Aside from Peter's obtrusive moodiness, the dinner ends up better than I imagined. We try to avoid too much debating - to save our brainpower for the coming tournament… and, though no one says it, to avoid being kicked out of the restaurant because Peter was getting way too loud while arguing with Flash.

Instead, we go a different route. We breathe life back into a handful of school memories, the kind I hope we always remember, even when we're eighty. A personal favorite of mine is the time the captain of our baseball team misheard "shoe string" as "g-string" during the "Lost and Found" pep assembly game and, without hesitation, reached into his pocket and threw one down to Mr. Harrington (whose face was appropriately horrified). Or, a favorite of everyone's, the time Abe spilled saline on Flash in Chemistry. Most of us were there when Flash pulled the emergency shower and started stripping in the middle of class because he assumed the liquid was acid and Abe was laughing too hard to tell him otherwise.

"Seriously? That's so old!" (It was only two months ago.) Flash can't let that story slip without protesting, yet he has to force his own laughter down. His mouth might be running, but I can tell he's mostly amused, partly embarrassed. For once, he doesn't seem like such an asshole. "And you shouldn't laugh, Y/N, given what you did in first grade!"

I raise an eyebrow.

"Me? What about first grade?" I ask. He raises an eyebrow back to me as I squint, trying to recall. After a long pause, I remember. "Oh…. That about first grade."

Of course he remembers. My face is changing colors, I know it is.

"Are you blushing?" Ned asks, astonished and intrigued.

I try to stifle the laughter rising in my throat. It bursts out anyway. I really can't believe I forgot about this. If Flash hadn't mentioned it, maybe by the grace of God, it would never have crossed my mind again. Damn you, Flash.

Peter shifts in his seat. His arm brushes mine as Flash begins to boast; he pulls it back. It makes me jump, just barely, from the warmth.

"Miss Goodie Goodie Two Shoes dragged me," Flash says, "an innocent young boy, under the slide - during recess - to kiss me. And boy did she."

Flash leans back in his chair, arms crossed, with an I won smirk that he directs at me, then Peter.

Screw you, Flash.

"You did not," Michelle says in disbelief. "You kissed Flash?! And never mentioned it?"

"Hold on!" I say. Side conversations have halted for this piece of old gossip and there is no way Flash gets to bring me that low with something from a decade ago. "Back then, he was little, brainy Genie. And to be fair, he had a gumball machine delivered to my house. Yeah, Flash, don't think I won't bring up the fact you liked me, not the other way around. I assumed he was a rich prince and that if I kissed him, he would turn into a frog and I could steal his money from his locker and his desk. It wasn't like I got naked in front of twenty-eight students and my teacher two months ago!"

"That's so not how the fairytales go, Y/N," Ned mutters. "Was your childhood okay?"

"You thought he was a frog?" Peter asks, speaking to me for the first time tonight. He crosses his arms.

"Yes, Peter Parker. I thought I could rob a magic frog prince. It borders on childhood criminal fantasy, but the point is: I was a child. You can't make fun of me for something I did at six years old."

"Oh, really? And what does frog taste like?"

His shoulder nudges mine as he leans in close, his eyes flickering to my lips for emphasis. My heartbeat is pulsing at the tips of my ears. I untuck my hair from them in case they turn red. I never thought he would look at me like this. Even if that look is for the wrong reason, it's like a finger curling around my collar bone building pressure as it pulls downward. My breathing verges on painful.

What was the kiss like?

I pause.

"Dirt," I say. Make this funny again. "Even as I dragged him to the slide, his hands were stuffing his mouth with dirt."

Laughter erupts again. Thank God. Soon, Abe is almost in tears over it, clapping Flash on the back as Flash stammers to defend his choice of lunch ten years ago.

Peter goes silent again, eyes on the floor. Against my will, I can picture a tiny Peter Parker sulking inside my brain picking at the loose threads of my mental Perfect Day tapestry. My optimism is coming completely undone. Frustration or anxiety or both are pushing me off of my little "today" high.


We exit the restaurant at 10:27. Goodbyes and "See you in the morning!"'s pass between everyone in a jumble of half-conversations. I eavesdrop on Ned and Betty, both leaning against the window, cloaked in neon red glow with taxi headlights gliding over their kneecaps.

"So lame that Mr. Harrington won't let us bring non-team members," Ned's saying. "He's always being such a stick in the mud. Somebody should just… I don't know." He stumbles for words. "Like, kill him or something."

Betty lets out an awkward chuckle.

"You know," he hurries, "as, like, a prank."

She snorts, covering her mouth as she doubles over.

"Totally. I'll write the Morning Announcement piece on it and everything. See you in Psych in a few days?"

"Yeah! If I'm not in jail for murder, you know?"

Now they're both laughing. Little stars of excitement bloom in my chest. I'm so glad Betty came. I'm thinking about all the future excuses I can muster up to force them to work with one another in class. My daydream dissolves as Michelle hip checks me back into the present.

"I hope you're ready to lose a seventh hour buddy," she whispers.

"Nah. I'll stay on that love train as a third wheel. Gotta make sure the conductor doesn't wreck it."

"Trains have like, 8 wheels per segment."

"Per car, you mean."

"Exactly. I think Ned can handle it."

"This must be a new record for us derailing a metaphor because I don't follow the tracks you're laying down."

"Those are terrible puns and you know it."

I shake my head and roll my eyes. The phrase I love my friends should be etched into the bone of each of my ribs. The phrase repeats itself so often in my head I like to visualize it that way.

As Cindy, Abe, Sally, and Betty wave goodbye, I turn to Ned. He's waving back at them, a grin sprawled across his face. Eventually I catch his eye and smirk.

"You saw what you saw," he mouths, jerking his head slightly to where Betty had been standing and giving me his best "cool guy" attitude.

Before I can respond, Flash finishes his conversation with Peter (which… though tense, didn't seem hostile for once), and addresses the remaining four of us.

"You know, I thought this dinner thing was a joke at first, but it was actually… not the worse idea in the history of Midtown Tech. It gets an official Flash rating of Not Totally Lame."

Michelle raises her eyebrows. Ned and Peter look vaguely annoyed. Personally, I'm not that surprised. (I'm kind of surprised - that he vocalized it.)

"You're wel-"

"Yeah, dude, well, you were only invited a few hours ago," Peter says. He scratches the bridge of his nose and rubs his eyebrow before making eye contact with Flash again. "And the rest of us planned this last month. Like, ages ago."

Everyone freezes.

"Cool," Flash says. "Bye guys. Fuck you, Penis Parker."


Peter doesn't speak a word as we walk back to his and May's apartment. His behavior is so foreign, so drastically cold even compared to how he's been all week, that Ned, Michelle, and I keep our mouths shut too. Until we reach the door.

Peter unlocks it and turns around.

"You guys staying here tonight?"

"Yeah," says Ned with the tone of obviously.

"Do you want us to go home?" I ask.

He looks at the ground as he shrugs. He seems almost as shy as the first time I met him, years ago.

What is going on in Spider Town?

"Just thought you guys might sleep better in beds. I know that couch sucks."

"The couch is fine," I say, wondering if he needs the reassurance of us wanting to be there. "MJ is what sucks. She pushed me off in her sleep half a dozen times. This time, she gets to sleep on the edge."

Michelle nods. "But if you try to spoon me even once, I'm going to roll over and crush you."

Peter stops listening and pushes the door open.

I fight the urge to kick at his heel while I follow. Peter Parker has always been the sweetest person in this city. Right now, though, he's genuinely pissing me off. He's acted worse than Flash has tonight, completely unlike himself. If anything, he's making Flash look like a better friend.

After faces are washed, teeth brushed, and retainers stuck into place (everyone but Michelle - her teeth are naturally perfect), we turn off the lights and head to our usual sleeping stations. Michelle and I on the couch, Peter and Ned in the bunk beds. I lie on the couch for fifteen minutes, itching my index finger.

"Hey, I'll be right back. Don't steal my spot."

Because of my retainers, it sounds more like, "Don't thteal my thpot." I take them out.

Maybe I can end this on a good note.

I stumble in the dark for a few steps until I find the hallway with my hands. I reach Peter's door and turn the knob. A quiet conversation stops.

"Ned," I whisper from the doorway. "Before I go to bed, I just need to clarify: if you do murder Mr. Harrington, legally I'll have to testify against you. And I don't want to see you behind bars. Try a different way to impress her, maybe?"

"Oh my goddd," Ned groans. "I…. I still have no idea why I said that."

I imagine Peter smiling on his bunk. He probably isn't. If he were in a good mood, he would laugh and ask what we were talking about. If he were in a better mood at all, he would know by now.

"I know," I say. "Goodnight!"

As I pop back out of the room, I hear Ned's reply and Peter's quiet, "Yeah."

Who says "Yeah" to a "Goodnight"?

Peter Parker, apparently.

Tomorrow, I'm either going to hug him or kill him.