Operation Termite.
That's the name Ned had given MJ's part of their plan because he was – well, he was Ned. He liked to name things. And termites, he'd claimed, were great at wreaking havoc in the background. By the time they were discovered, the damage had already been done, and the only thing left to do was to fix what could be fixed and take measures to prevent another infestation.
So MJ was apparently a termite now, and she had to admit she was just a little bit nervous.
She'd spent pretty much her entire high school career trying not to draw attention to herself. Yes, she'd tried for the good grades and all the extracurriculars that would look good on her transcript, but even then she had been operating somewhat in the background. More attention meant more chances for people to break down her walls and hurt or use her.
It wasn't until she really got to know Peter that she began to think that maybe voluntarily breaking down some of her walls could be good for her.
And either way, even though she was technically going to be working in the background tonight, the difference was that if she got caught sabotaging the graduation ceremony, there could be serious repercussions. This wasn't just her occasionally sneaking outside or into the library at lunch to avoid any unnecessary social confrontation—this was a school-wide function facilitated by a bunch of really wealthy, powerful people. And it was important...the most important event of the year for pretty much the entire school.
But it was for Peter, she thought as she slipped out of the crowded lobby and finally allowed herself a full breath. She felt herself settle some as she considered how quickly and how wholly he could disarm her with just a look or a word, even if he didn't quite know it himself. What wouldn't she do for that dork when it came right down to it?
Finally settling on shoving any and all objections her overactive mind could come up with, she crept down the semi-dark hallway that led to the gymnasium, which in turn led out to the football field behind the school. She bypassed the decorated hallway that led most directly to the field—there was likely to be a whole lot more people there, coming in and out of the restrooms or just making their way to the field in general. She knew the stands around the field were technically supposed to be filling up now, but Principal Morita—true to his word—hadn't authorized the ceremony to start quite yet, so there shouldn't be any parents or faculty members to contend with once she got outside.
That could change at any time, though.
And she had yet to hear anything out of either May or Peter, which in and of itself was enough to push a frown to her face even before she met Principal Morita coming out of the gymnasium, a stack of diplomas balanced precariously in his hands.
He inhaled a sharp little breath when he and MJ almost collided, and her heartbeat stuttered.
"Michelle! What are you doing down this way?"
MJ swallowed, knowing that the way the man's dark eyes appraised her could only mean he was every bit as suspicious as he had the right to be.
"I...uh..."
"Only teachers and staff are really supposed to be in the gym right now," he said, frowning. "Graduates should be lining up in just a few minutes."
MJ found her footing and flashed what she hoped was the same kind of goofy smile Peter threw around so generously.
"Sorry, sir. I wanted to talk to Ms. Calhoun. I heard she was on the stage getting ready for the ceremony and didn't really feel like wading through all the people in the other hallway."
It wasn't a lie...it just wasn't the full truth.
Morita hesitated a moment, much like he had in his office when she had talked to him earlier. He seemed to be on the cusp of saying something when his phone quite serendipitously buzzed in his pocket, effectively shattering whatever line of thought he'd been trying to follow in his head. MJ suppressed a small sigh of relief.
"Just be quick – and come back in through the other hallway please. We've waited as long as we can."
He didn't even look back as he moved on, and MJ cast him a genuine "thanks" as he moved past her. She stepped into the gym with that sigh of relief on her lips and was immediately gratified to find that this was, indeed, the center of operations for the commencement ceremonies tonight. No one else was in there, but there were several stacks of papers, another tower of sleek diplomas, and a few labeled folders laid out on a table by the door. It looked like there had been more on the tables at one time, but she might be able to snag something important anyway.
She glanced around her, shivering a little as the overhead air conditioning kicked on with a sharp overhead boom, and then scanned the papers on the table. She knew it was risky to linger too long in case someone else came looking for the information they needed for tonight's ceremonies, so she grabbed the thickest of the packets on the table—what looked like an extremely detailed and marked-up master itinerary for the night's proceedings—and two of the official stamped folders. A cursory glance confirmed that they were labeled with different names—likely those of guest speakers or school administrators—and contained some kind of formal address or lists detailing the name, key achievements, and post-secondary ambitions of select students.
She didn't recognize any of the names either, so she hoped that meant they were for the other class graduating tonight—the one that had gone through high school during the Blip period.
She tucked them under her gown, holding them close against her body, and then strode across the gym. Her slick shoes squeaked irritably across the glazed floor, and she was breathing heavily by the time she reached the other end of the eerily quiet court. She had never liked this place—it was a hotbed of noise and humiliating physical education classes that inevitably devolved into testosterone-fueled free-for-alls by the end of the first semester—but now she felt oddly appreciative of the opportunity it gave her to avoid any more suspicion than was necessary.
Her steps were surer now that she had nabbed some papers she hoped would be of service later on – the master agenda, in particular, she felt would be important in throwing the ceremony into temporary limbo. She pushed the door open at the end of the gymnasium lobby and stepped into the failing evening.
She walked through the open front gates to the football field, always feeling more exposed than she ought to whenever she stepped onto the wide, manicured space, and fixed her eyes on the makeshift stage that had been erected at one end for tonight. Ms. Calhoun, the vice-principal, was making last-minute adjustments to the seats, microphones, and papers there. The giant projector screen situated to the right of the stage glowed white with a greeting for the parents and staff who would be attending tonight.
MJ climbed the steps, finally managing to tuck the papers and folders securely beneath the thin belt at her dress's waist.
"Ms. Calhoun?" she asked.
The woman turned around, obviously surprised by the sudden appearance of a student.
"MJ!" she said, and MJ offered her a genuine smile in response. Nora Calhoun was warm and personable – easily one of her favorite administrators at Midtown – and she had always made a commendable effort to get to know as many students on a first-name basis as she could. She had often said that she did not get into school administration just to let the students become numbers in a system, and as long as MJ had known her, she had kept to that commitment.
"I was just wondering if you could give me a quick summary of what we're supposed to do tonight's ceremony again. I was a bit distracted the first time."
Ms. Calhoun smiled and MJ felt a brief twinge of guilt as she moved with her back to the podium, where the first speech of the night – and a list of introductions for all the officials who would be onstage – was already printed and neatly arranged. This was for a good cause, she reminded herself yet again.
And she had been distracted at graduation practice last Tuesday. Peter had sprained his ankle quite severely the night before, and she had been keeping an eye on him the whole time to make sure he didn't fall or step on it wrong because she knew he had a tendency to underestimate his injuries for the sake of everyone else's comfort.
"Of course, MJ. I understand if you're feeling nervous – all of you kids have had such a hard couple of years. Tonight is a big deal indeed."
MJ ducked her head slightly because it seemed appropriate, but she was already trying to figure out how to replace the papers on the podium with the wrong list of graduates as Ms. Calhoun began to walk her through the process.
As Ms. Calhoun gestured toward the field and MJ half-listened, she wiggled the relevant list out of its folder and into her right hand. Then she leaned against the podium, ready to make the swap should a suitable opportunity arise.
This was risky, and part of her thought that maybe it wouldn't make much of a difference at all in the long run – they probably had multiple copies of the speeches and lists anyway, or at least quick access to a printer – but she had specifically assigned this part of the plan to herself because she wanted to be available to go help May or Peter if they needed it. Not to mention she had neither the acting nor the tech skills Betty and Ned possessed, so she couldn't pull off their much more important roles anyway.
As if on right on cue with her thoughts, a sudden repetitive buzz at MJ's thigh told her someone was calling her. There was no doubt in her mind that it was May, and she bit the inside of her cheek as she resisted the urge to pull it from her pocket in the middle of Ms. Calhoun's instructions.
Ms. Calhoun finished debriefing MJ soon after, however, and the teen belatedly realized she'd been so caught up in thinking about what May might say about Peter's situation that she'd completely missed any opportunity to swap out the papers.
That probably wouldn't have worked anyway, she thought, feeling somewhat sheepish even as a thin strand of anticipation wound tighter in her gut.
But MJ nodded and offered Ms. Calhoun another smile anyway, already eyeing the second set of bathrooms behind the stage, where the football locker-rooms were.
"Thanks, Ms. Calhoun. I really appreciate you taking the time to go through this again."
Ms. Calhoun nodded and folded her hands at her stomach.
"Of course, honey. And if you ever need anything else – even after you graduate – just let me know, m'kay?"
"I will."
"Good. Now you go ahead and get in line. You wouldn't want to be late to your own graduation."
MJ stifled a smirk at the innocently ignorant remark and settled for a more serious nod instead. It probably didn't come out like she'd hoped – again, she wasn't the actress of the group – but Ms. Calhoun didn't seem concerned.
"Yeah, I will as soon as I make a stop at the bathroom. Can I use those over there?"
Ms. Calhoun laughed and the nodded toward the bathrooms MJ had indicated.
"Yes. Better hurry, though!"
It took a lot of self-control to resist pulling out her phone before she got to the bathrooms, just to make sure no one overheard her conversation with May because she already saw parents trickling onto the prepared field, making their way to their assigned seats.
But she did control herself, and when she was safely ensconced in the smelly tile walls of the girls' bathroom, she sighed and pulled out her phone.
May was calling for a second time, and MJ stared tensely ahead of her – not really seeing the slightly disheveled face in the mirror – as she answered.
"Hey."
"Hey. I'm at the police precinct now. Between Happy and I, we think we know where and what Peter was headed towards."
MJ let out a relieved breath, though her heartbeat skittered again when May continued.
"We think he went after a trafficking ring somewhere in Hell's Kitchen, and he did not, in fact, bring backup. I'm trying to get the department to send some reinforcements out now."
MJ saw more than felt her own eyes widen in the mirror.
"Hell's Kitchen? Isn't that—" she tightened her grip on the folders she was grasping in her fist. "Isn't that like an hour from here?"
She heard a slight rustle on the other end of the phone, presumably as May sighed.
"Close to half an hour by car, but a lot less by web, I'd imagine. And it's dangerous, of course. But listen, I'm—"
May's voice tapered off, and MJ listened intently as muffled voices cut in and out of audibility in the background. May said something that sounded suspiciously indignant in response, and MJ shifted her weight on her feet in anticipation.
When the woman came back on the phone, her voice sounded a lot like MJ looked right now—frazzled, frustrated, a bit out of her element.
"I have to go, sweetheart. The police here seem to have a hard time accepting a perfectly legitimate tip—" that part was practically shouted— "when they hear one. Update you soon."
May barely gave MJ time to respond before she hung up, driving home the sense that things on her end were definitely not going as well as planned.
Mind now racing even faster than before, MJ pocketed her phone – dresses should seriously all be made with pockets – and leaned over the sink, blinking against the sterile fluorescent lights of the bathroom.
What to do now?
She hadn't expected Peter to be so far away – and though she didn't know much about Hell's Kitchen, she'd heard enough to know that it was a bad place (the name itself should be enough to indicate that). For the first time since formulating her plan, which now seemed ridiculous and flimsy in light of the actual risks Peter was out taking somewhere out there, she entertained the idea that maybe Peter really wouldn't make it back in time for graduation.
That he might actually get really hurt, and there would be no one out there to help him.
She pulled herself abruptly away from that line of thinking and looked at the papers clutched in her fists.
No, Peter was going to make it.
She trusted May – she would do whatever it took to make sure the police gave Peter the backup he undoubtedly needed. And from what she knew and had seen of Happy, he would do his best to do the same with all the resources at his disposal.
As for her part in things, if she had to spontaneously get up on that stage and perform some kind of stand-up comedy routine just to delay graduation, she would. She would do what she had to carry out as much of this plan as possible. Peter would do the same for her—he would do it for anyone given the chance to.
Maybe it was a bit extreme—and, frankly, unnecessary—but bolstered by these thoughts, MJ marched over to the nearest toilet and barely even hesitated before ripping the contents of the folders into pieces.
She dropped them into the water. A few select pages – pretty much just the ones without any extraneous marks on them – of the big packet she had taken quickly followed.
She looked up, absentmindedly noting the names, hearts, and immature sketches of choice anatomical features scratched into the dented black door of the bathroom stall. And then she bit the bullet.
The shreds of paper disappeared with a frail struggle as the water swirled, gurgled, and then collapsed into the hole at the bottom of the porcelain bowl.
MJ exhaled, her skin flushed with adrenaline and a vaguely hysterical smile at what she'd just done playing on her lips, and then stepped out of the stall.
The next and quite possibly final step of her plan was to get out of this bathroom, find Gertrude Markham, and convince her to go MIA just before she was supposed to sing the national anthem for the ceremony.
MJ had left the bathroom and its sickeningly artificial citrus overtones behind, halfway to the door where parents and teachers were now streaming steadily out of the school and finding their assigned seats up in the stands, when she remembered the app
May didn't have the app that kept up with Peter's physical condition as relayed by his suit—the one Ned had affectionately dubbed the ArachnaApp (or SpideyStats, alternatively). Peter had specifically avoided even telling May about it because he said he hadn't wanted to worry her anymore than he absolutely had to, especially so soon after the Snap and all the extra pressures and stresses it had laid on her shoulders. MJ and Ned had both protested that decision, but Peter had been adamant, even going as far as to say he would in no way help Ned develop it or connect it to his suit in the first place if they weren't the only ones who had access to its programs.
So, they had relented.
And even though Peter had chosen not to link the app to any location services so his friends didn't try to come after him if they thought he needed help, she could still keep up with his predicament in some way.
Why hadn't she thought of this before?
She kept walking as she pulled up the app. But a moment later, she stopped short as she looked down at what it was telling her, not even registering that she was standing directly in the flow of traffic, with people on either side of her shooting her glares or mumbling as they swerved around her.
Her stomach dropped to her toes, fingers locked around her phone, all thoughts of the plan to get Peter to graduation wiped clean out of her brain.
Because there were no readings.
No anatomical pressure statistics from the suit as it kept up with hits and gashes.
No blood pressure readings or respiration rate or temperature indications.
There was no pulse—no heartbeat.
There was nothing but a single word, tucked into an upper corner like an afterthought—ERROR—and on the bottom right detailing all of Spiderman's statistics from the past three days right up through part of the past hour.
His suit had been transmitting details about Peter's physical condition within the last hour—
But it wasn't anymore.
A/N: *chagrinned expression*
Sorry, guys. I, uh...wrote this in the car on vacation and I promise I'm trying reaallly hard to finish writing this story because BY GOSH I SAID I WOULD but...it's being really ornery. And my muses apparently all died a horrible death at some point in the distant past, so now I just - well, I hope you enjoyed it. The plan is to have this finished in these last two weeks before school starts, so don't give up hope! And thanks for reading and/or leaving feedback if that's your jam. I love you guys. :)
(Oh, and maybe you're wondering or know why Hell's Kitchen, NY specifically decided to be a Thing in this story and all I can say is...I'm [kind of] sorry. I couldn't help it and also it worked out really well for the flimsy thing I call plot in this story. More on that later. Hope you enjoy the imminent [very brief] cameo! ;)
"Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of the others." ~Philippians 2:3-4