Head Held High
It wasn’t long until Peter understood the gravity of just how horrible a person his birth father was. He watched the news in their living room with wide eyes and Lorna in his lap while Erik Lensherr or Magneto levitated a whole fucking stadium over the White House. For a second, Peter thought he was about to kill his second president, but the man refrained. There was a part of Peter that was desperate to think it was because Erik Lensherr was not a monster. That the man was good, but if Peter was being honest with himself, it was just him trying to reason with his guilt – exactly like what Wanda had been saying.
Erik Lensherr was a terrorist.
That’s what the news had said.
That was what everyone had said.
Except for Peter and Wanda, it wasn’t just Erik Lensherr or Magneto. It was their father.
Their father was a terrorist.
Fuck.
*****
The next few days of life sucked ass. Well, the days never really stopped sucking. They just got worse.
Ever since fucking Magnets decided to give that dumbass declaration of war on the humans, everyone was bound to guess why Peter was so different – why he never fit in. There was a label for it now: mutant.
The day after Lensherr’s speech, Peter desperately wanted to sleep the day away. He didn’t want to face the world. How could he, knowing that he was the reason that the whole world was freaking out? Sure, he didn’t drop the stadium, but he did free the man who did. Not to mention that said man was his father. His father. Fuck. There was no getting past that.
“Peter!” Wanda shouted as she impatiently banged her fist on his bedroom door. “Get up! The bus is coming down the street now.”
Peter just groaned and rolled over covering his eyes with his pillow. There was no way he’d be going to school ever again. There was no way he was going to show his face again. He’d rather hibernate in his mom’s basement for the rest of ever.
The door slammed open, hitting the wall and leaving a dent.
“Peter, come on!” Wanda yelled. She made her way over to Peter’s bed and using her red wiggly woos, she levitated the pillow off Peter’s face and hit him with it repeatedly.
“I’m not going,” Peter finally said before reaching to grab the pillow and throwing it at her instead. Wanda caught it midair. Her face was now red with anger. Before she could yell something like ‘Oh you’re not going? That’s fine. let’s forget about how this is all your fault. No, you don’t get to have a pity party, Peter,’ Lorna yelled from downstairs,
“The bus is here!”
“Ok! Don’t worry about us, you just get on the bus Lorn, Peter’s going to give me a ride! We’ll see you after school.” The elder sister yelled back. Both Wanda and Peter waited for the front door to slam shut before they looked back at each other.
“You’re going to school,” Wanda spoke in a voice that left no room for arguing. But Peter still did.
“No. I’m not. I can’t show my face there again, Wands. Everyone’s going to know.”
Wanda opened her mouth. She wanted to say otherwise, but she wasn’t going to lie. Not now, not when Peter wouldn’t buy it. So, she closed it and sighed. Taking a few steps further into the room, she made her way over to Peter’s chair and the leather jacket lying on the arm. She picked it up examining it with a touch of nostalgia in her eyes.
“You remember when I gave you this?” she asked.
“Of course.” And Peter did.
He remembered the day he got that jacket. He remembered the words Wanda said to him as he put it on. He’d never forget.
Peter’s hair was a nightmare. He’d always tried to hide it after the color changed from its natural caramel blonde to a gunmetal gray when he was younger. He tried shaving it, dying it, wearing hats, but there was no permanent fix. At the end of the day, it was still a metallic burden.
“Here!” Wanda shouted as she chucked a jacket at Peter’s head from behind. Peter turned around just in time and managed to catch it only a few inches from his face with ease. He examined the metallic silver leather jacket in his hands with a raised eyebrow.
“What’s this?” he asked his sister.
“A jacket. What are you? Blind? Try it on.”
To appease his sister, he slid his arms through the sleeves and over his band t-shirt. The jacket was a bit big then. The sleeves were longer than his arms and it swallowed him up some, but none the less he faced Wanda, his expression incredulous asking, ‘why am I wearing this?’
“They were out of your size,” Wanda casually mentions. “But it still works.”
“Works for what?”
“I think it’s time we stop hiding who we are.”
“What’s that mean?”
Peter was so confused; he didn’t understand why his sister had to be so ominous. Why couldn’t she stop speaking in riddles and just outright tell him? So much time is wasted playing guessing games with her. It was one of Peter’s biggest pet peeves.
“It’s gone on long enough and there’s no reason to continue hiding who you are. It’s only something to be ashamed of if you let it, Peter, so own that shit,” she said pointing to his head. That was when it hit him. She was talking about his hair. “Take the dumb hat off and just own it.”
“Are you kidding me? I can’t take the hat off.”
It’s not like Peter liked the hat. He hated having to wear it every day, but if he didn’t everyone would see his hair and Peter wasn’t ready for the merciless teasing that would come with it. He didn’t think he would ever be.
“Yes, you can. You just chose not to. Look, as far as anyone knows, the color is fake. You’re just making some statement, so… make a statement.”
“Wanda, look I get what you’re saying but I can’t. There are enough targets on my back. You know that. We share them, but I’m not about to add another to the list.”
“One week. Okay? Just give it one week. If it’s awful, if people outright insult you, then fine. Burn the jacket, wear the hat, whatever. But just give it a chance.” She left the room after that, not giving Peter a chance to respond.
Zipping over to the floor-length mirror, Peter looked at his reflection. Though the jacket was big on his small frame, it didn’t look unintentional, but more oversized for comfort. He actually kind of liked it if he was being honest. Hesitantly he pulled the hat off his head letting the silver locks of hair fall into place.
“One week,” he told himself. One week eventually turned into two… and then a month… and a year… and so on.
“At the time, you were certain you’d never show anyone your real hair, but now you do it every day,” Wanda explained as she properly folded the wadded-up jacket and set it down.
“No leather jacket is going to fix this,” Peter muttered underneath his breath, but Wanda picked it up with ease. Peter could swear she had super hearing or something.
“No, it won’t.” she agreed. “And yea, a lot of people are going to put two and two together that you’re a mutant, but guess what? You are. You’re a silver-haired speedy freak.”
“Great pep talk.” Peter pointed out as he rolled his eyes.
“This isn’t a pep talk,” Wanda was quick to correct. “This is a ‘get your shit together you fucking moron and face the consequences of your actions because you dug this grave yourself, now stand in it’ talk. You freed the terrorist, remember? Now, mutants are a thing and you’ve got to accept that. There’s no running from this. You can either own it or you can try to hide from it, but it’s happening whether you like it or not.” Peter could feel her eyes willing him to look into hers as they gave off cold daggers of tough love, but Peter refrained from gazing in her direction. He kept his eyes closed and turned over in bed making his back face her instead.
“That’s easy for you to say. You at least blend in. Nobody’s going to look at you and go, ‘Oh look! It’s another of Magneto’s army of circus freaks!’”
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, Peter, but we’re twins. If everyone puts together that you’re one, what are the chances I am too?”
And any argument Peter was thinking of immediately faded to nothing. He hadn’t even thought of that. Everyone wasn’t just going to know about him by the end of the day, but Wanda too. He put another target on her head as well.
“Fuck.”
“Yea, now I’m going to school with my head held high whether or not I get accused. Feel free to join if you want.” And with those final words, she left.
That was the thing about Wanda. She loved a good exit. She never let you have the last word. When she was done talking, you were too. There was no arguing. Either you did what she said, or you were an idiot.
Peter was an idiot, but it wasn’t because he didn’t listen to his twin. It was because he still managed to underestimate how bad school would be – head held high or not.
*****
Everyone was talking about what happened over the weekend. There were whispers about everyone who acted differently or looked the slightest bit out of place.
“I heard she’s one of them,” Theresa Young, one of the gossiping girls in his grade, spoke in a hushed whisper near his locker.
“Her teeth are unusually sharp” her friend responded.
“And yours are unusually dull, Carolyn. Seriously? Why are you picking at people’s teeth?” Lance asked with a cold laugh as he made his way over to Peter’s locker. “Chill out.”
Lance Alvers was one of Peter’s best friends. He was tall; around six foot three in height with tan-olive colored skin and dark features. He was a complete asshole, but as already stated: he was Peter’s best friend. Well, second to Wanda. If Peter thought about it, Lance was probably the first friend he made when coming to America. The two of them had been best friends since running track in middle school.
“You never know who’s one of those freaks. Didn’t you see the news? Mutants have declared war on us.” Carolyn argued in her stupid pitchy voice that grated against Peter’s ears. He wished the girl could go five minutes in silence, but figures that would be as hard as getting Peter to stay still for one minute.
“I did see the news, but I guess we were watching different stations because I saw a mad man who had spent 10 years in isolation declare war, not an army of mutants.”
“But he was a mutant. You saw what he did to the stadium,” Theresa chimed in. At least her voice was soothing to listen to, even if Peter wanted to vomit at the things she said most of the time.
“And because he’s a mutant he speaks for all of them? Do you speak for all women, Theresa?”
And Peter rolled his eyes because even without watching, he could sense the smug look emerging on Lance’s face. He’d been waiting a while to use that argument against her after she said it during a debate in History last month.
“Ugh, you know I’m right Lance. Disagreeing only makes you look suspicious of being one of them.”
“Yea, whatever. You keep telling yourself that,” he told the girls with a roll of his eyes before turning over to look at Peter with a shocked face. “Oh my god! Your hair looks weird. You must be one of those evil monsters!”
Lance was pointing frantically at Peter causing a scene. For a good millisecond, Peter panicked. Then he saw the corners of Lance’s mouth turn up and knew it was just him joking like normal. Peter rolled his eyes smirking in return.
“Oh, come off it,” he told the boy with a shove. Lance just laughed.
Peter closed his locker after grabbing all his books and the two of them walked over to homeroom. Peter thought to himself at that moment, as long as he has Lance and Wanda, he might actually be able to get through the school day.
*****
And to be honest, school wasn’t all that bad. Sure, Peter would catch an occasional whisper behind his back about how odd he is, but for the most part, Peter couldn’t help but think that maybe his hair was too weird for people to actually notice.
He almost believed that until school ended. When he got to track practice, he realized his team was on the verge of finding out his secret.
Peter and Lance were already late coming to practice. During lunch, they both got detention for making fun of a teacher. How were they to know Mr. Gibbons (the teacher they had been mocking and insulting like crazy) was only one spot behind them in the lunch line and heard everything the two teens had said.
The second their time cleaning the boards were over, they sprinted over to the track and field locker room. The two of them hurried to get changed and grabbed their spikes. The second they neared the track the two of them overheard a conversation that would later end up changing Peter’s entire future.
“I’m just surprised he showed up today, mean if anyone was one of those,” Danny lowered his voice before saying the word like it was taboo, “mutants, it would be him.”
“Or maybe he’s just fast,” Paul offered.
“But the hair…” Danny continued.
“It is weird…” James hesitantly spoke.
“He’s been doing crazy shit with his hair for years now though, remember?”
‘Thank you, Paul!’ Peter thought to himself. Paul was loyal to a fault. He never turned his back on his friends, even if Peter never considered the boy his friend growing up. Paul had always been James and Danny’s best friend. He was the sensible voice of the three, which was sad because the boy was a terrible judge of character and lacked any bit of street smarts.
“I don’t know, man,” James said.
Peter could see in his peripheral vision as Lance clenched his fists and opened his mouth to shout something, but Peter put a hand over the boy’s chest to prevent him from doing anything about the situation. Lance looked back to Peter his anger now directed at the speedster laced now with confusion.
“You’re just going to let them accuse you of being some kind of alien?” He asked.
“If I get defensive, it’s only going to persuade them more. Besides, I’ve been called worse than an alien, you know.” Lance winced at that. In middle school, he was there by Peter’s side through every name, insult, and jab. Peter shrugged before continuing to say, “at least this time the name kind of sounds cool.” Peter didn’t really believe anything he was saying, but it’s what Wanda would have if she was in his shoes right now, and Wanda always does the right thing in these situations.
“But what if he wasn’t just fast? What if that was his mutant thing?” Danny threw out there for everyone to hear. The rest of the track team had begun nodding their heads in agreement. Danny had them convinced. Well, everyone except Paul, but even he was hesitant at this point to disagree with his friends just to defend a boy who he could care less about.
“You think someone can have superspeed?” Paul asked
“I don’t know, I didn’t think people could fly, so all cards are off the table.”
Peter couldn’t even argue with that. Mean, it was true. All cards are off the table now.
“And if he isn’t just fast, then what about his scholarship? What about all those records he’s been breaking? They would all be a lie. He wouldn’t deserve them.”
At this point, Peter wasn’t holding Lance back anymore, but it wasn’t because he allowed the boy to defend him.
BAM!
Peter threw a perfectly executed right hook straight at the boy’s jaw. It knocked Danny right off his feet, and he sat there cradling his cheek.
“The hell, Maximoff?!” James shouted as he stood between Peter and Danny on the ground.
“I worked hard for that scholarship. I busted my ass to break those records! I’m not about to stand here while you guys conspire about me cheating my way here. It’s not—” Peter got too caught up justifying himself James, he didn’t notice until too late that Danny had gotten up off the ground now.
SLAM!
Danny and Peter both crashed down onto the track throwing fists at one another leaving bruises up and down each other’s bodies. He could see in his peripheral vision everyone freaking out and trying to get the two to stop, but it was pointless. Lance and Paul and everyone could try their hardest to pry the boys apart, but their efforts were futile. Then the coach’s whistle blew, and everything grew silent. Coach Hamilton pried Danny off of Peter using one arm and grabbing the back of his shirt, and Danny let him. He waited for both teenage boys to stand and face him before speaking.
“My office. Now.” His voice boomed.
“Yes sir,” both said with their heads hung as they made their way over to the locker room. Once inside, they took a seat and refused to look at the other. Their coach came in behind them laying his clipboard and whistle on the desk and sinking into his chair. He ran a hand over his face in frustration before looking at the two adolescent idiots.
“Best case scenario is that you’re both suspended. Tomorrow morning the both of you will be having an individual meeting with your parents, the principal, and myself about how we’re going to deal with it. You both know that the rules this school has, and you know it’s against the student handbook to physically assault someone on campus. Now, I don’t know why you two were at each other’s throats today, and I don’t want to hear about it until tomorrow. Take the rest of the day to get your stories together. That’s all I have to say right now. You’re dismissed. Grab your stuff and leave. You’re both off the team.”
“What?!” they both shouted in unison.
“You can’t be serious!” Peter then yelled at the same time Danny spoke pleadingly saying, “It was a simple misunderstanding, coach.”
“A misunderstanding?”
“Yes!” Danny said. Coach Hamilton then turned to look at Peter who was more than eager to agree if it got them out of this situation.
“Well, it sure didn’t look like it. Now out.”
There was no point in arguing any longer. Coach’s word was final. Both boys got up from their seats of shame and went to go grab their belongings from the locker room.
Lance was already waiting there for Peter. His arms were crossed as he leaned against the wall. He raised an eyebrow in question when he saw Peter emerge, but the speedster just ignored him, opting to focus on cleaning his locker out. Lance leaned over to help Peter before finally asking,
“What’s the verdict?”
Peter shrugged and plastered a look of indifference on his face.
“Off the team. Might be suspended. Possibly expelled. I’ll find out tomorrow.”
“Shit.”
“Yea.”
“Pete, if you’re off the team then what happens with…” Lance trailed off before mentioning Peter’s scholarship, but the unspoken word still hung in the air, bitter and suffocating.
Peter just shrugged once more as he turned to leave the locker room.
To be honest, Peter knew it was all over. There was no way he’d be able to keep his scholarship now, and there was no way he was going to get off with just a week or two long suspensions. He’d always had a questionable track record in school. It was likely he’d be expelled. It didn’t matter though. Without that scholarship, he wasn’t going to college, so there was no point in finishing high school anyway.
Reaching into his backpack, Peter grabbed his Walkman and slid the headphones over his ears. The sounds of Pink Floyd’s new Dark Side of the Moon album flooded his ears. Listening as “Breathe (In the Air)” played, Peter ran.
Run, rabbit run
Dig that hole, forget the sun
And when at last the work is done
Don't sit down, it's time to dig another one
Peter knew he couldn’t go home. His mom was bound to get a call about what happened any minute now. She’d be furious with him, so Peter just ran until he couldn’t anymore. His mind echoing over and over asking, how much can he fuck up in the span of two days. Apparently, everything.
*****
It was dark outside when Peter made finally made his way to the front door. He sped through the house in hopes no one would notice his later than usual entrance and down into the basement where he threw his bag at the wall in frustration. Still listening to his Walkman, he made his way over to Ms. Pacman and decided to play a few games until all of a sudden, the screen went dark. Turning around, he saw his mom holding the unplugged cord near the outlet.
“I got a call today,” she began conversationally. “Apparently, we have a meeting at nine tomorrow with the principal. Something about you getting in a fight with one of your track buddies. You want to talk about it?”
“Nope. Not really. Keeping it for tomorrow.”
“Peter,” his mom sighed. “Your coach said you were kicked off the team. And with everything that’s been going on around here this month and I know I’ve been hard on you and I’m sorry. I get if you don’t want to talk this through with me… but talk to someone. Talk to Wanda. I know and Wanda knows how much track meant to you. Just… don’t bottle everything up, ok?”
“They’re going to expel me.” Peter blurted out.
His mom just nodded her head.
“Possibly.”
“They will. I’ve already been suspended twice. I get detention constantly. I got detention today. They’re going to expel me.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, Peter. I tried to warn you. I’m sorry this is happening right now. Look, if you just tell me what happened today, we can work through what to tell your principal. Maybe we can convince him to cut you a break. But you got to talk to me.”
There was a long silence. His mom waited for Peter to fill it, and Peter tried his hardest to collect his thoughts before letting it all fall out of his mouth.
“They were all talking about me,” he finally began to explain. “They were debating if I was a mutant. Lance wanted to stop them, but I told him not to. It was fine. I was doing my best to ignore them, but… Then they started saying that I might have been cheating. That I didn’t deserve everything I earned and I just… I punched him – Danny. I punched him and then he tackled me to the ground, and we were fighting and then the coach put an end to it, and I was off the team.”
“And Danny?” His mom asked.
“He’s off the team too, but he’ll probably just be suspended for a day.”
Danny was every teacher’s favorite. He hardly did anything but for some reason, he was like some golden child that every teacher just seemed to adore.
“Probably.” She sighed before going over to the couch and sinking into the cushions from exhaustion and a lack of springs. “You threw the first punch?”
“Yea.”
There was no point in lying about that. She’d find out eventually, and Peter wasn’t a violent person, he didn’t need the speech about how we don’t hurt people or anything, so to tell his mom that he threw the first punch meant a good deal.
“Ok, well… I guess I can try to convince them that you’ve just been on edge since Arnold.” Peter tensed at the mention of him. His mom without a doubt noticed, but she continued. “And with the news, everyone’s been on edge more because of that too, so maybe he’ll be more sympathetic. Maybe you can get Lance to explain how you were trying to hold back from getting involved in the first place. He’s not exactly a reliable source, but it’s better than nothing. Did anyone see you trying to refrain from fighting?”
“No.”
“Hey, we’ll figure something out. Ok?”
“I think I lost the scholarship.”
“Yea, probably.”
*****
Peter wished he had just not shown up to school yesterday. He wished he had just slept the day away in his cocoon of blankets on his bed. He wished that for once he didn’t take Wanda’s advice. Maybe then all this could have been avoided. Maybe his name would still be a topic discussed behind Peter’s back, but at least then he wouldn’t have gotten into a fight over it.
But it didn’t matter in the end because what happened happened and Peter wasn’t the twin that could bend reality to their will. All he could do was go to school and hope he didn’t get expelled.
‘Head held high,’ Wanda told him. Her voice was in Peter’s head as they walked through the school doors. Peter would still have to get through the first period before the meeting and it wasn’t going to be easy.
Peter was walking toward his locker to grab his stuff for first period when he noticed Lance pulling things off of it.
“When’s the meeting?” Lance asked noticing Peter coming over and turning to Peter in an attempt to distract and hide whatever was on the locker behind his back.
“Nine.”
Peter pointed to whatever was behind Lance’s back causing the latter to sigh.
“Just a warning, Pete. The whole school seems to be talking about what happened.” Lance started, but it wasn’t anything Peter hadn’t already assumed. Every time someone tripped everyone seemed to know about it here.
“Of course, they are. Nobody has anything better to do with their life,” he shrugged.
“They’re saying that you’re getting expelled for being a mutant. Which is ridiculous because that’s not what happened, and you aren’t one of them but… I walked by your locker before you got here and… look,” he told Peter handing him what appeared to be a couple of signs that read: Mutant Scum! and Maximoff’s a Muttie and Get Out Mutants!
If this were any other day, Peter probably would have laughed it off like they used to in middle school. He and Lance probably would have been late to homeroom because they’d make paper airplanes out of the messages and race them in the halls. But he didn’t have it in him to do so today. Instead, he crumpled them up and threw them in his backpack scoffing at the words that stung him more than he wished.
When Peter put in his locker combination and opened the door more notes came flooding out. Peter closed his eyes for a second to collect himself before opening them and ignoring the pieces of paper that had coated the interior of his locker and now the floor. He had no interest in reading any more of them. He just reached for his books, put them in his bag, and closed the door. Turning to Lance, he tried to make light out of the situation by joking,
“It’s like sixth grade all over again,” but Peter’s smile was pulled tight, and Lance could see right through him. Or at least he would have if the boy weren’t still standing in shock looking at the millions of notes sprawling the floor by his locker. Eventually, Lance managed to collect himself though and looked over at Peter.
“At least you still got me,” Lance told Peter as he playfully shoved him in the side with a smile of his own.
And Peter wished that was the case, but he honestly wasn’t sure of that. Yesterday, the whole mutant thing was just a joke to Lance. Peter hadn’t thought he’d be anti-mutant or whatever, but then the way he had just said ‘them’ earlier when he handed Peter what had been left on his locker had rubbed the speedster the wrong way. It wasn’t like he was disgusted by the term, but it was almost like Lance was offended. But why was it because he didn’t even wish to acknowledge the term anymore or because he found it derogatory? Peter didn’t know. He found himself second-guessing his best friend and damnit. He didn’t want to lose him too.
*****
Peter ended up leaving school at 10 o’clock that day. He cleaned out his locker and rode away in the passenger’s side of his mom’s car. It was official: he had not only been kicked off the track team, lost his scholarship to the University of Colorado, and got expelled. But he also made his mom cry.
Mayra Maximoff was a strong woman. No matter what was thrown her way, she held her head high despite it all. Peter swears she’s only cried a total of four times in his life: when Peter and Wanda’s parents died, when Lorna was born, when Arnold had died, and now.
The second Peter and his mom got home she went straight over toward the kitchen to grab a bottle of Vodka and left for her room.
Three hours later, Peter finally gained enough courage to walk upstairs, but he stopped short on the landing when he heard his mom’s voice. She wasn’t talking to Peter though, and he was the only other person inside the house. Peter made the dumb decision to listen in. A decision he’d soon come to regret when he heard what she said.
“I’m sorry,” Peter could hear the break in her voice as whatever she was apologizing for truly pained her. She spoke through tears in a voice barely above a whisper. “I told you I’d take care of them. I promised I wouldn’t let you down. But I can’t do this. It’s too much. I can’t protect them. I can’t make things better. I don’t know what to do. I’m sorry. I—” His mom choked on a sob then stopping whatever else she was going to say, but Peter didn’t stay long enough to hear.
He had to hold back tears himself because he knew exactly and without looking in the room that his mom was holding the picture of her and her brother, Wanda and Peter’s dad. She was sitting there on the bedroom floor getting drunk, blaming herself for mistakes that were entirely Peter’s fault.
He fled quickly down the stairs and tried to distract himself from the thoughts circling like vultures in his head. He tried turning on the news, just to see people continuing to freak out about mutants (It was because of him they were in a panic). Turning it off he began playing a game of Ms. Pacman before remembering the conversation he had with those three men (The people he broke his terrorist father out of the Pentagon with). Finally, in a last-ditch effort to rid the voices in his head, he walked upstairs and grabbed his Walkman and shoes. Clipping the Walkman to his pants, he put his headphones on and ran. He wouldn’t come back until three days later.