I slept in this morning, which is why I'm on the subway, alone, trying to call Anthony. We have a test at the beginning of first period, and if I am late I will literally fail this test. Maybe I'll get a zero. I never study for tests, so last night was no different.

For once I'm mad at myself for not studying.

I rush into school just as the bell rings. No one is outside. Is it the homeroom bell? The bell that homeroom has ended? Or that first has begun? I don't know.

I dash into the hallways, not bothering to waste my time walking. The hall monitor was out smoking so he isn't going to be accosting me.

I dash into the class just as the teacher finishes handing out the tests.

"Miss Delmar," Mr. Cobbwell frowns at me when I walk through the door.

He's one that's always easy to trick. I let my voice crack slightly. "Can I talk to you after class?"

He nods slowly, handing me a test. After the I'm done writing out chemical formulas, I'll just make up some excuse about hearing my next-door neighbour beat his wife. Cobbwell is sensitive to both domestic abuse and to scholarship kids, so I'm hitting right in that niche spot.

I have to sit in the back, which is a pain. Next to me, Michelle raises an eyebrow. Of course, she knows I'm faking the voice crack, but it's not like she's going to say anything. I drop my backpack on to the ground and pull out a pencil. I quickly eye the test, circling the test answers that I know for sure are right. Only like, ten out of the fifty.

The pencils scratch against each sheet. Multiple choice is my game. Essay questions are impossible to bullshit. Thankfully, I go to a science and technology school, so I only have to put up with writing in a handful of classes.

I'm always the last person to hand in the test. At least, the penultimate. Anthony always needs to read over his test about half a dozen times before he is in anyway satisfied. Chemistry is his best subject though.

I usually finish the test after watching Anthony check over his answers for a third or forth time. Normally, I sit beside him to double check my answers.

At least I'm next to Peter Parker. He's smart enough that I can easily take his answers and scribble them on my paper.

When the bell rings I hand in the test. Everyone else filters out of the class on their way to second period. Instead, I'm stuck back with Mr. Cobbwell.

"The neighbour again?" He asks.

I nod my head up and down, trying to make my movements slow and shaking. The more I lie, the better I get at lying. Not that Cobbwell is hard to fool.

"Darcy," he begins, dropping the tests onto his desk. "You are always allowed to step in and help someone. You know that right?"

I, again, mimic a tentative nod. That's not really the point of any of this.

"You know," he reaches for the pen on his desk and his excuse slip. "You need to stop being so hard on yourself. You're bright and kind. Doing something wrong once doesn't make you wrong forever."

I just keep nodding, this time looking down at the floor. He needs to get on with this or I'm never going to get to gym. Honestly, gym is the only class I'm thrilled to be in.

"I'm serious Darcy," Cobbwell continues. "We can rise above our circumstances, alright?"

There we go, bringing the scholarship thing in. I lift my eyes up to him, taking the slip from his hands and heading off into my next period.

I show the flimsy sheet of paper to my gym teacher before I change. I don't bother asking what sport we are doing because I've frankly racked up a nervous energy from doing nothing last night that any sport is good enough. All I did yesterday was sit on the library computer and do futile research on Spider-man.

Today is volleyball. When I serve, I hit the ball so hard I nearly take out Michelle's head. Every hit makes my body ache, but I need to feel like I'm apart of this world, and not just glued to a computer screen.

Biology is a blur, since my feet can't manage to sit still. Gym didn't help. At least for lunch I manage to duck outside. I debate running laps around the school, but even that is too extra for me.

I sit on the steps in front of the school, just breathing in the fresh, yet terribly cold air. March doesn't particularly like me, even though I love her so much. Cold air and rain is kind of my thing, mostly because it makes it easier to hide at night.

Although, it's harder to get a good picture.

I hear a cough outside, in the otherwise blissful silence. I look up to notice Anthony, hiding beneath his usual tree. From now on, I need to stop living in my head. One time, someone is going to sneak up on me, and I'm either going to get kidnapped, or I'm going to beat the crap out of some stranger.

"You're disrupting my air quality," I nod to the cigarette in his hand.

Anthony takes a few steps closer to me, unitl he is on the paved path leading up to our school. He drops the cigarette and steps on it. "Sorry." His apology echoes a thousand other apologises I've heard from him before. He doesn't seem to get that it doesn't bother me if he smokes when he's stressed.

"You did fine on the test," I reassure him, since I know it's what he wants to hear.

Anthony doesn't answer me, instead grimacing. He looks out at the empty road. For a second, I worry he's going to get up and walk right into it. Instead, he sits down next to me.

"Is it your Dad?" I ask, waiting for him to answer. "He's back from Afghanistan?"

Anthony looks down at his lap. "Yep."

I frown, leaning on his shoulder. There aren't any words that I can really offer to help him, and now I feel like shit for using the domestic abuse excuse earlier today. My actions always come back to haunt me.

"That sucks ass."

"It gets worse. The bastard is screwing my mom again." He looks at me, sighs, before continuing. "To answer your question yes, both financially and sexually. You know, this is the second time I've caught them screwing since the divorce."

"What bitches," I agree with him. He doesn't light another cigarette, although I am expecting him too. Maybe he does care about my lung quality.

If I didn't require physical activity like an excited puppy, I would smoke too.

"Yeah," he sighs, then turning to me. I watch a smile curl across his face. "I heard your brother scared the crap out of Peter."

I groan, rolling back onto the ground. I stare up at the sky, which is threatening to rain. "Dantae sucks."

"See I was hoping it was Damien," Anthony chuckles at the thought of my dweeby little brother. "Dantae makes more sense though."

"I'm just happy it wasn't Papa," I tell Anthony. "I wish my family wasn't so misogynistic all the time. Mama thinks you and I are soulmates. My brother wants me to date you because he thinks you'll keep me out of trouble, and Papa won't let me date even though Dantae can. Even Damien kissed a girl at the school dance."

"In their defense," Anthony knows how much I hate when he plays the devil's advocate, but he keeps doing it anyway, "the only guy you've ever brought home was Harry. That guy was a total tool. He brought condoms to your Abuelo's funeral."

"Thanks for the reminder," I pull myself up into a sitting position, staring at Anthony.

He pulls out another cigarette, lighting it. The damn kid's nerves are higher than anyone's I've ever met.

"I got taken off work for a month," I tell him. "That so-called Spider-shit chased me down after I broke into that guy's office. I told Barty about it, and he said I can't work until April as penance for my sins. Fucking jerk."

Anthony offers me a puff of the cigarette, and I take it. Immediately I start coughing. He slaps me on the back, lifting the cigarette back to his lips.

"So, you've finally decided to get a good, law-abiding job?" Anthony raises his voice, pretending to be hopeful. He's too cynical for that. He knows me too well.

"I'm going on a stake out for Spider-man tonight," I tell him.

He shakes his head back and forth. "I'm having robotics club movie night and I need you to come. Clara is bringing her new boyfriend along." Anthony pauses to puff out smoke. "And you're not coming along as a date. You're coming because I need someone there to calm me down when my parents begin to bang so hard that I can hear them through the walls."

I crack my knuckles. Sometimes I just hate that I have friends, and that I have to maintain relationships with them. I wouldn't drop anything for Anthony, no matter how damn angry it makes me. It just sucks because Monday is Spider-man's most active weeknight. Statistically.

Spider-man is just going to have to wait.