Chapter Thirty-Seven
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I spent the week sleeping.

Peter turned out to be right about the news stations. They came after us like hounds — first came the phone calls. In the first day alone of my being back, we had over a dozen phone calls before dinner, and even more afterwards. After we hit 37, May unplugged all the phones.

Then they came in person, knocking on our doors. Reporters and photographers, with microphones, cameras, the whole shebang. It was even worse, because now the neighbors knew something was up, and most of them didn't even know who I was, much less that I was back from the dead. Of course, that was going to change if these idiots kept making a racket.

May turned away each and every one of them. I wasn't a witness for most of them — she thought it was better they never even saw me, so they could report their own accounts.

That was fine with me. Of course, I spent so much time sleeping that I had no idea Ned came by to visit until I woke up several hours after he'd left. I was disappointed when Peter told me, but I made up for the missed opportunity later when Ned called back.

"Mia!" his shout practically blew out my eardrums when I first brought Peter's cellphone to my ear. We were sitting in his room, and I couldn't help but notice how he started a collection of newspaper clippings above his desk. "Is that you?"

I winced a little, laughing. "Yeah, Ned, it's me."

"Back from the dead!" Ned was still shouting, and I realized I was lucky to have avoided this experience face-to-face. I was still too tired to deal with this. "I'm so glad you're okay. You are okay, right? I heard you were all over Europe. And what was up with that weird email thing?"

Peter gave me an apologetic grin from his bed as I rubbed my temple. "It's, um, kind of a long story. But you and Peter figured it out, right?"

"Oh, yeah! We totally knew you were still alive! Hey, so when do you think you're coming back to school? Peter made me promise not to tell anyone until you're ready."

"I…" My voice drifted a bit. To be honest, I hadn't thought of it until now. It was only my second day home. "I'm not sure. But soon, I hope."

"Awesome!" I could practically hear Ned fist pumping. "I can't wait. Can you imagine the looks on everyone's faces when you come walking through those doors? I mean, they know you're alive and all, but still, they're totally gonna freak, I know it. Well, except for the ones who have no idea who you are…uh, but hey, at least you might finally be able to come to Midtown…"

Ned went on like that, and I tried my best to keep up my end of the conversation, but in the end, I just ended up listening and nodded my head for another hour. I'd forgotten how energetic and talkative Ned was. I missed it, like I missed everything else, but like everything in life, only in small doses first. I was actually exhausted when I finally handed the phone to Peter, who picked up Ned's conversation without missing a beat. I'm not even sure if Ned noticed.

The second night at home, I woke up disoriented, alone and confused in an unfamiliar room — I nearly had a panic attack before I remembered where I was, that I was safe.

And that was the worst part. Being alone, I mean. May went back to work, and Peter still had school, which left me in the apartment by myself for over eight hours. Some kids might find this liberating, fun — you could do whatever you wanted, right? But I didn't have the energy, the joy to just relax and take in the silence.

I'd already had enough silence. I'd spent enough time on my own to know that I hated it. I hated every knock on the door, wondering who it was but knowing I couldn't answer it, only praying they'd go away soon. I hated the sudden bursts of police sirens that echoed down the streets; the bangs I thought were gunshots, but were just the old radiator pipes clanging up and down the building. Darkness shrouded my bedroom, since I kept the window closed and covered at all times. I always kept it in my line of sight, trying to tell myself I was crazy for feeling paranoid, like there wasn't a sniper currently lining up his sights to the back of my head.

I missed Aunt May and Peter so much that I couldn't stand being out of their presence. For almost the entirety of my trip back home, I had always had companionship in the form of Wanda and Pietro. I'd gotten used to their presence that it hurt when I woke up alone on the Bus, and I'd forgotten the intense fear and helplessness I felt first waking up alone in those snowy mountains, wandering in a daze.

It was just like that, all over again. Alone, confused, lost.

And on top of it all, my dreams soon revealed to be one less respite to hide in. I had a small nightmare when I had slept on the couch; that had been a preamble to what would eventually become a regular occurrence whenever I closed my eyes. I didn't even have to be asleep anymore. The Crucible still found me, still filled my head with images and memories I didn't want anymore.

It wasn't fair. This should be over now, shouldn't it? I did it. I had finally made it home, but it was like I couldn't get away. I didn't want to keep reliving this anymore.

I didn't tell Aunt May or Peter. Five days in, and I felt about as well-rested as never, but I broke my promise and didn't tell her about the dreams. About how I slept through the days, but found the nights restless, haunting. But Aunt May must have figured out something was going on; it was just the way she looked at me sometimes, like she was worried, like she knew I was holding back when I laughed and smiled with Peter as he recounted school events.

I was starting to think I might have a problem when Aunt May surprised me in the middle of a reverie.

"Mia?" Her hand touched my shoulder and I nearly jumped out of my skin.

I had been in the middle of vacuuming. It might seem lame, but I'd taken up doing some chores just to keep myself occupied during the day, so my mind didn't wander to places I didn't want it to go.

It didn't always work. The sound of the vacuum's motor had filled my ears to a deep rumbling, and for a moment I found myself back in Novi Grad, facing off the massive force of the tanks as they leveled their cannons at the city and the gathering resistance fighters.

May's touch pulled me back, and I found myself a little breathless, gripping the vacuum handle too tight. I could feel the plastic hand starting to give, and I had to consciously unclench my hand before I could break it in front of Aunt May.

Her voice echoed, as though she were shouting down a long tunnel, even as she stood, right in front of me. "Are you okay?"

"What?" I asked, stumbling on my feet a little. I glanced around, again feeling out of place, wondering where this apartment came from when I was just in Sokovia moments before.

"You've been standing still right there for ten minutes," Aunt May said, frowning in concern. She reached over and turned off the vacuum for me. "Just staring at the wall. Is everything okay?"

I looked down at myself, surprised. Had I really not been doing anything for so long? How did I keep losing track of time? "I-I'm okay. Just thinking."

"About what?" Aunt May asked, tilting her head.

I just shrugged, making a noncommittal noise. It was an innocent question, and I hoped she'd buy a vague answer. I couldn't come up with a lie on the spot; I didn't know what to say. How could I talk about it to someone who was never there? She'd never understand, not really, not in the way Wanda and Pietro would.

I missed them. I missed them so much. I should've tried harder to bring them with me to America.

"About school?" Aunt May guessed, her voice once more startling me. I'd zoned out again, and I shook myself over, frustrated. I had to stop doing that, especially when I was in front of people.

"Um, yeah, a little," I lied, another shrug. It was about a good idea as any.

Her eyes pinched around the corners, as if she could tell I was just making this up on the spot. That I was covering again. Sometimes I liked to think I was a good liar, but then I forgot that there were people like Aunt May who knew me too well. Yet, for some reason, she didn't call me out on it.

Instead, she said, "Hmm, me too. I was thinking you could start again in January, with the new semester. How does that sound?"

"Whoa, what, January?" My heart skipped a beat. Suddenly I was highly aware of my environment. I shook my head, unable to believe the thought. January? I couldn't do January. "No way. I can't wait that long."

"Well, it's pretty late in the school year. You're way too far behind to catch up now," Aunt May pointed out, screwing up her lips to one side as she planted her hands on her hips. "Mia, I really don't think it's a good idea to start before next year. You just got back. Everyone will understand that you need to rest a bit more, that you need time to adjust —"

"No, you don't understand!" I held up my hands, almost a little frantic. Adjust? This wasn't about adjusting. I couldn't keep doing this for another two months. "I can't sit here at home just twiddling my thumbs all day, or I'm going to lose my freaking mind! I need to do something."

"Okay, okay!" Aunt May took a half-step back, startled by my reaction. Clearly, she didn't think I'd take it so seriously. "Hey, it's fine, Mia. I didn't realize it bothered you so much. If you really want to go back to school, then I... I'm sure we can work something out with one of the schools."

"R-really?" I asked, slumping in relief. I had to take a second to catch my breath. Even I was a little caught off guard by my reaction. I underestimated how badly I wanted to get out of here.

"Of course," Aunt May smiled, and she put a placating hand on my arm again — only to pull away again when I flinched. Her smile wavered, and she added, "Just sit tight, okay? I'll call the school board, see what we can do."

I nodded stiffly, both hands back around the handle of the vacuum again. I didn't realize I'd gone completely tense until Aunt May left for the kitchen, when I relaxed again. My blood was pounding. It felt like I'd just ran a mile through the streets of Novi Grad.

And all just so I could go back to school.

Jeez.

~o~

"Mia, I'm so glad to see you're doing...well."

Principal Morita seemed unsure of his own statement as his eyes traveled up to my head, down to my feet, then back up again. He hesitated before taking my hand, looking a little pale. I stood three inches over his head. I was likewise a little taken aback by how small he seemed.

Aunt May had my back, and she nudged me forward when Principal Morita retreated to his desk. She was looking extra perky today — to give me that extra optimism, and maybe cow any adversity through the sheer power of her smile. It used to work on Uncle Ben all the time.

We took the two seats in front of Morita's desk. His room was small, with windows along one wall showing the corridor outside, but it was quiet in here. I noted the framed picture up on one shelf, along with a frame of WWII medals. It occurred to me I'd never been in here. I had no idea Morita had family that served in the war. It looked like it could've been his dad. Actually, he looked a little familiar… was that one of the Howling Commandos?

It was after class on a Tuesday. Peter was somewhere in the school, but the rest was nearly empty — no one had seen me when I came in, which was just fine by me. At least Principal Morita knew what I looked like now, for future reference.

"So, Mia, your aunt tells me you want to attend Midtown," Morita started, lacing his fingers across his desk, brown eyes furrowing a little. He spoke with a measured tone, but I could still hear his uncertainty. "I have to admit, I'm a little surprised. I don't usually get kids who want to come back to school, especially so soon after…" he paused, then cleared his throat. "Ahem. Well, I just want to let you know that… after everything that's happened, we're here for you. We'll do anything we can to help you out."

"Thanks," I said, feeling dumb. I wasn't going to ask him what he meant by that. "I just… I don't want to wait until next semester. I know it's November, a-and I've missed a lot of classes, but it wouldn't be much different if I were a new student, right? I can just jump right in."

"Of course," Morita gave me a small smile, then pulled out some paperwork from a drawer. "I had the chance to look over your SHSAT scores personally and I have to say, I'm impressed. Your scores were, well, nearly off the charts. Your grade increased a total of 143% from the last attempt you took two years ago."

"Oh, you know, I had a lot of spare time," I shrugged, a little awkwardly. I had taken the SHSAT two days ago — a lenient gesture by the DOA because of my situation, and extra test time given thanks to my reading and writing difficulty — with a speedy judging process. I had no idea what my scores were until now, just that I had gotten an offer from Midtown, like I wanted.

I knew I should be extremely grateful for the favor they did, but right now I was just embarrassed. I had three days to study since May called and had the test arranged; I couldn't sleep well, so that boosted the amount of time I had to hit the books. But my dedication wasn't what made me embarrassed; it was how easy the SHSAT had been this time. Even now, I was struggling to understand how I had such a hard time with it the first time. Reading aside, the answers had come to me easily, the logic obvious, the processes simple.

In the end, I understood what it truly meant. The Crucible had given me more than a physical upgrade, but a mental one as well. Only now was I started to fully realize it.

It's been two years, and now I was finally getting what I wanted. High school in Midtown.

And I couldn't have done it without the Crucible.

"Well, it certainly paid off," Principal Morita said, chuckling genially. He set the papers down, and I spotted the percentile rating of my scores. God, he wasn't kidding about being off the charts. "Since you, er, left school at the start of Eighth grade, I think it would be best if you began with the Freshman curriculum. By the end of Spring semester, you'll be caught up —"

"Wait, spring semester? What do you mean?" I shook my head, struggling to understand what he was proposing. "Are you saying I have to retake Freshman year? Why can't I join the Sophomores?"

"Mia, you missed two whole years' worth of education," Principal Morita pointed out, frowning. "Skipping the Eighth Grade is a reasonable request, you've proved that well enough, but jumping to the grade of your choosing is asking a bit much. And besides, these are classes you can't afford to miss. Here at Midtown, most of the Freshman curriculum is prerequisite for the more advanced classes down the line. And considering the material they cover, it would only be fair to give you enough time to learn—"

"I was at the top of my class," I interrupted him again, getting an eye twitch in return. Aunt May rested a hand on top of mine, and I glanced back to see that I was leaning so far forward I'd nearly left my seat. Back to Morita, I looked him hard in the eye and continued, "Back at Jefferson, I was in the 95th percentile. I spent two weeks sick studying for that first SHSAT, and I still got offers to Brooklyn and Stuyvesant. I knew I should be extremely grateful for the favor they did, but right now I was just embarrassed. And you said yourself that my latest scores were off the charts."

"Y-yes, well," Morita stammered, then cleared his throat. Possibly he was starting to regret telling me that. "Most older prospects tend to score higher on the SHSAT, it's not entirely unprecedented —"

"So? Can the current Freshman get that same score, if they took the test now?" I demanded, my fists clenching. I heard Aunt May murmur something to me but I didn't catch it; I was too caught up in the moment, trying to hold back the panic. I didn't fight goddamn tanks just to be held back in high school. "Now, I'm older and smarter, and I've got plenty of time on my hands. Whatever I need to pass the Freshman classes with, I don't need a year to do it. Do you understand? I can take those finals — I'll pass them by the end of November. You already thought I deserve a seat here at Midtown. Give me a chance to prove it."

I was on my feet now, pressing a finger onto his desk — and didn't even realize it until this exact moment. Suddenly embarrassed, I sat back down, resting my hands in my lap. As an afterthought, I concluded in a tiny voice. "...Please."

Morita's eyebrows rose, and then continued to rise until I was finished. He blinked, surprised, as I sat. He was left there, silent for a moment, somewhat pale-faced. I couldn't quite understand the stricken look on his face, but it occurred to me that maybe I sounded a little demanding.

Had I come off too intense? It was a bit intense, wasn't it? I was so used to fighting grown adults and taking things by force that using similar tactics on regular civilian adults may have lead to some unintentional intimidation.

Taking a second to recompose himself back to a dignified state, Morita readjusted his tie and said, "...Er, M-Mia, I really can't advise that. That's just too much work to ask from a young student."

"I can handle it." I said, staring at Morita right in the eye. He had to know I meant it. He had to know I was capable. Intimidating or not, he had to know that for me, nothing was impossible. "Trust me, with all the free time I have, I'll get caught up in no time. I've fallen behind a dozen times before, and I always get back, every time. I've never had to retake a grade. I know I can do it."

"Mia," Aunt May's hand on mine squeezed, and I had to force myself back into my seat so I could look at her. She spoke softly, so as not to antagonize. "I think Principal Morita has a point. You've been through so much…"

"You don't understand," I looked between the two of them, starting to feel a little desperate again. "I need this. I can't stay home, bored all day. Having school, having work to do, I'll be busy. I'll feel normal again. A-and I can't be behind Peter. We're always in the same year together. All my friends are in Sophomore year now. I want to be with them."

Morita bit his lip, but finally caved. Maybe that last bit preyed on his sympathies, but it was the truth. I didn't want to end up like an overgrown weed amongst a sea of freshmen I didn't know.

He heaved a sigh. "Okay, fine. I'll see that you're placed in with the Year 2016. But there's still this last semester you have to account for. I can allow you retaking one year's worth of classes, but this, too? I'm sorry, Mia, but you'll need an alternative if you want to pass this semester as well."

I slumped back in my seat, all out of ideas. I was so concerned just wanting to stay in my old class that I had underestimated everything I needed to do. I had missed two years, but in reality, I had lost a lot more than that. I had never been this far behind before. The longest I'd missed school was six weeks. Principal Morita really meant it — I was two grades behind everyone else.

But I knew myself better than anyone. I was smart. Maybe I didn't push myself that hard before, but if I put all my effort behind it, I knew I could make this work. Somehow. Some way.

I just needed the opportunity.

"What alternatives do you suggest?' Aunt May finally piped in, giving me relief. As always, the level-headed adult was there to guide the conversation to agreeable results.

Morita still seemed to be thinking about. He shuffled those papers, tapping his fingers against the top of his desk. "Well, obviously if you want to stay in the class, you need to meet the class requirements and hours, but I can waive those due to your...well, special circumstances. Really, what we need to see at Midtown is your level of effort, and a lean on developing leadership skills, becoming an active member of the community. It's why we put such an emphasis on extra curriculars, clubs and teams and the like."

Immediately, thoughts of my last fight with Peter and Mom came to me, and my stomach filled with dread. I clenched the armrests of the chair with the hauntings of old stress. I really didn't want to have to go through all that again.

"Again, though," he added, with some regret, while I tried to hide my smile of relief. "It's a bit late to be joining teams. Not that I don't encourage it, of course, you should certainly find more to occupy yourself if that's what you want, Mia. But I'm thinking something more focused. If you really trust your studying skills, then perhaps you could try tutoring?"

I blinked, surprised. "Tutoring? As in, t-teaching other kids?"

"Yes," Principal Morita smiled again. He seemed pleased that I was no longer interrupting him anymore. "It's not a popular option, and it takes a certain mentality and patience, but it's definitely a learning experience all on its own. If you can teach yourself a semester's worth of classes in just a few weeks, then I'd like to see you help other students with similar problems."

Although he was phrasing it diplomatically, I could hear the challenge behind the thin veil. Morita was still doubtful of my claims, and he was pushing me even beyond my own goal. Why? To see if I could really do it? Or to fail, and prove him right, that I belonged back in Freshman year?

Well, to hell with that.

"Sure," I said, trying not to grin too big, in case my enthusiasm revealed the intense levels of spite beneath. Teach myself and other students? Done deal. "That sounds like something I can do. I didn't know Midtown had a tutoring program, though."

"We do, but it's tied with Stark Industries Student Outreach program," Morita said, nodding. "They provide services for students around the world, not just for Midtown, and allows children and teachers to connect worldwide. The vetting process is simple, and you're paired with another student, based on your strengths and their needs. It's highly personalized to ensure the best results for both parties. You might end up with someone in this school, you might not. But I certainly think it's something worth trying."

"So, how long do I have to do this?"

"Reasonably, for the rest of the semester," Morita said. "But passing requires a good review from both the student you're helping and the supervisor who assigned you. Obviously, if you fail to meet the stated goals or objectives of your paired student, or there's a catastrophic problem your supervisor cannot resolve, then you'll have to retake this semester. But if it goes well, you're free to continue participating in the program. Personally, I don't think you'll come into many problems, Mia. From what I've heard, you work well in small group settings."

"I do?" I said, before wincing at myself. I wasn't sure where he could've heard that from, but it didn't sound entirely incorrect. I could work well with people, when I wanted to. It just depended on who they were. "Well, okay then. That sounds fair."

"Good," Morita said, and Aunt May squeezed my hand again, giving me a victorious smile. "I'll see that you're set up for an interview at Stark Industries, and we can go through the paperwork, see how soon we can get you back on track. Heck, if everything goes well, maybe you rejoin Midtown by the end of this week."

That was the best thing I'd heard in ages.

~o~

"So, how do I look?"

Aunt May and Peter turned as I stepped out of my room Thursday morning. November 22nd. First day of school.

I was dressed simply. No need to make a big deal out of my return, right? Just wearing the new clothes I got when I went shopping with Aunt May, right after the meeting with Principal Morita. Aunt May had been in such good spirits that I couldn't deny her when she wanted to buy me a nice pair of flat shoes and a formal dress — things I didn't ever see myself wearing, but decided to humor her nonetheless.

Those weren't what I wore today. It was just a new pair of jeans (one that wasn't covered in holes and blood) and some Chucks — bright yellow, Mom's favorite color. And, of course, her old NYU sweatshirt.

Even though looking at it still made me choke up a little bit, I knew I had to wear it today. And, incredibly, it fit now. The hem fell at my hips instead of mid-thigh like they used to. The sleeves were the right length now, but I had stretched out the cuffs with my constant worrying that they no longer fit around my wrists, so I rolled them up to my elbows. The fit was no longer baggy.

Although my hair was still cut unevenly (still too short to get a trim, in my opinion), a good brushing made me at least look presentable, even put-together.

And as the icing on the cake, I'd finally taken off the bandage over my brow. It had only been a week, but the angry red wound had healed into a much less grisly pink-tinged scar. The burns had faded to only some slight redness and bruising. The cuts on my knuckles had faded to calluses. Super soldier regeneration at its work. I'd removed the stitches myself, and was preparing myself for the reaming Aunt May would give me for doing something so stupid.

Instead, Aunt May gasped, hands flying to her face. "Oh, look at you! God, you look so grown up!"

Behind her, Peter grinned, giving me two thumbs up. "Ned's gonna freak when he sees you."

"He will not," I threw him a disgruntled look.

Aunt May was already fetching the camera from the kitchen, and waving me over into the living room. "Come over here, Mia, I'm taking a picture of the both of you."

"What? A picture?" I almost groaned, but shuffled over obediently. "Is this really necessary?"

"This is the first we've had since you got back," Aunt May pointed out, holding out her hand and guiding me (without actually touching me) next to Peter against the wall of books. Aside from the glasses, he still looked the same, with the sweaters over button-up shirts. As May held up the camera, Peter and I simultaneously made silly faces — without a word shared between us but with absolutely perfect timing, I stuck my tongue out and Peter pulled a hilarious grimace, just as the camera flashed.

"You guys!" Aunt May complained, throwing back her head and looking towards the ceiling as if calling for help. "Did you plan that? Honestly, sometimes I think you two are telepathic…"

We tried for a second picture, and this time I made a real attempt to look nice, with a genuine smile. Of course, I didn't know Peter was holding up bunny ears behind my head until Aunt May showed me the camera's screen afterwards. I wanted to do another one, but Aunt May must have decided to take revenge for our earlier shenanigans, and chose this picture as the keeper.

"Are you sure you want to wear this thing?" Aunt May asked me later, just before we left. She was currently inspecting my green utility jacket. I wanted to keep it, although it seemed she might need convincing before she'd let me wear it again. May sniffed it and wrinkled her nose. "Why does this smell like gunpowder? I swear, I've washed this three times already and I just can't get rid of it."

"It's okay, it doesn't bother me," I said, making grabby-hands for it. I didn't want to snatch it away, and make her even more suspicious.

Aunt May gave the jacket one last scowl before handing it to me. "Well, if you say so. I stitched up some of the holes. I don't know how you managed to get them all the same size like that…"

I didn't have the guts to tell her the holes, all exactly nine millimeters in size, were from bullets. It would make her a little less lenient about the smell, probably.

"Must be magic," I just smiled as I shrugged it on, then grabbed my backpack and headed out the door. "See you later, Aunt May!"

Peter was still pretty pleased with himself about the picture, so I decided to hide the fact that I'd gotten over my annoyance by the time we reached school. It was actually kind of funny, but I couldn't let Peter know that; he'd already thought himself clever for getting away with it.

"So, the interview's on Saturday, right?" He asked, opening up his locker.

Midtown High was exactly as I remembered it from a tour three years ago. The brightly-lit hallways, the cheery handmade banners, scrap paper littering the floor. I even spotted the tiger mascot tearing down the hallway at one point. I had already seen some of it when I'd met with Principal Morita, but I noted the flyers for the winter dance, and the multiple images of the Avengers — Iron Man, Captain America, Thor, Hulk, the others I couldn't name — scattered throughout.

They were popular here. They were heroes.

But there was nothing to show that anyone here remembered why the Avengers were needed. There was no sign of the Incident in these halls.

I wasn't sure if I was okay with that or not.

"Yeah, at 1PM. It's at Stark Tower." My back was pressed against the wall of lockers, clutching my new textbooks to my chest and keeping an eye out for anyone I knew. A sea of faces passed me by — most I didn't recognize, a few I did, but no friends yet.

I got a lot of stares in return. I could hear them whispering, even from down the hall.

"Who's she?"

"Who's that?"

"Who's the new girl?"

"I don't know, never seen her before."

"I didn't know we were getting someone new."

"We're not. Didn't you hear? She used to go here."

"Really? I don't recognize her."

"No way. I would've noticed someone like her before. She has to be new."

It was kind of funny, in a way. I smiled to myself. No one knew who I was.

Peter's voice brought me back to the present. "That's awesome. I got my internship the same way, actually. Hey, maybe you'll actually get to meet Tony Stark!"

I threw him a doubtful look. "I don't think Tony Stark does interviews for high school tutors."

Peter just shrugged, pulling out a binder and stuffing his backpack inside. I kept my own backpack over one shoulder. I didn't have much besides my new supplies. I hadn't even visited my locker yet — it was halfway across the school and for some reason I was too scared to go alone, even though I knew the way like the back of my hand.

"Well, no, but you might see him!" Peter grinned. "I'd go with you, if I could, but I have Academic Decathlon on Saturday from noon to two."

I gaped at him, my eyebrows flying up. "Shut up. You did not join Decathlon."

He tried to hide the blush rising up his neck by slamming his locker door shut and bending down to pick up his books. "Uh, yeah. I figured why not. Might be fun."

"It's fun, all right," I threw him a skeptical look, failing to hide a smirk. "Especially when Liz is there, right?"

"What?" Peter yelped, whirling on me, expression not unlike I'd caught him with his hand in the cookie jar. "How'd you know?"

"Well, you just told me," I said with a wink, pulling away from the locker wall to face him. Then I leaned in a little and added in a whisper, "Also Ned texted me the other day."

"Oh, right," Peter made a face, apparently forgetting the last time we talked about this. He looked displeased to have been snitched on. "That's not lame, is it? I mean, she's the Team Captain. She knows my name now. She thinks I'm pretty good."

I just gave him a playful nudge in the shoulder. "Oh, it's not lame, Peter. As long as it's fun for you, right? And if Liz thinks you're a good addition, then who's to complain? Not like you have marching band to worry about anymore."

"Did Aunt May tell you —" Peter opened his mouth to complain, but was cut off by a new voice.

"Hey, can you move? You're standing in front of my locker?"

I turned around, surprised to see Ned giving me a glum look. He looked tired, maybe after spending another night up late playing video games. And his hair was a little longer. But aside from that, he looked exactly the same, with the Darth Vader shirt and floppy sneakers. I smiled at him, stepping back. "Hey, Ned."

He blinked up at me, squinting uncertainly. He didn't return my smile. "Uh, sorry? Do I know you?"

My smile faltered. Peter peeked out over my shoulder, pointing at me. "Dude, come on. Don't you recognize her?"

Ned's frown deepened as he glanced from Peter, to me, to Peter, and back again. Then he did a double-take, eyes widening, mouth falling open in an enormous gasp. "Holy shit! Mia! That's you! W-wow!"

His arms were around me in an instant, and then he was pulling away again, looking me up and down, face red with embarrassment. "I'm sorry! I just, I didn't know you were so tall now...God, you could totally beat up Astor now."

I let out a burst of surprised laughter, then inner pain when I remembered she was here, too. Dammit. Couldn't win every battle, I guess. "I won't have to if I can avoid her."

"I doubt it, she likes picking on new kids." Ned snorted as he started spinning the door lock. "I totally would've recognized you if, you know, somebody ever told me…"

Ned threw Peter a sidelong glance.

Peter smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, man. Kinda slipped my mind."

"Yeah, sure it did. It's not like Mia went from Hobbit to Elf in two years…"

"Very funny," I rolled my eyes. Honestly, I was a little embarrassed, too, and not just from Ned's comments. For some reason, it hurt that he didn't recognize me. At first, it was funny to me, but only because it had been just random kids I didn't know.

I just hoped people wouldn't be too weird to me. I wasn't used to being the new kid, and not the new kid with my kind of baggage. How would everyone else treat me?

This day was going to be a day of a lot of firsts.

My new science teacher, Mr. Harrington walked right up to me when I first sat down in his Chemistry II class, sitting right next to Peter. In a checkered sweater vest and wire-frame glasses, he looked dorky and slightly older than he probably was, but looked friendly nonetheless. With a great big grin on his face, Mr. Harrington greeted me with much aplomb, even shaking my hand like I was some sort of associate, then asking if I had any questions. I didn't; I just wanted to go to my seat before too many people started to stare. But not before he introduced me to the front of the class, of course, while I just stood there awkwardly and waved.

Thankfully, it was over within minutes. As I shuffled to the empty seat next to Peter, Mr. Harrington bustled right along to the topic at hand. "Now, I know today's topic may be over your head, but I'm sure Peter can catch you up. We'll be taking plenty of notes in this class…"

It wasn't the worst experience, although I felt a little silly, getting the special treatment. Mr. Harrington, bless his heart, did his best to accommodate me, giving me extra notes, and even reintroducing me to the class when everyone was settled. I got to sit and stare at the floor while everyone clapped awkwardly, before exploding into a series of questions that I was never going to answer. It was strange how…normal it all felt. I got a sudden sense of nostalgia as I pulled out my new tape recorder and turned it on; my old one had been lost, but having this was like a security blanket. Made me feel safe. Some things never changed.

It was, of course, Astor who made that class memorable. She came in late as usual (I forgot that about her), and has passed right in front of me when heading to her desk. It was only when she sat down, heard Mr. Harrington's announcement, did she go rigid, then spin in her seat and gape at me. "Holy shit, Measles?"

I heard Peter's intake of breath before I felt my own reaction. He knew just how much I hated hearing that. I tried my best to just ignore her, my usual tactic, but Astor wasn't done.

"Wow," she laughed, shaking her head. Whispers rattled up and down the classroom. Everyone knew Astor — she always had something to say, and they knew our animosity to know she was about to roast me alive. "I can't believe it, Mia, I gotta hand it to you, you're pretty brave coming here looking like that. If I were you, I'd never show my face here again."

"Looking like you, neither would I."

I was so loud. The words were out of my mouth before I could stop myself. No chance to take it back. A chorus of stifled gasps and snickers filled the room. Even Mr. Harrington let out a surprised snort, which he quickly covered behind a fist, pretending to clear his throat. Peter and Ned, meanwhile, had collapsed into each other, wheezing so hard they nearly fell off their chairs.

"Ex-excuse me?" Astor's face went beet-red. She was halfway out of her seat, hands gripping the back of her chair with such a force her knuckles had gone white.

I fixed her with a hard look. "Did I stutter?"

Astor stared at me, and incredibly, fell back into her seat. For a moment there, I was actually worried she might attack me. It wouldn't be the first time she took a swing at someone. But maybe she, too, realized I was finally bigger than her. If it ever got physical, it'd be a fight I would win. For once in her life, Astor was rendered speechless.

Thank God for small mercies.

"Uh, okay everyone, let's calm down now," Mr. Harrington called, raising his hands to quiet down the titters still erupting here and there. Despite the upset, the class resumed with surprising order. I sat in the front of the class, but I could feel everyone's eyes on me as I studied my worksheet.

It was a lot less pleasant in English class, when I finally ran into Flash.

This time, I didn't have Peter to rely on for any funny commentary. So, I sat alone in one of the middle tables, keeping my head down and reading the first pages of The Odyssey while waiting for everyone else to fill in.

For my part, I did actually try reading it, an unusual attempt for me, since English was still my weakest subject (despite all the Crucible's efforts. Ha). While Morita said I didn't have to catch up with all the homework I missed, I still had to keep up with the amount of homework I now received upon returning to school — on top of studying for last year's tests, and preparing for my tutoring job.

Anyways, all thoughts of actual study came to an abrupt stop when the chair opposite me creaked loudly. It skidded a little on the tile as the new body slid right in. In a fake-deep voice, Flash said, "Hey, there."

I looked up, scowling. Flash was all laid-out, chin on his fist as he eyed me up and down. He'd grown, too, since I last saw him at the beginning of Eighth grade. Taller, with better hygiene, less acne, and a stronger jaw. A fashion sense, too, although maybe that was a double-edged blade. Flash looked too smooth, with the pressed polo shirts and slicked back hair. All he was missing was the football jacket to complete the douchebag look — but everyone knew Flash cared too much for his appearance to get dirty playing sports.

"Hey, Flash." I replied, my voice as dull and unenthusiastic as I ever was to see him again. Yet I couldn't help but shift awkwardly as he continued to give me that strange look. It took me a moment to realize what he was doing.

Oh my God. Flash Thompson is checking me out.

"So, you already know my name," He said with a patented self-satisfied smirk. I had to fight the rising urge to kick his seat out from under him. "But I have yet to learn yours, beautiful."

Kill me.

"We've already met," I said, unable to keep from glaring. After dealing with Astor, I didn't have the energy to relive the experience with Flash and every other bully in this school.

"Mmm," Flash pressed his lips together, scrunching up his face before shaking his head. "No, I think I'd remember a face as striking as yours."

A muscle twitched under my eye. Was he flirting with me? Is this what flirting was like? I already decided I didn't like it, but I was too stunned to come up with a clever comeback.

Wham! A pile of books came crashing down in the seat next to me, making the both of us jump.

"It's Mia, you thick-skulled troglodyte." Michelle rolled her eyes so hard she fell backwards into her seat next to me. She blew some off some hair that fell in her face. Her gray sweater was filled with holes, and her pants were covered in paint, and she still pulled her hair back into a messy bun, but somehow, she made it look effortless. If she was wearing make-up, it was subtle enough to look natural. Two years had done Michelle much better than Flash. Maybe even me. How? How could anyone be that good?

I couldn't believe how relieved I was to see her.

"W-what?" Flash straightened in his seat, staring at me. It took him a moment to make the connection, and he recoiled. "No — no way. Measles Mia? Since when do you look like that?"

That as in not-sick, as in not-ugly, as in not-weak. Not silly, stuttering Measles Mia. My hands clenched around my book, and I had to keep myself from tearing the delicate paperback. I did not like being reminded of that stupid nickname again. I snapped my book shut, rising a little as well. Although we were still seated, it was clear I had become taller than Flash, too. Never before had I appreciated such a change until now.

I didn't say a word, but Flash seemed rightly cowed by the same discovery. He just sat there, gaping at me like a fish, pushing his seat back with his feet.

"You can go away now." Michelle fixed Flash with a cool look, flicked her fingers at him as if he were an unsightly bug. "Shoo."

With no other recourse to follow, Flash obeyed, eyes cast downward as he retreated to another seat across the room, as far away as he could get from me.

I glanced at Michelle, then back at my book, opening to a random page. Of all the people I thought would recognize me, she had never made the list. I never thought I'd be that memorable in her life. And then she just did that, like it was nothing? I almost felt like my old self again, feeling too tiny for the world.

My voice was small when I finally said, "Thanks."

"Don't mention it," Michelle replied, opening up her copy of The Odyssey without so much as another look at me. I thought that was it, until she said, "Badass scar, by the way. How'd that happen?"

"Got punched off a bridge."

"Nice." She nodded approvingly.

"Thick-skulled troglodyte?" I cocked an eyebrow.

She flashed me a wicked smile. "Been saving that one for weeks."

"Nice."

She offered her fist. I bumped it with mine.

I didn't know what just happened, but I was pretty sure Michelle and I just became friends.

Maybe we always had been.