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𝙉𝙊𝙏 𝘼𝙉𝙊𝙏𝙃𝙀𝙍 𝙏𝙀𝙀𝙉 𝙈𝙊𝙑𝙄𝙀.

───○☆ ✸ ☆○───

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍: White Ferrari

𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 ─ 𝐒𝐀𝐍 𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐎, 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐀

𝟐𝟖 𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟔

───○☆ ✸ ☆○───

☆

      "Jesus, Scott. It looks like a bomb went off in here."

"Nope! But at least we know the FBI would get here quick with this thing."

Lizzie watched as the man gestured down to the jewelry cuffed to his ankle, and she winced just like every other time Scott Lang had casually brought up the reminder. Along with the ankle monitor being a condition of his release, Scott was also being babysat by the government—although, his proved to be a harder case to fight than her own. Her mom had managed to work around the "no contact with any affiliates" portion of the contract with Lizzie, and their family had been spending the last few weeks outside of New York and in California. Given that there were no solid charges against her after Berlin, they could not decisively say she was in affiliation and thus, Lizzie became Cassie Lang's babysitter (really, she was Scott's, but that didn't look so great in writing). Clint had also been released back to his family under the same conditions, and Lizzie had promised the man to come visit their farm over winter break.

Instead of addressing Scott's pointed remark at his house arrest, Lizzie focused her sights on the mangled debris of cardboard set haphazardly all over the place within his home. When Mike Carter got a text from Scott's best friend, Luis, reading SOS Emergency—Babysitting, Lizzie thought that Cassie had been stolen off the side of the street. Then, not even a minute later, another rely of "SHE'S OK" to ease the urge she had to leave the local gym and run all the way to Lang's. Her and her father separated ways after he dropped her off, claiming something along the lines of "there's a really good coffee shop down the street."

Then, Scott somehow managed to convince her to help set up a fort for Cassie for when she visited, and she had no choice but to accept. That left her sitting on the top of the steps, and her body contortioning in a way that shouldn't be humanly possible but she somehow did. Scott was laid out flat at the bottom, his head popping into the exit of the tunnel to speak with her through the cardboard occasionally. The shuffled 2000's Hits played in the background, accompanied by the sound of tape ripping against Lizzie's teeth.

"Hey, Lizzie?" She secured one end of the tunnel and went to the next, balancing her foot on the side of the wall. Scott proceeded when he heard her muffled response through the duct tape roll in her mouth. "Do you think they bugged my cereal boxes?"

She paused, glancing down at him and stepping over enough to hold the duct tape in her hand. "Do you want me to tell you the truth or ruin cereal for you forever?"

"You just kind of did either way," Scott muttered mournfully.

"If it makes you feel better, I have to fill out worksheets every week to my psychiatrist so that they can be approved by Stark. There's those little emojis—you know, the really depressing frown, and then the 'I'm in pain but it's fine' frown—"

Scott's eyes lit up. "Oh, yeah! They had me fill one of those out when I got out of prison."

"Annoying, right?"

"Totally."

The two worked together in silence for another stretch of time. Well, as good of silence as they could manage. Small comments came unconsciously to Scott, and they were usually followed by another offbeat response from Lizzie that resulted in no real conclusion. They did, however, manage to finish the tunnel leading upstairs and had now begun the small fort. Lizzie found herself inside of the cardboard box as Scott taped from the outside, telling her where to hold up the ends so they were secure.

"Hope you're not claustrophobic," Lizzie said as she patched a piece of tape on the inside where a hole had been created. "This is considerably-less fun when you're over five-feet. We should've made a blanket fort."

Scott scoffed from the other side of the box. "Please, me? I'm not scared of anything. Except a few things. There's a few things I don't like—"

"Yeah, I get it. Mine is heights."

"Oh, that's a good one. You know, it's really not that scary when you're up there. It's actually kind of nice to see the clouds..."

Lizzie smiled softly at the man, and she moved to scoot further down the carpeted floor. As she did so, she felt the weight on her chest move to the side of her neck, and then a soft zipping as four dog tags slid across the silver chain. The action was mindless, and it had happened to her enough to annoy her at times, but the sudden emphasis on them had Lizzie remembering back to a certain man and their experience with heights.

She pursed her lips before she spoke. "I jumped out of a window on the forty-first floor of a building. You know all those talks about facing your fears? Liars."

"What?!" and suddenly, half of Scott's face came into view through a crack in the two cardboard sections. His excitement lost its charm when he met her eyes, and he paused. "Oh. What happened?"

Lizzie cleared her throat at the question and decided claustrophobia may be another unspoken fear of hers. Pushing herself further down, she carefully slid out of the inside of the tunnel and inhaled deeply when she was back on her feet. Her actions all happened fast, though, and Scott had barely registered her getting out of their cardboard fort so quickly. He turned to look at her, and for the first time, Lizzie saw a reflection of someone else. A paternal nature to him that she didn't see often.

"Hey, it's okay. You don't need to talk about anything you aren't ready to," Scott assured, standing up fully but remaining in the same spot. Lizzie had been ready to assure herself she was fine, when Scott interrupted her. "You don't have to say the line. I know the line...I get it."

She nodded slowly, rubbing her hands anxiously along the sides of her shorts. "Do you, um...can I ask you a personal question? Feel free to say no—"

"Sure. I'm a pretty personal guy."

"You didn't know what was going to happen on the tarmac that day. Why did you come?" she asked despite herself. Lizzie knew she wasn't ready to have the conversation yet, but if she had to, Scott Lang felt like the perfect person to start with. "Why did you stay?"

"Why did you?" was his soft reply, giving her a sad smile. He glanced down at the cardboard in his hand then set it aside with a sigh. "I spent a lot of years without Cassie. I'm trying my best every day to be the man she deserves out of a father. I stayed because I knew she would be proud of me, no matter what anybody else said. No matter what this thing said."

He gestured down to the ankle monitor again, and Lizzie nodded.

"I don't know who all you lost that day. I know you were close with Cap. But...I'm sorry. You didn't deserve that."

"Because I'm a kid," she said matter-of-factually, stale on her tongue as she recited the phrase that stopped sounding the same the moment Clint shouted it to protect her.

Scott shook his head. "No. Because no one deserves to go through that. You're not a kid...I mean, yes, you're a kid but not in the way people tell you you are. Just...you're young—and what you went through isn't something you should have to deal with at your age. So...I guess maybe, because you're a kid...but you're somebody's kid. Is this making anything better?"

You're somebody's kid.

The way that Scott emphasized the last statement could be compared to a fast pitch sent straight in the stomach, but Lizzie would wager the latter any day. Physical pain, she could handle. The evidence of that sat in her shoulder. The mental pain was the scary part. Every step could be a potential landmine, and these days, there was not much time left before she evidentially tripped one. Scott had done that all on his own.

"Why don't we call it quits for the day? I know you've probably got to start packing up for your big day."

Right. First day of school was coming up. Back in New York.

Lizzie stepped forward for protest. "No, let's finish this."

"...okay, so, I was thinking, we could have some kind of contraption like a puppet where—"

But Scott's bright idea fell on deaf ears as Lizzie traveled in and out of focus. For the rest of the day leading into the night, she had dissociated out of reality and into a repeating nightmare of Berlin. Leaving Scott's to return to their AirBnB always left her feeling conflicted, but with the conversation they had, every emotion was heightened. The guilt that she had the privilege to walk out of his house, and there would be no repercussions to her if she went too far. The anger in how the events unfolded. The fear. None could drown out the grief. Not even anger, as she discovered, was enough to stop the pain from finding its way back.

───○☆ ✸ ☆○───

𝐔𝐏𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐘𝐎𝐑𝐊 ─ 𝐏𝐒𝐘𝐂𝐇 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘
𝟏 𝐒𝐄𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟔

"It's really good to see you, Lizzie. I see you changed your hair. I like this color on you...and I'm jealous of your tan. Did you enjoy your time in California?"

Therapist Gracie was as kind-hearted of a person as Lizzie could have asked for in a therapist. The woman was in her thirties, fresh out of graduate school, but well with enough experience to do her job. Lizzie knew what a bad therapist looked like. She had apathetic stares and a tight-lip, a woman in the city who hated thirteen-year-old Lizzie after D.C. But Therapist Gracie was different, and no matter how many times Lizzie disappointed her in these sessions, she never stopped making appointments. She never stopped trying.

"I did, actually. I had a lot of fun. Dad and I went to a few of these work-out classes that definitely suited a Kardashian better than Dad. Mom was working a lot, but I got to spend some time with her in her office. I spent some time with Scott—which, I'm sure you already know," Lizzie's easy-going conversations always held a reminder to them both why she was really here.

Therapist Gracie never bowed down. "I got your smiley faces...so what made you want to change your hair?"

"I think it was the tan."

The previously-light brunette, with a bit of a red tint to it in the sun from previous dyes, was now a darker brunette that could be mistaken for black when wet. The excuse of a tan had been a good one, given that her complexion was a noticeable shade darker from the California weather. Compared to her last appearance in a pair of shorts and a ratty, old softball shirt, to see her wearing a pair of ripped jeans and a nice, navy blue tank top should make her 'overall progress' better. So long as she didn't open her mouth, she could get away with a good session.

"Have you been able to sleep? I know changing environments like that can cause some jet-lag. Were you able to adjust well enough?" she asked, giving Lizzie a soft smile. It reached her eyes, warming the green color.

Lizzie instantly adjusted her position forward, so her forearms were on her thighs. A greater attention went to the dog-tags around her neck as they hovered in the air above her chest. "Are we really going to do this again? The whole 'let's-avoid-the-subject-directly thing? It feels passive aggressive."

"This is for you, Lizzie. It's not for me. You shape this time however you need it," Gracie replied with a shrug, not giving into her expression of attitude. The woman only waited for Lizzie to say something more, and when that silence persisted, Gracie faltered. "Are you seriously going to stare at me for fifty minutes?"

"Until you stop, yes."

"You do realize that arguing with your therapist is not a good thing to include in these reports, right?"

Lizzie's face perked up. "Ha! You finally said it!"

"Lizzie..." the older woman groaned and rubbed her face, trying to rid herself of any more giving-expressions. She dropped her hands to stare in exasperation. "Believe it or not, the conversation in here is not a transcript into that report. I've expressed to you multiple times, that this is a safe place for you to talk to me. There is a policy—"

"—I wasn't sure if that policy had the same standards when the United States government was on the receiving end of the reports," Lizzie interrupted, and she raised her eyebrows pointedly. "Forgive me if I'm not overly confident in them caring about patient rights and protection."

Therapist Gracie frowned, shaking her head at her with a growing upset on her face. "No, but I care about you. I have a moral code I decided to stand by, and at the end of the day, my priority is you. My job is not to waste your time to please someone else, Lizzie. I'm just here for you. I always have been."

"How am I supposed to believe that?"

"Lizzie...is this about Ian Monroe?"

The wind was knocked out of her, and she sucked in a sharp breath before her throat closed up. Lots of things had been dodged around throughout their sessions, and the common theme among them was one: D.C. The mentioning of Berlin was met with anger, just like Tony's name in passing, but when Gracie pointed their discussion back to Washington, the air in the room burned thicker. Lizzie almost always noticeably tensed, but this time, she didn't seem as eager to shut down.

Instead. her brown eyes glared hotly into the eyes of Gracie. "What are you asking me?"

"I'm asking you if you would like to talk about what happened with him, Lizzie. I'm giving you the chance to release whatever it is you're holding onto...I know you've been given training on reading body language, and that you have been aware of every targeted question I've asked you. I'm not treating you like you're oblivious to what is going on, but I do expect you to treat me the same. I watch you just like you watch me, but the difference is not that I'm testing you. I just want you to realize there are people willing to help you without a hidden agenda."

Lizzie's palms were clammy, and she clasped them tightly together, suddenly more aware of the callouses.

"He was the first person I went to when I started having feelings for girls, too—he was the person I spent the most time with in class, and he was...I don't know. He was more than just my teacher. It wasn't just school...he never pretended to like me because he had to. He knew what he knew about me, and he...he felt genuine. He felt real. He felt honest. I felt..."

"Safe. You felt safe."

Gracie watched Lizzie exhale in relief that the word had been offered up to her, and she flickered her eyes up from her hands to meet with the woman's. Tears clouded her vision, and her cheeks had grown flustered, but there was a visible weight dropping from her shoulders as she started to unravel. Then, her face twisted, and Gracie knew that was the breaking point and the beginning of unstoppable tears. With a cracking voice and a pitiful hand to her chest to stop the hurt, she heaved out the feeling that could have broken her when she first felt it three years ago.

"He took that away from me."

She breathed through her nose and took a glance at the tissues she used to laugh at (because she couldn't ever imagine using them) but now they seemed necessary. Gracie gave her the time she needed, allowing her to collect her thoughts and clean up her face enough that she could speak again. Lizzie took a glance at the tissue in hand and scoffed under her breath, wiping away a tear and biting her lip to the point of rawness.

"I'm going to be sixteen in a month," she started off again, nodding to herself and looking back up again with a humorless smile. "It's been three years of dealing with this feeling, you know? And...I know I'm strong—I know I am—but the idea of this being the rest of my life terrifies me. Because I see it in how I talk to my mom, and how I push people away because I deal with things in my head, and then those thoughts spiral. Because then I have to think about Steve, and then I can't stop the nightmares I have of Sharon. I know how dangerous things are for them now, and I grieve them every time I close my eyes..." Lizzie pursed her lips as she continued to nod, sniffling again and looking down at her hands. "I spent hours looking up articles, and legit sources, and studies on post-traumatic stress disorder. Specifically in veterans, but...I know the signs."

"So you do everything to stop them," was the conclusion Gracie came to. Lizzie's head shot up so fast, like her entire scheme had been caught, but Gracie didn't react. "You know the signs. You know what it is to have a panic attack, so when you're having one, even in those moments you are trying to convince the world that you're fine...but Lizzie, I hope you find a point in your healing where you can accept that you don't always have to be okay. You can allow others to see who you truly are. When you are ready, I hope that we can find a way for you to feel safe with someone again and not have to fear that ending."

Lizzie wished she could have explained to Therapist Gracie that, even as her body shivered under the physical effects of their conversation, the mental barrier in her mind was far too strong. Because already, she was convincing herself that she was fine. Her awareness of her body awakened once again, and with it, her willingness to open up to another person disappeared.

───○☆ ✸ ☆○───

𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐓𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐋 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐂𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 & 𝐓𝐄𝐂𝐇𝐍𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐘

𝟖 𝐒𝐄𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟔

"Carter. What are you doing?"

"I'm sunbathing."

There was no lie there. Lizzie Carter was laid out on the turf of the athletic field, her backpack maintaining its dual-purpose of being her pillow, as well. Her left arm blocked the sun, having fully passed the early-morning dew and well into a bright September day. Most of her mornings since she'd returned back to New York she could be found here listening to music after weights, so tracking down her location on the second day of school had not been difficult for C.T.. The shorter girl purposefully stood in the sun, her back already warming up. Lizzie sighed dramatically and threw her arm down to meet eyes with her.

"You didn't get enough of that in California? You know you'll have to get up eventually."

"I was actually planning on dying here peacefully. There's room for you to join."

Lizzie Carter extended her arms out, tilting her head and squinting one eye to see her face through the morning sunlight. Unlike her counterpart, C.T. survived weights and a good portion of that was because they got put on opposite teams. Coach put her and Taylor in the group with the rest of the seniors, and that meant that every muscle in her legs refused to accept any kind of movement. Already, she was wincing at the pain that would be produced from having to pee later on in the day. God forbid she had to change her pants again. She'd accepted her fate to live in these jeans forever (not her finest decision).

"I would, but I know you'd never let me leave and it's the second day of school," C.T. replied as she moved to stand with her legs on either side of Lizzie's waist. She held her arms down expectantly. "C'mon. You've been sorer than this before."

Lizzie looked at her with a shit-eating grin as she reached up, letting her pull her up off the ground (albeit, C.T. did stumble slightly since she hadn't expected the dead weight from Lizzie's wobbly legs). C.T. scoffed at the dirty expression and went to walk away, only for Lizzie to grin and grab a hold of her backpack with a growing grin. The two girls had just been seconds from leaning in to each other when Lizzie's attention caught a person walking through the athletic fields, his head ducked with his headphones in his ears. Her face fell.

"MJ?" C.T. asked softly, turning around to see what caught her eye.

Peter Parker suddenly got the familiar sensation throughout his body when someone was watching him, and he shot his head up to find the direction it was coming from. His next moments would be a low for him. Peter stumbled, losing all and any coordination for a few seconds, but he was able to find a somewhat-cool version of a head nod and a wave to the teenage girl across the field. At least, he hoped it looked somewhat-cool.

Two months had gone by since Berlin. Two months since Peter found that Lizzie Carter was (basically) an Avenger, and in those two months, she hadn't made any attempts to contact him. After the first week of silence, he texted her. Not Delivered. So he sent another one. Not Delivered. From there, Peter had basically turned Lizzie Carter's phone number into his personal diary as he continued to send questions or comments any time he felt the urge. Usually when he couldn't text Happy. She would never read them, anyway, and Peter didn't know what to expect when he ran into her again.

Seeing her walk on the first day of school yesterday and take a seat in the back of the class with her best friend made him queasy. All class, he had to focus on the eyes staring into the back of his head, setting off every warning alarm his body had. Was she mad at him? Did she want to kill him for fighting with Mr. Stark? How did she get out of jail? None of those questions were answered. What Peter did notice was that she usually switched her wired-headphones for the newly-released AirPods during class time, music constantly playing so loudly that Peter had learned every single lyric to White Ferrari by Frank Ocean, and the teachers had no clue. He did though.

"Have you talked to him yet?" C.T. asked, bringing the conversation back to them.

Lizzie watched Peter take a few steps after their brief interaction, then lower his head and walk at a slower pace than before. She knew he could still hear them, or that was what she assumed considering she had no idea what all entailed being Spider-Man. She should have said something to him two months ago, or even a few days ago when she finally activated Tony Stark's 24-hour surveillance plan with her new phone. But she didn't. The number had been changed, a relief to her in some ways, because that meant she had no texts to look back on. Her pictures were backed up onto her laptop, but stored in a folder far enough away she never accidentally opened it.

"No," Lizzie muttered, giving her a forced smile before shrugging. "I've not really talked to anyone the last few months. You, Taylor, and my family pretty much cover it. Although Sammy's not really liking the idea of putting words together to make a sentence right now."

C.T. scrunched up her nose as they started their walk to the front of campus. "Yeah, me either. English is my least favorite."

"No love poems in my future?"

"Roses are red, violets are blue, I can't believe I get to date someone as pretty as you," C.T. recited with a dramatic enunciation of the words, reaching for her hand and clasping their fingers together. The failed attempt of a pick-up line made Lizzie snort and try to shake off her hand, feigning a getaway. "Hey! Rude! I think that was pretty good!"

"I thought it was great. The next Emily Dickinson."

"That's a compliment. Have you seen the stuff she wrote to Susan? We love women loving women. You know, I'd like to see you write one...but still, I really think you should talk to him," was the reply from her girlfriend, and Lizzie looked at her in surprise. C.T. shrugged. "What? I'm just saying. You said the two of you became friends last year, and he obviously still wants to be friends. He doesn't seem mad. He seems...I don't know, sad? Like a lost puppy."

Join the club. "Trying to read minds again?"

"I watched a video about it actually."

"What's it called?"

Lizzie asked the question as she opened the entrance of Midtown's doors for her, allowing C.T. to walk in first. She ended up holding it for another girl just a few feet behind them, who smiled kindly at the act and then darted into the building. C.T. waited off to the side until she was inside, noticing Lizzie still opening the door for another student coming in with a large piece of technology that looked like a panic attack in a project. Lizzie looked back at her girlfriend when they were back next to each other, grabbing her hand and awaiting her answer.

"Twilight."

That stunned Lizzie, and she opened her mouth to gape at C.T. to gauge whether or not she was joking. C.T.'s mouth split into a grin. "I literally hate you. With everything in me, I despise you—"

"—you're lying. You know how I can tell?" C.T. drawled on as they approached her locker, dropping her hand. Lizzie hummed in response and watched her put in her combination, leaning against the lockers to talk with her while she did. Their usual morning routine. "It's not fun if you don't answer, dude."

"I know whatever you're about to say is going to make me wish I didn't."

"Humor me."

"Fine. Are you a vampire, dude?"

Lizzie's emphasis on the nickname made C.T. grin. "I wish. It would make it so much easier to get across the field to play center and right."

"Oh, really?"

"Mhm," C.T. said as she grabbed her first-period books. Lizzie leaned forward toward her, going to poke into her rib cage at the reply, but the action failed when C.T. deflected it with expert skill. "Don't be mad 'cause it's true, Carter."

"We'll see about that, Clem."

"Rise and shine, Midtown Science and Technology!"

Betty Brant's voice contributed to the bad moods Lizzie stayed in throughout first and second period. Usually because her mornings started with weights at six-thirty, and then by eight she was listening to the Midtown Morning News. Her hopes of Betty Brant getting fired this year were destroyed yesterday. On this particular Friday morning, Betty's voice made a loud groan fall out of Lizzie's mouth and she dramatically hit her head on the locker a few times just to try and knock herself out before it continued.

C.T.'s sneered over at Lizzie. "It's your nemesis."

"I really hoped she'd found a new hobby over the summer."

"Students, don't forget about your Homecoming tickets." Betty's counterpart in the newsroom, Jason, was abruptly shown in frame after the 'TOTALLY 80'S HOMECOMING' flyer left the screen. She had no problems with him and had only ever interacted with him once when she had to deliver a few papers to the newsroom for the softball schedule. "Do you have a date...for homecoming?"

The question made C.T. wiggle her eyebrows suggestively, and Lizzie smiled again despite herself before they returned to the drama to see Betty awkwardly smile at the camera. "Thanks, Jason, but I already have a date."

Another cut to Jason's disappointed face. "Okay."

"Yeah."

Then Lizzie was scoffing at the response from the blonde. "Probably Aaron."

"Was he the one that got away?" C.T. asked, closing her locker and leaning against it to face her with a woefully exaggerated stare. Lizzie had told her all of the horror stories with her past relationships (and aside from her being the hardest to get over, ironic), she didn't get jealous or upset over them being brought up. "I honestly thought my competition was Blake Lively."

"Yeah, you're screwed with that one."

"Couldn't even be mad."

"Good. I'll let you know how it goes."

C.T. laughed, nodding at her with a grin. "Appreciate it."

"No problem, dude," Lizzie emphasized again, raising her brows over at her girlfriend for a moment. C.T. would have replied with her usual quick-wit had it not been for Lizzie swooping in and pressing a kiss to her lips. "I gotta go grab my stuff and put my bag away. I'll see you at practice."

C.T. nodded, and Lizzie had just pulled her headphones out from her shirt when she caught the last line from her. "Talk to him!" Lizzie simply waved a hand up in the air to signal to her girlfriend that she'd heard as she put her headphones in, and after pressing play, the world and noise within it drowned out. The chaos in the hallways of Midtown could be nice sometimes. No one cared what anyone was doing (usually, unless you were being extra annoying) and the constant business allowed people to blend into the crowd without causing attention.

Lizzie didn't have that pleasure. Even when she wasn't wearing her softball jersey, people still knew her. Friends of friends, and friends of teammates, and teammates, or classmates that she'd met last year all wanting to catch up on how her summer went. Not good, Leslie, thanks for the reminder. The headphones usually allowed for her to skip the small-talk, even if she did have to point at her ears awkwardly to inform them she couldn't hear what they were saying. She could give a smile, and then she would be on her way. By now, people were used to that. So when she felt someone grab at her backpack before she could even get to the sophomore's row of lockers, she hadn't expected it.

"Woah, hey, Jesus Liz. Don't snap that wrist. I need it," came quickly out of Taylor Brentwell's mouth, her eyes widening on fingers flexed around her wrist. Lizzie blinked and dropped her hold immediately, stepping back some and widening her eyes. Taylor closed the space again, but didn't reach out that time. "Hey...it's okay. It's all good. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you—I thought you heard me calling for you. I should've guessed you had your headphones in."

Lizzie shook her head and patted her chest, feeling the wires and the indention of her necklace from beneath her T-shirt. "Sorry. Sorry, my bad. Was playing my music too loud—"

"Are you okay?"

"I'm good," she assured, giving her a quick smile. Taylor didn't question it even if she wasn't convinced, just nodding. She was about to speak when a kid rushed past them, a piece of a computer very broken in his hands. They stopped when they saw him reach the IT department door, and then he was banging loudly on the office window. "I could be having the morning he's having."

"Tell that to my legs. You should see Art. It's their first project of the year for robotics club, and they lost Parker earlier this month before school started. He was supposed to do something for someone, and then that something got passed onto Art..." Taylor explained as they started moving again. Lizzie was grateful that Taylor didn't pry and continued as normal, but hearing about the updates from the people she hadn't reached out to made her a different kind of nauseous now. "They're not upset, you know. Art's formed a bromance with Peter and Ned...mainly Ned. Eli's...Eli."

It almost made it worse that they weren't upset with her, Lizzie considered as Taylor's words reflected what C.T. had mentioned about Peter. Because Lizzie was upset. She was angry, and she had spent two months trying to find a way to right that rage, but the only consequence that came with it was regret. Too many times had she lashed out at her parents. She could draw a perfect image of her mother's face when she cried. Her room had gone through ten different variations of changing furniture as her alternative to sleep around 2 a.m., and she'd over-exhausted her muscles by working out even when she'd already done so that morning, but nothing changed.

But she was okay.

"Should I ask about that last part?" Lizzie asked in an effort to change the subject, quirking a brow in Taylor's direction as she put in her locker combination. Taylor and Eli had been hanging out as a duo now-a-days per the texts she received from her best friend (who was very glad she was back online), and the difference in Taylor's body language when she asked about Eli told her there might be more to the story than she was saying.

"Stop psycho-analyzing me."

Lizzie grinned as she collected her books. "You first. This is your record, by the way."

"What record?" Taylor asked, defensively.

"Longest you've gone without bringing up the itch you get whenever I've been around C.T."

"I took some allergy medicine this morning," was the response she got, but that was quickly led by Taylor popping her head around the open locker to scowl at Lizzie. "How is the Anti-Christ today, by the way? Taking souls to feast on for dessert?"

"Learning how to become a vampire, apparently."

Taylor blinked. "Excuse me."

"Mhm."

"No elaboration there? Just going to throw out one of my worst nightmares?"

"I don't think you have anything to worry about. She wants to read minds. You've been pretty clear on what your mind thinks about her," she said with a pointed look. The hatred between Taylor and C.T. was warranted, and Lizzie wasn't going to force her best friend to forgive and accept that they were back together. There were moments, however, when she wished there was peace. "I know how you feel about her, but...it's been a really shitty few months, and she was there for me—"

"Lizzie, I get that... I know..." Taylor's emphasis and her quick change to the serious conversation made Lizzie's teeth clench together tightly, and her hand flexed against the metal locker door. The curly-haired girl had seen a lot of her bad moments. Just not the worst ones. "I'm happy she's been able to make you smile recently. I'm so happy for you, don't get me wrong, but I also don't want to see you getting hurt again by her. I mean, you guys moved back into things super fast, and after everything...I'm sorry I've been shitty. I'll stop with the names and the complaints. I'm just worried about you."

"You don't need to worry. I promise I'm okay."

Promises. Promises.

───○☆ ✸ ☆○───

"Hey, MJ."

The greeting came from Lizzie Carter as she slid into her seat in second period, throwing her black backpack carelessly onto the ground next to her. Michelle Jones sat directly next to her in the back of the classroom. The nickname sparked a small smile out of the girl, but she didn't look away from her book. Lizzie (as mentioned previously) was 2-for-2 on having a sour attitude throughout this class as she sipped her first energy drink of the day. Michelle caught onto that pretty quickly yesterday, and the two found that their mutual energy respected its counterpart.

They also trashed every book on the assigned reading list through a series of notes back and forth on a ripped sheet of paper the day before. Lizzie had a feeling that would be happening again today, with the introduction of Dickens into their curriculum. Michelle glanced up briefly when their teacher, Ms. Woods, came in with a green cardigan over her shoulders. It was a hot day in New York City, and Lizzie practically sweat for the woman watching her take the heat in those layers.

"Did you see Liz changed the schedule for the Decathlon Team?"

Lizzie looked over at Michelle, her eyes widening. "What? No. When did she send it?"

"Last night. We've got practice, too. I think you might have some conflicts. Your schedule for a pre-season game is the same weekend we go to D.C., but they're not too far from each other..." MJ stopped when she saw the other MJ grow pale at the mentioning of their trip to D.C. "Sorry. I just kind of figured you might not have known when you didn't reply to the email, and I thought I'd look into the dates for you."

"No, thank you, seriously," and Lizzie was nodding slowly, a feeling burning in her throat that usually never meant anything good. Not here. "I, uh...I'll figure it out."

Michelle sent her a kind, but awkward smile. "There's a group project on the syllabus in a few weeks. We can work together if you want, and I can either come to school earlier or stay after your practices that way you don't have to try and fit more into your schedule."

Michelle Jones reminded Lizzie of herself in an awfully large number of ways. The difference that made them an odd pairing was their popularity status, and because neither cared about that, they also made a great friendship. There were not many obligations between them, and they supported the other when they could. But Michelle could also read a room. From the moment Lizzie met her, Michelle had always been observant. That came in the form of her showing up for their tournament game last season, after Lizzie admitted she was worried about pitching—or now, when Michelle showed that she cared about Lizzie by going through the trouble of helping her remember her days.

Lizzie's eyes burned, and she nodded at the girl a few times before glancing up at the front. What Lizzie saw was Michelle's brain working the same way her own did—what would Lizzie see if she were looking at herself? The way she refused to cry but redness started to line her eyes, easily mistaken for some seasonal allergies. The way she wore her dirty, softball shoes with her blue jeans and white T-shirt because she'd forgotten her others on the train. Her jawline was more prominent, and that came because she had not been eating the amount she should for the calories burned from softball. Sophomore year had started less than a month ago, and already, she looked like a midterm week victim.

That was what Lizzie assumed Michelle saw, too. But Michelle never expressed those thoughts. Instead, she provided Lizzie with the only help she knew how to give at the moment. Lizzie sent Michelle another quick, appreciative smile, one that came before a set of tears, but she had calmed herself down when Ms. Woods began calling roll. After the exchange of words in the beginning of class, Lizzie and Michelle kept quiet the rest of the time. They watched other students participate—well, Michelle did when it was interesting enough to lift her head—and if Michelle noticed the way Lizzie's knee shook the entire class, she didn't say anything about that either.

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