Chapter 28: Harry II

Harry checked himself in the mirror. He looked okay. Still not exactly the six-foot figure he wanted and his tux drooped a little off his body, but not noticeable. He stared right back at the pale reflection before giving himself a smirk. He looked dashing. James Bond-esque.

He walked at out of his room, checking his body odor as he came down to the main floor of the penthouse. His father was going to let him borrow the car. For the first time, Harry would be able to drive around New York and show it off to Ned and Michelle. Maybe even give them a ride around the city. He pictured himself behind the wheel. Michelle sat up front, window down and her hair blowing behind her as she smiles.

Harry sighed, lingering on the dream that he didn't hear the ruckus his father made until it was far too late.

Norman Osborn fumed near the electric fireplace. He had a glass of scotch in his hand as he paced, grumbling along. "This cannot be happening," Norman uttered into his bluetooth headset. He was talking to someone. Harry had to be careful to be unseen. "I paid a lot of good money for the job and you fucked up! I don't give a damn! You were supposed to get it done the first time around and now I have—"

His father's voice ceased and Harry turned to see his father staring directly at him. Fucking hell...

"I have to go," Norman hissed. "This isn't over."

He hung-up on whatever employee fucked up and came over to him. He judged Harry's attire, his brows wrangled in bemusement. Harry swallowed, checking his suit and tie to ensure it matched and nothing was exposed. It looked all right. The tie's knot was well done from all the practices he did. It was a basic knot. Nothing wrong with it.

After a tense minute, his father spoke. "Why you dressed like that?"

"Er... I'm going to a dance," Harry reminded his father. "I told you about it. The Winter Formal? It's tonight."

"I didn't think you were going."

"Why?" Harry asked for the car. He had their butler take his suit to the cleaners. Why would his father not think he was going?

His father stared down at him. "Because that girl turned you down," he commented rather bluntly. No sympathy whatsoever. Very typical of his father. "Didn't imagine you want to show up alone."

Harry bristled from his father's jab at his vanity. "I'm not going alone. I'm going with friends," he defended himself. "And Michelle didn't turn me down. She said she found it misogynist that a girl had to be asked to show up to a dance. So, she wants to go alone."

Norman was silent for a second before he threw back his head and let out a cruel laugh. "That's certainly a creative way to say 'no'," he remarked with that familiar twisted smile. "Oh, son, so naive."

Harry's face tightened, scrunched into bitter resentment. "What? There's nothing weird about it," he argued. "Michelle's a feminist, Dad. It's normal for her to protest things like... a dance. Part of the whole MeToo Movement."

His dad's smirk remained, clearly not buying his son's excuse. "If a girl likes you, son," he said. "She wouldn't give you an excuse."

"That's not it!"

His father brushed him aside, walking away with that amused chuckle. "Whatever you say," he said. "I have more important things to worry about than you being rejected by a girl."

Harry called to his father's back. "I still have the car, right?"

Norman stopped and twirled on his heel. "What?"

"The car?" Harry said. "I have it for tonight."

"No," Norman said. "I have work."

"But... you said—"

"What does it matter?" Norman snapped. "You don't have a date to impress? And I doubt the girl you masturbate to will fall head over heels for you in a car. So... yeah. You're not getting the car. Take the train. Or cab. I don't care! I'm trying to keep my company afloat, which I know you don't give a damn. But with Stark's miraculous recovery, everything is in disarray! And Oscorp is being hit! So—no! You're not getting the damn car!"

And like that his father disappeared upstairs to let Harry strew over his father's insults against him. He fingers curled into fists, eager to lash out at something. He turned and punched the lame flowerpot a neighbor gifted to them to welcome them to the complex. The flowerpot tipped and smashed, the ceramic shattering in jagged pieces. The soil fell in a clump and the flowers lost a few petals from its stem before it laid limp on the wooden floor.

Anger pulsed on in his blood, throbbing right in the center of his forehead. Damn his father! He wanted to rip out a scream, but his lungs were to weak to get louder than a mere shout that his father would never hear. He kicked the wall he passed to pick up his coat. Without a good-bye, Harry left, hoping the long subway ride to Midtown would cool off his anger to enjoy the dance.

"Dude! Where have you been? I thought you were coming at eight?"

It was well past eight. Almost nine. Harry only shrugged as he joined Ned at the back table, away from the dance floor. He slid into the chair, slouched as he looked on at the streamers, balloons and the glittering tablecloths to replicate snow. It was all childish, nothing like his father's fancy parties he sometimes attended when forced to make Norman look like a doting father.

Ned tapped him on his arm. "Hey? Everything okay?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah... just had to take the damn subway here," he said. "My dad promised me the car, but changed his mind. Like always. At the last minute."

Ned offered a sympathetic gaze. "That sucks dude," he said. "At least you made it though."

True, but the long ride into Queens didn't lessen Harry's mood. He had no urge to go out and dance or drink punch or even mingle with the other students. He rather go out to a deserted industrial area and loiter there than in the gym.

"I'll get you some punch," Ned said loud in his ear to compensate the DJ's blaring music. "That'll make you feel better."

"Why? Does it have alcohol?" Harry asked.

Ned paused. "Er... no, but it tastes all right," he said. "I don't know. You look like you could use something."

He couldn't agree with Ned anymore, but punch wasn't going to satisfy it. "I'm good," he said. "I'll get some later. Right now... I just want to, um, I want to..."

His eyes caught sight of movement on the fringes of the dance floor. He turned and his heart fell. Decked in pale blue fabric, flower-accented bodice and a flowing gown that touched her ankles to reveal her black flats, Michelle Jones looked like the girl of his dreams. She got her hair somewhat straightened, her unruly curls made waves, but they looked stunning around her smooth face. She wore no make-up, showing up all the other girls with her natural, perfect features.

When Michelle saw him, she smiled. Cheeks blossoming up as she gracefully walked to their table. "Hey losers," she said, taking a chair to sit on the other side of Ned. "Didn't think you would come to this lame thing."

"You're here," Ned returned, incredulous. "Why wouldn't we be?"

"I don't want to be here," Michelle said. "But it's here or home where my parents are watching basketball. So... figured this is better than being at home."

Harry watched her brush her hair behind her shoulder, unknowing or uncaring that one simple gesture made his heart flutter. Her very presence banished his sour mood, forgetting his father's harsh words. He melted in his seat. His eyes never wandering from her pursed lips. Simply overcome by her beauty.

Michelle noticed for she narrowed her at him. "Why are you staring?" she questioned. "Never seen a girl in a dress before?"

Harry sat up in his seat, trying to act nonchalant. "Of course I have," he said with a playful grin. "But I've never seen a princess before... until now."

Ned low whistled, head snapping back in forth from him to Michelle like he expected a return spitfire or a compliment. Michelle was less impressed. "Really?" she said, dropping her chin in her palm. She stared down at him. "Aren't I a princess every day, though?"

Harry was taken aback. "W-What?"

"You call me princess every day."

Harry understood what she was saying. "Oh... what I mean was, um, what I was trying to say is that you're, um... you look beautiful," he spluttered out. "The dress and everything..."

Harry wanted nothing more than to punch himself in the face. What was he thinking? He shouldn't have—sweet Jesus! He fucked up. Michelle probably thinks of him as a drooling idiot now.

Luckily, Michelle didn't tease him on his babbling foolishness. She only rocked her head. "Yeah... okay," she said. "Thanks."

Harry relaxed, almost wishing Ned did get him that cup of punch, if only to hide behind it. Michelle turned to the dance floor, eyes dancing along to the kids on the dance floor. "Dances are lame. Cliche," she muttered and then nudged her head to the dance floor. "And no one knows how to even dance. It's all... blah."

Harry perked up. He was a good enough dancer. Had to be to participate in the rich people's club. This may be his chance to redeem himself and show off his moves. And, to be close to Michelle.

He scooted his chair closer, invading Ned's personal space for a bit. "You know, dances don't have to be that bad," he said to Michelle. "All you need is the right dancing partner." Harry reached his hand across the table to her. "What do you say, Princess? Wanna go dance?"

Harry waited. Palm up, his hand stretched way across the table to her. The more seconds that ticked passed, the more awkward it became. It may be all in his head, the excruciable wait for Michelle to accept. His heart struggled to keep a rhythmic tune. Why wasn't anyone saying anything? Why hadn't Michelle taken his hand yet?

Michelle's eyes fell to his hand and then flickered up. "Mmm... not at the moment," she said. "I want to sit for awhile."

She spoke words to him, but all Harry received was feelings. He looked on at her, passion melting to grief. His hand retreats, fingers curling over the empty palm. He adjusted himself, trying to appear indifferent, but nothing he did shrugged away the belittling feeling of himself crumbling to dust.

If only he could, but he did his best and pulled up a signature smirk to hide his hurt. "All right then," he said. "Anyway, the song isn't great to dance to."

Michelle slowly nodded to his lie. It was a cookie-cutter, pop song that overplayed on the radio. Harry didn't recognized the song, but he could guess the boy band. Harry raked his hair, some of the gel flaking off in the disruption.

Ned sat plopped in the middle, eyes shifting from him to Michelle. "So… um…" Ned began, trying to fill in the uneasy silence that followed. "What did you guys think of the Spanish final? Tough, huh?"

Michelle looked to Ned with befuddled scrutiny. "I take French, Ned."

"Right…um, how did that go?" Ned asked instead. Something to change the subject.

Ned's a good friend, Harry thought. He was happy to have him in his life. His other friends at his old school would have mocked him and teased him relentlessly for the next few weeks. Ned was different. He turned the spotlight away, distracting everyone with trivial questions.

But, Harry couldn't focus much on what they were talking about. His father's words returned to him. "If a girls likes you, son, she wouldn't need an excuse."

Harry sighed heavily, head falling to the side as he watched Michelle jabber on with Ned. While his father's voice murmured in the back of his head, Harry clung onto the strand of hope that whispered chances of getting that one dance. That one moment with the girl…

"Have you spoken to Peter?"

Harry refocused. Michelle asked Ned about Peter. They hadn't seen Peter in a long time. Not since they went to the Avengers compound to hang-out with him. They all lived busy lives and had no time to travel to upstate New York on weekdays. And weekends were filled with family time and piles of homework. They were all in communication with one another, but it wasn't the same. Especially when Stark was nearly assassinated right alongside his own father at the same tech expo.

Ned shook his head. "Last time I spoke to Peter, he cancelled on me," he said. "We were supposed to watch the whole Indiana Jones series, but he told me he couldn't go. Then, weirdly, I got a call from Stark. I mean… how crazy is that?"

Ned look at him and Michelle for confirmation about how odd that a supposedly dead man spoke to him on the phone. It wasn't that crazy anymore considering the news broke out a night ago of Stark and Captain America roaming the streets of Queens.

Ned continued blabbering. "Yeah, well, it was a hell of a shock for me to be speaking to Iron Man."

"You know he's a douche, right?" Harry said after a moment. "He's not that impressive."

Michelle glared at him from across the table while Ned's face deflated. "Well, I mean… I know he's not exactly a nice person," Ned said. "But, he's still cool. I mean, yeah, sure, he's a bit of a jerk, but it's not every day Iron Man calls you."

"What did he call about?" Michelle asked, curious.

"Asked if Peter contacted me," Ned answered. "He sounded worried so I tried calling Peter, but he didn't answer. I think they got in a fight."

"Not surprising," Harry remarked. "Like I said, Stark's a douche."

"Don't say that too loud," came a voice from above them, "he might be a douche, but he's a douche with an iron suit."

Harry whipped his head up to see Peter Parker standing behind them. Peter smiled at their stunned expressions, almost laughing as Ned jumped from his seat to give his friend a hug.

"Peter! Omigod! You're here! Like… here, here," Ned shouted in excitement. "Wait… w-what are you doing here?"

Like any other teenager in the room, Peter was dressed dark slacks and a suit, hair gelled to tame his unruly curls, and a bow tie. Unlike the rest of the teenagers in the room, Peter's outfit cost as much as their rent. Harry recognized the suit and bow tie as a Tom Ford special. He certainly dressed for the occasion. Or at least, Stark dressed him for the occasion.

Peter clapped Ned's back, signaling to break from their hug. As Ned pulled back, Peter straightened his suit. "I heard there was a dance tonight," he said. "Figured I would join in on the fun."

"Don't you have to be a student, though?" Harry questioned. It was the first thing that slipped from his mouth.

Peter shrugged. "I guess they made an exception for me."

Not that it mattered if Peter came or not. Harry didn't know why he questioned Peter's appearance anyway. Not that Midtown would ever turn down their Golden Boy. Still, he shouldn't be irritated by Peter's arrival. They hardly saw him at all anyway and having him here was good.

So why did he bristle when Peter joined them?

Ned was practically glowing, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Hey? Peter? Do you want me to get you a drink?" he asked. "They have punch."

"Err… sure, Ned," Peter said. "Thanks."

Ned sprinted off to fetch the punch. Peter didn't take his friend's empty chair. Instead he went around Michelle and pulled out the chair beside her. Harry noticed Michelle's head turning with Peter, watching him take his seat. Harry noted Peter returned her gaze with a warm and easy grin.

"Hey, I heard about the internship," he said with a bigger smile. "Congrats!"

Harry stiffened up. "Wait… what internship?" he looked to Michelle for an explanation, but it was Peter who answered.

"MJ got an internship," Peter said, bearing that proud smile again when he looked back to Michelle. "Shuri told me all about it. She's excited that you're joining the team."

Michelle rolled in her lips as she glanced away from Peter for a split second. Her hands fiddled together. "Oh, yeah, thanks," she said. "Shuri said you were weird about it."

Peter made a face. "What? I wasn't being weird," he argued. "I thought... I just didn't know you guys were that close. It took me by surprise. That's all. I wasn't... it's not weird."

The corners of Michelle's lips curled up into a knowing smirk. "Uh-huh," she replied.

"It's not weird!"

"What's not weird?" Ned returned and handed Peter his cup of punch. "What did I miss?"

"Michelle is running off to Wakanda," Harry answered, still reeling from the revelation.

"What?"

"She got an internship," said Peter.

Ned whipped his whole body to Michelle, a smile stretching from ear to ear. "Omigod! That's so cool!" he said, ecstatic. "What... what are you doing there?"

"I'm working on Global outreach programs," Michelle said. "Assisting in the start-up and that sort of thing."

Ned was still wowed. "That's so cool," he said. "When do you start?"

"After the school year ends," Michelle answered. "Actually, I'm going to Wakanda in five days. Shuri invited me and my folks over so that they can get an idea of what I will be doing. Staying over there for Christmas."

The three friends talked and Harry sat back in his seat, not listening to them at all. Far too lost and stunned by Michelle's surprising news. She was leaving. Off to Wakanda without telling him. He thought the three of them were going to spend Christmas break together and share summer joy in the months off of school. He thought the holidays would be tolerable, even fun. He thought they could go skiing, take them all to his family's cabin up in Vermont. He wanted to show off his yacht, take them sailing around the harbor. He thought he would have all this time.

He was wrong. Michelle was leaving. Off on an adventure that Peter Parker hooked her up with.

The DJ changed the song and Peter diverted his attention from the group to the dance floor. "Well, I'm happy for you MJ," he said. "You're going to do great." He got up from his seat, pushing in his chair. "You guys wanna go onto the dance floor? Ned?"

Ned nodded, getting up from his seat too. "Yeah, let's bust some moves!"

Peter laughed and then Harry watched his eyes avert to Michelle. "MJ?" he said, holding out his hand to her. "May I have this dance?"

Harry almost snorted. Michelle had no interest in going out to the dance floor. He opened his mouth to repeat Michelle's earlier words to him. "Dances are—"

"Sure."

Harry spluttered to silence as he watched, wide-eyes, as Michelle took Peter's hand. Peter helped her up from her seat. Together, with Michelle still holding Peter's hand, they walked over to the dance floor with Ned tagging along behind him. No one even noticed Harry didn't get up.

Harry sat, abandoned, as his friends left him to go dancing.

He watched from the sidelines. One by one, eyes widened and heads turned as the rest of the student population recognized the famous Midtown student. Whispers overcame the song, as people drew closer to the encircled group of friends, dancing lightly on their feet. Harry watched Michelle dance, casually with her head bopping to the rhythm and her hips sliding from one side to the next. She did a little spin, which got Ned and Peter to applaud. Harry smiled as she danced and swayed to the music.

The DJ abruptly stopped the song and called out over his microphone. "Now, for all the couples out there," his voice rang overhead, "this is for you."

There was a groan of disapproval and a few dancers already marched off the floor in submission before the song even came on. The song clicked and the melody of Ed Sheeran came through the speakers loud and clear.

I found love for me, Darling just dive right in, and follow my lead

Harry expected more dancers to come off, particularly his group of friends to return to the table. Only, Michelle didn't leave the floor. Neither did Peter.

Harry's heart pounded harder, eyes struck on the sight before him. Peter offered his hand again. Michelle let his fingers wrap around hers. Harry watched Peter slide his free hand behind Michelle, resting it against her back. He saw her lip stiffen upon the touch, but then smile as she moved closer to Peter.

Well I found a girl beautiful and sweet, I never knew you were the someone waiting for me

The music swayed them, dancing close together. Not smoothly, Harry noted. Michelle winced a few times her foot got stepped on, but through it all, she still smiled. Her heels clicked over the dance floor as they spun around the other dancers. They ignored the cameras following them, the eyes watching them.

'Cause we were just kids when we fell in love, not knowing what it was, I will not give you up this time

Michelle's lips were close to Peter's ear, whispering something, sharing secrets to one another. Peter lit up, chuckling before Michelle laughed a little too. They spoke, breaths close together. Harry saw how Michelle's lips were puckered, parted. She wanted a kiss.

But darling, just kiss me slow, your heart is all I own, and in your eyes you're holding mine

"No," Harry corrected the song. "Not mine."

He watched Michelle continue to dance and spin with Peter in her arms, his face in her eyes. The lights twinkled above them, like stars, as Michelle let Peter spin her in delicate circles. Her dress billowed a little, revealing smooth ankles and calves. Michelle's hands were clutched in Peter's hands as they held onto each other tight.

Baby, I'm dancing in the dark with you between my arms, barefoot on the grass, listening to our favorite song

Harry felt his throat constrict, restraining the stirring emotions from coming out. A strong ache pulsed in the center of his forehead the longer he watched Michelle dance. Cold flowed through his veins, encasing him in ice. Looking at Michelle, seeing her smile, warmed him a little. But her smiles were not for him. Her laughs were caused by him. And she danced on, her hair swaying to the melody and her blue dress shimmering under the twinkling lights.

When I saw you in that dress, looking so beautiful, I don't deserve this, darling

"You look perfect, tonight," Harry finished the lyrics as his throat burned with the words.

He became startled when a chair was pulled out next to him and Ned sat down to join him. He handed him a cup. It was filled with punch.

"Here!" Ned gave him the punch. "Figured you might be thirsty."

Harry took it, but didn't drink. "Thanks."

Ned chugged his cup, letting out a satisfying sigh. He looked ahead, observing the couples dancing on the floor. "Look at them," Ned commented, gesturing to Michelle and Peter.

Harry cocked an eyebrow. "What about them?"

"They look good together, don't you think?"

Harry shrugged, a frown pinching his lips. "Sure. I guess so."

Ned watched a little longer. "Our two friends… getting together."

"They aren't together, Ned," he said, rather quickly and far harsher than he meant. "They're just… sharing a dance."

"A slow dance!"

Harry scoffed. "That means shit," he said to him. "I've slow danced to a lot of girls."

Ned's face deflated a little bit. He took quick glances to where Michelle was and back to him. "I don't know dude," he said after a moment. "I think it's more than just a dance."

Harry hoped it wasn't. He hoped the dance meant nothing and that Michelle faked those smiles and laughs. He wanted to hear Michelle snap at Peter or push him away. He wanted Michelle to come back to the table, sit next to him and wish she had a better dancing partner.

He wished for so much.

When the song ended and the return the cookie-cutter pop music blared through the speakers, more people came onto the dance floor. Michelle disappeared in the crowd, out of Harry's sight.

Harry craned his neck to find her. He couldn't. Not with that hoard of a crowd storming the floor.

"You going to go out there?" Ned asked.

He wanted to. If only to sweep Michelle off her feet. "Yeah," he said, confidence boasting. "Yeah, I think I will."

"Cool!" Ned finished his punch and got up as well. "Let's go find Peter and Michelle."

Harry only cared to find Michelle. They danced through the crowd, jumping and squeezing between people. Harry scanned the faces, looking for the face of an angel with a halo of curls and a beautiful face. Ned bobbed his head along to the music, not truly caring about the direction they were going.

Harry led the charge, pushing dancers aside as he checked each blue-dressed girl until he found Michelle. Harry was relieved to find her. She was dancing, bouncing to the beat and her arms moving in crazy motions.

He abandoned Ned at once, making a beeline straight to Michelle. "Hey, Princess!" he shouted over the music to her.

Michelle looked up, brushing her hair away from her eyes. "Oh, hey," she greeted. "You care to join?"

Harry coolly shrugged. "Someone's gotta show people how to dance."

Michelle wrinkled her brows in incredulity. "Yeah, okay."

She wanted proof. He could give her proof. His body became fluid, grooving to the music. Light on his feet, he showed off all the moves he learned from clubbing in California. A few people moved aside for him, watching him as he took over the dance floor. He heard a few whistles and hoots as he let loose.

It boost his confidence. He slid up to Michelle, who looked confused. With a sly smile, he took her hand and pulled her into his dance circle. He twirled her around, hands covering her back. Her skin was smooth and warm. She smelled of lavender, his favorite scent.

Michelle was in his arms, dancing with him. They moved together, in perfect sync and harmony. Like the beat of their hearts. The warmth between them grew more powerful that his breath was taken away. He smiled, leaning in close so that his lips were near Michelle's ear. It all felt perfect.

So, he took the plunge.

He suddenly spun Michelle, twirling her fast that her hair flew over her face. His hand secured in the center of her back, he dipped her low. Like they do in the movies. Harry smiled and winked.

Michelle did not.

Her fingers pinched his arms. Eyes wide in fright as she wiggled in desperation. "What are you doing?!"

Harry was confused. He thought…

A hand came out of nowhere, helping Michelle back up into a standing position. It jolted Harry to assist, pulling her back up. Once she was back on her feet, Michelle pulled away, fixing her dress and hair.

"Are you okay?"

It was Peter. He came over, checking Michelle as she fixed her appearance.

Michelle brushed her hair behind her ears. "I'm fine. I'm fine," she said to Peter and Harry. "Just… wasn't expecting that. At all."

Harry felt his cheeks burn pink. "Sorry… I thought—"

"Um… I think I had enough dancing," Michelle said. "I'm going to go get a drink."

Michelle squeezed through the crowd. Some of the dancers watched her leave and the rest stared at him. Or Peter. Maybe both. Probably just Peter.

Harry scratched the back of his neck. He should follow after Michelle. That's what he needed to do.

As he moved to go after her, Betty Bryant and her pink dress and curled blonde hair bounced onto the scene, blocking him.

She wasn't even looking at him. Her eyes were bright on Peter. "May I have this dance, Peter?"

Peter looked down at petite Betty, brows furrowing for a minute in puzzlement. "Um... not right now," he said to Betty, but then turned to Harry. "I'll check on MJ."

And Peter was gone, leaving Harry guilt ridden and Betty self-conscious at the rejection. She pretended to not be hurt, moving her feet to act like she was dancing as she moved away from the scene of her rejection.

Harry considered chasing after Michelle, but rather than move forward, he turned. He went the other direction, hurrying off the dance floor and to the only secluded place he thought of.

Harry paced the men's bathroom.

No one else was there. Just him and the stalls and urinals. He went over the dance in his head, the way Michelle held him and danced close. Nothing was wrong. She was having fun. They both were. It didn't make sense for her to panic and leave.

Harry gripped his hair. Michelle looked pissed. She may have said she was fine, but Harry knew that look. She was angry and frustrated. At him. For what reason, Harry didn't know. If it was because of the dip, he would apologize. He didn't mean to frighten her. It was a romantic gesture. Any girl knew that!

Yet, Michelle freaked and Peter came running.

Harry stewed over the fact that Peter rushed over. Peter didn't have to treat him like he was abusing Michelle. He would never do that! Yet, the way he jumped in and pulled her up to her feet made it appear like he was some god-damn superhero. Which, Harry guessed, he was in a way, but what did Michelle need protection from? Harry wasn't going to let her get hurt. There was no need for Peter to be there.

Hell! Peter wasn't even supposed to be at the dance in the first place. It was for Midtown students only. Current students. He shouldn't even be at the dance at all. And what was with the damn bow-tie? This wasn't a black and white party.

Harry stopped at one of the sinks and breathed. He rolled his eyes up, seeing his pale reflection in the mirror. His hair was no longer neat. It was messed up, disarray from his constant raking of it. He loosened his tie at one point, but he could not remember doing that at all. He looked like a wreck and not the handsome agent he initially believed prior to arriving at the dance.

None of this was going right. The night was ruined the moment his father took away the car keys. If he had the car, he could take Michelle and Ned away from the event. They could have spent their winter formal off on some adventure. The three of them, taking New York by storm.

Michelle would be in the front seat, smiling at him. Laughing with him. Sharing secrets with each other or jokes that meant something only to them. They could have danced in the sand, on the beaches of Manhattan. Coney Island. Hamptons. Somewhere where they would be under the real night sky and not the fake, twinkling lights the adults put up to mimic the space above them.

Nonetheless, it never happened. His father took the car. Michelle didn't want to dance or was too thirsty. Peter returned. It was all a big mess.

He took another deep breath, recollecting his father's words.

If a girl likes you, she wouldn't give you an excuse.

Michelle never gave him an excuse. All her reasons were well-founded. She didn't push him away or reject him. And the whole dipping fiasco was his fault. He should have warned her.

Yet, the whispering talk in the back of his head prodded him. She never said no to Peter. She took his hand. She smiled. Laughed and let him twirl her. Her eyes stayed on him throughout the song. She looked happy. Happier than she was with him.

Harry shook his head. No, he was seeing things. She was only happy because Peter showed. They haven't seen him in a long time. She was happy to see him. Not happy to be with him. There's a difference. He knew the difference.

Michelle had smiled at him. Multiple times. They bantered and swapped witty repartee with one another. They have lunch together and decathlon practices and even study together. They messaged every day. Went to movies or watched basketball games, even though Michelle didn't particularly enjoy them.

They do all sorts of things together. Things she's never done with Peter. Things she would probably never do with Peter.

Harry's breathing calmed. He overreacted. There was nothing to get worried about. He needed to pull himself together. Act like the Osborn he was and be a man.

The first thing he must do was apologize to Michelle.

Harry left the bathroom and scanned the gym again for any signs of Michelle. He strolled around, hoping to spot her on the dance floor or maybe at a table. He didn't find her at all, but he did find Ned, nibbling away on a cookie.

"Hey Ned!" Harry called as he joined his friend.

Ned was startled, but then smiled bright. "Hey! Where have you been?" he asked. "You kind of disappeared from the dance floor."

"Me and others," Harry said, remembering how Michelle ran off and Peter followed. "Hey, um, have you seen Michelle anywhere? I can't find her and I just wanted to speak to her real quick."

Ned nodded. "Yeah, I saw her walk through those doors over there," he said, pointing to the two doors off in the corner. "The refreshment stand ran out of water, so she went to go look for a drinking fountain."

Harry clapped Ned on his shoulder. "Thanks, Ned," he said. "You're the best!"

He got back up and headed straight for the doors. He went over his speech in his head, saying the lines over and over again. He would apologize, repeatedly. Ask for forgiveness. Allow her to tease him. Properly ask for a dance with her. Then, dance with less flair for her taste.

He got to the two doors and pushed them open. They granted him entrance to the hallway, but found no one. The drinking fountain was right by the doors, but it was empty. She wasn't there. He didn't see Michelle, so he turned down, looking for her as he swept of the hallway. Where could she be?

Rounding the corner, he pulled out his phone, debating on whether to call her and see where she was. As he hoovered his finger over her contact, thinking of what do to. Would she even hear it? Would she even bother to answer? Too many questions. He needed to find her. She probably went for a little walk for a break away from the crowd.

Harry went around the next corner.

He screeched to a halt.