"For that matter, what is with the administration treating you like you' re two seconds away from firing shots from the bell tower? We all know Flash's rumors are crap. The worst thing I've ever seen you do is throw a hot dog at Ned, and before that all you did was geek out about Star Wars and Legos when you thought no one was listening. You're like, the dorkiest kid at this school. At this school. So what's your deal, Peter? What are you hiding?"
Once again Peter tries to answer her. This time he manages a sort of dry croak, but he has the feeling he doesn't get his point across, because the next second he is pitching forward in his chair, the ground rising up to meet him.
" Woah! "
Michelle catches him across the chest before he can fall, pushes him back into his seat. "Are you okay? What are you—? Woah."
In the course of steadying him, Michelle presses a hand to Peter's forehead. It's cool and soft, the first touch in ages and ages that Peter doesn ' t flinch away from, and he wishes she would just leave it there forever, but the next minute she pulls away to get a better look at his face.
"Why didn't you say you had a fever, doofus?" Her voice has no real bite to it. Peter thinks she might sound scared, but it ' s a vague notion. Everything is vague — his thoughts distant, his skin tingly. "Come on, you need to go home." At last his voice comes unstuck from the back of his throat.
"I'm okay," he says. "Let's just talk about, um, characterization."
"Yeah, no. You need to go lay down. I'll get Principal Morita—"
She starts to rise, but Peter grabs her sleeve. "No," he rasps. "Please. He'll think I'm ditching. I can't—it has to look like I'm trying."
"You are trying," says Michelle, but she lowers herself into her chair all the same. "Trying to act like a crazy person, apparently. You feel like a furnace, Peter."
He releases her arm.
"They'll kick me out." Michelle ' s expression softens. She glances over her shoulder.
"Okay," she says. "Okay, I'll cover for you. If anyone asks I'll tell them I was frog-marching you through the city to a poetic beat, a-la Dead Poets' Society, okay? Just let me take you home."
Peter doesn't remember agreeing. He doesn't remember leaving the school, or giving Michelle his address. But the next thing he knows he is in the back of a car, a cab or an Uber, maybe, with his head resting on someone ' s shoulder. A second after that he is standing outside Skip's apartment.
Michelle is standing next to him. She has one hand on his elbow, steadying him, and she raises the other to knock on the door, watching him out of the corner of his eye with an unmistakable expression of worry.
Peter can't think of anything to say to reassure her. His skin feels like it's on fire. The edges of his vision are going black.
Suddenly, Skip is in front of him.
Peter takes a step back before he can think not to. He glances at Michelle in time to see her frown at Skip, but Skip hasn't noticed her yet. He scowls at Peter.
"I thought you were staying late at school," he says. "Did you forget your key?"
Michelle clears her throat.
Peter is barely conscious at this point, but even he can't miss the dramatic change in Skip's demeanor as soon as he sees that he and Peter are not alone. The scowl melts from his face, replaced by the mild, polite, parentish expression he used to use with Peter, but now reserves exclusively for company. "Oh," he says. "You didn't tell me you were having a friend over, Pete."
"I'm just bringing him home," says Michelle. "Peter's sick."
Skip looks at Peter sharply. He presses his hand to Peter ' s forehead, like Michelle did in the library, but this time Peter doesn't lean into it. It takes all of his effort not to stagger back. After what feels like a very long time, Skip removes it. "Well, I'll be," he says. "Come on in, son. Let's get you to bed."
He steps aside. Peter can ' t think clearly, but he has an animal instinct at the sight of the apartment beyond the threshold—to run, far and fast.
He fights it. Steps inside.
Skip doesn't invite Michelle in.
"Thanks, uh…?" "Michelle. I think—"
"Thanks Michelle, but I can take it from here."
He starts to close the door, but Michelle sticks an arm out, holds it open.
" I think he needs to go to the hospital, " she says. " He seemed really out of it on the way over, I don' t think he's okay."
Skip glances at Michelle ' s outstretched arm, then back at Peter, who is standing just beyond the entrance, dumbly watching their small confrontation unfold.
When Skip turns back to Michelle, his smile looks pasted on.
" I ' m sure I ' ve got it covered, sweetheart. Looks like a nasty case of the flu to me, and that usually passes in a few days. Peter will see you at school."
Reluctantly, it seems, Michelle lowers her arm. She looks at Peter, her expression concerned but with a touch of something that looks, for just a second, like revelation. And then Skip closes the door over her.
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