CHAPTER SEVEN
Spies In Disguise

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ALTHOUGH CECELIA'S PARENTS insisted that she stay home from school the next day, Cecelia argued her way into going. It wasn't that she was particularly interested in attending—though she did want to be at today's Academic Decathlon meeting, given that it was the last one before Nationals—it was just she'd go crazy if she was stuck at home all day being doted on. Especially since she was still harbouring that tiniest bit of anger at everyone for not being there for her last night.

Of course, the conditions for going to school were that Cecelia had to stick with Alex at all times. Even though he was planning on staying afterwards for chess club, she would have to remain, as well, sitting in the corner and doing nothing while he moved pawns. The rules were infuriating, especially since Alex still wasn't talking to her. Right off the bat, it was clear it was going to be an awkward day.

Cecelia itched at the Band-Aid on her head. Thanks to Jules, who scraped his knees, cracked open his head, and cut his fingers at the drop of a hat, it was Scooby-Doo themed. To avoid the inevitable harassment she'd get for it, she left her hair down and let it cover the abrasion. Unfortunately, though, it wasn't as easy to cover up everything else.

Her swollen eye had finally creaked open, but it was still watery and purple. A bruise sat on the apple of her right cheekbone, stubbornly refusing to fully disappear under a mountain of concealer. Plus, her nose was bloated and speckled with red, which was unfortunate, given how self-conscious she'd already been of it in the first place.

In order to attract the fewest stares possible, Cecelia's strategy was to blend, blend, blend. Her hair was the first step; the second was to dress in a way to melt into the background. This morning tossed on a huge gray cable-knit sweater, black sweatpants, and the dullest pair of sneakers she had in her arsenal. She'd inevitably get questions regardless, but maybe most people would walk right by her if she looked like this.

Before leaving with a disgruntled Alex, Cecelia folded the dress Christine had lent her and placed it in her backpack. Then, for good measure, she threw her Phantom costume into the bottom. Given the confrontation she'd had with Spider-Man last night and the apparent disappearance of one of the company's weapons, she wouldn't be surprised if she was called away again.

This time, she'd go without arguing.

Typically, Cecelia and Alex spent the subway ride to school locked in conversation, but they ignored each other today. Cecelia settled her headphones over her ears and cranked up her Mornings—Deal with it! playlist, and Alex played some game on his phone. He'd at least had the courtesy to ask if she was okay when he found out about what had transpired last night, but after Cecelia assured him that at least all of her bones were intact, he'd gone right back to treating her as if she was invisible. He was probably waiting for her to apologize, which was ridiculous. She wasn't going to apologize to him. Not after what had just happened to her.

When they got to school, Cecelia met Christine by their lockers, but Alex kept walking. It was because of this that Cecelia was alone when Christine, who'd been thumbing through her AP Lit notes, caught sight of her face and full-on shrieked.

Heads turned, and Cecelia's face steamed. Her blood was running so hot that she swore you could've fried an egg there. "Not so loud!" she hissed.

"What happened to you?" Christine asked, taking Cecelia's face in her hands. She turned her head left, right, then tilted it up. Her fingers squished into one of the bruises, and Cecelia winced. Christine immediately let go, apology filling her eyes. "Sorry. Cee, is this what you were talking about last night? How did this happen? I thought you just weren't feeling well!"

"I wasn't," Cecelia responded, grateful when the daily newscast came on, distracting most of the students. As Betty and Jason reminded everyone both about Homecoming tickets and an upcoming math competition, she continued, "I was just trying to head home. Unfortunately, someone... kind of chose to mug me?"

"What?"

"Not so loud!"

"You can't just say that and not expect me to freak out! You look like you were hit in the face with a frying pan, Tangled style. How am I supposed to remain calm?"

"Really? A Tangled reference? How old are we?" Cecelia asked.

Christine crossed her arms and huffed. "You can never be too old for the best Disney movie out there. Actually, scratch that, I don't think you can be too old for anything. You're just a stuck-up."

"Thanks."

"That wasn't a compliment—oh, wait. You're just trying to make me change the subject. It's not going to work, Cee. How about you tell me everything that happened to you?"

Cecelia suppressed the urge to roll her eyes and relayed the same story she'd told to her parents last night. Christine spent half of it with her mouth gaped open, and, when Cecelia was finished, drew her into a hug. Yet again, the embrace was meant to be comforting but just made her feel trapped. She endured it, nonetheless.

"I brought you your dress," she said when they broke apart. "Surprisingly, I didn't get any blood on it. So you could wear it tonight if you wanted to."

"Not funny," Christine bemoaned, dragging a hand down her face. "I can't believe this happened. Aren't we supposed to have people who will stop this sort of thing from happening? Like Spider-Man?"

Because Cecelia didn't want to endure any more shrieking, she chose not to bring up the vigilante's appearance. Instead, she said, "I guess he was too busy for me."

"Well, then, he's a jerk. No one should be too busy for Cecelia Olivier."

"Ha, ha," Cecelia said dryly. "But, um... I know you're worried and everything, but can you please not make this a big deal? It was really scary last night, and I kind of just want to pretend things are normal."

Like they've always been after this stuff has happened.

It was easier to tell herself they'd never occurred, that way.

Christine's eyes filled. "Oh, of course," she said. "But before we do that... do you need anything? We can probably get a bag of ice from the nurse's office if you need one. Do you have Tylenol? I have Tylenol. Do you need Tylenol?"

"No to all of those. I promise you, I'm okay. Just shaken."

"Okay, okay. But just... let me know, okay?"

"If I need ice, Christine, you'll be the first one I'll go to."

Christine gave her a watery smile before pulling out her books. "Okay. Just, uh, don't overexert yourself."

"Really? Damn it. I was planning on taking a five-mile run during lunch, then doing about a hundred jumping jacks in P.E. There go my plans."

Christine just shot her a glare. "Not the time, Cee."

To the background noise of Betty and Jason's newscast, Cecelia and Christine headed to Honours Physics a few minutes early. Cecelia was thankful for this, because it meant that only a quarter of the class was present when Mrs. Warren made a scene about the mess that was her face. Despite Cecelia's assurances that everything was fine, Mrs. Warren still made her sit close to the front and hustled to the nurse's office to bring her some ice.

Cecelia sat there, two rows ahead of her usual spot, and wondered if this had been one of Uncle's intentions all along. Even when he was angry, he didn't lose himself completely—he always knew exactly what he was doing when he delivered punishments. She'd thought this one was different, but what if it wasn't? Maybe he wanted proof of her failures on full display to everyone who laid eyes on her, the surprise morphing their features othering her further. Maybe he wanted her to be better next time to save herself from it.

I will be better next time, she thought, clenching her pencil so hard it nearly snapped in her hand. What Uncle was doing couldn't have been... completely right, but there had to be some semblance of logic in it. Pain was the best teacher—once you've made a mistake and been punished for it, you wouldn't do the same again.

An hour into the lesson, where Cecelia was busy puzzling out an equation, a piece of paper landed on the corner of her desk. It was a corner of lined paper, obviously torn out of a notebook, and had three words scrawled onto it in familiar handwriting.

Are you okay?

Cecelia turned, and sure enough, Peter Parker locked eyes with her. The tips of his ears were already turning red, but he managed to maintain the stare. He gestured to his face, then pointed to hers. Cecelia huffed out a breath—White people always pointed with their fingers, which seemed unnecessarily rude. Peter seemed to notice this, as a sheepish expression crossed his face. Immediately, he bent his head down and continued his work.

While Mrs. Warren gave hints for the equation, Cecelia pulled the paper towards her. Clicking her pen, she wrote—her words a lot neater than Peter's—Just fine. Thanks, Mom.

She was still pissed at Peter for ditching Academic Decathlon, so she didn't let herself feel bad for the snark. With the efforts of a few of her classmates, the note made its way to Peter's desk. Cecelia couldn't help but watch him as he read it over. The overhead lights glinted off his chestnut brown hair, showcasing the red highlights within. A little crease had appeared between his brow, and she resisted the urge to smooth it out.

When he finished reading, he rolled his eyes slightly. Cecelia turned back to her work, expecting him to toss the note right out, but instead, she was greeted with a response half a minute later.

It looks like it hurts. What happened?

Mugged, Cecelia replied, wishing she had Peter's number in her phone. It'd be far easier to text him than send her response across half the classroom. I'm fine, though. Seriously.

I'm sorry that happened.

They were running out of room on the little scrap of paper now. And, considering the way their notes travelled, they were also running out of time before Mrs. Warren spotted them and confiscated it. In an attempt to dissuade him from replying again, Cecelia scribbled, And I'm sorry the Stark Internship was more important than Nationals.

It worked. The slightest flicker of hurt crossed Peter's face, and instead of composing a reply, he tucked the note into his backpack and went back to his assignment. Cecelia did the same.

Classes went by quickly after that, and nothing of note—except for a few concerned comments from Cecelia's teachers—occurred. Cecelia was just thinking that maybe nothing would when, during the middle of lunch, her phone buzzed.

It was, of course, a text from Uncle. But not the one she expected to receive.

UNCLE: Scans of the weapon Brice lost last night have tracked it to Midtown Tech. Did you seriously take it to school?

Cecelia nearly choked on the cold pizza she was eating. She was sitting with Christine and Michelle, the latter of which was paying no attention to what they were doing. Christine, though, shot her a worried look.

"You okay?"

Cecelia thumped at her chest. "Just fine."

The weapon had been tracked to Midtown? She hadn't taken it. She didn't even know where Brice had dropped it. So how the hell had it gotten here? Had someone else picked it up? Who would scoop up a Chitauri energy core and bring it with them?

Someone who doesn't know what it is, Cecelia realized. Her heart stuttered in her chest, and her fingers flew across her phone screen as she composed a response to her uncle.

ME: I didn't pick it up. Someone else must have.

ME: you know I wouldn't bring that kind of thing to school.

UNCLE: I'd hope not, considering how dangerous you know it is. But the scans aren't wrong, Cecelia.

ME: I didn't take it! maybe one of the students found it and decided to take it apart here. We're a science and technology school that encourages curiosity, so that's not far-fetched.

ME: plus, we've got great labs here.

UNCLE: You know the consequences of lying, right, Cecelia?

ME: I do! I promise I didn't take it. where did the scanner pinpoint it to?

UNCLE: Somewhere in the lower levels of the school.

ME: that's where the woodshop is. I don't even have woodshop.

ME: do you want me to check it out?

UNCLE: I'm sending Schultz and Vale over after school. Less people then. Meet them there. Do not go on your own.

Cecelia almost asked him why Brice wasn't coming with when she remembered what had happened last night. Brice was... he was gone. It was bizarre, because she'd known him as long as she known everyone else at the company. He'd always been a staple, there nearly every time she popped her head in. He wasn't her favourite of Uncle's employees, with his thrill-seeking nature and slightly condescending attitude towards her, but sometimes he'd play cards against her or bring her coffees. But now he was dead, and his ashes had likely already been swept up.

They were probably coating the bottom of a dustbin by now.

She bit her still sore tongue, relishing in the spike of pain that shot up through it. Then she responded.

ME: ok. will do.

UNCLE: Good girl. If you bring that weapon home, I'll consider your actions last night to be fully forgiven. Just don't let me down again.

ME: I won't.

"Who are you texting that's got you so worked up?" Christine asked. "Is it Alex?"

Cecelia turned off her phone and stowed it in her pocket. "No. He's still not talking to me."

"I guess that was wishful thinking." Christine sighed and retied her ponytail. "I hate having to pick a side. He's probably pissed at me for hanging out with you instead of him."

"He's being such a jerk about it," Cecelia said, though her mind was still on the case of the missing weapon. Here? At Midtown? "It's infuriating. He won't even talk to me at home, though Mom and Dad have tried to make him. He did see if I was okay last night, but after that, he just went back to his room."

"Maybe you should be the first to apologize," Christine suggested.

"Psh. Like I'm the one in the wrong here."

"Maybe you both are. Listen, Cee. He may be being a little over-dramatic about the whole thing, but it's probably not just about that one incident. It might have just been the tipping point for him. Just think about everything you've done with your uncle. Have there been any other situations where you've left him out?"

"I wasn't leaving him out. I was just—"

"You were just what, Cecelia? Why couldn't Alex have been involved, really?"

"The internship—"

"I have a question about that, actually. Did your uncle come specifically to you to ask if you wanted to have this internship, or did he ask both you and Alex? Was Alex actually disinterested?"

Cecelia bit her lip. Well, she couldn't exactly answer that one. Of course, Uncle had only asked her—although Alex was a whiz with technology, too, Cecelia's abilities gave her more use in the company. And Uncle would have never dragged his sister's biological son into his work.

Christine raised her eyebrows. "I'm guessing your silence means it was the first option. Jesus, Cee, no wonder he's pissed. I would be, too."

"Uncle just... needed my skillset. There's nothing bad about that."

"There is when he basically sent a message that Alex wasn't good enough for him. I know that's not your fault, Cee, but wow. It seems like a blatant case of favouritism to me."

Cecelia exhaled a long, drawn-out sigh. This conversation was getting her nowhere. It was difficult to keep up her reasoning when she was lying about the very nature of the 'internship' itself. So, she conceded. "Okay, fine. Maybe you're right. I'll talk to Alex after school, okay? Maybe we can figure things out then."

Christine grinned. "Atta girl. I hope that means we're getting the band back together soon. It's only been two days, but I already miss him."

"So do I," Cecelia admitted. She wasn't even lying.

Being so close in age, she and Alex had been inseparable from the beginning. When she'd been newly adopted, he'd been her first friend, far before Jules and Eva had gotten used to her. They'd actually shared a room in the beginning, along with most of their possessions. They both liked video games, colouring books, and sending their dolls on violent adventures. They both harboured an obsession with Star Wars and Minecraft, wanted to learn to roller-skate, and built robots in their spare time. When Cecelia was still awkward around her new parents, slowly adjusting to calling them 'Mom' and 'Dad', she hadn't hesitated to refer to Alex as her sibling.

When he'd come out as transgender a year later, it hadn't changed anything. Cecelia's cousin back on the rez had been a trans woman, and she'd known plenty of Two-Spirited people. In general, Native Americans were more open about the fluidity of gender. The European colonizers may have tried to enforce the 'two gender' model, but they were the same people who committed genocide and sent them to residential schools.

Obviously, their word couldn't really be trusted.

So, yeah, Cecelia was missing Alex. A part of her just wished she could tell him the truth, but she knew that doing so wasn't an option. For a multitude of reasons.

She just had to keep lying. Even when it seemed as if those lies would lead to her destruction.

DESPITE CECELIA'S EARLIER annoyance at Alex for staying after school, what had originally seemed to be a curse had turned out to be a blessing. Now, she didn't have to fumble for a reason for him to stay here while she met up with Schultz and Vale—she could just go, knowing that he was distracted with chess. It made everything so much easier.

After the last bell rang, Cecelia watched the majority of Midtown Tech's population funnel out of the front doors while she waited on a bench. Twenty minutes passed as she sat there, and with every minute that passed, the school got quieter and quieter. Now that the halls weren't full of boisterous conversations and the squeak of sneakers, Cecelia could hear the buzz of the overhead lights and the distant sounds of the marching band practicing in the music room. No one was paying attention to her, now. Cecelia drank that in for as long as she could. Soon, Schultz and Vale would arrive, and she would have to get back down to business.

She knew of Randy Vale, but she'd never had that many missions with him. Although he also majorly focused on deals, he'd always been teamed up with a few other men Cecelia had never cared to learn the names of. But Brice's death had caused his transfer to Schultz's unit. It was an uncomfortable reminder of how easily everyone could be replaced. Even Cecelia. She may have had a little more value to Toomes and her uncle because of her abilities, but if she did somehow kick the bucket, it was likely they could manage without her.

So she had to convince them to keep her around.

When the front door groaned open, she lifted her head from where it was buried in Academic Decathlon notes. After the last practice today—in which Liz had fussed over the state of Cecelia's face, Flash hadn't answered a single question, and Mr. Harrington had reminded them to get to school early in time to catch the bus to D.C.—the fact that tomorrow, they'd be on their way to the competition had fully sunk in. Suddenly, all of the studying Cecelia had done—months' worth of it—didn't seem like enough.

Now, though, she would have to put her notes aside. She clicked them into her binder just as Schultz and Vale entered, looking for all the world like janitors arriving at a night shift.

"Jesus," was the first thing Vale said when he caught sight of Cecelia. "You get hit by a car or somethin'?"

"In a car," Cecelia corrected under her breath. Then, louder: "It's nothing. Just flesh wounds."

"As opposed to what?" Schultz asked. "And where did they even come from? You sure as hell didn't get that from last night's mission, kid."

"It doesn't matter," Cecelia said shortly. "Just tell me what I need to do. Is it a Phantom mission or a Cecelia one?"

"Yeah, today's not the day for dress-up," Vale replied. "All we need you to do is hang around and keep watch. Make sure no one follows us. You got that?"

"Sure."

"You sure you don't have the core?" Schultz asked. "I know your uncle vouched for you, but—"

"I don't have it," Cecelia snapped. "If I did, I'd give it back to you right now. Trust me, I'm as anxious to find it as you are."

Schultz rolled his eyes. "Whatever. C'mon."

The three of them started their way down the hallway, with Cecelia a safe enough distance behind him for things not to be suspicious. She would offer to be Schultz's guide to the woodshop, but the scanner in his hand would lead him to the core, anyway. It was amazing how accurate it was—probably because it was a product of one Phineas Mason. And because it was imperative that they didn't lose a single weapon.

"High schools creep me out," Vale muttered to Schultz as they walked. "They got this funny smell, you know what I mean?"

"What, the smell of learning?" Cecelia couldn't help but ask. "Oh, sorry, I forgot you've never been in an educational building in your life."

"Don't talk to us, kid," Schultz snapped. "You're not supposed to know us."

At a particularly loud beep from his scanner, he turned right, heading into the stairwell. Vale followed, then gestured at Cecelia to remain. She did, leaning against the wall and considering pulling out her binders again. This job would probably be boring as all hell. Did she really just have to stand there until they came back?

Not even thirty seconds had passed, however, before someone came streaking down the hallway towards her. For a moment, she could see nothing but a blur of movement, a smear of paint on a canvas. Then a very frazzled Peter Parker skidded to a halt, his face paling.

"Sorry! Sorry! Sorry, Cecelia!" he yelped, backing up. "I didn't know—I didn't see you."

"Obviously," Cecelia said, dropping her bag onto the ground. "Where are you off to in such a hurry, Parker?"

"Um, the workshop," he responded, rubbing the back of his neck. Cecelia cast a glance to the door. Shit. "I, uh, forgot something there earlier, and I was just going to... pick it up?"

Shit, shit, shit.

Cecelia had to think quickly. "Well, you'll have to get in line," she said, forcing her face to remain neutral. "I was just about to go in there, too, but these janitors came by and told me there'd been some spillage in there earlier. They're just going to check it out and clean things up, and then we can head in."

"Oh," Peter said. Then: "I thought you didn't have Woodshop."

"I don't," Cecelia responded. "I'm just picking up something of Alex's. He's in chess club right now, and I thought I could be a doting sister and help him out a bit."

"Oh. Yeah, yeah. That's... nice of you." Peter rubbed his neck again, incredibly awkward. His eyes kept darting to the door in a way that was not subtle at all. What the hell was so important down there? "Um, so, was this spillage bad?"

"I don't know. They didn't tell me. They just said to stay out until they're done. You can wait a few minutes, can't you?"

Peter looked like he was about to explode. He hopped from foot to foot, his eyes locked on the door. "I... I..." Then he gave her a strained smile. "Yeah. Yeah, of course. I can... I can wait. I'll just... go to the bathroom."

"Okay?"

"Yeah," Peter said again. "Um, it was nice talking to you? Sorry about earlier. I didn't know—I just wanted to make sure you were all right. And, like, I bet getting mugged was really scary."

"Yeah, it was." Sitting there, just sitting there, while Uncle hit her again and again. Not daring to move a muscle. Letting it happen. "And it's fine, Parker. Don't worry about it."

She sat down on the floor beside her bag and unzipped it. As she pulled out her notebook, Peter shifted again.

"I'm sorry about Decathlon," he said. "I wanted to go, I really did, it's just... stuff came up."

"With the Internship," Cecelia said. Peter nodded.

"Yeah. Yeah, with the Internship. Um... okay. I'm going to go now. It was nice talking to you?"

"Ditto, I guess." Cecelia started flipping pages. "Hey, you should consider trying out for Track, Parker. You've obviously got the speed for it."

"Oh, yeah, maybe, ha-ha..." Peter gave her another painfully awkward smile. If it wasn't so strained, it might have actually been nice.

Then he darted down the hallway towards the bathroom, and Cecelia buried her head in her notes again. If someone really was going to come, she'd see it out of the corner of her eye. And she'd fend them off, just like she'd done Peter.

Of course, if she knew that she hadn't actually fended Peter off at all, and that he'd found another way inside—which involved a lot of wall-crawling and evasive maneuvers that would have looked stupid if Cecelia had actually looked up—she wouldn't have been so impressed with herself.

As it was, though, a satisfied Cecelia buried her head in her notes, going off the basic multiple-choice answers, unbeknownst to the fact that she'd played a part in ruining everything.

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