CHAPTER EIGHT.
OF ALL THE WINDOWS . . .

THERE had a smile plastered across Amelia's face since her talk with Peter. Monika was incredibly frustrated by her positive attitude, so much so that she had thrown numerous pillows at her.

"Anybody home?" came a shout as the front door opened and both girls looked up from where they were stretched out on the orange couch placed strategically so as for the perfect view of the television and close to the small center table to stretch one's leg on with the kitchen only a few steps to the right.

"Hey," Amelia replied. In came Gemma Burke ─ bags labeled Missy's in her hands, undeniably carrying tubs of ice cream. 

Monika smiled bright, "Gemma Burke, is that ice cream?"

Gemma grinned as she ruffled Monika's hair. She placed the ice cream bag on the table and dropped down beside Monika on the old couch, the springs creaking in protest under them. It was a really old couch and came with the apartment ─ along with the twin-sized beds in each of the two rooms, a refrigerator, and a working toilet. That was all they needed. Usually.

"There's leftover Chinese from earlier," Amelia told Gemma who was already on her feet, gravitating towards food. The creaking of the couch didn't alert them as much as the offended "Hey!" of Monika.

"Jesus, Mon, did you have a Red Bull or somethin'?" Gemma asked from the kitchen as she hunted for a fork.

"No," Monika denied, reaching for the ice cream beside Amelia who eyed her skeptically. "Where are you?"

"I'm looking for my will to live!" Gemma shouted back at her from the kitchen.

Pulling her legs off the table, Amelia swiveled and faced Gemma, extending her legs over Monika's. "Why?" she asked.

"It's just Mom, again." Monika turned to look at Gemma too as she walked back towards them, her fork wrapped in her fingers like a weapon. Monika's face was pulled into a frown, a dullness in her eyes. She hated when Gemma's mother yelled at the girl. Gemma brushed the girl's nose with her thumb softly. "It's okay," she said quietly. "I'm okay."

She nestled herself beside Monika and turned to the television where Empire Strikes Back was playing. Monika handed Amelia a tub of ice cream and took out the second one for her and Gemma. "Hey," Gemma said through a mouthful of noodles, "did you hear? Lyla Monet kissed Elio Darlington."

Amelia huffed and gave Gemma a sarcastic thumbs up. Monika was already sitting up straight, licking ice cream off the spoon in her hand. "Tell us everything!"

"Please don't," Amelia sighed through her nose.

"Jealous?" Gemma teased, wiggling her eyebrows.

"Oh, please," Amelia rolled her eyes, "I've kissed more boys than Lyla Monet."

Gemma made a face, but then she said, "That's actually probably true."

"Nothing but the truth."

Monika made an annoyed sound in the back of her throat, a sign for the rest two to cut it out, and Gemma to start talking about the kiss, which she did, but not before putting a spoonful of ice cream, getting a brain freeze.

Which was how the teens ended up in a laughing fit, a tangled mess of limbs on the orange couch that could barely sit two let alone allow three growing teenagers all needing all the space in the world, drunk on happiness, singing and giggling, and living at nine in the night.

Amelia elongated a note out of tune in her joy-sluggish thoughts and the girls cried out loudly, plugging their ears. Then she told her girlfriends the truth about her crush on Zachary Hart. "Looking at you makes me regret liking boys too," Gemma said.

Amelia made a face. "They're not all that bad."

"Maybe not the gays," Gemma mused. "I think I should defect and be a lesbian, too. Girls are better off, anyway."

"No one on this couch is straight," Amelia chuckled.

"When did you come out?" Monika raised her eyebrow at Amelia. Amelia slapped Monika's shin with the back of her hand, making her pull her leg back, her knee hitting her chest. "Ow, sorry," she grumbled.

"I wish there were more hot guys to date," Gemma said out loud, bringing her discarded ice cream tub closer to her chest in hopes that there might be more left.

Amelia rolled her eyes. "This is New York. There're plenty hot guys. I wish there were more decent people to date."

"Unrealistic," Gemma pointed. She received a smack on the back of her head by Monika. Wincing, she continued, "We'll probably just end with some mediocre partner who ─ "

"I'm not settling for a trash partner," Amelia puckered her lips. "I'll live out my hobo daydream, singing on the streets of New York and earning minimum wage at a diner."

"Forever?" Monika asked, raising her eyebrows.

"Forever," she nodded once and rested her head on Monika's left shoulder, Gemma resting hers on Monika's right. "I got you guys."

"Yeah, you got us," Gemma nodded, extending her arm over the back of the couch and brushing back Amelia's hair.

"Forever," Monika teased, causing the three to go in a laughing fit but the sentiment behind the three-syllable word was purely sincere and sacred and was without an ounce of doubt. Smushed between two giggling teenagers, Monika rolled off the couch and ended up on the floor on her back, causing the dying laughter to erupt again.

"Shh!" Amelia said red-faced, trying not to giggle. "Guys, don't wake up the neighbors!"

"Let's wake up the neighbors!" Monika fist-pumped.

"Let's wake up the neighbors," Gemma repeated, albeit with less enthusiasm and more amusement.

AS it turned out, they did not wake the neighbors. Amelia stirred in her sleep and woke up to find herself curled into a ball on the couch. She yawned and sat up to notice their sleeping situation. While Amelia and Gemma had extended themselves on the couch, heads on opposite sides, Monika slept on the carpet with a throw blanket covering her. Amelia checked the time. It was past eleven.

She got up slowly so as not to wake the others up and padded across the floor to her room. Closing her door behind her, Amelia retreated to her bed, though she didn't lie down. She pulled out her gym bag and started packing for Decathalon. There was no way she was going to sleep right now anyway.

Something inside her felt like the night, hungry and wanting and black. Something was buzzing on her bed and she carefully pulled down the covers to reveal her cell vibrating and jumping. Her fingers curled around cold metal and she straightened, biting her lip. PETER PARKER flashed against the screen and she pressed ANSWER.

"Are you going to D.C?" Peter asked without preamble.

Amelia stopped her laughter from escaping but couldn't stop her smile. "Hello to you too, Peter," she said. Pressing the phone between her ear and shoulder, she folded a shirt to pack in her bag.

She could hear the embarrassment in Peter's voice when he realized the time. "Sorry, did I wake you?"

She hummed, walking around the room by muscle memory alone. "No, it's alright. I wasn't sleeping." She shouldered open the door to her bathroom and replaced her hand back on the phone to press it against her ear. "And yes, I am going to D.C, I was just packing."

"Packing, right."

Something in his voice made Amelia's eyebrows furrow as she picked up her personal hygiene kit. Something mischievous. "Why are you asking?" she asked cautiously, a little scared of the answer.

There was unfiltered joy in his voice as he said, "Because I was just swinging by." Amelia's face contorted in confusion before she heard the muffled taps. Her eyebrows rose and pouch in hand she walked out of the bathroom to find the red-and-blue spandex-clad teenage hero hanging upside down, knocking on her closed window. Her mouth opened in a proper O. Satisfied with her reaction, Peter waved.

Tossing the pouch on the bed, Amelia hurried towards her window and slid it open. Peter jumped through and landed on the floor soundlessly. He tilted his head at the way she was still looking at him ─ a sort of wonder he'd seen on faces of little children when they looked at the stars.

"Of all the windows in all the towns in all the world," Amelia said quietly, "he swings in through mine."

Peter pulled off his mask and grinned. "Hi." Somehow, he hadn't thought it would become easier with Amelia once all the secrets were out of the way. He certainly hadn't thought about this ─ standing in her lavender-walled room in his Spider-Man suit, talking to her.

Amelia couldn't keep her laughter in now as she greeted him, "Hi." Her eyes were twinkling with euphoric joy. She looked at him up and down before shaking her head and asking, "When do you sleep?"

Peter shrugged. "During History."

"Ah," she said as if it was the most obvious answer. Peter smiled and hopped up to sit on the windowsill. The sudden movement made Amelia take an instinctive step forward, arms extended as if to catch something. "Don't ─ " she said, "careful."

"I'll be fine," Peter told her with an impatient child-like tone. She blinked up to look at him. Moonlight shadowed his face in a way that emphasized how young he was. A sudden ache contracted Amelia's heart. He only had his aunt, didn't he? She wasn't sure if his Aunt May knew about his extracurricular activities. But what she could imagine was the pain Peter felt every time he didn't tell her ─ she knew that, she understood that. Her parents didn't know about her healing magic and something guilty ignited in her every time she saw them.

She knew part of it was because this ability had been unable to save her sister. She looked at Peter again, his face turned to the stars in youthful longing. How must he feel, going out each night and seeing all that happened in these dark streets? How did he get out of bed every morning to help this city, this world that took everything from him and gave him nothing in return? Selflessness, Amelia decided, was a hero's quality. She wasn't selfless. She wasn't a hero. She hid behind fake smiles and dazzling reputations.

Purpose must feel good. It looked good on him. Having something to live for ─ to live by. Maybe that's why she had stayed alive in that crash. Her purpose hadn't been fulfilled. Maybe she was still looking for it. Amelia decided she would keep looking for it until this big blank space beside her didn't feel so . . . big. Until she felt whole again. There was a part of her missing ─ the child part, the one that had died. Maybe there was someone who could bring it back to life.

She looked over at the New York skyline. Maybe it would be this place. New York was how Amelia felt. There was something hungry to her dazzling self. This city had always felt like the word home to her ─ since the day she had arrived. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" she said quietly, her voice light as feathers. Peter turned his head to look at her in question. "New York, at night? One of a kind. I love this city."

Peter hummed in agreement as he turned to look at the skyline. It was one of a kind and it was lovely. On days like these, when the sky was perfectly clear, the stars were the brightest. "Your parents live in D.C., right?" Peter asked, absently swinging his legs back and forth.

Amelia wandered closer and rested her elbows on the windowsill, looking out at the stars, too. "Yeah," she whispered, then went quiet as if thinking something. "Why did you ask if I was going?"

"No reason," Peter shrugged and glanced at her, the same mischievous glint in his eyes. "Just wondering if I would have the pleasure of your pleasant company."

Amelia perked up at this. "You're going, too?"

"You think Mr. Harrington will be pissed?"

"Nah," she laughed. "Flash will be."

"Haha. Good," Peter nodded to himself as if commending himself at his own success. Amelia smiled at him ─ the smile was as bright as the stars, and as sad, too. Peter's eyebrows drew closer. "What's going on?" he asked, a tinge of concern in his voice. Amelia's lips parted to deny everything. "And if you say nothing, I'll know you're lying."

Amelia sighed and threw her head back. In many ways Peter was like Constance ─ they both had that same crinkle between their eyebrows when worried. They both had the most selfless and kindest hearts. And they both had the ability to look through the cracks of Amelia's mask in a way nobody else could.  She pursed her lips and glanced back at him. "It's a long story," she said.

"I love long stories," Peter replied almost immediately, his eyes narrowed as he kept staring down at her.

"It's a sad one, too," she continued, the edges of her lips threatening to pull into a smile but she turned away before Peter could see it. It was the strangest feeling. She rarely ever talked about her sister. To anyone. Even Monika only knew that Amelia had once had a saint for a sister who was now dead ─ just that. She hadn't seen the place where the accident had happened.

But Peter had. There was an ease in Amelia when talking to Peter ─ a sort of comfort and familiarity. Every conversation with him felt like a warm blanket or a tight hug. Honesty forced its way to her lips with him. There was no lying to him, not really.

"When you fly above New York at night," Amelia started, "it's like you're looking down at millions of stars. And each star could be the life of a person who calls this city home. My sister, Constance, told me that people have always looked at the patterns of the stars to predict what was going to happen in their lives, and if you could understand those patterns, you'd be able to know what was going to happen before anyone else did. The last time we were together she told me that each star's light has taken decades to reach us and how it always burns the brightest right before it dies."

Peter was staring at her unabashedly now. Tears had gathered at the corner of her eyes like little pools, reflecting those same glittering stars. But she didn't let them fall. This Amelia, this story-telling Amelia, was a different person altogether from any of the other versions of her he'd encountered. He couldn't not listen. Her eyes were narrowed in that way people do when they're trying hard to appear casual, but it was obvious this story was anything but casual to her.

"When I saw you ─ see you," she corrected herself and glanced at him, "you know, swinging around New York skyscrapers and doing Spider-Man stuff," a small chuckled fell from her lips, "it kind of me reminded me of this feeling I'd get as a little kid. I'd wait until everyone had gone to bed, and then I'd climb onto the roof to look at the stars. Because Constance was a pilot, so whenever I saw a flashing star, I'd pretend it was her flying across the sky and I knew she'd be looking down at me. And if I was lucky, I'd see a shooting star and I'd wish she'd come home."

Amelia smiled, but her lips were quivering. She refused to look at Peter ─ instead, she looked at the stars. Her sister used to point and tell her which ones were which; she didn't remember half of their names, but they provided some sort of comfort, a warm feeling in her heart, the aftertaste of a brilliant smile from Constance.

Peter felt a little sick. Sounding a little out of breath, Peter said, "Amy." One word, but there was a wealth of meaning behind it. The word felt heavier than it ever had. But it also felt lighter, too, as if finally understanding a puzzle made it easier to solve. A reluctant tear slid down Amelia's cheek. Peter reached forward, wiping it away with his thumb. Amelia closed her eyes.

Peter wanted to say something but he didn't know what. He couldn't bring himself to speak. There were no words. A memory of Uncle Ben flashed behind his eyes. It was Coney Island, 2005 ─ a four-year-old Peter Parker clinging to his uncle's arm as the Ferris wheel took them up and up and up. His uncle Ben asking him to open his eyes and look at the stars. The first spark of wonder in Peter ─ the first flicker of curiosity for science. Peter fisted his fingers, the mask in his hand looking back at him in ─ in what? Expectation, responsibility, the weight of the world?

Peter looked at Amelia. Strangely enough, Amelia belonged here, just as she had at that gala. That dazzling, champagne-colored world had created her just as much as her world of dreams and tragedies. A little bit of shame colored him ─ oh how he had assumed that Amelia was shallow and old money and parties. Peter was beginning to realize that he hadn't known Amelia at all.

The scent of lavender, all peace after war, drifted past Peter, and he realized that while he'd been looking at Amelia, Amelia had been looking at him. He opened his mouth just as she did, both beginning to say something but a distant police siren cut them off. Both their heads turned to find the source in this wide expanse of the city. 

Peter looked back at Amelia apologetically and she shook her head. "Go," she said quietly and Peter put his mask back on, swinging out of her window. To herself, she said, "Be safe."