Marvel's Spider-Man: Miles Morales

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Marvel's Spider-Man: Miles Morales Page 20

by Brittney Morris


  “I didn’t give up.”

  “You didn’t give up,” he repeats, pulling me into a tight hug.

  My phone beeps in my pocket with my mom’s ringtone and I say, “Answer.”

  “Miles?!” comes my mother’s voice. “Miles, oh thank god. He’s right here, Mama. Miles, where are you?”

  I smile and take a long, deep breath of relief.

  “I’m fine, Mom,” I say. “I’m coming home.”

  CHAPTER 18

  I step out of the store into the cool winter chill, enjoying the rare few rays of sunshine we have left before the end of the year, and go to the street corner where I’m meeting Ganke. I take a deep breath and run my gloved hands over my tightly coiled hair, which is finally dry despite the cold in the air. My breath mists the air in front of me, and it feels crisp even from under my brown wool jacket.

  I pull it more tightly around me. It was Dad’s. It still smells like him. It’s one of the only things of his I still have, and it’s weird to realize I fit it already. The music bumping in my headphones is a new track I put together with an explosive bassline that drowns out all the sound around me—but I can see them and imagine their sounds. The sound of people sweeping their front porches, now that they’ve found their way home and been reunited with their families. All the lost children who were shuffled around the city while everyone was busy morphing into bird-people are back where they belong.

  The whole city has worked to piece together what Vulture tried to tear apart. I hope wherever Starling is, she’s able to see this. On the news, from the sky, wherever.

  I didn’t give up, Dad, I say to myself. I won’t.

  My phone beeps in my pocket with a text from my mom. I smile to myself and text her back.

  “Okay, Ma,” I type, and then I add, “I love you.”

  Nothing will remind you to tell the people close to you that you love them like watching them turn into mutant bird zombies before your eyes.

  “Hey,” comes a familiar voice behind me, cutting through the music. I turn to see Ganke ambling down the street toward me, trying to juggle two bags filled to the brim with groceries and tap away at his phone at the same time. He raises his hand in greeting, then tries to pull his jacket closed. I smirk.

  “It isn’t that unbearable out here yet. It’s nice! Practically still autumn,” I say.

  Ganke looks down at the sidewalk next to me, and I follow his gaze to see a large, black feather tumbling among the brown leaves. The city’s still recovering. Remnants like this are few and far between after the efforts everyone has made to clean up the city, but even now, a guy with a power drill is attaching a new front door to an apartment building across the street. The old one lies halfway splintered on the ground with the doorknob ripped clean out of it. He looks up at me and catches me watching him, but to my surprise, his face melts into a smile, and he even waves at me!

  I grin and wave back in his direction, even though I’ve never met him. We’re still new here and there’s a lot to get used to. It’s not home yet, the way Brooklyn was, but things like this make me feel like one day it might be.

  “Yo, Miles,” calls Ganke. I start, and grin sheepishly at my friend. He rolls his eyes. “You going to stand there and wave at people all day, or are you going to help me carry this lot home?”

  “No can do, gotta head back to mine, sorry!” I say.

  “You drag me all the way over here…” Ganke sighs and dramatically puts his bags on the floor. It reminds me of the day we moved in what feels like forever ago. It reminds me of Ganke and I switching backpacks, and my Abuelita making those bacon puffs.

  But I grin, because I just came from the store around the corner, this place that Peter showed me, which has Fizzies! I look down at the plastic bag I’m carrying and the two bottles of Fizzies hidden inside. I pull out a candy bar and offer it to Ganke.

  “Man, it’s freezing out here,” he says. “How can you wanna be eating right now?!”

  I shrug.

  “That’s not what you said about a certain soda you drink all year.”

  “Fizzies are different,” he says. “Fizzies are forever.” He takes the candy bar and grins at me.

  I glance from his face to the bag at my feet and wiggle my eyebrows at him.

  “What is that creepy face for?” he asks, following my eyes to the bag, where he finally locks eyes on the orange and purple bottles under the white plastic. He nearly gasps the candy straight down his throat and chokes, coughing away from the street and toward the nearest alley, his breaths sending little clouds into the air.

  “Where’d you find Fizzies?” he gasps. “My contact ran out at his store. He’s been out for weeks!”

  I’m quietly grateful Peter showed me this new store in Harlem.

  “I know a guy,” I say, taking another bite of my bar. Ganke rolls his eyes.

  “You’ve been waiting for weeks to say that to me, haven’t you?”

  I give him the eyebrow wiggle again.

  “Okay, I don’t know where you picked up on that habit, but it’s freakin’ me out.”

  The two of us laugh at that, and I pass one of the bottles his way.

  Ganke pulls out his phone and does some intense scrolling before handing it to me.

  “Yo, look. They found out who’s at the source of all of this. It’s that Terraheal company.”

  I take the phone in my hands and see a face I recognize, as the man answers more questions. But this time, the Terraheal spokesperson looks more frazzled, slightly less gelled down on the sides. His eyes have the faintest dark circles beneath them, and his smile has lost a bit of its luster.

  Along the bottom of the screen runs a giant red banner that says, Terraheal under fire after cancer-fighting serum discovered at root of bird epidemic.

  “Dang,” I marvel. A whole range of emotions rip through me at that news. I wonder where Steven is right now, and whether he’s gotten the news that Terraheal is in hot water now, and if that’s enough for him to be able to move on.

  I wonder if I’ll see him at F.E.A.S.T. again.

  “Right?” Ganke says, reaching for his phone again. “Guess they’ve got a bit of a mess on their hands. Whelp, I’ve got my candy,” he says, wiping the chocolate from the corner of his mouth before taking another bite, “I’ve got my Fizzie,” he tosses the bright bottle in the air causing it to bubble like crazy, “and I’ve got very numb toes. I’d say I’ve got my money’s worth out here. Now if you’d just tell me the name of this store?”

  “When you get your Friendly Neighborhood App finished, you’ll find it in no time. I made sure to give the place a five-star review!”

  Ganke’s face lights up. I know that’ll fire him up for the next hour or two.

  “Yo, Miles,” he says, half-turning to walk away, “your mom asked me to design fliers for her campaign, and I have some prints to show you when I get to your place later.”

  “Alright,” I say, waving at him as he goes. “Thanks for helping her out!”

  I watch him wrestle his bags and phone down the street, a grin spreading across my face. I set off towards the subway station. Despite what I said about it being nice out, I’m grateful I’ll be warm as it carries me back to East 125th and my Abuelita’s place but then my own phone beeps.

  PETER: Hey Miles, I wanted to say, I’m really, really proud of you for how you handled yourself with Vulture.

  A warm feeling settles in my chest and the grin gets wider.

  ME: You mean that?

  PETER: I mean that enough to say I could maybe leave the city in your hands for a while and be totally relaxed.

  A wave of panic hits me.

  ME: You saying you’re… retiring?

  PETER: Nah, not hanging up just yet. Just dreaming about a vacation. Standing there at the Photojournalism Gallery with MJ, both of us dressed up, made me realize how long it’s been since she and I went on a real date. Maybe some time together would be nice.

  I breathe a sigh of relief
that he’s not retiring. Sure, I undid what Vulture tried to do, but who knows if I could’ve managed it without his help.

  A minute later, my phone beeps again.

  MA: I’m stuck at campaign HQ.

  MA: Can you pick up groceries for dinner? I’ll text a list.

  MILES: Sure thing Ma’.

  MA: Thank you!

  MILES:

  And then another message:

  PETER: Anyway, before any talk of a vacation, we have more training to do.

  Now we’re talking. I jostle my backpack as I approach the subway station and feel the familiar weight of my suit in there, and get that feeling of knowing who I am. Of being Spider-Man.

  ME: Showtime.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  BRITTNEY MORRIS is the author of SLAY. She holds a BA in economics from Boston University because back then, she wanted to be a financial analyst. (She’s now thankful that didn’t happen.) She spends her spare time reading, playing indie video games, and enjoying the rain from her house in Philadelphia. She lives with her husband Steven who would rather enjoy the rain from a campsite in the woods because he hasn’t played enough horror games.

  You can find her online at AuthorBrittneyMorris.com and on Twitter or Instagram @BrittneyMMorris.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  INFINITE thanks to my agent, Quressa Robinson, who hooks me up with the most incredible opportunities, and to my editor Davi, who keeps cool even in the most extreme circumstances. Thank you both! To my family, who is always cheering me on in all my adventures, and to my friends—you remind me to take time to breathe. To the folks at Marvel for trusting me to play in your world with several treasured characters, thank you times a million. And thanks to you, dear reader, for diving into Miles’ story. I hope you enjoy the ride.

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