It wasn’t long before people started showing up. But they weren’t other students looking for a quiet place to pray. Instead they were men dressed in green jumpsuits and dirty boots, carrying trash bags and poles with a spike on the end. The maintenance workers were cleaning up the mess made the night before—the candy wrappers and soda cans and candy wrappers and more candy wrappers.
Miles watched as they punched the spike through small bits of paper, then shook them into the bags. It reminded him of what his father had made him do a week before, cleaning up the trash on his block. The only difference was that these guys were getting paid for it. Still, Miles couldn’t help but think about his dad telling him that he was responsible for his block, and that being a hero wasn’t always just the big things, but also the small things, like picking up trash. Miles stood up and walked over to one of the guys.
“Morning.” Miles spoke to a guy who had a hood yanked over his head and earbuds in his ears. The guy snatched an earbud out.
“What you say?”
“I said, good morning,” Miles repeated.
The guy nodded. “Morning.” Then he started to put the bud back in his ear when Miles stopped him.
“Sorry, but can I ask you something?” Miles started. The guy nodded again. “You think I can maybe help out?”
“Help out?” The guy snorted. “Yo, little man wanna help out,” he said, turning to the guys around him.
“Help out?” a different guy wearing an orange hat said. He had a toothpick sticking out from the side of his mouth. “Um…you do know we cleaning this crap up, right?”
“Yeah, I know.”
They all looked around at each other. Shrugged. Then Earbuds gave Miles his spiked pole. “I’ll hold the bag,” he said, obviously happy to be passing off some of the work. “We already did one walk-through, and now we walking through again, heading back toward the dorms.”
“Cool.”
As they moved from one part of campus to the next, the maintenance crew made small talk with Miles, but mainly Miles just listened as they conversed with each other about their weekends.
“Yo, any of y’all ever had the catfish at Peaches?” Orange Hat asked.
“Peaches?” This from a guy with a beard, low but thick like black felt.
“Yeah, Peaches. You know, the spot Benji used to wait tables at. Over there off Macdonough,” Orange Hat explained. Miles’s ears perked when he heard the name. Benji, Benji. Where have I…? He wiped rain from his forehead and pushed the stake through the heart of a fun-size Snickers wrapper.
“Where Benji at, anyway? Ain’t he supposed to be here?” Toothpick asked, shaking his head.
“Ain’t nobody seen him since Monday, when he came to work all lumped up. After that, no call, no show,” Black Felt said. Miles glanced up, then immediately darted his eyes back down at the ground searching for the next piece of litter. Benji. Not…not the one from the basketball court. Can’t be, Miles thought.
“He probably off trying out for the Knicks, again.” This was from a guy named Ricky, a short dude with tall-dude pants on, bunched and gathered around the tops of his boots.
“He ain’t never tried out for the Knicks,” Earbud said.
“He told me he did,” Ricky said.
“He also told you he had proof he had the highest vertical on earth.” Everyone burst into laughter. Everyone but Miles.
“He probably just quit this crappy job,” Earbud said, opening the trash bag so Miles could shake off the spike. The drizzle finally started to let up.
“Without telling us?” Toothpick asked. “I called him and everything. Twice.”
“And he ain’t hit you back?” Black Felt asked.
“Nah. And that was days ago. It’s like he just disappeared.”
“What you mean, disappeared?” Now Miles butted in. He didn’t mean to, but he just couldn’t help it. The four green-suited men shot glances at him.
“You know Benji?” Ricky asked, his tone slightly harder than it was seconds before. His voice made it clear he was half asking sincerely, and half telling Miles to mind his own business.
“Um…nah. I just…”
And before Miles could try to hack up the rest of the words lodged in his throat, Orange Hat jumped back in. “Yo, whatever. The point is, if y’all ain’t never had the catfish from that spot, Peaches, do yourself a favor. They got the cornmeal batter and all that. Mad good.” He reached over and grabbed the trash-stabber from Miles, signaling that the job was done. They were back in front of the dorms. “You too, shorty,” Orange Hat said to Miles. “I’m sure it’s probably better than what y’all eating at this bland-ass school.”
“Good morning, uh…I was gonna say sunshine, but you’re soaking wet, so…good morning, rainstorm,” Ganke said as Miles came back in the room. Ganke was sitting in his desk chair scooping cereal from a bowl, watching TV.
Miles didn’t respond. Just sat on his bed and cradled his face in his hands. Benji didn’t deserve to be snatched. And even though Miles wasn’t sure if it had actually happened to Benji, he had a feeling, one deep in the pit of his stomach, that that was the case.
“You good?” Ganke asked, spinning his chair toward Miles. Miles continued to hide his face.
“Yeah,” he said, his voice muffled by his hands. “Went down to the chapel.” Miles lifted his face.
“The campus chapel?” Ganke sounded surprised. “What, your mother came to you in your dreams and told you to get your butt up for church?” Miles didn’t laugh.
“It wasn’t open. Too early, I guess. But I still got a message.” Suddenly, Miles got up from the bed, squatted, and reached underneath the twin frame. He swiped a few times, before finally knocking forward his web-shooters. He set them on the bed, then dug back into the closet and pulled out his suit again. “And now I have to deliver one.”
“Miles, what are you doing?” Ganke asked. Miles continued to get dressed. “Miles.” Ganke set his bowl on his desk. “It’s not even eight in the morning.”
“Look, I slept on it. Just like you told me.” Miles peeled off his wet clothes, dried himself off with his towel, then stretched the suit over his body like a second skin. “And now I have to go.”
He grabbed his mask, walked over to the mirror.
Ganke stood up.
Miles slowly rolled the mask down over his forehead, then over his eyes. Like always, he closed them for a split second, just until the holes lined up. Then he opened them and continued stretching the mask over his nose, mouth, and chin. He looked at himself in the mirror again. Spider-Man.
“And I think what you said last night was right. You kill the head, the feet die too. That old man is the head. And I have stop him. He’s hurting so many people. People we know. People we don’t know. People who aren’t even alive yet, man. He’s hurting my family, people in my neighborhood, me…I just, I won’t be able to do anything until I do this. What good is it being a hero if I can’t even save myself?”
“And you’re sure about all this?” Ganke asked. He looked at Miles without an ounce of joke on his face, no snark in his voice. Just Ganke, the closest person Miles had to a brother. Someone who loved him.
“I’m sure.” Miles nodded. “I’m not guessing. I know these things. And knowledge is power.”