Gym
Michelle hated gym class.
She honestly couldn’t remember the last time she had enthusiastically participated in anything and this was no exception. Half her class were on their phones and she could hear Peter and Ned whispering in the row in front of her. She ignored them, absorbed in her book, letting the sounds wash over her. Captain America ran through his fitness spiel, gesturing towards the left of the screen.
Coach Wilson waved from the wrong side of the television (which was probably older than Michelle’s grandmother). ‘Thank you, Captain.’ He said, all enthusiasm. He dropped the act almost immediately. ‘I’m pretty sure this guy’s a war criminal now, but whatever. I have to show these videos. It’s required by the state. Let’s do it.’
Michelle didn’t bother pretending to care, she lay on her back, moving her book up and down like a weight, which seemed to be good enough for Wilson.
Sometimes it seemed her teachers cared even less than she did.
She glanced over at Peter and Ned, who were still having an animated conversation. Ned was holding Peter’s feet, excitedly explaining something as Peter did his sit-ups. Michelle counted them, fifteen in a row without even breaking a sweat.
She blinked. It was kind of cool, how completely unbothered he looked, wholly invested in his conversation. As if the sit-ups were just an afterthought.
It was sort of attractive.
And also kind of strange.
Last time Michelle had paid attention to Peter in gym class, he’d been red-faced and sweaty from the beginning. She was pretty sure he had asthma, too, which didn’t seem to be bothering him at all anymore.
Now, he looked as if he worked out every day and he looked like he enjoyed it.
As Michelle watched, Wilson strolled past Peter and Ned. He glanced at them and Peter immediately slowed to a more believable pace. He paused halfway up, waiting until Wilson was out of site before he continued.
Michelle glanced around to see if anyone else had noticed, but the rest of the class was preoccupied with their exercises or, in the case of Liz, Betty, and Charles, playing F, marry, kill with the Avengers.
‘Now, see, for me it would be F Thor, marry Iron Man, and kill Hulk.’
‘What about the Spider-man?’
‘It’s just Spider-man.’
Michelle rolled her eyes. She stood, walking closer under pretence of getting water.
‘Did you guys see the bank security cam on YouTube? He fought off four guys.’ Liz said. Peter’s ears all but perked up at the sound of her voice. Michelle rolled her eyes again.
She wasn’t annoyed at Peter for having a crush on Liz. She didn’t care. At all. It was just irritating that he was so obvious about it.
The way he stared at her and smiled when she entered the room. The way he’d do anything for her. It was pathetic.
Michelle was so caught up in her thoughts that she didn’t notice the drones until they were right in front of her. There was a moment of silence where the drone paused, as if it was looking at her. She stared at it, frozen, and it hovered in front of the window, a shadow across her face, hundreds more like it soaring through the air behind it.
Then it smashed through the window.
Shards of glass rained down as Michelle dropped to the floor, rolling out of the way. Lasers swept the room, red and evil-looking, scanning the gym as her classmates crowded against the walls and around the door. Covering her head with her arms, Michelle crawled towards the exit, book now discarded on the floor, the cover half torn off. The library wouldn’t be happy with her.
She wiped the sweat from her forehead with her hand, her palm coming away red and slick with blood. She grimaced and pressed her hand against the cut. Head wounds were the worst.
She glanced up again when she heard a yell. The gym was mostly empty and she could see Peter ushering students out by the door. The yell had come from the other side of the room, where Charles was pinned underneath a rack of weights. Michelle moved faster, her bleeding forehead forgotten, her only thought that Charles needed help.
The weights were far too heavy for her to lift but she tried anyway. Charles attempted to wiggle out from underneath as Michelle groaned with effort. The weight shifted, not enough, and Michelle couldn’t hold it any longer. Adrenaline coursing through her, she tried again, managing even less than the first time.
‘Michelle!’ She heard behind her; the noise of the gym dulled by the pain. Her vision blurred, by sweat or tears or exhaustion, her ears ringing.
‘Hey! What’re you-‘ The weight was lifted from her hands and she sat down hard against the floor, breathing heavily. Her vision cleared to find Peter taking the full weight of the rack as Charles crawled out from underneath.
Peter dropped the rack with a crash, shaking his arms out but otherwise looking as though it had taken the same amount of effort as lifting a pencil. Charles lay on the floor, face screwed up with pain, and Michelle came to her senses.
‘Charles! Can you hear me?’
‘Yes,’ He whimpered. Michelle scanned his body, looking for injuries. His leg was lying at an odd angle where the rack had fallen. She rolled up his jeans to get a better look. Peter crouched beside her.
‘I’ve called an ambulance.’ He said calmly. ‘Is he conscious?’
‘Yes. Barely.’
Peter stood again, walking over to inspect one of the drones that was now lying sadly on the floor. He kicked it with his foot. ‘Any idea where these might be from?’
Michelle glanced up. ‘Your guess is as good as mine.’
Peter crouched, examining it. He ripped off the metal casing, peering into the interior. As he did, another drone whirred back into life behind him. It flew drunkenly towards him, beeping and flashing lights.
Before Michelle could warn him, Peter stuck out a fist and punched the drone out of the air. It flew halfway across the room, skidding to a halt as its lights flickered out.
‘That was… a close one.’ Michelle sucked in a breath.
Peter chuckled. ‘Yeah.’ He picked the drone at his feet up and flipped it over. ‘I’ll take one of these to Mr Stark, see if he knows anything about them. At the internship.’ He added quickly.
‘Yeah.’ Michelle turned her attention back to Charles. She ripped off the bottom of her shirt, tying it in strips to a lacrosse stick to create a makeshift splint. Peter used his own shirt to stem the bleeding on Charles’ arm. He glanced worriedly at Michelle.
‘Is your head okay?’
‘What?’
Peter gestured to his own forehead. ‘Your head.’
‘Oh, yeah, it’s fine. Thanks.’ Michelle muttered awkwardly.
Peter ripped off the edge of his sleeve, folding it into a square. ‘Here.’ He pressed it firmly against her forehead. He watched her; brown eyes laced with concern. His fingers brushed her cheek softly. ‘Can you tell me who the president is?’
‘What?’
‘Are you- I mean, do you have a concussion?’
‘I’m fine.’ Michelle snatched the wad of fabric from his hand, a little more violently than she intended. ‘And the president is Matthew Ellis.’
‘Right, yeah.’
With timing so good Michelle thought she might have been in a movie, three paramedics burst through the door, led by Mr Harrington. Two of them scooped Charles onto a stretcher, whilst the third made a beeline for Peter and Michelle.
‘I’m fine.’ Peter brushed her off. ‘Look after her.’
The paramedic checked Michelle over and gave her the all clear. ‘Take it easy tonight.’ She told her firmly. ‘Look after yourself.’
‘Thanks.’
Peter at least had the decency to wait until they were in the hall. ‘You shouldn’t have done that.’
‘Done what?’ Michelle countered, immediately on the defensive. ‘Tried to help my classmate?’
‘That rack was heavy, you could’ve hurt yourself. What if you dropped it?’
‘You picked it up fine. Is this a sexism thing?’
‘What? No! I’m trying to look out for you!’
‘Well, don’t, okay? I can manage just fine on my own.’
Peter ran a hand through his hair. ‘I just- That rack was really heavy and if you got hurt, that’s on me.’
‘How is it on you? I’m not your responsibility.’
‘Sorry, wrong choice of words. Look, I’m just trying to say that if you got hurt, it would really suck.’
‘Oh.’ Michelle blinked. She never thought of that. ‘I’m sorry too.’
Peter grinned, forgiving her on the spot. Yet another thing she liked about him. ‘That rack probably weighs the same as Captain America’s weights.’
‘Yeah.’ Michelle agreed.
It wasn’t until later that she remembered how easily Peter had lifted it.