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Twenty eight dollars and eighty cents.
That was it. Michelle had put it aside, one dollar and then another and then another, carefully rationing her allowance all month, and this is what she had to show for it.
Pursing her lips together and bracing herself for disappointment, Michelle counts it again. Twenty eight dollars and eighty cents. And tomorrow's Christmas day.
With her father between temporary teaching jobs, the Jones household was running on a tight budget for the holidays, but Michelle refuses to let that get in her way. Maybe it's her pride, but she won't let money—or the lack of—keep her from her goal; at the very least, she has her discipline and determination.
Since deciding to save up for Peter's Christmas gift, she hasn't visited the Strand bookstore even once, not even to fawn over the displayed hardcover edition of Beloved that would complete her Toni Morrison collection. So, Michelle forgoes her weekly purchases from the discounted paperback bin by avoiding temptation altogether.
She has also been packing her own lunch everyday for the last two weeks, saving what she would have otherwise spent on buying lunch at school; at least she can make a mean PB&J now, and Peter's offered to share his snacks with her a few times.
But she still doesn't have enough money for the present she wants to get for him.
Michelle sighs. Maybe it would be too much, to get him anything at all. They've never exchanged gifts before and didn't talk about getting each other presents this year.
But that's what friends do with each other, right? Give gifts? And she likes to think they've become friends since being brought back from the Blip together, if they weren't before.
Michelle also wants to make up for what she did the last time she was over at his and his aunt's apartment.
After spending years observing Peter Parker from afar, Michelle still found it surreal to be finally standing in his room, amidst all of his things, and she wanted to soak it all in, every last bit of him. From the childhood wallpaper and grade school science awards to the plastic Star Wars action figures on display beneath a 1986 Mets World Series poster, she wanted to know everything about Peter—including if he was maybe actually a certain friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.
When Peter asked her if he could take a photo of her, Michelle's mind short-circuited while in the middle of scrutinizing his book collection (which was respectable though unsurprising, and included the entire Lord of the Rings series, some old school sci-fi like 1984 and Neuromancer, and college-level science textbooks).
"So I can play around with the manual settings on this camera I found in my uncle’s old stuff!" he quickly clarified. “You can have it, when it’s developed. The photo, I mean. I’m not taking it to, you know, keep. Not that I wouldn’t keep a photo of you—but it wouldn't be for anything weird,” Peter rambled on, holding the vintage black and silver Canon AE-1 up to his chest.
“Just take my picture, weirdo.”
Michelle can still remember the feeling of her entire face burning pleasantly as Peter inspected her through the camera lense. But he was taking longer than she’d expected, which made her nervous, so she blurted out, “Like what you see, dork?”
Startled, Peter had nearly dropped the camera, if not for the strap around his neck, and stared at her with wide eyes. The multi-colored string of lights on the Parkers’ plastic Christmas tree twinkled against his face, and he grinned mischievously. "Uh, yes. That’s why I think I need to take a few more.”
“Fine,” Michelle had replied, keeping her face as neutral as possible while hoping Peter didn't notice her cheeks flush, “just don’t make me look ugly.”
“That’s impossible,” Peter said quickly, bringing the camera back up over his face before she could respond.*
When Michelle suggested that they switch places, Peter agreed and excitedly looped the camera strap over her head. They did an awkward shuffle as she swept her thick hair over the old crackling band of leather around her neck. When Peter's hand got tangled in it, his fingers brushed against the back of her neck, sending a tingling sensation throughout her body.
"Sorry," he murmured.
"That's okay." Michelle swallowed nervously. "Uh, how do I—"
Then his warm hands were wrapped around hers on the camera. “This is the shutter button here,” said Peter, pushing her index finger into position. “And this switch with three settings…”
His face was so close that she could smell the peppermint on his breath. Was Peter just very hygiene-conscious for a teenage boy, or did he think he'd be this close to her today? Did he hope to be? Was she overthinking this?
Michelle swallowed, trying to listen to Peter explain how to use the camera, but all she wanted to do in that moment was turn her head just a little to the right, and see how close she could get to his face—
"—if you press the shutter gently, the viewfinder will show the aperture scale…"
Peter turned towards her at the precise moment she turned her head towards him, and their noses had barely touched before Michelle jerked back and away from him, accidentally catching the camera strap in her arm. Cursing her awkwardly long limbs, she wrestled the moldy leather in order to free herself, but only managed to tear the crumbling strap in two.
Mortified, she apologized profusely while Peter insisted that she didn't need to worry about it, that it was just an old thing that was already coming apart. She felt terrible and filled with regret for breaking something that belonged to his uncle. And, more selfishly, she regrets ruining the moment between them with her carelessness.
Now, Michelle doesn’t know what she could get for twenty eight dollars and eighty cents that would make up for breaking his uncle's camera strap, and also show him how much she valued their friendship. She's never had much luck getting close to people and has no idea how to say what she feels, so she hopes she can tell him through this gift.
But what could she buy that would deserve to be owned by Peter? That would deserve to be held in his hands and placed among the things in his room?
In her desperation, Michelle finds herself at the Seller's Entrance at the Strand the night before Christmas, ready to sell the books she's lugged over from Queens—including her favorite hardbacks of Song of Solomon and The Bluest Eye.
After the buyer evaluates her books, he hands Michelle a receipt that she takes to the end of the same counter, where another employee asks if she wants to be paid in cash or store credit.
"Cash, please."
Her face numb from the cold and nose a little runny, Michelle makes it to B&H Video across town right before closing time on Christmas Eve, and looks for the replacement camera strap and accompanying case that she’s been eyeing for weeks.
It is a handsome leather strap with a rich patina and classy brushed metal clasps. As soon as she saw it, she knew it should belong to Peter. It was like him: strong, enduring, and comfortable to hold.
Not that she knows what it feels like to hold him, but Michelle suspects it would be... nice.
She fantasizes about herself looping the strap over his head, and letting her fingers graze against the collar of his shirt. Maybe he'll reach up to adjust it and accidentally touch her hand, and maybe she'll let it linger there for a moment longer than necessary.
Holding the soft leather band in her hands, Michelle imagines it resting around Peter's neck, securing his camera as it hangs down in front of his chest. The leather would be pressed against the nape of his neck, touching the soft curling hair there, and she finds herself irrationally jealous of an inanimate object.
"Miss?" says the cashier, interrupting Michelle's reverie. She quickly pays and makes her way out of the electronics store, which is still busy with last minute shoppers racing against the clock.
Watching her breath fog up in the crisp winter air, Michelle hurries back home before the forecasted snowstorm, pushing herself through the throngs of chattering tourists and past jingling Salvation Army bell ringers.
She waits at the bus stop for over twenty minutes in the cold, angrily eyeing each 'Not in Service' bus that goes by, and wishes she had enough money leftover for a cab, instead of having to rely on the last free transfer on her student Metrocard.
Shivering, Michelle hunches her shoulders up to her ears and holds the plastic bag containing Peter's gift closer to her chest. Her toes have frozen inside her Converse sneakers, and she's losing hope that she'll beat the snowstorm home tonight with each passing second.
With her parka hood up, Michelle can only see what is directly in front of her face without turning her head, but she swears she just saw a familiar flash of red and blue at the edge of her field of vision. It isn't too late yet, but she still finds it comforting to know that Spidey is out and watching over the neighborhood.
Finally, the bus begrudgingly pulls up to the curb with a wheezing screech. Before she gets on, Michelle checks over her shoulder one last time for Spider-Man, who's nowhere to be seen.
When she arrives home, she finds Peter waiting by himself on the stoop of her building. He has both of his hands deep in his coat pockets, and Michelle can't help worrying that his coat seems too thin for this weather, and he should really be wearing a hat and scarf. The first flurries of snow have begun to descend from the dusky sky in silence.
"Hey, what are you doing here? A snowstorm's coming," says Michelle, fishing around for her keys in her bag.
"I won't be long," says Peter as snowflakes land in his hair. "I just wanted to give you your present before Christmas tomorrow."
He holds out a package to Michelle, who gingerly picks it up like it's about to explode. One of the lightbulbs in the porch lamp has burnt out, and the other flickers from time to time, casting Peter's face in uneven shadows, but she can sense how nervous he is even if she can't see his expression.
Her heart is thundering in her chest. Peter got her a gift. Of his own free will. She doesn't even care what it is, only that it's from him.
"To complete your Toni Morrison collection," Peter says happily while she is slowly unwrapping the package, "because you said you were still missing this one and sick of borrowing it from the library every time you wanted to read it again. It was the last one at the Strand, I hope it's the right book."
Michelle turns the hardcover special edition of Beloved over in her cold-numbed hands, then looks back at Peter. His nose and cheeks are pink, and his eyes are bright. He nods at her hands and she looks down; beneath the first book is a copy of Dune.
"It's one of my favorite books. I thought maybe you'd want to check it out sometime? We could, like, book club," Peter hunches his shoulders up to his ears, and his sheepish smile that fills Michelle with such an intense urge to do something impulsive that she'll regret.
“Here,” she says curtly, thrusting the plastic B&H shopping bag at his chest.
It doesn’t take him any time to pull the unwrapped gift out of the bag. Squeezing the supple leather in his hands, Peter examines the camera strap and case and looks up at Michelle with his lips parted in surprise, his breath coming out in little puffs in the chilly air.
“To replace the one I broke,” she explains. “And I thought the case would be nice, for your uncle’s camera. You could bring it around to take photos and stuff.”
He still doesn’t say anything and just keeps staring at her, which makes her nervous. She pushes forward anyway and suggests, “Maybe we could take some more photos together, too. I never got any of you that day.”
“MJ,” says Peter, still smiling funny. “I sold the camera so I could buy the books."
She looks dumbly at the brown camera strap and case in his hands. "Oh."
How did she mess things up again? Sighing, Michelle reaches over to take the useless gifts back from Peter, but he pulls her in for a hug instead. His cheek is cold against hers, but she feels like the rest of her body’s on fire.
“Thank you,” he says into her hair.
“You’re welcome,“ she replies softly, trying to prolong the spell of their hug. “And yes, that’s the right book. It’s… thank you.”
“Anytime, Em.”
She shivers, half from the cold and half from the way her new nickname sounds coming from Peter’s lips. The wind blows the flurry of snow into a harsh gale, and she uses that as an excuse to squeeze him a little tighter. He squeezes back.
His arms are as strong and comfortable as she imagined.
When their hug is over, Michelle admits to him that she had sold parts of her Toni Morrison collection to buy his gift. Peter just chuckles and tells her that just means he’ll know what to get her next time.
“Maybe instead of more books, you could get me, like, a necklace or something,” Michelle jokes, then immediately regrets it. She might as well have told him to get her a promise ring and get down on his knee to propose. "Or not. I mean, you don't need to get me anything. Ever."
Peter scratches the back of his neck, smiling bashfully. “You’d really be okay with that, hypothetically? If I got you a necklace?" He exhales softly, the fog of his breath suspended between them. "Or, uh, something like that.”
Michelle just nods, not trusting herself to say anything else, and gestures toward her apartment building. “I should get inside.”
“Yeah, of course. I should get home, too,” Peter agrees, but he lingers for a bit tugging on the straps of his backpack and rocking on his heels.
Her face feels strangely hot despite the frigid air, so she keeps her eyes down at the books in her arms, stroking the spines with her thumb.
Peter looks like he's about to say something, but then seems to think better of it and turns to leave, telling her goodbye. A strange feeling of dissappointment and relief settles in her stomach; she wants to follow him, but also dash to her room and curl up in bed, alone, with her new books.
Michelle doesn't close the door all the way, so she can watch Peter walk away, the drifting snow collecting on his back and hair. Suddenly he stops at the end of the walkway and turns back to face her, and calls out, “Merry Christmas, MJ!”
She tries not to let her surprise show and pushes the door open wider. “Merry Christmas, Peter."
The snow starts coming down harder then, and Peter salutes her before skipping away. She watches him until he disappears from view, her cheeks still burning.