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“Miss Jones-Watson, you’re partnered with Mr. Thompson.”
MJ swallowed her protest, knowing that to argue wouldn’t do her a lick of good. Mr. Garou never allowed partner changes without dire justification, and MJ unfortunately had none. Flash’s eyes found hers from across the classroom, and she gave him a curt nod to acknowledge their pairing. When his upper lip curled in distaste, she fought the urge to roll her eyes.
MJ was not looking forward to this.
Mr. Garou finished rattling off his list of partners, then instructed them to spend the rest of class determining what text they wanted to present on. By Thursday, he expected each pair to have developed an outline of how they expected the work on their joint project to proceed.
When it became clear Flash would not be sliding into the empty desk beside her, MJ resigned herself to grabbing her backpack and sitting at the front with him.
“So,” she said, dropping down beside Flash. She pulled the list of potential texts from her binder, smoothing a wrinkle out of the upper right corner. “Any preferences for our project?”
Flash shrugged, clearly working on an assignment for physics. She knew he took Ms. Warren during 3rd hour—Peter’s class. “Not Milton.”
MJ snorted, scratching Paradise Lost off their provided list. “I won’t argue with you there.”
Flash made no further suggestions—in fact, talking with MJ seemed to be the last thing he wanted to do—so MJ took it upon herself to narrow down the offered items at least to texts she was interested in. She didn’t feel like doing a play or epic poem this time around, so off went the Bard and Sophocles and Beowulf and Virgil. She would’ve loved to do Toni Morrison, but she’d already heard two groups quickly claim The Bluest Eye and Beloved. No sale there. Maybe Mary Shelley? She’d always wanted to read The Last Man. The Kite Runner was a personal favorite novel of MJ’s, too—
“You don’t want to do Antigone?” Flash asked, snapping MJ from her thoughts. “I thought you’d be all over that, Jones.”
MJ raised an eyebrow. “And what, exactly, is that supposed to mean?”
Flash swallowed hard, pulling away from her steely gaze and dropping his attention back to the worksheet in front of him. “Uh. Nothing.”
MJ rolled her eyes. This project was so doomed. “Look, if you don’t start offering up some suggestions, I will choose a text for us, and you’ll just have to live with it.”
Flash huffed, dropping his pencil and leaning back in his seat to raise his hands in mock surrender. “Fine. What about… The Importance of Being Earnest?”
Oh, great. A play MJ had already eliminated. Fantastic.
She bit back a sigh, reminding herself to stay calm. They could compromise. Surely ‘compromise’ wasn’t a foreign concept even to Eugene ‘Flash’ Thompson. “How about The Picture of Dorian Gray?” she offered after a pause, once she trusted that her voice would remain level. “You get your Oscar Wilde, and I don’t have to read a play.”
Flash frowned. “What do you have against plays?”
“Crippling stage fright,” MJ deadpanned, earning an eye roll from Flash.
“Whatever, Jones.” He picked up his pencil and continued working on his physics worksheet. Weird—MJ didn’t recognize the problem set. “Sure, The Picture of Dorian Gray is fine.”
MJ circled the novel on her list. What with it being in the second-to-last section of texts, she doubted any other group would choose it, and as such saw no reason to inform Mr. Garou of their choice right away. Knowing Flash, he might decide to make her life hell and change his mind before the end of class.
“For our project outline,” she said, pulling her planner out of her backpack, “what do you say we finish the book by next Tuesday?” A full week was more than enough time to read such a short novel.
Flash’s grip on his pencil tightened almost imperceptibly.
MJ noticed.
“Yes,” he said, shoulders stiff. “That’s fine.”
MJ waited for further commentary, but apparently that was all Flash had chosen to deign her with. “Glad we’re on the same page.”
Flash’s responding nod was sharper than a dagger and told her they were anything but.
God. This was going to be the longest month and a half of MJ’s life, wasn’t it?
“I am so sorry, honey, I wasn’t looking at the time, I swear I’m only 10 minutes out—”
A soft laugh escaped MJ’s lips at her stepmother’s frantic reassurance. “Mom. It’s okay. I can wait in the library until you get here.”
“Are you sure? Is there someone who can wait with you?”
MJ was pretty certain that at 15, she was more than old enough to sit alone in her school library for a mere 10 minutes. She glanced over her surroundings all the same. Most of her Decathlon teammates had already left, but—
“Liz is still here,” she said, noting that her friend stood a few yards away from the wooden table she sat at, similarly speaking to someone on the phone. “And so is—”
MJ swallowed the second name on her tongue as Flash approached Liz, picking at his fingernail while he waited for Liz to finish whatever conversation she was having.
“Never mind,” MJ said to her mother. “It’s just Liz and I.”
“Liz? Liz Allan?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, she’s the captain of your team, right? The one with the pretty brown eyes?”
Blood rushed to MJ’s cheeks as she recalled just how embarrassing it had been when her parents so eagerly met Liz for the first time after practice. She swore half of her attempts at friendship ended up thwarted by their overexcitement. “Yes, Mom. That would be Liz.”
“Alright, then stay with her. I’m eight minutes out.”
“And you should not be talking and driving,” MJ said, leaning back in her seat to crack her spine. “Text me when you get here?”
Her mom promised to do so, and they exchanged goodbyes before MJ hung up, a quiet sigh escaping her lips as she tucked her phone into her purse. She loved her stepmother—she loved both of her parents—but she was yet to understand how the two most enthusiastic people on the planet had raised an introvert like herself.
Maybe she’d inherited that from her other mom, whom MJ also adored like there was no tomorrow. But given her mother’s propensity for the theatrical and spectacular, she doubted that.
“Sorry about that, Flash,” Liz said, her voice carrying through the quiet library and pulling MJ out of her thoughts.
The librarian had headphones in, MJ noted, and thus paid no attention to Liz’s volume, though it undoubtedly helped that all students but them three had cleared out.
“I had to confirm a time I’m going out with Betty,” Liz continued, slipping her phone into her back pocket. “Anyways. What was it you wanted to talk about? Something about practice?”
MJ’s sketchbook laid open in front of her, the false object of her attention. She watched as Flash’s fists clenched at his sides.
“Is there any chance a spot will open up for me besides… first alternate?” Flash finally asked, the words forced out through gritted teeth. “Maybe not—I get not now, not today, but… in the next few weeks?”
“Flash…” Even from afar, MJ could hear the sympathy that coursed through Liz’s tone, a ghost of a grimace flickering across her friend’s face. “You know I can’t make any promises.”
“I don’t want a promise,” Flash spit, acerbic. MJ watched him wince and gradually unclench his fists. “I mean—I don’t expect you to promise me anything. I just want to know if it’s possible.”
Liz hummed, tilting her head. “You’re still gunning to sit for physics and chemistry?”
Flash faltered. It was a reaction MJ would have been able to discern even from a mile away—the stiffening of his shoulders, the shift of weight from one foot to another. A blaring alarm for anyone listening.
But maybe MJ was the only one who was.
“Yeah,” Flash admitted after a pause, licking his lips and avoiding eye contact with Liz. “Yeah, I am.”
Liz sighed, and pained awkwardness fell across her features. It was an expression that never boded well. “I don’t think—”
Flash cut her off with a bitter laugh. “Right. It’s Parker, isn’t it?”
Liz hesitated. “Look, Peter is our strongest contender for physics and chem. As long as he stays on the team, I can’t imagine that seat opening anytime soon.”
Furious tension riddled Flash’s shoulders, like a firework gunning to explode. MJ could no longer pretend she was sketching, too absorbed by the conversation unfolding a few yards away from her.
“Why is Parker even on the fucking team, Liz?” Flash snapped, glaring up at her. “He’s always late to practice with some crappy excuse! Half the time he doesn’t come at all! If I pulled that shit, you know Harrington would kick me out in a heartbeat.”
Liz held her hands up in surrender. “Hey, I don’t get to make those decisions. Take it up with Mr. Harrington.”
Flash seethed, nails digging into his palms. Even from afar MJ could tell that such force might leave bruises. “Why haven’t you? You’re the captain! You should be the one taking the initiative! Parker is late every other day, if he bothers to show up, and there should be some fucking consequences.”
When Liz averted her eyes, biting her bottom lip, MJ’s stomach did a somersault.
Maybe Peter’s not-so-secret unrequited crush wasn’t so unrequited after all.
Flash scoffed, shaking his head. “Whatever. I’ve gotta go.”
Liz grabbed his open shoulder while he slung his backpack over the other. “Hey. Just because physics and chem aren’t options right now doesn’t mean other seats won’t become available. I’m expecting a seat to open for literature—”
“Not a chance,” Flash interrupted, tearing his shoulder from her grasp. “Like I’d be caught dead studying literature.”
With that, he stormed out of the library, and MJ’s attention sank back to the open sketchbook in front of her.
MJ pursed her lips, doing her damned best not to seethe at her project partner. “What do you mean you haven’t finished the book?” she said slowly, calmly, allowing neither ice nor venom into her tone. “We said last week that we’d have it finished for today.” Or had this project worth 15% of their grade already managed to slip his mind?
Flash glowered at her. “Yeah, well, I’ve been a little busy.”
MJ’s nails dug into her wrist with the fury of a student scorned. “Your point?” She’d been busy, too, but that hadn’t stopped her from calculating appropriate reading time around her job, Decathlon, and assorted homework assignments.
“Look, I didn’t expect my father to make me shadow him at work all of Saturday,” he snapped. “And then my mom extended my piano lesson by two entire hours on Sunday because I ‘wasn’t progressing at the rate she’d hoped.’” Flash shook his head, an expression akin to an apology flickering across his face. “I’ll have it finished by Thursday. I promise.”
MJ hummed. It wasn’t as if she could turn back time and make him finish it earlier. “You’d better,” was her final response, and Flash snorted.
“I don’t break my promises, Jones.”
MJ wasn’t sure why, but she believed him.
Instead of continuing that line of conversation, though, MJ took her copy of the novel out of her backpack, flipping to the first page of notes she’d taken in her binder. “Why don’t we discuss what you’ve read so far?” she suggested, raising an eyebrow. “That way we don’t fall too far behind schedule.”
Flash nodded, pulling out his own copy of the book. The first thing MJ noticed was that it was not the class-provided version. It looked like…
A large-print edition?
Following that observation, MJ’s attention was snagged by the plethora of sticky notes emerging from the top and sides of the novel, as well as by the surprisingly extensive annotations scribbled within the book after Flash opened to the first few pages.
Flash must have noticed her inquisitive stare, because he averted his eyes while he fished a pencil out of his backpack. “I like writing notes on the page,” he said by way of explanation, a quiet bell of honesty and embarrassment ringing in his tone. “Makes it… easier to understand.”
MJ shrugged with perfected nonchalance. “You don’t have to justify yourself to me. If it works, it works.” She thumbed open her book, wincing as she promptly gave herself a paper cut. “So, how much have you read? I don’t want to spoil anything.”
“Uh… Basil just died,” Flash answered after a pause, flipping forward to his last sticky note—bright blue, MJ observed. “Yeah, Dorian killed him.”
A smile quirked at the corners of MJ’s lips. “You got to the best part, in other words.”
“I had no idea it would be so fucking gruesome.”
“Well, you know what the Victorians were like.”
Flash snorted at her wry tone, and MJ couldn’t stop satisfaction from blooming like a rose in her chest when a faint smile inched across his lips, too.
This was the last time MJ attended a soccer game for bonus points. In fact, it was the last time MJ attended a soccer game for any reason, ever. She would much rather have a high B than a low A in AP Government if it meant never going to a godforsaken high school soccer game again. The shrill screams of teenage excitement and the sharp gusts of frigid wind and the rank smell of cheap food—MJ didn’t know these people, MJ didn’t care about these people, MJ would rather be anywhere else than with these people.
Well, not all of them were so bad.
“Thanks again for coming with me,” Cindy said for the umpteenth time that evening. “There was no way I’d have been able to motivate myself to go alone.”
“Cindy, you can stop thanking me,” MJ said, amused. “I need the bonus points, too.” And like Cindy, there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell she’d have dragged herself here without company.
“The fact that we need bonus in Gov speaks to how shit of a teacher Mr. Peterson is,” Cindy groused, dropping her chin on top of her hand. “I mean, no shade to the rest of our class, but. Well.” She sent MJ a flat, sidelong glance, and MJ promptly cracked up.
“Please, don’t hold back on my account. Throw as much shade as you want.”
Cindy snickered, and MJ was pleased to note some of the tense frustration had eased from her friend’s shoulders. “Maybe I’m not being fair. It’s not that all of them are complete dumbasses, we’re just…”
“Students who actually study outside of class?” MJ offered, and Cindy lifted her head from her hand to snap her fingers.
“Bingo! Even though Peterson never assigns shit, I swear I do more work for his class than any other.”
“It’s because—” MJ was cut off when Midtown scored a goal, the cheers of students and parents in the bleachers drowning her out. Honestly, she’d found it hard to believe that a STEM school like Midtown could have a dedicated sports fanbase, and yet the sheer volume suffocating her from all sides was proving her wrong.
“It’s because we have to teach ourselves,” MJ said when the noise died down. “Since he can’t be bothered.”
Maybe if Mr. Peterson gave them a real assignment every now and then, she wouldn’t feel so stressed about having to ace every exam to maintain her GPA. And MJ wasn’t even the kind of student who strived for all A’s—she couldn’t imagine how perfectionists felt in his class.
“We sure do,” Cindy grumbled. “I knew I should have taken AP Comparative.”
MJ couldn’t help but agree with her there.
Her attention drifted back to the soccer field. Midtown had a comfortable lead with only about ten minutes remaining, so any potential investment she might have had in the game was thus squashed. And it wasn’t like she knew anyone on the team, so—
“What do you mean? We know Flash.”
MJ blinked at Cindy’s statement, heat flooding her cheeks as she realized she must have spoken that last thought out loud. But— “Flash is on the soccer team?”
Cindy nodded, pointing toward the sidelines just below them. “He’s our goalie. But he got taken out a few minutes into the first half.”
Cindy did not elaborate on why, and MJ didn’t ask. Closer inspection of the sidelines where Cindy had gestured revealed that yes, it was indeed Flash sitting before them, dressed to the nines in his uniform. How had MJ not noticed until now?
Cindy gave her an amused grin. “I can’t believe you didn’t know Flash was on the team. It feels like you know everything about everyone.”
Untrue. MJ knew quite a bit about certain people—one Peter Parker came to mind, not that she was obsessed with him or anything, just observant for undisclosed reasons—but most at their school?
Yeah, MJ couldn’t be bothered to think about them.
All the same, she would be lying if she said she hadn’t been paying more attention to Flash as of late. Forced exposure through their English project, as it were. “I can’t believe I didn’t know, either,” MJ mused. “Weird.”
She watched Flash on the sidelines, his attention flickering between his phone in his hands and the game before him. Even from afar, MJ could see how the skin around his left eye was swollen. Maybe that was why he’d been taken out the game? She could imagine such an injury was a hindrance for a goalie.
“Yeah, Flash does, like, everything,” Cindy continued, seemingly unaware of the intensity of MJ’s concentration. “AcaDec, soccer, piano, Beta, Spanish club”—she ticked each item off on her fingers—“and something else, I think. Maybe Key Club?” She shrugged. “If you can dream it, he’s in it, I guess.”
MJ tore her attention away from Flash, raising an eyebrow at Cindy. “Sounds like you’re the one who knows everything about him.”
Cindy laughed. “More like I sit next him at Decathlon practice and am forced to put up with all his griping. It’s like he doesn’t want to do half of it.” She shook her head. “If they make him that miserable, he should just quit.”
MJ watched Flash gingerly press his fingers at the top of his bruised cheekbone, wincing at his own tender touch.
It seemed every day there were more secrets kept behind Eugene ‘Flash’ Thompson’s walls.
“I think the easiest theme we can present on is ‘art for art’s sake’ from Lord Henry’s perspective,” MJ said, tapping her pencil’s eraser against her copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray. “Since aestheticism was Wilde’s whole thing.”
Flash tilted his head left and right, humming as he contemplated her suggestion. MJ raised an eyebrow.
“Do you disagree?”
Flash shot her a dubious look. “I haven’t said anything yet.”
“You’re despairingly easy to read.”
“Ha ha.” Flash rolled his eyes. “I mean, yeah, you’re right. Aestheticism and Lord Henry would be easiest to present on. But…” He shrugged. “Don’t you think it’s kind of boring?”
MJ blinked. “I’m sorry?” ‘Boring’? Sure, it wasn’t the most riveting subject she’d ever proposed, but MJ would rather not bust her ass for an assignment from Mr. Garou, of all teachers. And what with the National AcaDec tournament approaching, she was sort of gunning for an easy A on this project. English wasn’t exactly the class she was most passionate about—biology held that crown.
“Literally everyone writes about aestheticism and Lord Henry, Jones.”
“I’d say it’s 50/50 between that and the homoerotic subtext, actually.”
“Proving my point. It’s been done already. It’s boring.”
MJ crossed her arms over her chest, leaning back in her seat. “Alright, Flash. Please wow me with your alternative.”
Perhaps she was imagining things, but MJ could’ve sworn she saw excitement glitter in Flash’s eyes before it was replaced by his typical arrogant facade.
“I think we can make the case that Wilde is actually critiquing the aesthetic ideal through Basil.”
MJ raised an eyebrow, tilting her head. Not too bad. She’d be interested in hearing more. “Okay. How do you recommend we go about arguing this?”
A smirk tugged at Flash’s lips. “Basil is a failure of an aesthetic artist. He feels too much, and he puts too much of himself and his feelings into his work, which is—”
“—completely antithetical to ‘art for art’s sake,’ right,” MJ mused. “Wilde brings that up in the first few pages of the book, doesn’t he?” She began flipping through her copy of the novel, and Flash nodded in confirmation while she found the relevant quote.
“Exactly. Because of Dorian, or at least through Dorian, Basil develops too many…” Flash faltered. “Er, emotional connections, I guess, with other people. He’s not able to permanently detach himself from his feelings anymore, much less illustrate that detachment in his work.”
“Right,” MJ murmured, jotting down his comments on a blank page in her binder. Truth be told, she hadn’t spent much time thinking about Basil outside of his relationship to Dorian, but Flash’s approach…
She wouldn’t deny it. He was onto something here.
“What about the real world component of the project?” MJ asked after a pause, looking up from her notes. “Can we tie Wilde’s critique of aestheticism to the external movement of the time?”
Flash grinned at her, an oddly genuine expression. “I think we can tie his critique to his own life.”
MJ found herself returning his grin, albeit tinged with amusement. “Is that so?”
She let Flash explain his theory, how Wilde’s projection onto Basil and his use of certain rhetorical devices like the flower symbolism at the very beginning of the novel showed that he himself could not achieve the aesthetic ideal, either. It was compelling, MJ could admit, and considerably more interesting than her initial suggestion of focusing on Lord Henry.
“You’re really good at this,” MJ said once Flash had finished his spiel, granting him one of her rare impressed smiles. “Literary analysis, I mean.”
Maybe she should mention to Liz that having Flash at the table for literature instead of first alternate would be a better use of his talents. Then again, Flash had been more than adamantly against the option when Liz first suggested it.
Whose desires he was invoking, of course, MJ could not be sure.
Flash stared at her, as if in disbelief that she would grant him a genuine compliment. Rude. Just because MJ wasn’t a person to hand out such compliments on the regular didn’t mean he’d never be on the receiving end.
“Thanks,” he mumbled, offering her an almost… shy smile before he dropped his gaze from hers. “Does that mean you want to do our project on this?”
MJ bit back a snort—no need to make him rebuild the wall just as the first bricks were starting to come down. “I think we’ll have the best damn project in the class if we do,” she said, and Flash beamed.
MJ did not consider herself a “party person,” it was true. But even she was not immune to the desire of socializing with her peers every once in a while. Besides, Liz was her friend, and a close one at that. It would be rude if MJ didn’t attend.
Not to mention Peter Parker would be at Liz’s party. Which was a factor that did not influence MJ’s desire to attend whatsoever.
It was a nice party, all things considered. She’d said hi to Peter and Ned—maybe more casually than she would have liked, but a short conversation was better than no conversation—and had enjoyed the opportunity to mingle with Cindy and Liz. She’d also been formally introduced to Betty Brant, and had understood within seconds why Betty and Liz were thick as thieves. The music was great, too. MJ hadn’t been aware that Flash was a DJ, but it was clear he knew his way around the equipment.
Flash’s accompanying commentary to his DJing, though?
Yeah. Less than lovely.
‘Penis Parker.’ Really. What was he, four years old?
MJ confronted Flash with her thoughts after the party, helping him pack his DJ equipment while Liz ushered out the rest of her guests before her parents returned home.
“Actually,” MJ corrected herself, “no. That’s an insult to four year olds. You sound exactly like a jealous, immature teenager. Congratulations.”
“Gee, thanks,” Flash grumbled, wrapping a set of cables around his left hand. “Are you here to help me or bitch and moan, Jones?”
MJ glared at him, the deadly expression soon accompanied by her middle finger. “I can do both, Thompson. Stop being such a dick and maybe I wouldn’t have to criticize your sorry ass.” Despite the acidity of her tone, she was gentle as she began packing his speakers into their respective boxes.
“If you already know I’m an ‘immature teen,’ then I don’t see why you’re wasting your time hanging around me,” Flash snapped, shoving his cables into their appropriate bags with a distinctive lack of care.
MJ rolled her eyes. “Please. Just because you’re acting immature right now doesn’t mean you’re always this bad. When Peter isn’t on your radar, you’re actually—”
Flash’s jaw tightened, fingernails digging into his palm as his fist clenched around an unwrapped cable. “Fuck. Off.”
“Oh my God, get a fucking grip, Flash!” MJ exclaimed, slamming shut the cardboard box that contained the second speaker. “Peter has never given a shit what you think about him. So why don’t you stop projecting your own insecurities onto other people and just—be yourself? Maybe then you’d have some real friends!”
“Oh, you’re one to talk,” Flash sneered. “Always sitting alone at lunch. Maybe you’re right, Jones. Maybe Parker doesn’t give a damn what I think about him.”
He took a threatening step toward MJ, glaring daggers at her. “But he couldn’t care less what you think about him, either. You’re just the weird girl from Decathlon, and as long as Liz is around, that is all you will ever be.”
MJ inhaled sharply, Flash’s comment on Peter like a dull knife gouging a hole into her chest. But she would not cry.
Not here. Not now.
Not for him.
“See that?” she finally whispered. “That’s what I mean. Projecting your insecurities onto others.”
MJ swallowed hard, squaring her shoulders as she stared Flash down with all the strength she could muster to land the finishing blow. “And that is why none of your ‘friends’ stayed behind to help you pack up. Because they don’t care about you, Flash. And they never will.”
Flash faltered, pulling back from her. Pretending her hands weren’t shaking, MJ focused on putting away the final two speakers before moving on to wrap the piles of cables. One movement, one item, one breath at a time.
Flash stared at the hardwood floor beneath his feet, hands shaking as much as her own. After a pause, he lifted his eyes to meet MJ’s, and two words fell from his lips like an agnostic’s prayer: “You stayed.”
MJ lifted her chin. “I did,” she said, and the walls came crumbling down.
“Hey, can you hand me the scissors?” MJ asked, erasing a stray line from her recreation of the titular picture of Dorian Gray in the center of their trifold. Once she was finished with this, she needed to begin cutting and gluing the other visual components of her and Flash’s project onto the white cardboard.
“Uh huh,” Flash mumbled from across her bedroom. He’d taken her desk to draft the actual speech component of their presentation, while MJ had claimed the floor.
MJ clicked her tongue to acknowledge his confirmation, returning her attention to the sketch in front of her. Well, it was a sketch no longer, since she’d finally finished inking the lines and removing extraneous edges.
Divvying their project in two had been surprisingly easy. MJ wrote the first half of the paper, analyzing aestheticism through the depiction of Basil, while Flash had taken the second half, examining how Wilde’s life—as implied in The Picture of Dorian Gray—reflected a belief in the impossibility of the aesthetic ideal. Afterwards, they’d edited each other’s parts to ensure the paper was cohesive.
Truth be told, MJ had been pretty damn proud of what she’d written. But Flash’s section? Yeah, she was humble enough to admit that it had blown her section out of the water. MJ hadn’t read more books and journals than the average high schooler during the past two years to not recognize how clear and elegant his prose was. And she’d told Flash such, which he’d acknowledged with embarrassed thanks.
From there, splitting the rest of their project had been similarly simple: MJ would handle the creative components of the trifold, Flash would write the lines for their presentation, and they’d together figure out any text they wanted to include on the trifold, too.
“Wait, where are your scissors?” Flash asked, a frown evident in his voice.
“Check in the left-hand drawer,” MJ answered before she sat back against her bed and admired her work. They were so going to have the coolest trifold in the class.
MJ heard rustling and a disconcerting crack from her right, and she turned to see Flash triumphantly remove the scissors from her drawer with a grin.
“Found ‘em,” he said, and MJ shook her head before opening her hand for him to toss them to her.
Flash rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right. As if I’m crazy enough to throw a pair of scissors at you, Jones.”
MJ gave him a sly grin as he stood from her desk to walk the scissors over to her. “You’re crazy enough to do a lot of things, Thompson. Maybe throwing scissors is one.”
“Okay, but stabbing a hole through your hand is not.” Before MJ could devise a sufficiently witty comeback, Flash added, “Not until you’re finished that trifold, at least.”
MJ flipped him off, hiding a grin. She then put the scissors to their intended use. MJ was almost exaggeratedly careful not to trim any of the images too close to the edges—her mom would not be pleased if she used any more of their printer’s ink for this presentation.
“Hey, how does this sound?” Flash asked as he sat back down, tapping his pen against the desk. “‘Because Dorian was the one to kill Basil, we see yet again how it was Basil’s emotional connection with Dorian that prevented him from being able to uphold the aesthetic ideal.’”
“It sounds most excellent, my dude,” MJ quipped, and Flash snorted.
“Thanks, Ted.”
“Please. We both know you’d be Ted.” MJ pointed at the top of her head, where her curls were piled in a messy bun to stay out of her face. “I obviously have Bill’s hair.”
Flash acknowledged her counter with a disgruntled hum, letting MJ know she’d won that round. Before she could further tease him that his hair was only a shade or two darker than Keanu Reeves’s, they were interrupted by a knock at her half-closed door.
“Michelle?”
Ah, that would be her father. “Yeah?” MJ called, snipping off the final edge of a photo she’d found of Wilde online. “You need me?”
Her dad pushed the door fully open, grinning as he held out a tray of cookies. “Your mom and I were doing some baking and thought you two might want a snack.”
MJ narrowed her eyes. More like they wanted a reason to snoop on her, but she’d let the excuse slide. “I could eat,” she said casually, cutting off the white edges of a scan she’d found in one of Midtown’s databases containing an early critical review about The Picture of Dorian Gray. “Flash? Is chocolate chip okay?”
“Uh, yeah,” Flash stammered, giving her dad an awkward smile as he sat up straighter in his seat. “Chocolate chip is great.”
MJ’s dad placed the ceramic plate on the desk beside Flash’s strewn papers and index cards, asked them both a few questions about what they were working on, and reminded MJ that if they wanted to practice their presentation for himself and Mrs. Jones, they were more than welcome. With that, he took his leave, and MJ let out a quiet breath of relief as her dad disappeared out the door.
“Sorry about him,” she apologized, not totally sure what she was apologizing for. “He gets… overly enthusiastic when I have group projects like this.”
Flash gave her a small smile. “No worries. I think it’s cool.”
MJ snorted as she began positioning various photos across their trifold. “You wouldn’t be saying that if the enthusiasm was coming from three people at any given moment of your day.”
MJ knew she had a wonderful trifecta of parents, even considering the physical distance that often separated herself and her birth mother, but unfortunately that ‘wonder’ could often lead to overinvolvement. Sometimes she just wanted—needed—space to breathe.
Flash shrugged, jotting down another few lines on his notecards. “I don’t know, Jones. Three is a magic number.”
‘Magic.’ Yeah, that was a word for it.
“You can call me Michelle, you know,” MJ said after a pause. “‘Jones’ is starting to get old.”
Flash gave her a shit-eating grin. “I could call you Watson instead.”
“Absolutely fucking not, Eugene. Because then you’d be Sherlock, and that is not a world I can bear to live in.”
Flash burst out laughing, unfunny as her joke had been, and MJ couldn’t help but smile.
“Great work today, guys,” Liz said as the Decathlon team rose from their seats in the library and began gathering their backpacks. “We’ve got Nationals in the bag!”
Everyone voiced their agreement with claps and cheers, waving goodbye to Liz as they filed out the double glass doors. MJ noted the continued emptiness of Peter’s usual seat, including Ned’s despairing glance toward the chair. At this rate, Peter would be turning down the invitation to go to Nationals, if not dropping from Decathlon entirely.
MJ hoped that wouldn’t happen.
“Hey, Flash,” Liz called as MJ stepped past her, heading toward the exit. “Can Mr. Harrington and I talk to you for a second?”
MJ’s eyes flickered over to Flash, who had just stood up from the wooden table. Tempted as she was to linger, MJ was an observer, not an eavesdropper, and thus she left the library. They’d finished practice slightly early today, which meant her dad wouldn’t be arriving to pick her up for another 15 or so minutes. Until then—
Oh, her mother had responded to her text.
MJ had sent her mom photos of her and Flash’s trifold that morning before she’d left for school, seeing as she was pretty damn proud of her recreation of the iconic portrait. Flash had managed to acquire some gold tin foil, too, and they’d carefully layered sheets of it around her artwork to resemble a fancy picture frame.
This project was definitely going in her portfolio, so long as Flash didn’t mind her keeping the trifold.
mom jane watson: WOW, Michelle! That looks so good!!
A smile flitted onto MJ’s lips as she sat on the steps outside the front of Midtown.
michelle jw: thanks. i used the micron pens you got me for my birthday
mom jane watson: oh, YES!
mom jane watson: I’m glad they look as nice as advertised
MJ shook her head, amused. Despite having three parents who adored her to the moon and back, otherwise known as one more than average in the typical nuclear family, all three of them were nonetheless slightly unsure how to operate around her hobby of the visual arts. Her mom was into modelling and theatre—usually film—while her dad and stepmom taught microbiology and women’s and gender studies at Queensborough and ESU respectively.
It was unsurprising how formative those eclectic interests had been during MJ’s childhood.
mom jane watson: So, do I get to see your presentation?
michelle jw: uh. i can ask flash if he’s willing to present it with me on zoom for you?
mom jane watson: Please do :)
mom jane watson: I liked Oscar Wilde in high school. The Importance of Being Earnest was a fun play! We created such extravagant costumes when we put it on
michelle jw: please tell me you have a recording of that performance
mom jane watson: ooh, I might. I’ll try to find it for you
MJ resisted the urge to pump her fist, knowing it would appear distractingly strange to any onlooker.
michelle jw: much appreciated
Before she could respond further, another message dropped down in her notifications, this one from her dad.
dad: pickup in ten?
MJ resisted the urge to roll her eyes. He really didn’t need to ask. At this point, her dad knew her schedule better than she did.
As MJ started to respond, her attention was torn from her phone when Liz and Flash stepped out of Midtown, with Liz waving goodbye to both of them as she headed into the parking lot toward her mother’s waiting car. MJ expected Flash to follow, seeing as he had a car of his own, but instead he slowly sank into a sitting position about two feet to her left. The tumult rolling across his face was impossible to miss, and MJ raised an eyebrow.
“You good?”
Flash grimaced at the broken silence. “I don’t know.” He tilted his head. “Maybe?”
MJ chuckled. “Okay, well, ‘maybe’ is better than ‘no.’” She hesitated, but pressed onward. “What did… Uh, does it have to do with whatever Mr. Harrington and Liz wanted to talk to you about?”
Flash hummed, staring at his hands in his lap. After a pause, he said, “They told me I should be prepared to step in for Parker at Nationals. Since he’s been…”
“Flighty?” MJ supplied, and Flash snorted.
“Yeah. Flighty.”
Although MJ’s stomach rolled with disappointment at the prospect of Peter not being at Nationals with the rest of their team, she couldn’t deny— “That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? A chance to sit for physics and chemistry?”
Flash shrugged. “I guess so.” He picked at the cuticle of his left thumb. “Not really how I wanted to get the position, though.”
MJ could recognize that.
“I’m sure you’ll do great,” MJ said after a beat passed, offering him a small, genuine smile. “You’re really smart, Flash.” Her smile shifted into a smirk. “When you aren’t trying to live up to the speed of your nickname with your answers, that is.”
Flash laughed, casually flipping her off. “You think you’re so damn funny, Michelle.”
“No need to think. I know I am.” MJ pulled her backpack around her body, rustling around in one of the upper sections for her notecards. “Want to practice our presentation before you go home? I’ve got time.”
Flash nodded, eyes lighting up. “Sure.”
While he fished around his backpack for his own notecards, MJ sent her father a quick response.
michelle jw: running late. pickup in 20
“Oh my God, we fucking nailed that presentation,” Flash said, grinning wildly as he and MJ stood up from their desks. He held up his hand for a high five, and MJ shook her head with quiet amusement but nonetheless reciprocated. “If Garou doesn’t give us an A, we’ll have to stage a riot in the hallway.”
First lunch shift had started, and all of their class—including Mr. Garou—had already left the room, meaning no one had heard his exaggerated proclamation. Honestly, though, Mr. Garou might have laughed.
“Yeah, but I think we might’ve earned the enmity of everyone else,” MJ mused, slinging her purse over her shoulder. “Their projects pale in comparison to ours.”
Flash shrugged. “Can’t help our superiority.”
MJ snickered, lightly knocking his shoulder as they walked toward the classroom door. “You’re so full of yourself.”
“Hey, I said ‘our.’ It’s a shared superiority.”
When they reached the metal threshold, MJ paused, causing Flash to stop beside her.
“Something wrong?” he asked, tilting his head. “Look, I know I’m hyping up our presentation, but I really think we did great—”
“It has nothing to do with our presentation,” MJ interrupted, giving Flash a reassuring smile. “I know we aced that.”
She had complete faith they’d earn an A. After all, they’d started with the corniest joke in literary history—Where does Dorian Gray buy his clothes? Forever 21!—and had earned genuine laughter, not boos and groans, and it had only been uphill from there.
No, MJ had a different dilemma. Or request, as it were.
“I was, um”—MJ fiddled with the strap of her purse, staring at the metal beneath her feet instead of meeting Flash’s eyes—“I was wondering… Do you want to eat lunch with me?”
Flash stared at her, not responding, and MJ was promptly consumed by regret. Of course he wouldn’t want to sit with her, all they done was some stupid class project together—
“You want to eat lunch with me?” Flash asked, and to MJ’s surprise, his confusion was laced into his final word.
Not his first.
MJ shrugged, this time forcing herself to meet Flash’s eyes. “Why wouldn’t I? I told you, Flash. You’re not all bad.”
Flash raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you trying to make friends with Leeds and Parker? There’s no way sitting with me is gonna help your case.”
“Maybe. But it might help yours.” MJ offered him a small smile. “You don’t need to worry about me. I’ll figure it out.”
She was good at that.
When Flash didn’t respond, MJ rolled her eyes. “You can say no, Flash. I realize you normally sit with—”
“I’m not saying no!” Flash protested. “I’m just… thinking.”
MJ raised a brow. “About what? Your reputation?”
“Ha, no.” Flash swallowed, fiddling with the edge of his jacket’s blue sleeve. “Does that…” He took a deep breath. “Are we—friends?”
MJ frowned, crossing her arms. “I don’t know, Eugene. The agony in your voice is making me wonder.”
“I didn’t mean it like that!” Flash said hotly. He turned on his heel and marched out of the classroom, pausing only when MJ didn’t follow him. “Are we eating lunch together or not? Because the cafeteria’s gonna run out of food if we don’t pick up the pace.”
A wide grin stretched across MJ’s lips. “I’m coming, I’m coming.”