CHAPTER ELEVEN.
DO NOT FALL IN LOVE

AND there was Peter, standing to the side looking appropriately distressed. She didn't wait for anyone to tell her it was okay for her to walk or run or anything, really. While the others were getting checked out by the medics, Amelia broke into a sprint. It took Peter a moment to register that Amelia was running and another to register that she was running towards him. He opened his arms as she came closer and threw her arms around his neck. Peter rocked back with the force.

Peter was sure she was saying something, but she was shaking too, so it was hard to decipher what it was actually that she was mumbling. He shushed her, arms curving around her back. As her breathing came back to normal, he heard what she was saying, over and over. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry." This girl. She had just about almost died and she was apologizing. Why? As if she heard him, she leaned back. "I'm sorry I said that I hated you. I don't hate you. I was just angry because you didn't answer my calls but then you found time to call Ned and I thought you were deliberately ignoring me and ─ "

"Shh," Peter hushed her. She was crying. Amelia was crying and Peter tried not to laugh. He tried, very very hard. But failed. A chuckle left his lips. She looked up at him, mouth opened in more a D than an O, offended.

"You're laughing," she croaked. "I'm crying and you're laughing!"

Now Peter completely forgot they were being secretive (were they?) and let out a tremendous laugh. It was a powerful thing, that laugh. He only did it once, but his eyes remained shaped like it.

Something inside Amelia did a complicated tug. I like his laugh, she decided. A smile fought its way to her lips too, mirroring Peter's. Annoyed, she punched him in the arm.

"Ow!" he said, more offended than anything.

"That's for not answering my calls or text," she said. Then she reached up on her tip-toes and planted a kiss on his cheek. Peter was blushing. Amelia did her best to hide that so was she. "And that's for saving us," she whispered.

Peter's eyes softened. He looked at her face and wiped the grime from it with his thumb. "You're okay, right?" He was staring at the cut on her forehead and her palm and her bare knees. Peter didn't know how to tell her the terror he'd felt when he had thought she had fallen ─ that she was falling and he couldn't catch her. Then he had. But what if? What if she had fallen? What then? Something tugged on his heart ─ a pain, ancient and ever-present. He had already lost too many people in his life. He didn't think he was ready to lose anymore. He stepped back a little, away from Amelia, and instantly felt cold.

Amelia was nodding. "I'm alright," she said, but there was a thinness to her voice. As if she wasn't sure herself. Cold air enveloped her when he stepped back ─ like an alarm going off in her head. She didn't have time to react though as Ned interrupted. She was glad.

"Peter! Peter that was so awesome! You were like 'Hey, are you guys okay?' And then Liz was like ─ oh," Ned halted. He seemed to notice Amelia. "I just ─ I meant Spider-Man was cool. Peter isn't Spider-Man. Peter's just ─ he's ─ "

"Ned," Peter said with a sigh, his head in his hands. "She knows."

Ned paused. Amelia thought he was processing the newfound information and braced herself for questions but all he said was: "But I was the first to know, right?" Amelia rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged the corners of her mouth. "Like, I found out first?"

Peter was saved from answering when Mr. Harrington called both Ned and Amelia back towards the medics and Ned hurried back, but Amelia stalled. Suddenly she remembered the party at her mother's tonight. "Well," she breathed out.

"Well," Peter repeated.

She was still looking at him in some type of way. It made his stomach do somersaults. "After that whole thing ─ " and she gestured towards the Washington Monument to indicate an incredibly fatal disaster that Peter had prevented, "I don't think you're too excited to be faced with Mr. Harrington's struggles to expel you."

Peter chuckled. No, he wasn't. He quirked an eyebrow as if to ask: What else is there?

"My mom's having a party and I hate being alone at those things. Do you want to . . . ?" She faltered. Amelia was faltering? It took Peter a moment of her silence to realize that she was asking if he wanted to go with her. It took him another moment to realize that she was looking at him very, very expectantly for an answer.

He shrugged. "Sure," he said. He didn't think much about it. He wasn't sure how Amelia felt about him. Certainly not the way he felt about her. No. Girls like Amelia Sóng didn't end up with boys like Peter Parker, they ended up with ─ with the boy she had been talking to back at the hotel when they had first arrived here. There had been an ease to her then ─ not this stumbling awkwardness of obligation.

Amelia exhaled a smile, before turning to go to the medics. Thank goodness Peter had agreed to go. She hadn't known she was asking him to go until she had asked. She didn't know why, but she loved spending time with him. She didn't have to be a certain way with him. She didn't have to chalk up boundaries or remember a list of topics of common interests. 

She could just be herself.

PERMISSION from Mr. Harrington had been easy to get. They had just gone through something traumatizing and Amelia could be incredibly persuasive when she wanted to be. Hearing she just wanted to go visit her parents had convinced Mr. Harrington enough ─ he didn't need to know it was at a party.

The Uber had driven then fast through Washington and towards Virginia. Amelia felt vaguely shell-shocked to be back in Northern Virginia. Like she'd never left. The slowly setting sun seemed more unforgiving on the backs of all the clean, new cars, and the air through the vents smelled like exhaust and someone else's cooking. It seemed like there were brake lights everywhere but nothing was actually motionless.

Not too later, Amelia stood in the driveway of the Sóng's Virginia mansion, still in her dirty clothes from the hectic morning, and beside her was Peter who felt grossly underdressed in his jeans and sweatshirt after taking one look around him.

The sweeping circular driveway was a puzzle game of vehicles: tuxedo-black sedans, cello-brown SUVs, silvery two-seaters that could fit in the palm of your hand, and sweating white coupes with diplomatic plates. Two valets, having exhausted every parking solution, smoked cigarettes and blew smoke curls over the fenders of a Mercedes beached on the curb beside them. Rose blooms rotted on the bushes beside them, sweet and black.

Amelia caught his hand as they snaked between cars. "Lucky thing we didn't have to trouble ourselves with parking." 

Peter, though, was still staring at all the cars that were probably definitely worth several hundred dollars more than his rent. He echoed, "Lucky thing."

Two women stepped out of the front door of the house. Hands waved at air; bits of the conversation reached the duo's ears. Damn Prentiss ─ she's gonna pay ─ damn idiot ─ also her husband is a duck. A murmur of guests passed through the open door behind them as if the two women had pulled the sound out with them. The view through the doorway was a collage of pants suits and pearl necklaces, Vuitton and damask. So very many. So very, very many of them.

"Jesus Christ," Amelia said tragically, her eyes on the gathering then at their clothes. "Oh well." Peter flicked an invisible piece of lint off his shoulder as she said, "Hope this doesn't become a disaster, I've had too many of those today."

And she stepped inside. Peter followed. It was a rose-colored vision come to life. People talking all over each other, soft music playing from some hidden stereo somewhere. Heels clicked on the tiled marble floor and champagne glasses clinked together. Everything was glittering and shimmering and Peter cringed. Out of nowhere, the thought came to him: I don't like this place.

Amelia though was still striding through the flock of guests who all had started pointing towards the girl. This pointing had more to do with her clothing and its dust-covered state than with her being a Sóng. She spotted her mother, off at the end, sitting on a couch with a semi-circle of worriers around her. She was staring at her phone teary-eyed and Amelia realized that Helen Sóng didn't know that she was okay.

"Mom," she called out and although nobody else heard, Helen Sóng looked up. A relieved laugh fell from her lips like pearls dropping to the floor.

"Oh, Mia," she said and went in for a hug but Amelia stopped her.

"I'm filthy," she pointed out.

Helen Sóng shook her head and wrapped the girl in an enormous hug. "You should have called! I knew you were going to go there after your competition!"

Amelia melted in the hug. "I'm sorry. Everything was happening so fast."

Peter was staring at the mother-daughter duo with a pang in his heart. He had never known his mother ─ not really, but Aunt May was his everything. Everything. This thought made him realize he should probably call her, and at the very least text her that he was alright. While all of this was going through his head, he realized that Amelia had finished with her reunions and was waiting for him.

"Now what?" he asked.

"Now," she said and took his hand again. There was something electrifying about that but he wasn't sure if Amelia felt it. "We play dress up."

And she was right. Amelia led Peter to a room out of the view of the party and turned the lights on. It was then that Peter realized that this room, as big as his bedroom, was actually a closet. He let out a chuckle of disbelief. He turned to ask her why in the hell she had moved to New York and lived in a cramped two-bedroom apartment but she was handing him a zipped-up bag and saying something along the lines ─ "It's my cousin's, it'll fit you!" And then she disappeared somewhere behind the screens.

Peter looked inside the clothes bag. It was a suit ─ black two-piece, white crisp shirt, silk black tie. He knew if he thought too much he would probably throw up, so instead, he just changed. He was struggling to knot his tie when he saw Amelia reappear again. He struggled to breathe. Her hair that had previously been knotted now laid pin straight down her bare shoulders. The black dress she wore tucked gingerly under her arms with no sleeves to display the perfect curves of her collarbones.

"Here," she said and at first Peter didn't understand what she was doing. Not until she was standing barely inches apart, fingers winding his tie. Her undeterred focus was on the black piece of silk while Peter's gaze could not leave Amelia, even if he wanted it to. She was breathtaking. But then Peter's gaze fixated on the bandaged cut on her forehead. They always get hurt, the small voice in the back of his mind said. The people closest to you always get hurt. And although it was true, it pained Peter to realize he could never have this. No. He had decided not to let people in.

So as she brushed his coat, straightened his lapels, and gave him a dazzling smile saying, "You clean up nice," Peter was making a mental note. Do not fall in love with Amelia Sóng. He looked down at her but she was pouting towards the door. "God, I really thought it was going to be just five people," she grumbled. "But when is it ever five people? I hate this."

The moment they returned back to the party, Amelia greeted the guests standing around. Despite her previous complaint, she was completely at ease, a swan among the flocks of birds. Peter kept close but he kept losing her amongst all the sparkles and gushed greetings.

And just like that, the Amelia who Peter had befriended ─ the Amelia he would do anything for ─ vanished, and in her place was the old money heir apparent with a mesmerizing smile and deadly gaze.

The Song mansion spread out before them. Amelia, looking decidedly unattainable in her black dress, shook hands with several people whose names Peter struggled to remember but was sure he'd seen them on newspapers and on television. Everything smelled of puff pastry and ambition.

Somewhere in time, Amelia introduced Peter to the Princeton Dean. "This is Peter Parker. He's the smartest boy I know, destined for great things."

And somehow Peter now had a business card pressed into his hand; someone else gave him a champagne glass. Peter did not drink alcohol. Amelia smoothly took the champagne flute from him and placed it on an antique desk with ivory inlay. Then she leaned in closer to his ear and whispered, "Having fun?" Peter wanted to say no but he didn't want to hurt her feeling. As it turned out, he had nothing to worry about. "I'm not," she said. Peter glanced down at her as she wound her arms through his. It did not sound as if she was having fun, but her smile was bulletproof. Her eyes roved the room as she knocked back her ginger ale or her champagne. She accepted another flute from a faceless serving tray.

They moved to the next person, and the next and the next. The room adored her. Something caught Peter's eye, a familiar flash of silver hair ─ "Hey, is that Monika?" he asked.

Amelia craned her neck to look in the direction he'd been pointing but there was no one there now. "What a dreadful thought," Amelia observed abruptly. "Monika amongst this crowd."

Though this brought a smile to Peter's face, it was fleeting for the next moment Amelia was leaving his arm. Why was it that even when he'd decided not to fall in love with her that his side felt empty and cold without her there?

"Hey, Mia!" Amelia looked over her shoulder to find Beaumont Auclair jogging to catch up with her. A smile pulled the ends of her mouth. "Hey, it's so good to see you here! Congratulations on the win! What did I tell you?" And he pulled her in a hug.

She reciprocated, squeezing tightly. As he pulled back, she looked at him at arm's length. "God, have you gotten taller?" she asked rhetorically. He grinned sheepishly, the tops of his cheek flared but took to tickling her instead. "Fine! You were right, god, stop!" she gave in, annoyed and out of breath. "You won. Or no, I won." She jutted her bottom lips out. "This is confusing."

As a thought struck Beaumont, he looked around. "Have you seen the others yet?" Before she could answer that she hadn't and that she actually really didn't want to, he was calling out for them. Slowly, a small circle formed at one corner of the room. Amelia looked around at all the faces circling her. She pushed her shoulders back, feeling out of breath all of a sudden. There wasn't enough air reaching her lungs.

These were her friends:

To her immediate right was Zachary Hart or Zach, Congressman Hart's son. Beside him was Fredrick Remmington III, or Freddy as he preferred to be called. His mother was some distant royal or something. Amelia didn't know and at this point, it was too far along to ask. Across from Amelia was Willow Barnby whose mother was a fashion designer and father had been twice Grammy-nominated. Then there was Beaumont Auclair, or Beau, a French exchange student who had come here in their middle-school years and decided to stay.

So here was the deal. Amelia Song had known these people since was a little kid, all pigtails and knee-length frocks. They were family friends, but that's where it got tricky. As Willow launched into an animated welcome with a speech informing her of everything she had missed, her champagne spilling from her glass and Freddy put on a glittering smile, Amelia felt herself almost choke behind the pearls and diamonds and all other shiny things. 

As if sensing this, Peter threaded his fingers with hers. Just this ─ her heart stilled. She felt she was breathing after a long time. His grip was loose at first, hesitant, then she returned the gesture. She squeezed his hand back. Peter could swear his heart skipped a beat. The things Amelia Sóng did to him.

Strangely enough, it was not his fingers twined in hers that affected Amelia the strongest, it was where his warm wrist pressed against hers above their hands. His skin pressed against hers, both of their pulses rapid and uncertain.

"And who's this? Aren't you gonna introduce us?" Willow asked, kohl-lined eyes looking Peter up and down.

"Um, this is Peter," Amelia said. "Peter, this is Zach, Freddy, Willow, and Beau."

"Are you her New York boyfriend?" Freddy asked unceremoniously.

Amelia hushed him, the tops of her cheeks flaming red but Peter was thinking about the New York part more than the boyfriend part. Did she have other boyfriends from other places? He shook his head. Who was he to wonder this? It's not like he was going to fall in love with her, anyway.

Freddy or Beau or Zach said something, it was hard to tell because honestly Peter didn't remember their names, and Amelia laughed. There was nothing more peaceful than hearing her laughter. Peter wished there was some way he could trap the sound. He could record it ─ no, that would be insubstantial. Amelia was not some trinket he could keep locked away behind a four-digit pin. He would revel in the softness of the sound as long as it was happening, as long as she was here. Because if there was one thing he had learned in his time it was that nothing was permanent.

"Are you ready?" Beau asked Amelia, glancing at his watch. Peter glanced at his watch, too. How was it already nine? What was he asking Amelia if she was ready for? "Well, let's go then." And the group was leaving. 

Amelia kept her fingers threaded with Peter's, pulling him along with her. From the doorway, she picked up a pair of keys from a hook and Peter leaned forward now, completely confused. "Where are we going?" he asked.

Amelia looked at him over her shoulder and smiled. "Someplace magical."

IT took them less than thirty minutes to arrive wherever they had been going. Peter had planted himself in the passenger seat of the Fiat that Amelia had taken to driving. The whole ride they had listened to Beatles and debated over whose story arc was better ─ Luke Skywalker or Anakin Skywalker. This Amelia had felt like her again ─ this Amelia confined to these thirty minutes ─ this secret Amelia, this New York Amelia. He felt a sudden animosity towards everything that made Amelia different, everything that changed her.

As soon as the engine cut off, they both exited the vehicle. There were two other cars, one on either side of them. From them, Amelia's friends exited and Beau sauntered towards Amelia. "Mia, Mia, Mia," he said, a smirk across his face. "Ready?"

"Oh, I was born ready, Auclair!" Amelia declared. Willow laughed and it sounded like wind chimes. 

With Amelia in the lead, they all followed her into the trees. Immediately, the temperature rose several degrees. Peter hadn't realized how much insect noise there was in the field until it was the only sound away from all roads and cars. 

Illuminated by the headlights of the three cars, a small lake sat in the center. The water was quaint and unmoving and somehow gleaming silver. On its surface, the moon's creamy white face cast its reflection. It wasn't quite full, but shadowed at one edge, giving it the look of a half-lidded eye. Ferns sprang from rocks and lush moss grew up the sides of the tree trunks. The air itself was scented with green and growing and water. The light was silver through the leaves. Everything was alive, alive. The water seemed shallow and clear in the bright starlight, shimmering. Pins of yellow light swarmed the scene, fireflies buzzing about. Was it even firefly season? Peter didn't know. It didn't feel like this place existed anywhere in time.

He breathed. The air was cold and fresh, absent of pollution. The pool was only a few inches deep and perfectly clear. The water was so transparent that it begged to be touched.

Peter, having been immersed in admiring the magical lake, was taken aback when he saw Amelia undoing the strings on her dress. The rest of them were chanting her name like the audience of a football match, their phones out to record. One of the three had put on a song and the melody of Goo Goo Dolls' Iris hung in the air. Peter averted his eyes when he realized she was just wearing her undergarments underneath, but Amelia had other plans.

She seized his hands. "Come on!" she said. Peter stuttered, unable to form words. She was pulling the blazer off his shoulders. "Take off your shoes!" she shouted. Peter decided resisting would only get him manhandled so he did whatever she told him without question. He took off his socks too, for good measure.

And then, among the chants of both their names, Peter was being pulled towards the lake, his hand in Amelia's as she broke into a sprint. He realized a little too late what was happening. They were going to jump. He was suddenly very aware of how much the shirt and the pants that he wore must cost but before he could worry about it anymore ─ they were jumping.

SPLASH!

The water felt icy at first but it was just an illusion. It was warmer than the weather and both Peter and Amelia sunk further down, waiting to hit the bottom. Peter opened his eyes expecting it to be dark but the water was incandescent. It really was glowing. Amelia's hair floated around her head like a halo as she sunk. As if sensing him staring at her, she opened her eyes, too. Bubbles escaped to the surface as she smiled brilliantly. It tethered Peter's heart. Amelia swam closer to him and offered her hand. He took it without hesitation. The song sounded tunneled under the water and the lyrics reverberated through Amelia's heart.

And I don't want the world to see me/'Cause I don't think that they'd understand/When everything's made to be broken/I just want you to know who I am

She moved closer without thinking and slid her arms around Peter's neck. Peter froze. Amelia was close, too close. The alarms in his head were blaring: DO NOT FALL IN LOVE. But Amelia wasn't giving him much of a choice. She looked like an angel here, with the moon at her back and the water separating them from the real world. Both of them felt the urge to take a breath, but it felt so peaceful here that they just didn't want to let go.

They both pushed together, aiming for the surface, and emerged in a mess of gasps and claps and water sticking their hair to their faces. Then Peter laughed. The sound was buoyant and joyful and inviting and Amelia threw her arms around his neck to stay afloat. As the singer sang about how his lover was the closest to heaven that he would ever be and that he didn't want to go home right now, Amelia glanced at Peter and the dazzling smile on his face. At how his mouth curved and his lashes winged and his nose sloped. The whooping from her friends broke her out of her trance, and she blinked then realized how tightly she had been holding on to Peter, and how close they were.

The rest of them were undressing, too, and running into the water. 

But it seemed as if Amelia had had enough. They had to wake up early tomorrow morning to go home anyways. Peter walked out first and gave her a hand. As she retrieved her dress, he felt he ought to look away. Everything she wore clung to her and Peter closed his eyes. DO NOT FALL IN LOVE. DO NOT FALL IN LOVE. DO NOT FALL IN LOVE.

"Ready?" Her voice was whispered. Peter opened his eyes and looked down at her. She was close, too close. Others were still playing in the water, but the silence between the two of them drowned out their noise. Her wet hair, droplets still escaping down the strands stuck to her skin, and the dress, back on her, stuck to her body. Peter saw her shiver. He picked up his discarded coat from earlier and draped it around her shoulders. Being this close to Amelia felt thrilling, but it also felt numbing. It felt like being tucked away into a dream world, away from the rest of the problems of the world. This was one of the reasons he shouldn't walk too close to Amelia, shouldn't walk too close to anyone. Because sometimes they started mattering more than the mission, and in the worst occurrences of all; started mattering more than the world.

"Yeah," he whispered, nodding slowly. He was ready to go back now, back to reality, back to their unfair world where he couldn't have everything he wanted.

Amelia finally regarded Peter, his hair wet from the lake plastered over his forehead. The fireflies buzzing around him, casting streaks of gold light across his face. She pulled his coat tighter around her and felt herself ease into the material. It felt illicit and drowsy. Only inches away, Peter blinked sleepily at her. Amelia crumpled the edge of the coat and her nose brushed against the lapels. It smelled like honey and cinnamon, which was to say, like Peter.

As they stood in the moonlight, Amelia sighed. She let herself confess it, in secret, to herself: I have a crush on Peter Parker.