Turn My Collar to the Wind (This is How It’s Always Been)
Peter woke with the Sun.
The birds weren’t chirping, no, but the cars were honking and the pedestrians were yelling, so the average Queens morning was starting off fairly well.
He dressed quickly, his usual graphic T-shirt and jeans, and shrugged his faded yellow backpack over his shoulder. He placed a hand on the doorknob, but stopped. What if he ran into some trouble after school? What if he heard a desperate scream on the subway platform?
He hastily stuffed his suit into his backpack.
He walked into the kitchen to see May reading calmly on the couch, and a weight he had held onto from the night before lifted. Maybe she really did forgive him.
”Hey, Aunt May,” he said as he grabbed a banana from the fruit bowl and began to peel it. “I’ve got a chem test this morning so I’ve got to head out early. I’m gonna study gas laws on the train, and I’ve got pretty much everything else down—“
“Sit down, Peter.”
He stopped, the banana halfway between the bowl and his mouth. “What?” He asked.
”I said, sit down.” May’s voice was calm and collected, but held little warmth. Any relief he had garnered washed away instantly.
”Um, okay,” he said, setting his breakfast down and sitting next to her on the couch. She was relaxed, her feet tucked beneath her and her eyes skimming a cheesy romance novel over the rim of her coffee cup. Peter, on the other hand, stayed perched on the edge of the worn couch, his posture straight, fiddling with a wrinkle in his jeans.
For a moment, May was silent. Then, she set her coffee mug on the table next to her, dog-eared her page, and looked him in the eye. Her gaze was warm, and a familiar comfort washed over Peter even through his anxiety.
”Peter,” she said, “we need to talk more about last night.”
”I know, Aunt May, but I’ve got that test really early and—“
”That test is not more important than your family,” she interrupted. Her voice was hard, commanding. He was thrown back into last night’s lecture for a short moment and his eyes widened. Then, her fire cooled, and Peter was almost sure he had imagined her brief authority.
She said, “So, now that I know you’ve been sneaking out and such, I’m going to have to set a schedule. You may be a superhero, but you’re still a child, and it’s about time you started acting like it. I’ve been far too lenient on you, and starting tonight, you have a set curfew. I want you home by seven every day after school, and you can be out until nine on weekends.”
”What? May, that’s not enough time to help anyone—“
May leaned in close, cutting him off. ”Yes, it is. Queens got by just fine without you before, they can manage a couple of hours by themselves.”
“No, please, people need me!”
”They never needed you before. They can figure it out now. I need you. Alright?”
“But people will die!”
”And what about me? You would just leave me alone, waiting for you to come home, never knowing if you were dead or alive? Because there’s nothing very heroic about abandoning your family.”
Peter’s protests grew weaker. Who was he to deny his aunt her one wish? She wasn’t truly making him give anything up; he was still going to be Spider-Man, just for a few hours less. And—and with all he did to May, it was only fair that he spent some extra time with her. It was the least he could do.
He sighed. “Okay, May,” he said quietly, and that was it.
She smiled at him and patted his shoulder. “That’s my boy.” He returned her smile after a moment’s hesitation, shaky but there.
“Now,” she said, “go run to school. You’re late enough as it is.”
Peter checked his watch. “Oh, my God!” He exclaimed, jumping to his feet. He had less than fifteen minutes to get to school, and the nearest subway was a ten minute run away.
He snatched up his backpack and ran out of the door, his breakfast forgotten. He called, “Bye, May!” Over his shoulder, and sprinted underground as quickly as he could without giving away a superpower or two.
——
Peter walked out of his chemistry class with tears in his eyes. He had shown up nearly thirty minutes late for the test, unprepared and rumpled. Every head looked up before the teacher motioned for them to continue their writing, but Peter saw the dissapointment in her eyes as she handed him his scantron.
He saw even more when she gave it back, a large Eighty-Two written at the top in purple ink. Her loopy handwriting scrawled Good Job! beneath the number, but they both knew that for him, it was anything but.
He spent the rest of the day in a slump, ignoring his lessons in favor of cycling through his own head, how far his GPA would drop, how many colleges would refuse his scholarship applications for that single slip up, how May’s eyes would turn downward in veiled dissapointment even as she reassured him.
Just like the night he called her ‘mom’.
Just like the night he couldn’t save Ben.
Ned found him at lunchtime, shoveling down his reduced-price spaghetti like it was ambrosia. With his banana forgotten, his stomach had begun rumbling on the train and hadn’t stopped since.
“Hey, man,” he said, setting down his tray down and automatically handing Peter his apple, which he accepted with a small ‘thanks’. They had developed this system lately; with Ned’s surplus of money he could afford to buy extra food, which he would give to Peter to help sate his permanent hunger.
They ate in silence for a short moment, Ned quietly poking at his noodles while Peter ate as much as he could hold. Then, Ned said, “So, you seem pretty bummed today. Anything happen?”
Peter shrugged. “Nothing really. I failed that chem test, though.”
At Ned’s skeptical look, he corrected, “Okay, I didn’t fail it, but I didn’t do well either.”
”Why not? You know this chapter like the back of your hand.”
Peter stabbed his fork into the noodles. He suddenly wasn’t very hungry any more. “Well, May made me late. She wanted to have a talk about something She saw last night.”
Ned’s eyes widened. “Dude, did she find your porn stash?”
”What? No! No, Ned, she...” Peter glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching. Only Michelle sat ten feet away, absorbed in a book. He lowered his voice and said, “She saw me in the suit.”
Ned’s mouth formed an O shape. “Holy shit, what did she say?”
”She got mad about me lying and stuff, but she really just gave me a curfew and was okay with it. I was super shocked.”
Ned let out a breath and returned to his lunch. Peter did the same. “Well, thank God you’ve got the coolest aunt on the planet.”
Peter stared at the empty plate before him, the pit of his stomach suddenly heavy from more than just artificial tomato sauce. “Yup. Thank God.”
The rest of lunch was spent mostly with Ned talking and Peter listening. He rambled about his annoying sister, his newest LEGO set, the summer camp he was applying for, and everything in between. Peter was thankful for the opportunity to remain silent.
The topic of the test resurfaced. Ned insisted Peter had still done well, but Peter refused to show him the score. After a long persuasion, though, Peter quietly slipped his scantron out of his bag.
A long-fingered hand snatched it from his grasp. Peter looked up to see Flash lording over him, Peter’s clean scantron in one hand, his own crumpled one in the other.
Flash laughed. “An eight-two? Parker, that test was easy! I got a ninety-three without even studying.”
”Piss off, Flash,” Peter said, but it held none of its usual bite. He slouched in his chair, trying to make himself as small as possible.
Flash ignored him. “I mean, you’re supposed to be the smartest kid here, right? But then you’re walking in late, letting your grades slip, and stealing food from your friend over here. Actually, no, I think you’re doing him a favor. The less he eats the better.”
Ned’s face turned red with rage, and Peter’s cheeks burned with humiliation. “Flash, just go away,” said Ned.
Flash raised his eyesbrows. He said, “Oh, baby’s got some fight in him, huh? What are you gonna do, sit on me?”
Michelle huffed from three yards away and set down her book, holding her place with her thumb. Her voice flat, she said, “Flash, go away or I’m getting you bumped off the decathalon team for good.”
Flash scoffed. ”Seriously? Who do you think you are?”
”The president of the decathalon team and the final voice in all decisions. I can have you kicked out here and now if I feel like it. So leave, before I get what I want.”
Flash huffed and stormed off, muttering something about favorites under his breath.
Peter let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “Thanks, Michelle,” he said.
”Whatever,” she replied as she returned to her thick novel, but he saw the corners of her mouth twitch up.
Despite the morning behind him, his own did the same.