BEN STARED AT ME, open-mouthed, looking me up and down as if that would help him understand better. "You...you're...what..."

I felt about as flustered as he looked. I stood there awkwardly, wondering if I could pull off the lie that I simply decided to cosplay Red Soldier, and that I happened to bring my costume with me to a museum.

To stall for time, I took my backpack from his hands and took as much time as I possibly could to put everything inside and zip it up. I felt like a turtle as I shrugged the straps on and placed my Yankees cap on my head. Unable to put it off for any longer, I finally looked him in the eye and swallowed. "Why are you here?" I asked nervously, my eyes flicking to the side as if I expected other classmates to pop out of nowhere.

He had been staring at me the entire time, and now he blinked and shook his head a little. "I decided to wait for you to get the gum off," he said, still sounding awed, "but then you ran and I tried to follow...but I lost you...and I came out here...I saw your cap sticking out of this shrub, and I thought maybe you wanted to clear your head and that I'd wait for you, but you just came dressed like Red Soldier."

I said nothing.

"Holy mackerel, Peter," he said, his voice lower this time, "are you Red Soldier?"

I bit the inside of my cheek. I really messed up, letting my secret get exposed this easily. I had to be more careful from now on, but there was no salvaging this situation, so I nodded.

He looked like he was about to laugh, or maybe give a little shout, but I spun him by the shoulder and started walking him back inside the museum. We'd lost enough time already gaping at each other. "I'll explain later," I whispered next to his ear, looking over my shoulder to make sure it was just us.

He nodded, and then he smiled. "You've been active for only two days, Peter," he said, chiding me, "and you've already blown your cover."

"Shut up," I said, but I laughed.

For the rest of the tour, Ben was clearly not paying attention. Neither was I, but at least I tried to act like I was. I took pictures when everyone else did, but I never really focused on what I was taking a picture of, and although Ben would occasionally nod along to whatever the tour guide was saying, he spent most of the time giving me strange looks. I really couldn't tell if he was just curious or if he thought this was weird.

We were eating lunch on the grass next to the museum when the police abruptly showed up. The curators and the tour guides told our teachers that the tours were over, because there had been an attempted robbery, and Red Soldier had showed up and already left. Ben looked at me, one eyebrow raised. I just shrugged and licked the peanut butter off my finger.

Monday afternoon was a stark contrast from Monday morning. As the buses pulled out of the museum to head back to school, from where we'd go home, those rambunctious teens that had been so quiet in the morning were now ear-splitting loud.

I exchanged a glance with Ben, mouthed the word "later," and then put my music's volume as loud as it could go without making my ears hurt. I leaned against the back of the seat, turning my head to look out the window. I was thinking about a lot of pressing issues, and the combined noise of the loudmouths' chatter and my music did nothing to help.

Issue number one: the cuff that was currently sitting in my backpack. What if it exploded? It hadn't sparked or turned hot or anything for the few minutes I'd been holding it, but I consistently looked down between my feet to make sure my backpack hadn't caught on fire. Issue number two: Henderson Technologies. I had to contact Jenny and tell her that I'd found one of their missing pieces, and that the thieves had gotten away. Issue number three: Ben. That would be taken care of soon enough, but a knot still formed in my stomach as I tried to figure out how to explain all of this to him without making myself seem delusional.

When the buses pulled into school, Ben and I silently agreed to start walking toward his house to talk on the way, and then I'd go home. We were silent until the school was out of view and until there were less people near us.

"So," I said, dragging out the word.

"So?" He sounded incredulous, and a little excited. "That's all you have to say?"

"Okay, that was lame," I admitted, and I glanced around us again to make sure no one was listening. There were people around, of course, but I figured that they wouldn't have enough context to understand what our conversation as about. "So it started last week."

I told him mostly everything, from helping that man onto my roof and then getting a needle thrown at me. I told him about Henderson Technologies, leaving out the important names but including them in the narrative, and I told him how I ended up being a superhero.

When I was done, he shook his head. "Two days," he muttered. "Am I the only one who knows?"

"Besides those people, yes," I replied. "And I know, I need to be more careful."

"Yes you do," he said, nodding. Then he shook his head again. "I can't believe it."

"It's hard to grasp, I know. I still feel like a clumsy mess, but I'm trying, and I think I'll get the hang of it." I brought out my phone to check the time. "I have to go."

"See ya later," he said.

I returned the goodbye and then turned around, heading back toward my street. I had decided earlier to call Jenny from home and have her decide how I was going to get the cuff to her, since I didn't think that the receptionists at the Henderson Tech building would let me in if I didn't have Kavanagh or someone else by my side.

When I stopped in front of my apartment door and fished around in my pocket to look for my keys, I heard a voice inside. I first thought that maybe Mom was talking to herself, although that wasn't a habit she possessed. Then I realized there were two voices. Since they were both female, I guessed that the other one was Grandma Imogen's.

I knew that Mom and Grandma Immie were arguing, because both of their voices were raised, but I couldn't figure out which topic they were fighting over this time. There was a plethora of things they didn't agree about—Mom's decision to be a baker instead of an accountant like she went to college for, Mom's hummingbird tattoo on her back, etc.

I opened the door as quietly as I could, but if they had been in the kitchen or the living room, they would have heard me. But luck was on my side today—except for the museum incident—and they were in Mom's bedroom with the door closed. They wouldn't notice that I was home unless they came out or unless I told them, and I wasn't going to.

I slipped off my shoes and put my backpack in my room before I slowly crept up to her bedroom door and put my ear up against the wood. They were talking a little quieter now, having decided not to bother the other people in the building, but I could make out their words.

I closed my eyes and let out a quiet sigh when I realized that they were fighting about the big thing: Mom's decision to not get married. She'd decided that she wasn't really interested in having a relationship or getting married, but she did want a kid, so she'd used a donor bank. I was half Maguire and half something else that I would never know, and although both Mom and I were happy with the way things were, Grandma Immie was not. Me being a donor baby wasn't the problem—she didn't care about that and loved me and her other grandchildren equally—her problem was that Mom was single and planned to stay that way.

"Don't you want a partner?" Grandma Immie was asking. From the tone of her voice, I could picture her: sitting on the edge of the bed with her hands folded over her lap, looking up at Mom through her glasses.

"I'm happy the way I am, thank you," Mom's voice replied, and I could hear her exasperation. They must have had this conversation hundreds of times.

"I'm serious, Linda," Grandma Immie implored. "Don't you want Peter to have a father? Or another mother, if you like women? Don't you want him to have someone when you're not around?"

"I will always be there for him," Mom snapped. "He knows that."

I know that, Mom. I shook my head. I wished that Grandma Immie would give this up, that they would reconcile and be happy mother and daughter, but she was a stubborn woman. She would never accept Mom's decision.

I backed up from the door. This wasn't the first time I'd heard this conversation, and it certainly wouldn't be the last, but it made me sad anyway.

I sat down on the couch and put my earbuds in, so that when they walked out, they would see me listening to music and think that I hadn't heard anything. I sat there for three minutes, and then Grandma Immie walked out first.

I gave her a hug, and she returned it, and her familiar lavender scent made me want to cry. She said that she had a doctor's appointment to go to, and that she was sorry she couldn't talk to me more, but I assured her that it was okay, and I said goodbye.

After she was gone, Mom sat down on the couch and pointed to the space next to her. I sat down as directed and waited. She stared at me for a minute before finally saying, "We need to talk."

I knew instantly that she knew I had heard their conversation. "I don't need anyone else," I said quickly before she could open her mouth again. "Grandma Immie doesn't know what she's talking about. I'm happy."

Mom shook her head, smiling. "I respect Grandma Immie, and I know that she loves me, even though she doesn't agree with me. Our arguments are just the way things are. This isn't about that."

I blinked, surprised by what she said. I knew that Mom had a heart of gold, and that she still loved her mother, who loved her, but I hadn't expected the last part of the sentence. "Then what is this about?"

"You."

I narrowed my eyes. "What about me?"

"You have an inferiority complex."

I blinked again. "I do not."

"Yes, honey, you do," she said, and then she put a hand on my shoulder.

It was then I realized how serious she was being, and how much it scared me. I gently moved my shoulder so that her hand fell off, and I shook my head and laughed. "No, Mom, I don't."

She smiled, like she could see right through me, and it only scared me more. "Listen, despite what you say, you act like you're a bother to everybody, like you'd rather just stay silent and not annoy anyone. Including me."

I raised an eyebrow. "Do you want me to be annoying?"

She shook her head. "That's not the point. I want you to be a kid, I don't need you to agree with everything I ask or do everything I say. I don't want you to think that Ben is your only friend, and I don't want you to think that if you mess up, you can't fix it."

I stared at her, and it was all I could do to not let my mouth drop open. I felt suddenly sweaty, like I was burning in this room, and I swallowed. I looked down at my feet, refusing to look at her probing stare any longer. "I don't feel that way. Not at all."

She shook her head and sighed. "Tell me why."

"There is no why. I don't feel that way."

"Peter."

I looked up at her, her green eyes staring at my brown eyes. "Mom," I said carefully, about to once again affirm that she was only imagining these things, but then I faltered. I sighed and buried my face in my hands, my words coming out muffled when I said, "I want you to be happy."

"What was that?" she asked, but I could tell that she only wanted me to elaborate.

I kept my face in my hands, taking a deep breath, making sure that I wanted to continue. "You're having trouble with Grandma Immie and the bakery," I said quietly. "And I don't want to make anything harder for you. I don't want to be a bother, to you," I paused, "or to anyone."

I sat there silently, waiting for her to say something, but she was quiet. I waited a few more seconds, gathering my courage, before I finally peeked between my fingers and saw that she was crying.

Tears were spilling from her eyes and down her face, and I pulled both hands away from my face, staring at her in surprise. She shook her head, mumbling, but I couldn't make out her words, and all I could think about was why she was crying so hard, as if she'd lost something important.

And I didn't know why, but I started crying, too.

And then we wrapped our arms around each other, and I buried my face in her shoulder, feeling happy and sad at the same time.

"I am happy," she said as she gently stroked my hair. She started to control herself, her sobs slowly choking away into a faint hiccup every now and then. "You're a good kid," she whispered, and she kissed the top of my head.

Happy and sad and guilty at the same time. She tightened her arms around me, and I never felt so bad in my life for keeping a secret.