“Do you? Well, maybe art, but I don’t know about history, since it seemed to make you sick earlier today.” Her face flowed from excitement to concern. “You good?”
“Oh yeah, that. Yeah…I’m fine. Just…cafeteria food, I guess. Sorry about that.”
Miles’s body had been buzzing with pure nerves since he saw her. But he was ignoring it, or at least he was trying to. He didn’t sneak out of his job for a performance of Almost Puke on Alicia, the sequel. He could feel the rumble in his stomach, and pushed it back to the point that his hands were shaking.
Alicia noticed the paper rattling in Miles’s grip. “Oh my goodness, did you come to read?”
“No…this…this…”
“Miles, you have to. Come on. I know you’ve got something going on in there,” she said looking him square in the eyes, her lisp like the saxophone playing in the store, except played by a much cooler musician. “I can see it.”
Miles didn’t feel himself nod, and he didn’t hear himself murmur okay. But he did. As Dawn Leary finished her piece, the hand claps immediately sucked the fog from Miles’s head and he heard Alicia tell him that she was calling him up next.
“Wait…what? No,” Miles called, but she was already burrowing back though the crowd.
Miles took a step back. Then another.
“Thank you, Dawn.” Alicia and Dawn hugged. “Y’all give it up for my girl!” Alicia commanded.
And another step back.
“Next up, we’ve got a newcomer. A virgin to the mic.”
Another step. And another.
“So I want y’all to be kind to him. It ain’t easy getting up here, sharing your soul.”
One more.
“Put your hands together for Miles Morales.”
Camouflage mode. Vanished into thin air.
“Miles?” Alicia craned her neck looking for him. And he was there, looking right back at her, retreating.
The journey back across campus was a long and lonely one. Miles talked to himself the whole way.
“All you had to do was say no,” he said.
“There’s nothing wrong with just saying you’re a little shy,” he said.
“Or you just could’ve explained that you had written the poem for her,” he said.
As he passed, some of his fellow students—latecomers on their way to the open mic—snapped their necks to the side, chasing the voice of a person they couldn’t see. Miles hadn’t taken into account that he was still invisible.
Once Miles got back to the store, before he even opened the door, he looked around to make sure no one was there to witness the door open “on its own.” Once the coast was clear, Miles slipped back inside, back behind the register, back against the wall, where he climbed up, plugged the security camera back in, then reappeared just as he had planned.
His shift was almost up, and he spent the rest of it running an imaginary conversation, line for line, out loud, between him and Alicia.
No, I can’t read this in front of everyone, because I wrote it for you.
For me? Miles, you wrote this for me? Wow.
Yeah, I’m not Langston Hughes or nobody like that, but I hope you like it.
Oh, Miles. I love it. It’s beautiful.
And once he caught himself, he waggled his head, shook his imaginary love story out, grabbed his backpack, and closed up shop.
When he got back in the dorm, it was still empty—Miles figured by now Ganke had probably read a poem and signed up for a self-imposed encore. Normally, Miles would use the time to unwind and take his mind off of everything by tuning out and plugging in. Video games. Super Mario Bros., to be exact. But tonight, he chose torture instead. He sat on the edge of his bed, reached for his bag, and pulled out Austin’s letter again, this time starting in the middle and reading to the end.
I’M FIFTEEN, AND AS I’M SURE YOU FIGURED OUT BY NOW, I’M LOCKED UP. BEEN IN HERE FOR A WHILE, AND I HAVE A WHILE TO GO. I GUESS IT’S IN MY BLOOD, AT LEAST ON MY DAD’S SIDE. I’M NOT SURE HOW WELL YOU KNEW MY FATHER. MY GRANDMA SAYS THE BROTHERS DIDN’T REALLY GET ALONG AND THAT THEY HADN’T SPOKEN IN A LONG TIME. SO THAT PROBABLY MEANS YOU DIDN’T REALLY KNOW HIM. MAYBE, IF YOU WANT, I COULD FILL IN SOME OF THAT STUFF. TELL YOU HOW HE WAS, IF YOU WRITE BACK. I HOPE YOU DO.
SINCERELY,
AUSTIN DAVIS
PS: SORRY FOR THE PENCIL. I KNOW IT’S HARD TO READ. BUT THEY WON’T LET US USE PEN IN HERE.
Miles folded the letter once more, set it on his desk. Austin assumed Miles didn’t know Aaron. That the rift between brothers kept them apart. But Miles knew him well. Too well. He knew that the only reason he was Spider-Man was because of the spider in Aaron’s house, stolen from the lab. He knew Aaron knew about his secret and tried to use it against him. He knew they fought, and that because of him, Aaron was dead, and Austin didn’t have a father anymore.
You’re just like me.
Miles yanked his notebook from his bag again, flipped to a blank page, and started writing.
Dear Austin,
Thanks for the letter. I have to tell you the truth. I’m a little surprised. I don’t really know how else to say it. I’m just so shocked. First, I guess I should say it’s nice to meet you, even though it’s like this. Or, maybe a better way to say it is, it’s good to know you exist. I had no idea. I don’t know if your grandmother told you, but I’m an only child, and I always wished there was someone for me to hang with. I always wanted a brother. Not saying you’re my brother, or anything. But just that it’s cool to know there’s someone else in the family in my age group. I wish I would’ve known, but the past is the past but better late than never, right? Maybe we can just start fresh. Okay, some things about me.
I’m sixteen.
I’m from Brooklyn.
I go to a bougie boarding school called Brooklyn Visions Academy. I’m on scholarship, and my folks still can’t afford it. A lot of rich kids acting like rich kids.
I have a homeboy named Ganke. Korean dude. Hilarious. He’s the closest thing I have to a brother.
I think that’s all I got.
And I did know knew your father. Uncle Aaron and I were close for a long time. I used to have to sneak and go see him, because my dad wouldn’t allow it. That’s why I’m surprised he never mentioned you, even though I guess I shouldn’t be because he probably knew that if he told me, I’d want to meet you, and if we met, and got close, eventually it would be harder to keep up the fact that we all had this secret relationship. And then I would be in trouble with my dad, and so would Uncle Aaron, and I’m not sure whether or not your grandma knows about some of the epic fights between those two. Crazy.
Anyway, I guess, if you have time, write me back. This is going to sound messed up, but I don’t mean it in a messed-up way—what’s it like in there?
Sincerely,
Miles
PS: Your father tried to kill me. Maybe someday I could come visit.