened to May. So he once again retreats to his dinky bedroom, spending his time staring at the ceiling, trying not to think of MJ and Max’s golden future.

His sulking is interrupted by a knock at the door. He puts on a shirt as the knocking gets more urgent. “Coming, coming,” Peter mutters.

It’s Riya, who looks ecstatic. “Peter—I passed!”

“Oh. Oh!” Peter realizes what she’s talking about as she waves her GED certificate in the air. She hugs him, and God. All he can think about is MJ, MJ, MJ.

“It’s all because of you,” Riya says, breaking away and beaming.

“You’re the one who took the test.” He smiles at her softly.

“Weren’t you supposed to take your test the same day as me?” she asks.

Peter waves dismissively. “Oh, yeah, but I can take it whenever. Let’s celebrate you.” He rummages through his fridge. “Do you want, uh…Day-old peach juice.”

She laughs. “I’m good. I just wanted to thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“Well.” Riya takes another step forward. Her long black hair falls down her shoulders and he breathes in that scent again. “I wanted to.”

They look at each other. And then they’re kissing. All he wants to do is smell jasmine and vanilla. She threads his fingers through his hair, lifts up his shirt slightly.

“Oh, damn,” she breathes. “Which gym do you go to?”

He doesn’t know what to say. Blood floods through his ears as she takes off her shirt. He stares down at her—she looks really pretty, but he can’t bring himself to touch her anymore. Because now that he’s breathing in that beautiful smell, it doesn’t just remind him of MJ; it reminds him of how it’s not MJ. He’s only had sex thrice, each time on a rooftop with the girl he loves. It was full of their breathy laughter and reassuring communication and magic he can’t replicate with anyone else. 

“Um, Peter?” she asks sheepishly. “Are we not going to…?”

He blushes and swallows. “Um. No, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” she says immediately, putting her shirt on. “Don’t…It’s not a big deal. I’m sorry if I was too rash—”

“No, no, you weren’t.” He closes his eyes. “It’s just. I’m in love with someone, and I haven’t been able to talk to her—really talk to her—in a while.”

Riya nods. They sit on the couch and she plays with her fingers. “The girl in the story.”

“What?”

“The story you told me the other day, when we were high.” She smiles. “The girlfriend who doesn’t remember.”

Peter blinks. “You remember that?”

“Vaguely.”

He sighs. “Did I make it too obvious?”

“Well.” She points to his bed. “That, and Spider-Man’s suit is lying there.”

“Oh, fuck,” he says, slapping his forehead, and she laughs. 

“I won’t tell anyone, don’t worry,” she says, and they smile at each other. Peter trusts her, really does. “So what’s her name?”

He looks down. “MJ. The most incredible girl in the world. She’s moving on and as much as I’m happy she’s happy, I can’t — I can’t imagine her not being in my future.” A future with MJ; it’s all he wants. Them going to MIT together, Ned as his best man at their wedding, maybe even starting a family. His eyes sting.

Riya squeezes his hand. “Listen, Peter, you guys will find your way back to each other. I just know it.” Peter’s not entirely sure if he believes her, but he squeezes her hand in return.

●▬▬▬▬๑۩۩๑▬▬▬▬▬

As soon as the doctor utters those two words, MJ faces incredulity mixed with a layer of acceptance. But it’s mainly incredulity because—

“I’m a virgin,” she says, more to herself than anything. Ned, however, looks like he’s about to collapse. His jaw is practically on the floor.

Dr. Liang raises an eyebrow. “Uh, well…The blood tests say otherwise.” She pats her knee. “I’ll give you some time for you and your boyfriend to digest the information.”

If they weren’t so stunned, Ned and MJ would definitely make grossed-out faces. Right now, however, Ned whispers in shock, “Did you and Max—”

“What? No! I told you. We barely kissed.” MJ wants to throw up. How could this be happening? Of course, it kind of makes sense—the late period, frequent nausea, the taste aversion. But still. It can’t be real. She hasn’t had sex. “What kind of twisted, Jane the Virgin shit is this?”

“MJ, listen—”

“No! You listen. There’s no way I’m pregnant.” She stands up, then sits down, light-headed. Closes her eyes and a pair of warm brown eyes stare back at her. “I mean…I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think so?” Ned bites his lip nervously. “Maybe — maybe it’s like what happened on Jane the Virgin. An accidental pregnancy inoculation?”

It’s like memories are flashing between MJ’s eyes but she can’t make them out. It’s so fucking frustrating. She realizes she’s trembling and Ned seizes her hand. He looks at her, eyes glossy. “Listen, Em,” he says. “I don’t know what the hell is going on, but I hope you know that no matter what, I’m there for you.”

She smiles at him, eyes stinging. “I know,” she whispers.

Dr. Liang returns and sits down. “So, Michelle…I hope you realize there are options. You’re still a minor, and well, of course, what you decide is entirely up to you. But if you want to discuss it further with your parents and the father—” She jerks her head at Ned.

“He’s not — he’s definitely not the father,” she can’t help but snicker and Ned lightly punches her arm. “Um, yeah, I mean. I don’t know. I have to think about this.” Her throat feels tight. “I’m going to college soon.”

And that’s what she thinks about as Ned walks her home. It’s almost ten PM. Her mom must be home—her mom, who raised her all on her own after they fled from her father. Who gave MJ all she had, making sure her daughter had every resource. Who wants to see her baby get that degree from a Top 20 school she deserves to attend. Of course, MJ wants to, as well. She can’t have her education restricted. But the idea of raising a child is not altogether unappealing (if she was around a decade older) and she actually knew who the father was. She knows there’s absolutely nothing wrong with abortion, having advocated for reproductive rights since she was ten. 

Still, she just can’t believe it’s, like, inside her. A fucking baby. She looks at herself in the mirror again, her hands lightly rubbing her belly. And then she begins to sob.

“MJ, honey?” her mom’s concerned voice comes from the other room. “What’s wrong?”

What is she supposed to say? I’m pregnant and I haven’t even had sex? Or maybe she has. She doesn’t even know. It comes across as too much of a lie, too improbable. She’s sure her mom would believe—and support—her after it all sinks in, but MJ can’t spring it on her. She just can’t.

So she opens the door and says, voice wobbly, “I’m just going to miss you when I go to college.”

“Oh baby,” MJ’s mother gathers her in her arms, and she lets herself lie there, like she’s a little kid again. They sit on the sofa together for hours, just cuddling. “I’m worried about you, Michelle. You haven’t been yourself lately, you don’t eat as much…”

MJ swallows. “Just stressed.”

“Don’t be.” Her mom kisses her forehead and strokes her hair. “I know whatever you do, my girl, you’ll be incredible.”

She really needed to hear that. Before her mom goes to bed, she asks, “Mom, when you left…” She struggles to say Dad. “Watson and we started anew, with nothing from before, how did you get the courage?”

MJ’s mom smiles. “From you, baby. You always take risks for love.”

And so she spends the next couple of days closing her eyes, ignoring her shifts and schoolwork, trying her best to cross that barrier in her mind. Tonight, she lets it wash all over her, and then it happens. Her breath hitches. She turns on her lamp, rummages through her drawer. Her movements feel mechanical, and it unnerves her, but she doesn’t stop until she finds it.

A necklace. A beautiful black stone.

She laughs, a watery sound. Of course, it’s Peter. Peter Parker. Hasn’t it always been him—

From when she was a freshman and saw him walking the halls with his unparalleled enthusiasm, in those dorky T-shirts, waddling alongside Ned. When she was a sophomore and observed him intently, collecting those red and blue puzzle pieces. When she kissed him for the first time in Europe, knowing she was completely at home. When she slung on those webs with him, never feeling more alive. When she intertwined her body with his, so lovingly and comfortingly, on that rooftop. When she made him promise… 

The promise that he’s broken. He doesn’t want her to take those risks. Anger swells in her, along with the overwhelming relief that she’s remembered. 

Well, now is no time to elongate his noble, heartwrenching decision. He has to know that she knows. So that’s why she runs, the sloshy rain splattering on her hoodie, as she makes that familiar way to his apartment building. She looks up at that rooftop, touches her belly. 

She finds out quickly that he doesn’t live here anymore. Her heart sinks. She closes her eyes, concentrates as well as she can. And her movements became mechanical again, leading her to him, once and for all.

MJ makes her way up to the third floor. She knocks on his door, her heart hammering. No response. She feels like she’s going to throw up.

“Are you looking for Peter?” a girl’s voice comes from behind her. She’s carrying groceries, presumably about to enter her own apartment

“Yes,” she says, clearing her throat.

“On a night…shift.” So he’s still doing patrols, she thinks. He has no problem risking his own life. “Wait a minute, are you MJ?”

“Um, yes.”

“My god, you’re gorgeous,” the girl says, and she feels her cheeks heat up.

“Thank you,” she says. “Listen, if you see Peter—”

“He’s going to be overjoyed.” She claps her hands together. “Sorry. It’s just that, he loves you so much. And I know you’d guys would find your way back to each other.”

MJ lets out a laugh. “Right, if you see Peter, tell him I love him too. And that I remember. And that I’m pissed at him. And that…” She lets out a deep breath. “I’m pregnant.”