Eminent Silence

by Tristan Carey

  'No way,' I said, aghast. What the hell was Peter thinking? How could that have possibly worked out well for him? 'He d-didn't remember a-about the m-m-motion sensors Strickland p-put in his office?'

  'Apparently not,' Ned shook his head sadly, disappointed in his best friend's lack of foresight. 'I guess he forgot about the last time a kid tried to break into Strickland's office. The man's been paranoid ever since. I would've reminded Peter if he, you know, told me or something.'

  There was more than a subtle hint of annoyance in Ned's voice at that, resentment at being forgotten. Feeling sympathetic, I hugged the blanket a little tighter around my shoulders and said, 'I'm s-sure he didn't m-mean it. Leaving y-you out, Ned, I mean. Peter's b-b-been acting really weird l-lately. He h-hasn't been t-telling me a-a lot, either.'

  Ned frowned at me, stuffing his hands in his pockets. 'You think there might be something wrong?'

  'I d-don't know,' I could only shrug. 'Maybe its b-because o-of what Uncle Ben t-told him? A-about standing u-up for himself. I d-don't think th-this is what B-Ben meant, though...'

  'Oh,' Ned winced. The concept of 'standing up for yourself' wasn't exactly easy to overcome when you had rolled low on speech checks, and didn't have enough confidence to even dress differently. 'Yeah, that doesn't great. Sounds like Peter, though, taking things too far...he always wants to impress people, you know? Wants to make them happy?'

  'Probably,' I agreed. Peter was always so eager to please. He'd gotten himself hurt with that attitude on multiple occasions. 'You c-can ask if y-you s-see him again. Just, uh, you d-didn't h-hear this from me, yeah?'

  'Oh, no problem,' Ned promised, just as I heard Mom's footsteps coming back. He straightened up, took a generous step back from the door - and the Quarantine Zone. In a loud, Parent-Approved voice, he said, 'Well, I gotta go! Mom's probably super worried I'm taking so long. See you later, Mia, Ms. Fletcher!'

  'Stay safe!' Mom called after him, before closing the door after Ned. Then she turned back to me with hands on her hips. 'And back to bed, you! That's enough socializing for today.'

  I tried to complain, but a cough attack rose up conveniently and Mom had no trouble ushering me back to my room. By the time I reached my bed, I was too exhausted to complain. As much as I hated it, Mom was right. Just that one little conversation with Ned had wiped me out.

  At least lying in bed gave me time to think about what's up with Peter. I doubt things would go better for him if he kept this up. Breaking and entering into a teacher's office? I had only been joking when I suggested it, I didn't think he'd take it seriously. Going to Principal Morita was definitely my better idea.

  'Maybe he's going through a phase,' Mom pondered as she stroked my back, pulling away my hair as I took slow sips of water from a cup. It was the only thing I could digest at the moment; warm water kind of had a funny taste to it, but it eased my sore throat. 'All good kids go through their rebellious streak at some point, right? I didn't think it'd be this, er, wild, though. Peter's never really broken anything, has he?'

  'A-aside from a, uh, b-beaker or two?' I managed to choke out. A year ago Peter almost set fire to the chem lab when he accidentally knocked over a Bunsen burner into a puddle of methyl alcohol — a situation that nearly got him kicked out of class, and something that we promised not to tell anyone, ever. 'N-not really.'

  Still, that was just clumsiness. What Peter did today — that was deliberate.

  At this point, sometime midafternoon, I was feeling a little better, which meant I rest in bed, away from the toilet without feeling the dire urge to hurl again. Mom made the 'official' diagnosis and prescribed me an evening spent inside, sipping water-diluted Gatorade and nibbling on saltines; if I could manage it, also have some of her chicken noodle soup again, and crossed my fingers that it stays down this time.

  While Mom remained cheery, wrapping me tight in blankets and reminding me to take my usual medication, I could see the pinch in her brow, her pursing lips; how careful she was, trying not to show too much worry. Colds were one thing, flus were another. Colds knocked me down for a day or two — a flu or virus could keep me down for a week, maybe more, and ravage my immune system for the following months while I recovered. It was a delicate balancing game of being sick, but not too sick, and wondering where to draw the line between home remedies and a visit to the doctor.

  'It's just another stomach virus,' she said, as she dumped cough drops into a sugar bowl like they were candies and set them by the bed. 'Just your typical thing. It'll be gone in a few days, just you wait.'

  I wasn't so sure. How did one go from runny noses and sneezing to harsh coughing, dizziness, and sudden inability to digest rich foods? And all so fast, too. I didn't have the energy to argue, though. It had actually been warm today, and I leaned next to the window in my worn bean bag, staring up at the still-blue sky outside. I could hear kids laughing the streets; school was out and everyone was taking advantage of the nice weather. Mom wasn't even wearing shoes, walking around on the hardwood floor in her bare feet.

  Usually, I'd be jealous, but right now I just wanted to close my eyes and drift. I was already upset by one lost school day, and hoped Peter would remember to collect any homework I missed. I never had to ask him, he just did it anyways, but considering what happened today, I figured he might be a little too distracted to deal with my problem.

  Also, Mom had made it clear that Aunt May had grounded Peter; on no uncertain terms was he allowed anywhere in the city between school and home for the remainder of the century. So there's that.

  I couldn't even remember the last time Peter got grounded. Aunt May was of course the deciding factor in all of this, since she didn't take shit from anyone, but even then Peter usually didn't get into that much trouble. The last time he got grounded was maybe from forgetting to answer a phone call or sleeping on the train and ending up really late coming home.

  It was just so weird. I had the distinct feeling something had happened to Peter, but he wasn't telling me about it. Was he keeping secrets now? Because that was definitely against the rules. We were seven when we promised each other to never lie or keep secrets from each other; I liked to think I held up my end of the deal pretty well.

  There came a knock on my window. I didn't look around right away. It took another knock for me to remember that I was on the tenth floor of my building, so who the hell was at my window?

  I whirled around in the bean bag, nearly falling out when I saw none other than Peter crouched on the fire escape right outside. Catching myself on the floor, I scrambled up and opened the window. I did it slowly, afraid the noise might alert Mom. Considering the state I was in, I felt like I was doing something illegal.

  'Peter!' I hissed, still unable to believe my eyes.

  'Hi.' He grinned at me.

  'Hi yourself, what are you doing?' I demanded, peeking over my shoulder. The door was cracked open. What if Mom heard us talking? 'H-how did you even get up here?'

  'I climbed, obviously,' he replied with a shrug, as if it made total sense. That was still ten floors of fire escape ladders to get up. How was that not a big deal? 'This was the only way I could reach you without her knowing. Ben and May won't be home until late. So no one will know! Besides, I've got your homework.'

  'A-and you're not seeing the p-problem in that?' I asked, crouching down on the floor as if that somehow made me sneakier. I tried pushing Peter off of the window sill, but his big ol' butt was firmly planted there. Instead, I ended up with an armful of papers. 'Maverick, you're grounded! You have to go, before you get us both in trouble!'

  As if on cue, Mom called down the hall, 'Mia, I'm going to be gone for the night, okay?'

  'W-What?' I almost didn't catch what she said. I turned around as I heard footsteps; Peter jumped off the window, ducking out of sight just as the door opened.

  I dropped my homework like they were hot coals. I had hoped to look innocent, just sitting by the window, chin propped on my hand,
eyebrows too far up my head, but Mom wasn't fooled. Her hands were busy putting up her hair. She fixed me an odd look, 'Why is the window open?'

  'Uh,' I scrambled for a good excuse, and came up with: 'Just, uh, g-getting some fresh air. It's, um, r-really stuffy i-in here.'

  Mom frowned, but she didn't seem too suspicious. Then again, could she really guess that Peter was outside, just out of sight? He had never done something so risky before. I mean, he'd been doing that lately, toeing the line, but this was new. 'Well, all right, then, but don't let it stay open for too long. When the sun sets, it's going to get cold, and I can barely pay the heating bill as it is.'

  'W-wait, w-where are you g-going?' I said, sitting up straighter. What could she possibly be doing at this time? What about supper?

  'Back to the diner,' Mom sighed, running a hand through her hair. 'Donna called in sick, so Bob wants me to fill her shift.'

  'But you — you already worked t-two shifts t-today.'

  'I know, sunshine,' Mom sighed, giving me a weary smile as she walked over. She wrapped me up in a hug; I fit easily into her arms. I could smell her shampoo and perfume, and a sense of comfort and safety wafted over me. 'But I have to go. There's no one else to do it. Besides, we could do with the extra cash.'

  'When w-will y-you be back?'

  'Not until after midnight. Bob let me have the morning shift off tomorrow,' Mom stepped back, ruffling my hair. 'I'll make you breakfast.'

  'Y-you don't h-have to do that, Mom,' I said, reproachful. The night shift at the diner went until 3:00 AM and I had to get to school by 8:00 (if I was even well enough to go), so I had to be out the door an hour earlier to catch the bus. That wouldn't be enough sleep, at least not for me. 'I-I-I can just have cereal l-like always and—and you can sleep in.'

  'That's sweet, Mia, but I think I can handle it,' Mom was already stepping out of the room. She paused at the door, resting her hand on the knob. 'There's leftover meatloaf in the fridge, and some cake if you want it. Get some meat on those bones, girl.'

  'Thanks, Mom,' I grumbled, managing a half-hearted wave as she disappeared down the hall. A minute later I heard the door slam and waited until I heard distance footsteps echoing down stairs before finally relaxing.

  'Hey,' a punch in the shoulder made me look around. Peter popped up again, fixing me with a curious look. It just hit me that he had heard our entire conversation, and I wondered if he'd say anything on it. I hoped not; my face was already flushing at the thought. But he said the last thing I expected. 'Let's get out of here.'

  'W-what?' I asked, standing up. Peter rose with me, and I could see a look flickering in his eyes; he may not have mentioned the previous conversation, but I could tell he was still thinking about it. That maybe it bothered him for some reason.

  Thinking about it made me feel guilty about my own conversation with Ned. I couldn't tell Peter about that, not yet. It'd feel like betrayal. I wondered when that would come back to bite me in the ass. I said, 'I-I can't leave. J-just look at m-me. I-I'm sick.'

  'Yeah, so? C'mon, it'll be fine.' Peter waved an arm down. 'Hedy's gone to work. You'll be back way before she'll be. She won't even know you've been gone.'

  'I-I don't know,' I said, rubbing my arm. I couldn't just leave, could I? It wasn't that easy. Being sick was bad enough, I had no idea how much worse it would get if I was caught doing the exact thing I wasn't supposed to be doing; bed-ridden and with Mom angry at me? No thanks. Mom might never let me out on my own again until I was twenty. 'It's st-still wrong.'

  'Seriously?' Peter threw up his hands, spinning around on the fire escape. 'We'll just go to that ice cream place, that's it! It'll be fun! Nothing bad is gonna happen, it's not like we're going to get drunk or high or anything. We're the 'good' kids, right? We'll just hang around and talk like we always do.'

  But I just shook my head, still unconvinced. I didn't care about what we were going to do; it was the principle of the matter. I couldn't just disobey Mom and expect nothing to happen. There were rules for a reason. If I just started picking and choosing which ones I wanted to follow, then what was the point of them even being there at all? Mom would never trust me again. I'll probably never have the social life I've dreamed for.

  Peter just stared at me, his expression turning soft. He leaned in through the window, taking me by the shoulders and said, 'Hey. I promise you won't get hurt, okay, Amelia Bedelia? I would never let that happen.'

  Amelia Bedelia was an old nickname from when we were little. Peter and I loved those books growing up and it didn't take him very long to figure out how funny it is to call me after the character that had the same first name as me. I hadn't heard it in so long it surprised me; nowadays the only person who called me Amelia was Mom.

  I just snorted, giving him a weird look. 'Y-you, Peter Parker, c-can protect me fr-from a mugger? What-what are you going to do, r-recite the p-periodic table at him?'

  'Oh, ha-ha, you're hilarious,' Peter rolled his eyes, quiet earnesty giving away to beleaguered sarcasm. He dropped away, backing out onto the fire escape. 'So, are you coming or not?'

  I sighed, looking around my room for a second. 'I'm n-not sure...'

  'Hey, it's not breaking the rules if you don't get caught, right?' he asked with an encouraging smile.

  'Th-that is a very un-Peter-thing to say,' I remarked, starting to feel a little suspicious. It seemed as though Peter was full of surprises lately. Was this even the same person I knew a just a few days ago? 'Are you a-all right? You've b-been ac-acting strange a-a-all week.'

  'Never better,' he said with an all-too-innocent grin. Then he corrected himself, 'Well, actually, it would be better if, you know, you just lower your standards a little bit and have a little fun every once and a while. It's just ice cream. I won't push you off a cliff on my skateboard again, I promise.'

  'Ugh, fine. B-but only what h-happened when you b-broke in-into Mr. Strickland's office.'

  'Deal.'

  'So, you finished with that program or whatever yet?' Peter asked like he expected it to happen, popping a French fry into his mouth.

  We had been stuck in silence so far, sitting the café in a corner booth and pretending that everything was completely fine. Soft, jingly music played from the jukebox, while other customer chatted quietly on the red bar stools next to the counter. If we were dressed in poodle skirts and leather jackets, we'd look like a scene from a cheesy 50's movie.

  I glanced up at Peter over my milkshake, taking a sip. This was probably Peter's idea of a good ice-breaker.

  It wasn't, but I humored him with a snort. 'A-actually, yeah. I f-finished it earlier l-last week, before I-I got sick'

  'Really?' he threw me a skeptical look, smirking as he popped another French fry into his mouth. He tried to dip it in my milkshake, but I guarded it with my arms. 'Can I see it?'

  'N-no.'

  'What? Why not!' Peter whined, throwing up his hands. 'You said I could, once you were done!'

  'It's not… I-I don't want y-you to see it j-just yet,' I said, biting my lip and concentrating on my plate. I had already made an email, had attached the program in the message. A part of me wanted to send it immediately, but instead I saved it to send at a future date. I still wasn't sure if that's how I wanted him to see it, but at least I had time to change my mind. 'B-but you will, I p-promise. J-Just not right now.'

  'Man, this must sure be something you made,' Peter huffed, crossing his arms and falling back into his seat, looking disgruntled. 'If you keep holding out on me like this. It better not be a Rick Roll.'

  'I w-would n-not spend a whole t-twenty hours of my life just to p-prank you with a-a Rick Roll.' I rolled my eyes. 'I'd put more effort into it than that.'

  'Oh, ha-ha.' He said, unamused. 'There's no way I can get it faster than that, huh?'

  'W-well, you c-can always try and use your d-dorky charm.' I said with a grin, knowing that no matter what he did, Peter was not getting it before I wanted him to. I w
as just hoping he might try to embarrass himself before then.

  'I'm not dorky.' He sniffed.

  'Uh, you're pretty d-dorky, Peter. You are th-the definition of dorky.' I held up a finger. 'If you looked up 'dorky' in the d-dictionary, there w-would be a picture of your f-face right —'

  He brought up his hand and pushed mine to the table. 'Oh, shut up. Fine, I'm dorky, I accept that. There's nothing wrong with dorky.'

  'Of course n-not. Y-You wear it well.' I was about to go on, maybe boost his ego a little more because why the hell not, but then I remembered what happened when I was last at school, and decided to bring it up. 'Hey, th-the other day I-I found a load of Academic Decathlon pamphlets in m-my locker. J-Just a bunch, spilling out. D-Do you know if-if anyone's been g-going around, filling lockers w-with them?'

  'Uh, no, why?' Peter said lightly, resting his chin on his hand. His gaze rested on his food, and he stuffed several fries into his mouth at once. 'You still thinkin' of joining?'