Peter doesn't have a choice: he turns the quiz in blank, promising himself this is the only time it will happen, promising to get back on track, to hold himself together. He lasts about three hours before he nods off in the back of Algebra II, only to wake to an elbow in his ribs and a raised eyebrow from the teacher.
" No more late-night split-screen marathons," Ned whispers once the teacher has turned back to the projector. "Even I won't be able to get you back in here if you get kicked out because of your Zelda addiction."
Peter laughs to cover up the sting in the corners of his eyes, then he turns away on the premise of fishing a pencil out of his bag so he can quickly wipe them.
He pulls himself together.
He can do this.
"So I'm thinking after the field trip we can go to your place to work on the hydraulics. I think if we can increase the pressure we can make the movement look more fluid, but —"
"What?"
Peter has been picking at his hot dog for the past fifteen minutes, staring past Ned's shoulder at the plane of unbroken gray beyond the cafeteria's broad windows. February is shaping up to be less snowy than its preceding months, but no less frigid. There have been a lot of afternoons spent indoors lately. A lot of family time.
He hasn't heard a word Ned's said.
When Peter forces himself to tear his eyes away from the gray and look at Ned, Ned rolls his eyes.
" The robotics project, " he says. " We have to start getting off our asses, Peter, the competition is in three weeks. And to be honest, dude, I feel like we could have been done by now if you had your head in the game. What has been up with you? Even Liz is starting to notice something is off, she said your flashcards were 'passable' last week, which for you is like… being held back a grade, or something."
When Peter says nothing, Ned waves a hand in front of his face. Peter manages not to jump—too close too close—but only just. "What? I mean, sorry, I'm justwhat?"
Now Ned frowns, still looking irritated but with a touch of concern, too. He glances at the decimated hot dog.
"Woah, I was joking, man, but are you okay for real? Are you sick?"
He leans across the table like he's about to feel Peter's forehead, and this time Peter does jerk out of the way. " I' m fine, " he snaps. Swallows. " What — what were you saying about the robot?"
" Okay. " Ned lowers himself back into his seat. "Um, I was saying we can go to your place after the OsCorp field trip and—"
"No."
The word leaves Peter's mouth so sharply he doesn't feel it passing his tongue, doesn't realize he said it until he sees the expression on Ned's face, almost like Peter just slapped him.
"Okay… I just—"
Suddenly, without warning, Peter is shouting.
"You just what, Ned? Maybe it never occurred to you, but I don't always like having a million people at my apartment, how about that? And yet every time we have a project to do, we end up at my place, and I have to deal with telling Skip you're coming, and cleaning up afterward, and pretending I don ' t have a million other things to deal with just because your mom sucks! This might be news to you, but it's not my fault and it's not my problem!"
Peter doesn't remember standing up, but somehow he is on his feet and his tray is upside-down, bits of hot dog sprayed across the table. Ned, still in his seat, is looking at Peter like he's never seen him before.
Half the lunch room is staring at them.
" Oh
no, Leeds, your boyfriend doesn't wanna play house anymore!" shouts Flash.
The jeer snaps Peter out of it. He jolts, sees there's a teacher picking her way through the now-laughing crowd toward them, and he snatches his bag from the bench, shouldering past the surly girl from decathlon in his haste to get away.
He spends seventh period in the bathroom, sitting in the corner of the accessible stall and staring at his phone, hoping Ned will text to ask where he is. If Ned texts, Peter can apologize.
The screen stays blank.
Peter can ' t face robotics club. He can ' t face an angry Ned, or the whispers of the kids who witnessed his blowup, or pretend to care about hydraulics or… any of it.
He plans to slip out of the bathroom when the bell rings, lose himself in the crowd of students heading to eighth period and climb the fence by the football field, where no one is ever watching. Then he can go to the park, or wander around the bodegas in his neighborhood—anything to kill the time before Skip is expecting him home. But his plan falls flat when, upon exiting the bathroom, he nearly walks into a stone-faced Morita.
The principal crooks a finger at him and heads toward his office without a word.
Peter can't even find the energy to be worried. He just follows.
"I've given you a lot of leeway, Mr. Parker. I know you've been through some real hardship, and transitioning to a new home, a new school—that's never easy. But I did make it clear when I admitted you that your attendance here was contingent upon your performance. Especially when it comes to behavior."
Peter stares at his knees. The urge to jiggle them is almost overwhelming, but he holds himself still. Holds his breath. Says nothing.
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