CHAPTER TEN
Way Down We Go

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BEFORE WRITING ANY sort of evaluation—whether that be an exam, a test, or even a simple quiz—Cecelia always took a Xanax, drank an entire bottle of water, and went to the bathroom just in case she threw up. She didn't know why, but the thought of sitting down at a desk for ninety minutes and having to regurgitate her knowledge by memory always made her gut churn like a raging sea, her anxiety flaring up at its highest. In fact, in recent years it had gotten so bad that she'd been granted an IEP—an Individualized Education Plan. This allowed her more time to write her evaluations (at least half an hour, but often more), and, if she needed to, work in Midtown Tech's Sensory Room.

Back in middle school, this had led to a lot of vicious nicknames—most were a crueller variation of 'Special Ed', as if there was anything wrong with being neurodivergent—but now, the majority of her classmates had finally realized that her brain just worked differently than theirs.

Now, Cecelia was better at managing her test-related anxiety—although she still often needed a little more time than anyone else, her visits to the Sensory Room were few and far between—but that didn't mean things were perfect. People often asked her why she'd chosen to join Academic Decathlon when evaluations were its main point, and she'd never been able to come up with a straight answer to that. The only thing she could say was that she didn't mind the practices. Knowing that everyone got things wrong there, and that she wouldn't be penalized for messing up, was a major comfort for her.

The competitions themselves, though, were a different story.

For the State Finals, Cecelia had spent the entire pre-event period throwing up into the bucket Mr. Harrington had wisely brought along. Fortunately, by the time she went on stage, she'd managed to get her head on mostly straight, pretending this was another practice. Sure, she messed up a few times—and nearly flubbed the easiest question she'd ever heard—but by convincing herself that those mistakes didn't matter, she managed to get through it.

This morning, Cecelia spent the twenty allotted minutes Mr. Harrington gave the team for breakfast with her head in her hands. Both Alex and Christine had tried to coax her out, offering her croissants and waffles, but she'd argued that she'd probably throw them up. She only emerged when Mr. Harrington announced that they were headed to the front of the hotel to wait for those who'd chosen to remain in their rooms. Even then, she spent the entire time with her eyes glued to her shoes.

I'm thankful I'm here, I'm thankful I'm here, she kept repeating, leaning gratefully on Alex's proffered arm. If the battle with Spider-Man had gone south last night, she could have missed the competition entirely.

Though, okay, that was sounding a little appealing right now.

"Okay, where's Peter?" Liz asked. Cecelia looked up so fast she practically gave herself whiplash. Her eyes darted around, doing a quick tally of the team. There was Cindy, Sally, Charles, Abe, Michelle... everyone was here, even Flash.

But not Peter Parker.

Are you kidding me?

"Ned?" Christine asked. "Do you know where Peter is?"

Ned shifted in place, looking down at his shoes as if they were the most interesting things in the world. Cecelia could certainly relate to that. "Uh... no. He was here last night, so he must've left early this morning. Yeah."

"Has anyone tried calling him?" Mr. Harrington asked. "The bus leaves in three minutes."

"Yeah, I did, but he's not picking up," Ned responded.

"Well, if Peter doesn't come, then that means I'm taking his place," Flash pointed out. "Right, Mr. Harrington?"

"If Peter doesn't show up in the next—" Mr. Harrington's eyes cast down to his watch, "—Two minutes and forty-six seconds, then yes, Flash, you'll be taking his place. I've got a spare blazer here... but really, I'm concerned about Peter's whereabouts. I'll ask the hotel receptionist to keep an eye out for him and give me a ring if he turns up."

"He better turn up," Alex muttered. "Flash, if you take Peter's place, you better not hit the buzzer once. Keep your hands firmly to your sides. We're trying to win this, you know."

"Um, rude!" Flash protested. "I bet I can answer more questions than you, jerkwad."

"Alex, that's not the encouraging words you should be giving your teammates," Mr. Harrington lectured. He checked his watch again. "Okay, we might as well get on the bus now. Flash, here's the blazer, but if Peter turns up in the next minute and thirty-four seconds, then you'll return it back to me. Got it?"

"Sure."

Cecelia's lungs compressed in on themselves, squished together as if by giant hands. She took breath after breath, trying to remain calm. Unfortunately, the Xanax hadn't quite kicked in yet, and her anxiety kept the air from her lungs. This was it. She was heading to Nationals. This was possibly the most important competition of her life.

A warm hand slipped into hers. Christine. It kept a hold of her as the team filed onto the bus, taking seats near the front. Liz shuffled through her flashcards, obviously preparing for another quizzing session, and Mr. Harrington tapped his foot, making frequent glances to the front doors of the hotel.

He checked his watch a final time. "Okay, unfortunately, it looks like Peter is a no-show," he announced. The team groaned. Charles slapped his seat so hard his glasses came off. Sally handed them back to him. "We've got to leave now. Just... just try and keep your heads up. You're still the best team I've had the pleasure of coaching."

"We've got this," Liz said, lifting her chin. "Peter or no Peter."

Cecelia was seriously going to need the bucket soon.

The ride to the auditorium was a blur. Cecelia was faintly aware of Liz randomly calling on the team to answer questions—and herself answering a few, despite her partial awareness—and getting texts from Mom, Dad, and Uncle. The first two weren't surprising—they were the basic 'good luck!' messages that they'd probably also sent to Alex—but the third was. Especially since it wasn't about a new mission.

UNCLE: Good job last night. I know you were angry, but you pulled through. And good luck with your competition today. I told you you'd make it back on time.

Before she knew it, she and the rest of the team were inside, checking in. It was then that the Xanax finally began to kick in, alleviating the tension in her chest a little bit. Still, she had to buy herself a bottle of water from the vending machine and practically chug it down in one gulp.

"Come on, Cecelia." Mr. Harrington clapped her on the shoulder as she finished. "You can do this. It's just like practices."

"Yeah. Yep. Yeah. Totally." Cecelia tossed her now empty water bottle into the recycling and gave him an anxious thumbs-up. "We, uh, we got this."

"We do," Christine reminded. "We're all brilliant here. We can do this."

Although the check-in line was long, it wasn't long enough. Too soon, Cecelia was lining up behind Christine and in front of Alex to head onto the stage. The announcer reminded the audience to turn their cellphones off, while the competitors deposited theirs into the provided box. Calculators, too, were swiftly taken away, and each and every member of the team had to endure a quick pat-down to make sure they weren't hiding away anything that could have the answers on it.

When Cecelia was found to be clear, she stumbled onto the stage. Immediately, she was struck dumb by the blazing overhead lights and the thousands of eyes staring at her. At least three cameras were set up near the front, the barrels staring through her soul and broadcasting this competition for the world to see. There'd only been one camera during States. That competition had only gone on local news.

This would be national.

Move, move, move. Not wanting to be known as the 'deer in headlights' girl by those who tuned in, Cecelia stumbled over to her assigned desk. Fortunately, she was right beside Alex, with Abe on her other side. He gave her an encouraging smile when she looked over.

Thank Creator they'd made up.

The first event in the competition was Mathematics, which meant they were all given pencils and paper and a time limit to work through their equations. And, although the beginning of the competition caused bile to boil in Cecelia's throat, her mind zeroed in on the work. She could do this. She could do this. She was great at math—you had to be, when you were building tech. Her eyes narrowed, laser-focusing on the equations in front of her. Her pencil flew across her paper in a haste to answer.

There was Art. There was Music. There was Economics. Cecelia got through them all, blurting out answers only when she was completely, one hundred percent sure she was correct. Even then, she froze every time the words left her mouth, sure she'd gotten something wrong.

She was definitely going to crash as soon as this was over, win or lose.

On the midway break, in which the contestants were allowed fifteen minutes to go to the bathroom, drink water, or eat a snack, her anxiety swelled over her with the crescendo of a large wave. Pushing her way into the bathroom, Cecelia hovered over the toilet, certain she'd start puking her guts up. But though her stomach cramped, nothing came out.

She emerged from her stall and washed her hands, splashing a little water on her face. While she was finishing up, Sally entered the room, shooting her a sympathetic look.

"Halfway there," she said. "You're doing great, Cecelia."

"Thanks." Cecelia dried off her face with a paper towel. "So are you. I was sure that question about socialist realism was going to take us down, but you got it in a second."

"Well, you totally aced that one about the Napster copyright dilemma."

"Ha, ha, barely."

"Don't be so hard on yourself, girl! You know your stuff."

"So do you."

"Just take a deep breath, okay? We can do this."

With an encouraging nod, Sally entered one of the stalls. Perhaps the polite thing to do would've been to wait for her, but instead, her anxiety flaring again, Cecelia made her way back outside. There, she managed to nibble on a granola bar with the five remaining minutes until the competition resumed.

And resume it did. Cecelia went back to the slightly dissociative state as they moved into the Literature category. Then it was Social Science. Science.

Her brain was spinning.

Then the final round came. The round that would determine which school came home with the gold, and which school left disappointed.

Cecelia trudged her way through this one, too. Time was behaving oddly—the round seemed to have only just begun before the announcer was declaring its end. "We have now entered sudden death. The next correct answer wins the championship."

She was going to throw up.

The question came fuzzily, like everything was underwater. Cecelia forced herself to think, to work through it. She'd heard it before. She had. She'd studied this just this morning, after returning from Maryland. She knew what it was. She knew what it—

Michelle hit the buzzer. Everything slowed down.

"Midtown Tech?" the announcer asked.

Michelle took in a breath before answering. "Zero."

Wasitrightwasitrightwasitrightwasitright—

"That is correct. Midtown takes the championship!"

It took Cecelia a moment to process what she'd just heard. Then she was flying out of her seat and towards Michelle, her breath falling out of her lungs. Ned and Sally were already embracing her, screaming with delight, and the rest of the team was sprinting over to join. Charles shrieked, sprinting back and forth, and Alex pumped his fists into the air. Christine was sobbing, Abe was gaping like a fish out of water, and Liz was beaming so wide her face contorted.

Every camera was pointing their way, especially when the trophy arrived. Flash held it up triumphantly, as if he'd been the one who'd secured their victory, but Cecelia was so elated she didn't care. They'd done it. They'd actually done it. They'd won Nationals, making them officially the first-place team in the entire country.

Imagining her family watching, Cecelia grinned, one arm thrown around Alex, and another over Christine. It was over. It was over. They'd made it through, and they'd won, and now she could go home with the knowledge that she would never have to do anything as hard as that again.

There were a few photos taken, with an ecstatic Mr. Harrington behind them. Then, finally, after around ten minutes of post-competition excitement, they were ushered off-stage.

That was when, of course, Cecelia's body finally caught up with her mind.

Her knees buckled, and she fell straight onto her ass. Breathing like she had just run a marathon, Cecelia swayed. Holyshitholyshitholyshitholyshit.

Something in her stomach twisted, and finally, she pitched forward. But when she vomited, it was not onto the floor. Instead, it was straight into Mr. Harrington's waiting bucket.

Best. Teacher. Ever.

BECAUSE THEY WERE right across the street, Midtown Tech's Academic Decathlon team decided to visit the Washington Monument as a celebration of their victory. It jutted into the air like a pencil, proud and strong despite the likelihood of it being built by slaves. Like most memorials in America, it honoured an old, white man—one who likely never thought there would be a world where people of colour could be nearly as respected (keyword: nearly) as white people.

As a girl of colour herself (despite the numerous individuals at old foster homes that had called her 'white passing', she could not, in fact, actually pass as white), Cecelia had her reservations, but when Christine brought up the idea that going inside the Monument meant practically spitting at the graves of all those old racist white people, she reconsidered. Besides, it might actually be a decent experience. Especially since she'd never been afraid of heights.

Now that the competition was over and she'd gotten some fresh air, her anxiety had finally decided to cool its jets. Mr. Harrington, dutiful teacher he was, checked on her a few times, but after the vomiting session in the auditorium, Cecelia's stomach was completely empty. She walked beside Alex and Christine, one arm intertwined with each of them, and let the soft wind tickle her face.

"Woo-hoo! We won!" Flash cried, leading the pack. He had kept his mitts on the trophy as soon as he'd gotten it, and he held it aloft, ensuring everyone who passed by could see it. Most people didn't care.

"You guys, I am so proud of you," Liz gushed, beaming.

"Told you we didn't need Peter!"

"Flash, you didn't answer a single question," Ned pointed out. Alex and Cindy both snorted.

A few members of the team—including Christine and Alex—had shed their blazers, tying them around their waists, but Cecelia kept hers on. Maybe it was her insubstantiality, but she'd always been a little more susceptible to cold. Even now, there was a chance of it cutting right through her.

When they entered the Monument, they filed into a line to go through the metal detectors. Cecelia set her phone and her winner's medal on the conveyor belt, thanking Creator that she hadn't brought her backpack with her today. She still had a few pieces of tech nestled in the bottom, and although it was unlikely they would be identified, there was always a chance.

Once she was deemed clear, she joined the others in the golden-doored elevator. It was a tight fit, with ten members of the team (apparently, Michelle had chosen to stay behind), Mr. Harrington, and the ranger all inside, but they managed to make it work. Fortunately, Cecelia had never been claustrophobic. After all, it wasn't like any small space could really confine her.

As the doors slid shut, Flash asked, "Hey, Mr. Harrington, can I be the one to tell Peter he's expelled?"

"Expelled?" Christine asked.

"I mean, yeah, he did ditch us... again."

"No one's expelled yet," Mr. Harrington responded. "When we return to New York, Peter is definitely going to have a talk with Principal Morita. We'll figure out his punishment there."

"But—"

"Come on, Flash. Focus on the tour. We're all trying to have fun, aren't we?"

The elevator rumbled through the Monument, gaining height from the ground. Cecelia watched through the glass wall as the brick walls of the Monument's interior moved, several floors whizzing by. The ranger stood with her back to it, facing the group. Given that she'd probably been in this elevator hundreds of times, she wasn't missing anything.

When she spoke, she did so like she'd rather be anywhere else. "The Washington Monument is five-hundred and fifty-five feet, five and one-eighth inches tall. It is both the world's tallest predominantly stone structure and the tallest obelisk. Notice how the marble and granite are cut around the stone—"

Cecelia didn't see what happened. One minute everything was fine, and the next, a blue flash of light cut through the elevator, completely obscuring her view. The elevator shook, then jolted so hard its inhabitants were all nearly thrown off their feet. Alex came barreling into her, shoulder-checking her in the neck before she had time to dodge, and there was the distinct cry of Cindy knocking into the wall. As pain spiked up in Cecelia's neck, the air cleared, revealing that they'd completely pulled to a halt.

Dust rained down from the ceiling, and everyone panted, clutching at each other. For some reason, Ned threw his backpack into the middle of the floor.

"Oh, my God," Flash breathed. "Look at the ceiling."

When Cecelia cast her eyes up, she immediately wished she hadn't. Molten orange lines were cut into the tiles, forming a slightly wavy shape. It was melting. The ceiling was melting. And, if that was the case, that meant—

Maybe she should be afraid of heights. And confined spaces. After all, there was nowhere to phase out of when everywhere she looked was a massive drop to the ground.

"Just stay calm, everyone," Liz instructed. Her voice, too, was wavering a little.

"Oh, we are all going to die here," said Abe, sweat glistening at his temples.

"Oh, my God, oh, my God, oh, my God," added Alex, clutching at Cecelia's hand so hard her bones seemed to creak. "Oh, my God."

"This can't be happening," Christine cried. "No!"

"We're freaking screwed," Charles choked out.

"Okay, guys, I know that was scary, but our safety systems are working," the ranger interjected. Somehow, despite the fact that there was a possibility of literally falling to their deaths, she sounded as monotone as ever. "We're very safe in here."

Above their heads, the cables seemed to strum, and the elevator jolted some more. Everyone screamed, but the ranger, still emotionless, unlatched the panel above their heads. With the help of Mr. Harrington, she climbed her way out. Security guards appeared to help the rest.

Cindy went out first, followed by Charles, Abe, and Sally. By now, Christine was sobbing, and a panic attack was threatening to overtake Cecelia. The only way out was to go above. She just had to—she just had to wait her turn.

"Okay, who's next?" Mr. Harrington asked. Liz, who had her arms around Christine, was just starting to push her forward when Flash cut through.

"Me, it's my turn!" He shoved Christine away and stepped onto Mr. Harrington's interlocked hands, continuing to keep a tight hold on the trophy. The elevator rocked a little more, and Christine's sobs doubled. Alex's face had lost all of its blood.

As Flash made his way up, he ensured that the trophy was through first. Liz sucked in a breath. "Flash, don't worry about the trophy!"

With Flash still halfway through the opening, the elevator trembled. Everyone screamed again, and Cecelia's breath whisked right out of her lungs. She retched, but nothing came out. Thank Creator—she wasn't sure the elevator could handle any more weight.

"Take my trophy!" Flash demanded, thrusting it at the security guards. Cecelia got a great view of his scrawny ass right before the elevator rocketed again, dropping a foot. She huddled in the corner of the elevator, heaving for breath. Unprompted tears sprung from her eyes. If she died here today, she'd never get to see Jules grow up. She'd never get to help Eva through her awkward teen stages. She'd never get to graduate and go to MIT, like she'd always wanted.

The security guards finally managed to heave Flash out. But it was his weight that caused the last security cable to snap.

The elevator went into free-fall.

Everyone's screams were louder than ever as they hurtled down to their imminent deaths. Cecelia's stomach dropped to her toes, and her hair flew around her as she went down, down, down. Floors whizzed by her, too fast for her to jump to. Maybe she could—maybe she—

She was so screwed—

Christine was holding onto her, now, her eyes shut, and Alex was hugging them both, burying his face into Christine's neck. Well, if they were going to die, at least they were going to die together, at least they—

The elevator stopped. The force of it sent them all slamming to the ground, Alex tumbling right onto a pile of glass shards. Liz and Christine both kept screaming, and Cecelia's head grew light. Spots danced in her vision, and her heart refused to move any slower than a bullet. She tilted over, unconsciousness threatening, but the snap of Mr. Harrington's arms catching her woke her right up again.

Then the elevator fell again. This time, though, it didn't plummet too far. It only dropped for a second before it crashed into something below them. Unfortunately, the force of it battered the passengers within yet again. Christine fell right into Ned. Alex, bleeding from several cuts, slid into the corner. Liz and Cecelia knocked heads.

Cecelia groaned, clutching at her forehead just as a red-and-blue blur dropped into the center of the elevator, right onto its back. She blinked, rocked by the force, and finally took in the sight before her.

When she did, her eyes nearly popped out of her skull.

Christine abruptly stopped crying. "What?"

No way. There was no way. Cecelia Olivier was not about to have her life saved by a pesky, infuriating, wise-cracking little pest—

Yet again, the elevator fell. Suddenly awake, Spider-Man—because it was Spider-Man here, fucking Spider-Man back again—shot a web into the air. Cecelia had just enough time to think, What the hell is that gonna do, before it did something. It locked onto the top of the elevator shaft, pulling them to a far gentler halt than the crunching impacts of before. As Cecelia attempted to get her bearings, Spider-Man, now hanging upside-down, turned and looked at each of the elevator's passengers.

"Hey, how you doin'?" he drawled, speaking in a ridiculous Boston accent. In any other situation, Cecelia would've called bullshit, but not right now, when she had glass in her hair and no air left in her lungs. "Don't worry. I got you."

"Yes! Yes!" Ned pumped his fist into the air, relieved. Christine wiped tears off her face.

"Hey! Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey!" Spider-Man protested. "Big guy, quit moving around."

Ned halted immediately. "I'm sorry, sir. So sorry."

Apparently, Spider-Man's webs were far stronger than Cecelia originally thought. With just a tug on a strand, he managed to heave the elevator back towards safety. As she was slowly pulled upwards, Cecelia didn't dare breathe—too much energy was focused on keeping pumping. And her brain was on a constant loop of how the hell is Spider-Man here, and why do I have to keep meeting him?

Also, Alex was seriously about to break her hand.

After what seemed like an eternity, the elevator reached the platform. Several guards pried open the shattered doors, more glass raining down as they did so.

"All right, this is your stop," Spider-Man announced. "Go, go, go. Everybody out. Move it, people. Move it, move it."

By an unspoken but unanimous decision, Christine exited the elevator first. Then it was Ned, Alex, and finally, Cecelia. A guard offered her a hand to help her through the broken doors, and she took it. The grip was firm, and in no time, she was back on somewhat solid ground again.

As soon as she was there, she sank to her knees. Christine and Alex both gathered around her, breathing hard, watching as Mr. Harrington stepped off. None of them could speak. They just waited for Liz to be brought to safety, too.

Liz was just reaching out a hand for Mr. Harrington when the elevator dropped again.

Everyone screamed, hurrying forward to peer over the edge. But before Liz could fall too far, Spider-Man shot out another web. It caught Liz by the wrist, keeping her suspended in midair while the elevator made its slow tumble to the ground.

"You're okay. You're okay," Spider-Man soothed, pulling her up. When her hand clasped onto his, Cecelia nearly fainted again. The only reason she managed to stay awake was to ensure Liz's safety—fortunately, it wasn't long before she was standing among them. Christine threw her arms around her. Cecelia nearly did, too.

Spider-Man turned to regard the team, still hanging upside-down. Cecelia didn't flinch as his head turned towards her, just in case he could somehow sense that they'd fought before. He didn't, though it was likely he did see the girl he'd walked home after her punishment at Uncle's hands.

"Spider-Man," Alex breathed.

"So, uh, is everyone okay?" Spider-Man asked, resuming his stupid Boston accent. "You, uh, curly-haired guy, you look like you're bleeding a little."

"I'm okay," Alex breathed.

Spider-Man stared at them all for a minute, seeming to focus specifically on Liz. Probably because she'd nearly become a pancake at the bottom of the elevator shaft. But then the web connecting him to the ceiling finally snapped, and he hurtled down into the abyss.

"Thank you," Mr. Harrington yelled.

Flash stuck his head through the gaping hole to call after him. "Are you really friends with Peter Parker?" 

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HAVEN: wheeeee

i genuinely think if i'd been in this situation i would have just died on the spot, but i do say that for half of what my fave fictional characters go through, so who knows??? this really is one of my worst fears lmao

the next chapter is the start of my love letter to studio ghibli and cecelia's crush on howl jenkins. as she should. but be excited for that!

thanks for reading <333