CHAPTER FOUR
Party On

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THE WORST CLASS IN existence, in Cecelia's humble point of view, was Physical Education. Gather your students—who have come to school to learn, to fill their brains up with facts and methods—and force them into itchy uniforms, with shirts with tags that scratch at their backs and shorts that constantly ride up their asses. Make them run, do jumping jacks, play flag football, and give marks for athletic ability—something that comes naturally—instead of improvement or hard work. Then, once they're all sweating and out of breath, shove them into changerooms and give them five minutes to get dressed for their next class. And, because of money, make the rooms completely open, so that everyone can see everyone else's body as they peel off one shirt and replace it with another one. While they're still sweating.

So, yeah. Cecelia Thin-As-A-Stick Olivier (as she'd been called in one of her group homes—it wasn't a very creative name, but it still hurt, especially when it was accompanied by actual sticks being thrown at her) hated gym class. But, to her dismay, she still had to participate in it every day. Coach Wilson wasn't a very strict teacher, but he also didn't appreciate when one put minimal effort into their workouts. He'd once made Alex do an extra lap around the field after he'd gone on his phone for one second.

Normally, Cecelia at least had her brother as a kindred spirit. Christine wasn't in their class—she had AP Literature—so it was just the two of them. The two of them would cling together, commiserating about how much they despised mandatory physical exercise. Of course, it was obvious that it was worse for Alex, especially before his top surgery, but he typically didn't mind his sister's complaining.

Today, though, Alex sat on the other end of the bleachers, his head cushioned in his arms. Instead, he sat beside Michelle Jones and a Senior Cecelia didn't know the name of (...yeah. To make an already awful class worse, Phys Ed was co-ed and spanned across all four grades). There were no free seats near him, which meant he'd purposefully chosen to avoid her. Which did hurt a little.

It took Cecelia a minute to figure out where to sit, but she was mercifully saved by Betty, who waved her over. She, Liz, Jason, and Seymour (another one of Liz's friends) were all in Cecelia's class, but they often managed to get themselves out of participating by claiming they had to prepare for one of their many clubs. Lately, they'd been using Homecoming Committee as an excuse.

She settled beside Betty gratefully, crossing her legs. Liz gave her a smile, but didn't have the time to chat. Class was beginning.

Coach Wilson had wheeled a television out in front of all thirty of the students, the screen of which was so small that those at the back had to squint their eyes to slits to make out what was happening. Fortunately, Cecelia had scored a spot near the front, but even she was leaning forward. Maybe that was a sign she needed glasses.

"Hi. I'm Captain America." On-screen, America's most beloved hero—or... previously most beloved—stood in front of an obviously green-screened changeroom in full regalia. Below him, text announcing Captain America's Fitness Challenge hovered menacingly. Cecelia already knew this was going to suck balls. "Whether you're in the classroom or on the battlefield, fitness can be the difference between success and failure. Today, my good friend, your gym teacher..." Captain America pointed to the left. Coach Wilson, who was on the right, waved, "...Will be conducting the Captain America Fitness Challenge." Then he saluted, and Cecelia slumped.

"Thank you, Captain," Coach Wilson said, while the changeroom on-screen was replaced by the first station of the workout. "Pretty sure this guy's a war criminal now, but whatever. I have to show these videos. It's required by the state. Let's do it." With a blow of his whistle, everyone sprung to their feet. Cecelia stayed sitting for a minute longer, burying her head in her arms.

Betty nudged her. "You okay? Not in the mood to do sit-ups?"

"No," Cecelia groaned. "Alex is pissed at me."

"What happened?" Liz asked genuinely. She reached across Betty to squeeze Cecelia's hand, and Cecelia looked up, feeling a little guilty. She still hadn't told her she couldn't come to the party, and was dreading admitting it. Not because it would make Liz upset—she probably wouldn't care all that much—but because she'd already said she'd think about going, and now Liz was going to expect her to say yes. Her anxiety didn't want to say no after that.

"My uncle offered to drive me to school today but didn't include Alex. Now he's all convinced that I'm his absolute favourite, and that I'm somehow happy about that fact."

"Really?" Liz asked. "I've met your uncle. He doesn't seem like the type to play favourites."

Well, you don't know him very well. Cecelia just shrugged. "He just wanted to talk to me about something for the internship. Neither Uncle nor I thought it would be something Alex would be interested in."

As she spoke, she glanced around the gym. By now, most of the class was active, either climbing ropes, doing chin-ups, or the aforementioned sit-ups. Her eyes went to Coach Wilson with weariness, expecting him to come over at any minute, but he didn't.

Seymour saw where she was looking. "Don't worry. Liz is, like, Coach Wilson's favourite student. He's not gonna say anything against her. Or, by extension, anyone with her."

Liz rolled her eyes theatrically before looking back to Cecelia. "I'm sorry that happened," she said. "But I do get your brother feeling left out by that. Even if you knew he was going to be bored by what you were talking about, you still should've invited him anyway. He still may have turned it down, but this way, he would actually have felt included."

Cecelia bounced her leg. Well, that hadn't really been an option, but she couldn't exactly tell Liz that. Alex didn't know about Uncle's real job, nor the truth about Cecelia's internship. Which meant that it was impossible for him to be involved in the conversation they'd had this morning.

"I guess you're right," she said regardless, lying right through her teeth. "I guess I should apologize to him later. Maybe bribe him to forgive me with some ice cream."

"That's a good idea," Betty said. "Hey, do you want to change the subject? I get that family conflicts can be super depressing."

"Sure," said Cecelia with a shrug.

"Cool! Then you know what we should play? Would you rather!"

Seymour snorted. "Really?"

"Yeah! Why not? I'll start. Would you rather go to the past or the future?"

"Oh, come on, that's easy. The past, duh. They had freaking dinosaurs!"

"You'd go back to see dinosaurs?"

"Hell. Yeah. I would do anything to ride a Stegosaurus."

"...Okay then. What about you, Liz?"

They continued like that, cycling through various Would You Rather questions while everyone else suffered through the torture that was exercise. Cecelia tried not to think about Alex as she discussed whether it would be better to die in a year or live forever (her answer was to die in a year. She loved her family too much to entertain the idea of watching them all die). Eventually, though, the group grew bored, and moved on to the next game, courtesy again of Betty.

F, Marry, Kill. Avengers Version.

Cecelia shifted slightly. That wasn't really what she'd had in mind. It was another classic party game, but it was always classically awkward for a non-allo person like her.

"All right," Betty prompted. "F, Marry, Kill: Thor, Iron Man, and the Hulk."

"Okay, that's an easy one," Seymour said. "F the Hulk, marry Thor, and kill Iron Man."

Everyone stared at Seymour, who grinned. "What? The Hulk might be good in bed."

"You're disgusting," Liz said, shaking her head. "And what did Iron Man ever do to you?"

"Uh, he's a billionaire. Billionaires are corrupt."

"Good point," Cecelia said. Seymour directed the grin at her.

"What about you?"

"Well, if I'm going to answer, do I have permission to change the 'F' to kiss? I'm just—I'm asexual, and at the far end of the spectrum. Sex-repulsed, you know? So, I don't think 'F' would ever be something I'd do."

No one made a big deal of Cecelia's impromptu coming out, something she was immeasurably grateful for. She didn't exactly have a problem with disclosing her identity to people, but there was always a niggling worry in the back of her mind that someone would tell her asexuality didn't exist or that she should keep it to herself.

Neither of her companions did that. Instead, barely blinking, Betty said, "Oh, yeah, of course! Sorry, I should've been more inclusive."

"Thanks," Cecelia responded, shrinking a little out of sheer relief. "Here's mine, then: marry the Hulk, kiss Thor, and kill Iron Man. Capitalism will not prevail today."

Both Liz and Seymour laughed at that, and Cecelia sat back in her seat, triumphant. Maybe she should be hanging out with this group more.

"Now, see, for me, it would be F Thor, marry Iron Man and kill Hulk," Betty said, ticking the names off on her fingers.

"Well, what about the Spider-Man?" Seymour asked.

"It's just 'Spider-Man'," Liz corrected. "And did you guys see the bank security cam on YouTube? He fought off four guys."

Cecelia pursed her lips. Those 'four guys' had all been buyers of Toomes's weapons.

"Oh, my God, she's crushing on Spider-Man," Betty teased.

"No way," said Seymour.

"Kind of," Liz admitted. Betty threw her head back.

"Oh, gross. He's probably, like, thirty."

"You don't even know what he looks like," Seymour pointed out. "Like, what if he's like seriously burned?"

"Or just flat-out ugly?" Cecelia added. Surely someone covering their entire face had to do so for a reason.

"I wouldn't care. I'd still love him for the person he is on the inside," Liz defended.

Before anyone could say anything more, a loud cry rang through the gymnasium. "Peter knows Spider-Man!"

The entire room went quiet. All heads turned to Ned Leeds, who had been Peter's spotter as he did sit-ups. Even if they didn't recognize his voice, the way his chest still heaved and his head was held high told everyone present that he had been the one to call that out.

Peter immediately scrambled to his feet, eyes going wide.

"Uh, no, I don't. No. I—I mean—"

"They're friends," Ned said.

"Yeah, like Coach Wilson and Captain America are friends," said Flash, making his way over to the group. The class tittered at that, and Betty giggled a little. Peter's face flushed. He narrowed his eyes at Flash and clenched his fists, standing his ground.

"I've met him, yeah. A couple times. But it's, um... through the Stark Internship. Mm-hmm. Yeah, well, I'm not really supposed to talk about it."

The last words were in a hiss to Ned, who was now shifting in place, sheepish. Cecelia and Seymour exchanged a look. From across the room, Alex—who was with the group doing chin-ups—crossed his arms.

"Well, that's awesome," Flash said. "Hey, you know what? Maybe you should invite him to Liz's party. Right?"

When Peter looked at Liz, she ducked her head. Curling a lock of hair behind her ear, she agreed, "Yeah, um, I'm having people over tonight. You're more than welcome to come."

"Having a party?" Peter repeated, somewhat breathlessly.

"Yeah, it's gonna be dope," said Flash. "You should totally invite your personal friend Spider-Man."

Cecelia sat up a little straighter. It was more than likely that Ned was lying, but shit, would that have eliminated all her problems. She glanced back to Peter, who shrunk under the weight of her gaze.

"Um..."

"It's okay," said Liz, propping her head up with her fist. "I know Peter's way too busy for parties anyway, so..."

"Aw, come on. He'll be there. Right, Parker?" Flash asked.

Before Peter could respond, the bell rang. Flash pushed past him on the way to the door, and Cecelia got to her feet. She licked her lips, staring down at Peter. He didn't know Spider-Man. There was no way he knew Spider-Man. Even with the Stark Internship, how would he know Spider-Man?

But maybe... just maybe, there was a chance. Maybe Cecelia could go to Liz's party under the guise of scouting for Spider-Man. Maybe she didn't need to be present at the deal. Maybe she could have one night—just one night—where she could be a normal teenager. Do... normal teenager things.

(What did normal teenagers do, again?)

THE DRESS CECELIA WAS wearing was meant for someone with a larger chest size, but she'd managed to make it work on her by borrowing one of Christine's bras and stuffing it with toilet paper. It was a light blue summer dress with tiny sunflowers speckled across its front and back. It stopped right at Cecelia's knees, showing a pair of too-thin legs. She hadn't shaved them recently, so they were covered in a coat of fuzz, but honestly, who cared? Most people thought that a woman having hairy legs was a political statement, but Cecelia was just lazy. Though she did also firmly believe that shaving wasn't a necessity.

She chewed on her thumbnail, nibbling at it like Bugs Bunny to his carrot while Christine pulled her hair into a braided bun. It was just past six o'clock, and the duo was currently preparing for Liz's party—the party that Cecelia was not supposed to be going to. This was the cause of the incessant nail-biting: she hadn't exactly told Uncle yet that she wouldn't be at the deal. The saying went that it was better to ask forgiveness than permission, but this wasn't the case for Cecelia. It was much, much better to ask permission.

Yet, here she was.

Throughout the entirety of their getting-ready session—which Christine had attempted to make as fun as possible, with their favourite songs blasting through her speakers, bowls of popcorn and candy laid out, and a gossip session—Cecelia had been attempting to mentally craft a text to Uncle. It was harder than it seemed. She wanted to say that she wouldn't be at the deal and give her reason for it without sounding like she had this morning: a whiny teenager. Spider-Man's apparent appearance at the party was definitely a good reason to attend, but would Uncle even believe her? She'd already told him about the party, and he might just think she was making up excuses.

She shifted her weight, crossing one leg over another. They were on Christine's bed, a queen-size that barely took up a quarter of her room. It wasn't Mrs. Warren's teacher salary that kept them upper-middle-class in New York; no, that would be Dr. Warren's job as a brain surgeon. That, and the fact that Christine was an only child, pretty much ensured that she would never have to worry about paying college tuition or getting a part-time job. Cecelia would be envious, but she knew her career was covered when she was older. Uncle had told her that she didn't even need to go to college.

(She wanted to, but that wasn't the point.)

"There." Christine sat back, satisfied with her work. Her hair had already been done hours ago, at an actual salon—it now fell in hundreds of lovely braids down to her shoulders. Cecelia hadn't bothered, considering she'd spent most of the time before arriving at Christine's apartment wondering if going to the party was worth it. She'd compromised eventually by shoving her costume and mask into a bag and bringing it along with her. "You're gorgeous, girl."

"So are you," Cecelia said. Christine looked, if possible, even more glamorous than usual. Her dress was pink, flaring out at the skirt and landing just above her knees. She'd done a little more makeup than she typically wore to school; now, her eyelashes were more pronounced, her cheekbones were glimmering with bronzer, and her lips were a slash of bright red that perfectly complimented her dark skin. "Seriously."

Christine smiled and slid off her bed. Her room was just as pristine as she was, with everything in immaculate order. The only thing only slightly out of place was the corner of a poster, which had detached from the tape used to keep it on the wall. "Thanks."

Cecelia resumed her frenzied nail-biting, but Christine, now unoccupied, finally noticed. "Hey." Her hand fell onto Cecelia's wrist—gently, so as not to send her into another impromptu panic attack. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," Cecelia said, looking down at her hands. The nails were ragged, and the teal polish she'd put on there a few weeks ago was chipped. "Just nervous."

"It's gonna be fine." Christine shot her a confident smile. "We're gonna have fun, okay?"

Uncle, I'm not going to the deal tonight. Spider-Man's rumoured to be at the party, and—

Uncle, apparently Peter Parker knows Spider-Man, and he's coming to Liz's party tonight. You should have nothing to worry about during the deal. Maybe I could just stay at the party and keep a look out for him—

I'm not going to the deal. Brice and Schultz will be fine without me. And I don't want to—

"Yeah." Cecelia's own smile was weak, barely there. "Sure."

"I still wish you talked to Alex," Christine said, taking a handful of popcorn. "It was no fun being the mediator all day today."

"It's not my fault he's been ignoring me."

"He's your brother. Surely you can talk to him if you put in the effort."

"Not when he's like this. I just have to wait until he calms down." Cecelia huffed out a sigh. "And they say girls are dramatic."

"Cecelia—"

"We don't have to do everything together." Cecelia leaned back, her head falling onto Christine's pillow. A few of the pins in her hair poked at her scalp, but she ignored the discomfort. "You know how exhausting it is to be around your brother twenty-four-seven? Maybe it's good having a day or so apart. Besides, it's not like he's lonely. He has other friends."

"That's not really the point." Christine shook her head. "Okay, whatever. Let's stop talking about this. You want to borrow some of my perfume?"

Cecelia sat up. "Yeah."

Twenty minutes later, the two of them were in the back of the Warren family car as Mrs. Warren drove them to Liz's house. It was in the suburbs, which most people didn't think really belonged to New York. NYC was supposed to be skyscrapers and traffic, not quiet houses and actual backyards. Honestly, though, Cecelia didn't care all that much. She was too focused on her phone in her pocket—which felt like a grenade at this point—and the bag slung over her shoulders. Phantom. Cecelia. Phantom. Cecelia.

Could she really be both?

Uncle, I—

"All right, let me lay down some ground rules." Mrs. Warren's stern tone interrupted Cecelia's thought process. "No drinking. No drugs. Anyone tries to get you into a bedroom, you say no. You go everywhere together, even the bathroom. If you have a drink, never leave it unattended. Boys can be awful, and it's a shame we must protect our girls instead of regulating their behaviour."

"I know, Mom," Christine said, rolling her eyes. "Men suck, we can't trust any of them, yadda-yadda-yadda."

"Except for Ned Leeds," Cecelia murmured. Christine whirled to face her.

"Cecelia!"

"Just saying!"

"I'm serious, Christine." Mrs. Warren interrupted their dispute before it could become a full-blown argument. "I want you to be careful. If anything bad happens, call me. If you think the cops are going to come, call me. Same goes for you, Cecelia."

"Yes, Mrs. Warren."

"All right, good." Mrs. Warren turned onto a street packed with cars, and Cecelia sucked in a breath. There it was.

Mrs. Warren didn't bother parking. She just idled at the side of the road and signalled for Christine and Cecelia to get out. Christine did, giving her mother a wave and a kiss on the cheek. Cecelia just thanked her and hoped she didn't notice the quiver in her voice.

Shit, shit, shit. She still hadn't texted Uncle.

Liz's house was practically a mansion. With its immaculate lawn, multiple stories, and enormous driveway, it definitely proved to Cecelia how large of a profit Toomes was making off his business. Teenagers spilled out of the house and down the steps, and a few idled on the lawn, drinks in hand. Music so loud it reverberated in Cecelia's chest thudded through the house, and strung-up fairy lights created a twinkling paradise. It somehow managed to be both gorgeous and foreboding. Cecelia stopped in her tracks.

"Maybe we shouldn't go—" she began. Christine cut her off.

"Of course, we should. What, is this about Alex? You can text him now if you really feel bad. Or, who knows, you might actually spot him here."

"No, no, it's not Alex. It's just—"

"You are not backing out of this now. Cecelia. You look beautiful, your hair is amazing because an amazing friend did it for you, and you have me by your side. We are going to rock it together as two beautiful, hot goddesses, and we're both going to come out of it by the end with two boys on each arm."

Cecelia laughed, even though her insides were still twisting. She was pretty sure they'd made a bow of her stomach by now.

They wove their way through the crowd and mounted the stairs into Liz's house. Inside was even more intense than the outside. The house was practically bursting with the number of people it currently held (had Liz invited the entire school?), multicoloured lights made the area resemble a club, and, holy shit, Flash was acting as the DJ. Cecelia attempted to take a deep breath, but all she succeeded in doing was taking a big whiff of beer and B.O. She immediately wrinkled her nose after that.

"Christine! Cecelia! You made it!"

Liz emerged from the kitchen, Red Solo cup in hand (so that wasn't just a thing from the movies. Huh). She was wearing a V-necked blue blouse with a pair of jeans, effortlessly pretty. She'd straightened her hair, too, so it fell down her shoulders in perfect sheets. She grinned at the sight of them.

"Hi, Liz!" Christine greeted, enveloping Liz into a one-armed hug. "Great party."

"Thanks. I love your hair, by the way."

"Ah, and I love yours! It smells nice, too. Coconut?"

"It's conditioner."

Cecelia stood there awkwardly until Liz offered her other arm. "Come here," she said. Cecelia shuffled her way over and tried not to tense as Liz brought her into the embrace. "You look gorgeous. I'm so glad you came."

"Oh, uh, thank you. Is that Beer?"

Cecelia gestured to the cup in Liz's hand. She laughed and shook her head.

"No. Fruit punch. We do have a few coolers here—Betty and Seymour brought them—but I don't drink. There's also Ginger-Ale, Orange Crush, and sparkling water, if you don't like alcohol either. I also ordered, like, ten boxes of pizza, but I'd still recommend getting there before they're gone." She stared around the room bashfully. "I didn't realize I'd invited so many people."

"Good idea," Christine chirped. "What kind of pizza did you order?"

"Uh, cheese, pepperoni, Hawaiian... all of the classics. I think we're almost out of pepperoni, though..."

"Then we better get there first! Come on, Cecelia!"

Liz laughed again and removed her arm from where it had been sitting around Cecelia's shoulders. "Well, have fun. I'm gonna go circulate. And make sure people don't break anything."

"All right. See you around." Christine gave her a salute, then grabbed Cecelia's hand. Her palm was warm, and, of course, totally dry. Cecelia was sure her hand was like a swimming pool by now. "Pizza, Cecelia! Pizza!"

"As long as it's not Hawaiian, I'm good," Cecelia said. "Whoever came up with the idea to put pineapple on pizza was truly a sick individual."

She and Christine occupied themselves by the pizza boxes for a moment (Liz had been right—there were only ten or so slices of the pepperoni left), then got themselves drinks. Uninterested in Mrs. Warren's wrath—or the wrath of her parents, for that matter—if she was found out to have been drunk, Cecelia ladled punch into her cup. Then she clinked plastic rims with Christine and took a deep sip.

It turned out that although parties were a little like how they were in the movies, there was a lot more standing around and talking than portrayed. Cecelia spent half an hour talking to Cindy and Sally about Nationals—so much for getting their minds off the competition—then another quarter on the couch with Abe and Charles debating the number of holes in a straw.

Sometime during their discussion—which was getting surprisingly heated—Alex walked by. He'd cleaned himself up with a silk silver shirt and pressed jeans, his curls perfected with gel. Cecelia's eyes followed him, hoping he'd stop to greet her, but he didn't even look her way. He just made a beeline for his chess club friends.

She refused to let herself be pissed about that.

Despite engaging in conversation after conversation, Cecelia was actually enjoying herself. So much so, in fact, that she completely forgot about her previous promise to Uncle.

At least, until her phone started buzzing.

Cecelia stood up, feeling the blood drain out of her face. Fruit punch sloshed over the side of her cup, splattering onto the bottom of her dress. She barely noticed.

"Are you okay?" Abe asked, speaking through a mouthful of cheese pizza.

"Yeah. Yeah. I'm—I'm fine," Cecelia answered. "I just have to go to the bathroom. Too—too much punch."

"For your sake, I hope the line isn't too long," Charles said. But Cecelia was already moving.

She didn't go to the bathroom. Instead, she climbed the stairs, barely aware of where she was going. Her entire world had shrunk to the weight of her phone in her pocket.

A few rooms had their lights on, and, judging by the sounds emitting from behind closed doors, people were... active inside. There was one room at the end of the hallway, though, that was completely dark. Cecelia tried the handle, but it was locked.

Fortunately, that had never been much of an obstacle for her.

With a glance around to make sure she was alone in the hallway, Cecelia triggered her powers and stepped through the door. She quickly found herself in a pitch-black room. A soft carpet sunk under her feet as she fumbled for the light switch.

When she finally found it, she discovered she was in Toomes' bedroom. She sucked in a breath, taking in the king-size bed and seaside painting on the wall, then leaned against the door. Her hands were shaking so much that it took a few false starts before she finally managed to get a hold of her phone.

UNCLE: Where are you? Schultz and Brice say you haven't shown up yet.

UNCLE: The buyer's gonna arrive in 20 minutes, Cecelia. Where the hell are you?

UNCLE: I swear to God, Cecelia, if you've gone to that party...

She was so dead.

Her phone rang in her hand, springing to life. Cecelia startled and nearly flung it across the room, barely managing to keep a hold of it. It was obvious who would be calling her, but that didn't make the name on the ID any easier to swallow.

Just do it, Cecelia. Rip the Band-Aid off.

She answered. "Hey, Uncle."

"Cecelia, why the hell aren't you with Brice and Schultz?"

"I'm sorry, I'm just—"

"No. You are not going to apologize. You are going to get your ass down to that bridge right now, or you're not going to like how you look in the morning."

"But I—"

"You're at that party, aren't you? Don't lie—I can hear the music."

"Yes, Uncle. But—"

"Get the hell down there! I don't care if you have to take a fucking Uber. Just do it."

"Okay," Cecelia whispered. "I'll be there."

There was no point in bringing up Spider-Man.

"Good. And when you're done, we're going to have a little one-on-one chat about priorities."

Cecelia flinched. "Okay. I'm sorry."

Uncle hung up on her instead of responding.

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HAVEN: richard portland can literally go jump off a cliff lol

...in brighter news, next chapter we're getting the first fight between phantom and spider-man!! unfortunately, cecelia is also going to have to watch someone die and face the wrath of her uncle. i hope you're excited for that :)))

thanks for reading <333