DISCLAIMER: I do not own Marvel, Spider-Man, or a nice restaurant where I could eat for free at my leisure, although that is the dream.
...
Chapter Six
'What do teenagers eat?'
The text is certainly not the strangest she's ever received from her Dad, but it's certainly up there.
'What do u mean, what do teenagers eat?'
She pings off the text under her desk, glancing surreptitiously at Mr Vreeland, who's scowling at a textbook behind his desk.
'Like, after school, before dinner, for snacks or whatever.'
Mo's brow furrows at the message and she stares at her phone for a moment.
"You ok?"
She turns to see MJ looking at her concernedly. Mo smiles and nods, glancing at her teacher before mouthing 'Dad texts' at her friend. MJ opens her mouth to reply-
"Miss Jones, Miss Macdonald. If you can't refrain from talking during class, I will send both of you to the principal's office, where you can talk away to your heart's content," Mr Vreeland levels them both with a stern look. "This is your last warning."
Mo winces and nods, before burying her head back into her textbook. In the corner of her eye, she sees MJ frown at the teacher and slide down in her seat, arms crossed over her chest. Mr Vreeland watches them both for a moment, before returning to his textbook.
'Mumll kill u if u spoil my dinner.'
'She can try.'
Mo snorts at the text, but quickly ducks her head as Mr Vreeland looks up again. She waits before replying:
'If it me, partial to donuts. If it superpowered spider teenagers, would say crisps or hotdogs.'
The reply is almost immediate.
'Hot dogs?'
'He's Mr Hot Dog Man near Delmar's most valued customer.'
The bell rings overhead and Mo glances up as her classmates start to gather their things. She dumps her textbook into a bag, before rising from her seat. Her phone buzzes and she pauses at her desk.
'Thanks, kiddo. Owe you donut.'
Mo grins, 'Owe me least 2.'
'Deal. Love you more than donuts.'
'Love u 2.'
Mo walks out of the classroom with a large grin, something MJ eyes cautiously as she draws closer to her side.
"Your dad texted?"
"Trying to understand the ways of the teenage mind," she grins, looping her arm through MJ's. "Now come along, I'll be late for Decathlon."
The girl sighs and allows herself to be pulled along by Mo.
"You're only excited because of Parker."
"Am not."
"Are too." MJ says dully. "I get it. But you know that he's, like, obsessed with Liz Allan, right?"
Mo's steps falter. She thinks of how he smiled at her earlier, passing notes under his desk to avoid the watchful eye of Ms Kim, the way he waved as soon as he spotted her in the hallway, and then of the small ugly Troll that sits on her bedroom shelf.
"I've heard," she says quietly.
MJ sighs, "I'm not trying to hurt your feelings."
"I know," Mo says. She squeezes her arm tightly, "You're a good friend, Michelle Jones."
MJ's face flushes, "Yeah, well, don't get used to it."
"How could I when you won't give me the answers to that maths homework," Mo sighs dramatically. "A good friend would help me out."
"A good friend would make you figure it out yourself," MJ says dryly.
They draw to a slow stop at the lockers, where Mo switches her textbooks out for some protein bars and a box of cookies.
MJ raises an eyebrow, "Still trying to win the team over?"
Mo shrugs, "Maybe."
"If they're still not sure if you after trying those brownies, there's something wrong with them."
"We'll see," Mo says, re-shouldering her bag. "See you tomorrow?"
"Of course."
MJ salutes Mo as she heads off down the corridor towards the Decathlon classroom. The corridor bustles as the last students dart from their lockers to classrooms to the exit, in a rush to officially start their free-time.
"Hey Mo!" She turns to see Ned and Peter approaching, the former dragging the latter behind him.
She grins brightly at them, offering them a shy 'hello' back as they approach. Mo can feel her neck flushing at the sight of Peter and quickly tries to squash the warmth growing in her chest.
"Ready for Decathlon?" Ned asks.
She half shrugs, pulling the containers closer to her chest, "I s'pose."
A hand squeezes her shoulder and she looks up to see Peter smiling down at her, "You'll be great."
The classroom where they practice for Decathlon is already full by the time the trio arrives and they have to squeeze into the last few seats at the back of the room. Mr Harrington stands at the front of the classroom, shuffling a few cards around.
Ned and Peter enter easily, but Mo lingers outside the door, her hands clutching the packed tupperwares tightly. There's a rush of voices inside and some laughter as she draws closer to the threshold.
"...I mean it's not like she even contributes anything, she's just dead weight."
She freezes, one foot over the threshold. Her heart stutters painfully, blood rushing to her ears.
"Shut up, Flash!"
"Oh, coming to protect your girlfriend's honour, eh Penis?" Flash's voice rings as clear as a bell over the muffled chatter from her other classmates.
"She's not my girlfriend."
"Course she's not," Flash mocks. "Who'd want to date a quiet freak like her. She's like some sort of freaky Wednesday Adams."
The tupperwares topple out of her hands with a clatter as laughter starts. In her peripheral vision, she can see Peter's head swing towards her and some nearby students snicker as she drops to the floor to pick up the tubs quickly. She can feel the heat creeping up her neck, her stomach twisting with embarrassment.
She wills herself not to cry, despite the liquid she can feel welling up in her eyes.
"Miss Macdonald?"
Mr Harrington is looking down at her, concern etched across his face. She winces and ducks behind her hair.
"Is everything ok?"
"I…" She trails off, glancing up at her classmates. Some of them look awkward, but Flash looks smug. Mo gathers the tubs in her arms and straightens.
She is fleeing the classroom before she can even respond.
There's a cry behind her, but Mo doesn't stop, not even as her vision grows blurry as she bursts through the main exit out onto the street. She flies around the corner until she's pressed against a wall, sliding down crumbling brick to the floor. Tears slip down her face. She's been so stupid, she should've been better, tried harder.
She cries, trying to ignore the sharp ache in her chest.
There's a shuffling of steps beside her and she looks up to see a blurry Peter approaching her hesitantly. He draws to a slow stop beside her with a sad smile, "Hi."
She laughs wetly, he looks so awkward she can't help it, "Hi."
"Is this seat taken?" He gestures to the ground beside her and she shakes her head.
He slides carefully to the ground beside her, crossing his longer limbs across the dirty pavement.
"You want to talk about it?"
She shakes her head.
"Ok," he says.
They sit in silence, the only sound is the rush of traffic and the thrumming of some nearby music. A few passersby cast them some curious looks, but this is Midtown so they keep their heads down and keep walking.
"You know Flash is an idiot right?"
"Can't be much of an idiot if he's on the Decathlon team," she sniffles.
Peter snorts, "I don't know, I think that's debatable."
Mo giggles quietly at his words, brushing away the last of her tears. Peter is looking at her, his eyes crinkling in the corners in that kind way they do, and the thing in her chest grows warm at the sight. He nudges her slightly and she smiles back softly.
"You ok?"
She sighs and nods her head.
"Shall we get outta here then?"
"Ok." Peter heaves her up with a yank at her arm; she nearly stumbles straight into him, but he manages to catch her at the last moment, her face a hair's breadth away from his. They stare at each other, before he pulls away abruptly, his face beet red and hands fumbling.
She smothers her grin at the sight, dropping her gaze to the mush of baked goods that now reside in the tubs in her arms.
"Oh." She glances up at Peter, who's staring despondently at the plastic boxes, "They're ruined."
"It's ok," she sighs, even as her heart drops into the pit of her stomach. Her poor brownies have dissolved into a crumbling mush.
"I'll eat them," her head snaps up to see Peter eying up the sweet mush. "I mean, if you don't want them to go to waste or anything."
She glances between the boxes and Peter before a smile covers her face, "I've got a better idea."
…
Div's is bouncing by the time they arrive outside the restaurant, and the queue for entry is around the corner and down the street. Peter follows behind Mo as she weaves her way through the crowd, his face wrinkled with confusion up until she approaches the maitre d'.
"Mo," he hisses, pulling them to a stop outside. "We can't go in there!"
Mo looks up at the restaurant in confusion. Arched windows cast a warm glow onto the pavement, condensation running down the clear crystal panes; above them, a dark green awning portrays the name of the restaurant in clean gold calligraphy, twisting green plants climb up the side of the exposed amber brick.
"Why not?"
"Because," he hisses, shuffling his weight from foot to foot.
She sighs, grabbing his hand and pulling him forward.
"Mo," he hisses again, drawing a few stares from the clientele queued outside the restaurant.
"Hey Bruce," Mo greets the burly Maitre d' with a sunny smile.
"Little Margo!" The man booms, reaching forward to engulf her in a large, warm embrace. "How's it going? Are you not supposed to be at your smart people's club right now?"
"Uh, yeah. It was, uh-"
"Disrupted," Peter picks up. Bruce turns to look at the boy who is pressed so closely to her side, she can feel the heat emanating off his body at her back. She holds back a shiver, "Mo suggested going here instead."
Bruce raises an eyebrow, which causes Mo's neck to flush brightly, "I see."
"Is my table free?"
"Of course, of course," he grins, "Follow me!"
He leads the two teenagers inside, through the creaky double doors and into the warm hustle of the restaurant. The hum of life fills her ears, snatches of conversations are barely audible over the crackling of soft jazz through ancient speakers; the background whirl and hiss of experienced coffee machines and the muffled cries from the kitchen. The rich scent of frying butter and coffee lingers in the air. A few children dart between strewn shopping bags and rickety chairs, before disappearing under tables giggling wildly to themselves.
Bruce leads them through a few rows before approaching a small corner booth near the kitchen doors. As Mo and Peter slip into the cosy leather seats, Bruce slides a couple of menus across the table.
"Does the boss know you're here?"
Mo shakes her head.
"I'll let her know," Bruce says. "The usual to start?"
"Make it three," Mo grins. Bruce nods and departs for the bar, leaving the two teens in silence.
Mo pulls up her bag, starting to pull out her homework.
"Mo?"
"Yeah, Pete?"
"What are we doing here?" She looks up to see concern on his face, his eyebrows scrunched together in an adorable knot.
"Eating."
"Eating what?"
"Good food, I hope," a voice comes from behind them.
Mo turns to see her mum approaching the table, her chef's whites stained violently, a few wild curls escaping from a tight knot of hair, a tired smile on her face. She reaches to fold Mo into her arms tightly.
"Bad day?" She asks quietly.
Mo shrugs, "Teenagers."
"I see," her mum releases her slowly, turning her sharp gaze towards a wide-eyed Peter Parker.
"A friend or a foe, Mo?"
Mo grins, "A friend. For now."
"I'm Peter, Peter Parker," the boy stutters, holding out a hand.
"So you're the famous Pete I've been hearing so much about," Alice's grin turns shark-like and Mo's face flushes. Mum grasps his hand tightly before pulling him into a brief hug. Peter turns red, fumbling in her mother's hold until she releases him. "I'm Alice, Margaret's mum."
"It's, uh, nice to meet you, Mrs Macdonald."
"Alice is just fine, dear."
"Uh, yeah, Mrs Macdonald, I mean Mrs Alice, I, uh-"
"Is Da on shift?" Mo asks.
"He's at home, started on the open," she says. "You having the usual?"
"Times three," Mo says. "Pete's got a bottomless stomach."
"Hey!"
Alice grins at the two teenagers as they start to squabble. She squeezes her daughter's shoulder tightly, "Alrighty, I'll get right on that."
"Thanks, mum."
"Make sure all that homework gets done," she says. "And don't forget to call your Dad, he was texting me earlier."
"Will do," Mo chirps, with a smile.
Alice nods and grins at Peter, "It was nice to meet you, Pete."
"You too, Mrs Macdonald."
The woman slips behind the kitchen door, leaving the two teens in peace. Peter pulls out his English homework, eyeing the girl opposite him as she spreads her textbooks across the table.
"So, your mum's a chef?"
"Sous chef," Mo answers, "My Da's the chef, this is his restaurant."
Peter chokes on thin air, "His restaurant! I thought your Dad worked for the government or something!"
Mo looks up at Peter, "Oh. No, well yes, my Da is a chef, my Dad works in security."
"You have two dads?" The adorable confused knot is back, she smothers a smile.
"Angus is my stepdad, he's the chef," Mo replies. "My Dad is…well, he's my dad. Mum and him were together for a bit, but she lived in Scotland and he lived here and long-distance got a bit much so they decided to be friends and co-parent instead. Then my mum met Angus on a job when I was wee and the rest…well, it's history."
"You're pretty close with your parents," he states after a moment.
Mo nods, "We moved around alot back home, so Mum's always been my best friend."
"I think Michelle would argue with that."
Mo grins, "I told her she'd need to fight my mum for it."
The pair lapsed into silence, broken only by the exchanging of homework answers, until several plates of steaming food are placed on the table by Bruce.
"Bon appetit," he intones in his rumbling voice, winking at Mo, before he moves away. She inhales, breathing in the smell of spices and pepper and fresh oil, holding it in her lungs and willing it to brush away the lingering bruises to her ego. The table is covered in a sea of golden batter, charred green vegetables and fresh crackly bread.
"Prepare yourself, Pete," she grins, as he reaches for the closest plate. "This food will change your life."
"We'll see, Mo," he says and grabs a handful of battered cauliflower. He chews for a moment before, "Holy shit."
Mo laughs as he digs in. She watches him for a moment, as he splits his attention between the textbooks laid out in front of him and the plate of fried cauliflower he's claimed as his own.
"Hey Pete?"
"Yeah?" He barely glances up.
"You're a good friend," she says finally. He looks up then, his eyes alight with mischief, and he grins.
"You know that not all the kids in school are like Flash right?" Pete says around a mouthful of cauliflower. "There's some pretty nice people at Decathlon…"
"You mean like Liz Allan?"
"I…what…Liz is…" Pete's words stumble to a halt. She can literally see the cogs moving behind his eyes and she inwardly smirks. "Liz is just…nice."
"Uh huh," she says, "You gonna ask her out?"
"What? No! Why would I- I don't even like her like that…" he finishes lamely.
"A girl like that won't hang around forever, Pete," she says, drowning her fries in lashes of vinegar. "It's Homecoming soonish, right? You should ask her."
"I guess," he mumbles. She looks up to find him staring at her; he's propping his head up on one hand, and she follows the firm lines of his neck up to his face, his eyes are slightly glazed as if his thoughts are somewhere else.
"Pete?" He blinks at her, "You with me?"
"Yeah! Yeah I mean, eh," the tips of his ears are burning, "Homecoming right?"
"Ask Liz."
"Yeah, maybe," he says, fumbling with the play in front of him. She peers over at the title page and grins.
"Hamlet?"
"You a fan?" He asks.
"Are you kidding? A Danish prince tortured by family betrayal and fighting corruption in his court, what's not to like?"
"Oh thank god," he cries. "Please help me."
She laughs, moving closer to see the pages he's stuck on and the homework questions he's half-arsed in favour of a chemistry assignment.
And if she notices that his hands glance against hers a bit more than normal, that's ok. She knows he's only interested in Liz Allan.
Right?