Chapter Text
CaptnAmazing: Hey, Billy. Still awake?
Avngerfan2119: Eh. Awake enough. Everything still on for tomorrow?
CaptnAmazing: Yeah—my train gets in around 4, so I'll meet you at 5. I can't wait to be back in the city. Boarding school sucks.
Avngerfan2119: You mean you don't sit around and braid each other's hair all day?
CaptnAmazing: Suck it, Kaplan. Hey, don't forget to bring my Cap.
CaptnAmazing: And don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about. I know you still have him.
Avngerfan2119: Yeah, I've got him. But can't you just reclaim him when you come over?
CaptnAmazing: I want to show Joseph. He's got a Cap figurine, but it's crap and I want to introduce him to quality. Just bring him, ok? You can smuggle him in your backpack.
Avngerfan2119: Fine.
CaptnAmazing: Everything ok? Jackhole isn't bothering you again, is he?
CaptnAmazing: Want me to kick his ass? I may be scrawny, but I'm scrappy.
Avngerfan2119: Nah, it's fine. I'll see you tomorrow. Night, Jamie.
CaptnAmazing: You sure everything's ok?
12:23 am: Avngerfan2119 is away.
CaptnAmazing: Night.
**
2:41 and counting.
Billy looked down at his U.S. History book and tried to concentrate, but the words kept swimming in front of his eyes. He was painfully aware of the clock counting down the minutes to winter break—three full weeks of freedom, away from school, away from Kesler, away from everything.
2:49 and counting.
Mr. Carlson hadn't even bothered trying to make them do work. "You'll forget everything over the break anyway," he'd said with a sigh, shoulders drooping beneath a faded argyle sweater. "Just read Chapter Six and try not to make too much noise."
Most of the kids hadn't even cracked open their books. They were all huddled together in small clusters, leaning over the arms of their desks and whispering. The occasional raised voice earned a half-hearted rebuke, but mostly Mr. Carlson kept to his own desk, ignoring the little hives of activity.
Billy watched as one of the girls covered a laugh with her hand, reddish hair falling over her shoulders. She glanced toward the clock and he heard a few scattered words: "beer," "tonight," "kissing," "party," "lame." He cocked his head, curious, but turned back to his book with a flush when she caught his gaze and narrowed heavily lined eyes at him.
Right. No. Reading.
He turned the page, skimming over sentences at random. He didn't care that there was a party, anyway; he was never invited and wasn't sure what he'd do if he was. Probably spend the entire night wedged firmly in a corner waiting for the pig's blood to come raining down. Not that he wanted to go all Carrie on their asses. Most days, anyway.
Billy looked up. 2:58 and counting.
He shut the book and stuffed it into his bookbag, eager for the final bell. Three full weeks, he told himself, ignoring the flurry of whispers rising steadily in volume. His best friend would be home, and they'd spend the vacation going from comic book store to comic book store and keeping their eyes peeled for Avengers. It would be great.
3:00.
Billy was on his feet at the first shrill chime, darting ahead of the swarm of students. Mr. Carlson called out something about being safe and having a great holiday, but Billy lost the words in the sound of doors opening up and down the hall and students surging out of their classes. He slipped around a laughing girl and pressed against the bank of lockers to avoid a cheerleader and her boyfriend, muscles going tight in a familiar heady blend of anxiety and anticipation. It was a madhouse, excitement heavy on the air. He could practically taste freedom.
If I hurry, Billy thought, maybe I can make it out of here without a fight.
He clutched his bookbag against his body and wended his way through the mass of kids. Lockers slammed up and down the hall and the stairwells echoed with calls of "See you at 10!" and "Don't forget the fucking beer!"
The air was electric.
Billy glanced at his watch as he rounded a corner, hugging the wall to avoid collision. 3:03. No way would Kesler get out of English and through the crowded halls in time. He could already feel tension melting away, excitement building. It would be good to be around friends again. Friend. His one true friend, really. God, he'd missed having someone to talk to.
He dropped his bookbag on the cracked linoleum and crouched in front of his locker. They would hit Midtown first, of course, before making their way to Cosmic Comics. It'd probably be a good idea to save The Strand for earlier in the day, so they could avoid the tourists at Union Square. Maybe they could wander through the Village, Billy mused. There were some pretty good second-hand stores there. A few racier places, too, with titillating window displays he could never bring himself to look at directly despite the small rainbow stickers over the doors.
Well. Maybe because of them.
Billy flushed and shoved his books into his locker, slamming it shut. He glanced down the hall as he stood, slinging the strap over his shoulder, but he only got four quick steps away before he felt the buzzing of his phone against his thigh. Billy shifted and dug into his pocket, anxiously scanning the halls before checking its face.
212-555-9078: bring me cap or face my wrath
Shit.
Billy hesitated, anxiously tearing at a tooth-snagged fingernail before turning back, shoving the phone into his pocket. If he hurried... If he hurried... He crouched in front of his locker and spun the dial with suddenly trembling fingers. 8, 22, 10. No, crap, he'd gone too far. Billy muffled an annoyed curse and tried again, then again, forcing himself to slow.
8…
22…
10…
He hadn't bothered to put his books away neatly and everything came tumbling out in a tangled mess, spilling over his lap and scattering across the floor. "Fuck," Billy groaned, snagging the carefully wrapped action figure and setting it aside before shoving everything else back in place. The pile nearly toppled again, wobbling threateningly, but Billy managed to slam the door shut in time, spinning the dial with more force than necessary. He grabbed the bundle and jumped to his feet, glancing at his watch. Shit shit shit. If he didn't run for it, he'd get caught for sure. He darted into the crowd, shoulders hunched tight, but Billy knew it was too late even before the big, rough hand shot out to grab him by the collar.
Damn it. God damn it.
"You're in a hurry, Kaplan," Kesler said, dragging Billy back toward the row of bright orange lockers. A crooked smile stretched his face as his dark brows lifted in mock concern. "Got a hot date?"
Billy hunched in on himself, holding his bookbag in front of him as if it were a shield: Captain America's shield, only Captain America wasn't here and Billy wasn't any kind of hero. He couldn't even answer, Billy realized with sinking dread; his throat was dry, and all he wanted to do was run.
Kesler glanced over at his friends, two beefy guys in lettermen jackets. "Bet you anything Kaplan's got a date. What's his name?"
They were circling closer, penning him in. Billy glanced desperately down the hall, but no one was paying attention. No one cared—or if they did, they were too frightened to get involved. He didn't blame them; he'd feel the same way if their roles had been reversed. He'd hate himself, maybe, but he'd look away.
Damn it, why did this always have to happen to him?
Billy squeezed his eyes shut, murmuring under his breath, but that simply made Kesler shake him—so hard his teeth rattled—before saying in an eerily light, almost conversational tone, "What'd you say, Billy? You're going to have to talk louder than that."
Billy didn't look up. He slouched further down, like a turtle desperately trying to crawl into its shell, and his grip tightened on the figure of Captain America hidden in its newspaper wrapping. "Nothing," he said. "I didn't say anything."
"That's what I thought."
One of the other boys, Slatterly, reached out to casually pluck the bookbag from his arms. Billy tried to grab it back, but Kesler was there to slam him back against the bank of lockers, big body pinning him in with quiet, menacing strength. "Check the inner pockets," he instructed, eyes never leaving Billy's face. His breath was hot and sweet. Intimate against his face.
Billy’s stomach twisted into hard knots, eyes fixed on the floor.
"What's this?" the third boy, Jones, asked, grabbing the wrapped bundle from Billy's weakened grip.
No! Billy jolted upright with sick anxiety, eyes flying up to the boy's face, and he reacted without thinking, snatching Cap back with a lightning-fast move. "No," he said, trying to shove the bundle behind his back, but Kesler grabbed him by his collar and jerked him up onto the balls of his feet. Billy tried to tense up against the attack, but it was useless: his head lolled back as he fought to get his feet under him. The back of his skull slammed against the lockers with a sickeningly familiar crack.
He desperately squeezed his eyes shut, heart beating so fast in his chest he thought it would burst. There was a part of him that almost wanted that to happen—at least then they'd leave him alone.
It didn’t. Instead, he grit his teeth as he was dropped back onto his feet and shoved against the cold metal. One of the locks bit into his shoulder, another into his hip. His head was beginning to ache so badly that he couldn't even protest when the figure was pried from his fingers and passed back to Kesler's friend.
"What is it?" Kesler asked, eyes locked on Billy's face. He'd finally let go, but Billy felt just as trapped as before. He couldn't run—he'd never manage to slip away. They were bigger, they were stronger, and, most importantly, they were willing to hurt him.
Billy looked up and watched with growing acceptance as Jones unwrapped the newsprint to expose the red-white-and-blue figure, created by a local artist and cleverly sculpted to look just like the real man—not just in his features (though everything was accurate down to the corded strength in his hands and the square of his jaw), but also somehow in the feeling of Captain America: Strength. Courage. Pride. Ever-enduring possibility.
He looked like a hero. And Billy wanted to rip him out of Jones' hands with a ferocity that overwhelmed him.
"Oh. It's just a doll," Jones said, dropping Cap carelessly onto the grungy tiles. Billy made a strangled noise and moved as if to grab for him, but Kesler slammed him back against the lockers with another bone-deep lurch. "I don't fucking think so, Kaplan," he snarled, kicking Cap away into the thinning herd of students.
Where are all the teachers? Billy thought wildly, desperately, before his eyes tracked back to Kesler's face. It loomed over his, too close—familiar, hated features twisted into an amused sneer.
"Well?" Kesler said, beefy fingers twisted in the collar of Billy's shirt and threatening body close enough that the tension was almost...sexual. "Anything else?"
"A few dollars," Slatterly said as he dropped Billy's bookbag, wallet spilling out. "That's it. Let's get out of here—he doesn't have anything else worth taking."
Kesler didn't break eye contact. He held out one hand for the money, then blindly shoved it into his pocket. "Looks like you're free to go," he said lightly, grip loosening. He stepped back to give Billy space and then laughed when he didn't move. "Well, come on," he said with an ugly smile. "Run away, Kaplan. Happy Hanukkah."
Billy swallowed, palms braced against the cool metal lockers, then forced himself into action. He grabbed his bookbag and shoved his wallet back inside as he hurried past the trio of boys. But he only got two steps before a lanky leg shot out and sent him sprawling across the dirty floor. Hoots of laughter echoed down the hallway and Billy swallowed back a surge of pure rage, building inside him white and hot, like lightning.
But he didn't get up, didn't even move, and eventually they turned and walked away—leaving Billy sprawled messily across the linoleum floor, staring at Captain America's little plastic face and wishing with all his heart that he, Billy Kaplan, punching bag of the entire fucking universe, had the power to do anything at all.
**
212-555-9078: youre late, loser
212-555-8743: yeah, sorry, be there soon
212-555-9078: fabio and i will be waiting
**
"What about him? He's a looker."
"Hm?" Billy blew his bangs out of his eyes and kept digging through the battered cardboard box. Jude Deveraux, Danielle Steele, Danielle Steele, Ann Rule, Anne Rice, Cassie Edwards. "Oh, hey, Native American Fabio. Check that off bargain book bingo," he said, straightening to flash the book at his friend.
Jamie leaned close, nearly unbalancing the wobbly stool he was perched on, and frowned down at the well-read book. "I think we already got that one," he said slowly, rocking back onto four legs with a clatter. "Keep an eye open for Vikings, though. I know we don't have any of those."
"Viking Fabio: check." Billy rolled up a lagging sleeve and dove back in, pushing aside old westerns and stock thrillers. "You'd think there'd be some speculative fiction in here. It's the Village—the geeks couldn't have all fled for Brooklyn."
"He really is pretty hot, you know."
Billy looked up with a frown, rubbing a streak of sweat across his brow. It prickled with salt and heat. "Who, Fabio?"
Jamie rolled his eyes and jabbed his finger toward a boy browsing the racks across the room. "No, dipshit, that guy. The looker. He's pretty hot, right?"
Billy glanced over, then quickly away, afraid of being caught staring. Stop being such a putz, he told himself viciously. Shoving his fingers through his hair, Billy looked up again, following Jamie's line of sight.
Tall. Thin. Dressed in black with a bike chain looped around his skinny waist, spiky hair falling into his eyes.
"Hipster," Billy said dismissively, turning back to the book bin. He felt the embarrassing little shiver of disappointment, like always, but he forced himself to tuck that away. Jamie was trying. He appreciated that.
"Hipsters can't be hot?" The other boy hopped off the stool to help Billy re-load the rejects, tossing the paperbacks casually into a jumbled pile. "I thought hipsters could be hot if they, you know, bathed. Oh, hey, she's practically naked," he added in clear delight, opening a cover to get a good look at the inside splash. Billy laughed and shook his head, carefully rearranging the jumbled books so that their spines faced outward. Jamie had been Billy's friend since pre-school; he'd traded sandwiches in elementary school, played Spider-Man in middle, and listened to Billy's stuttering, flame-faced attempt to come out the summer between eighth and ninth grade, right before Jamie's parents sent him away to a fancy boarding school upstate.
"Um, hey, wow," Jamie had said, looking anywhere but at Billy. Billy hadn't been able to look at him, either—he'd barely been able to look at himself when, glancing up, he'd caught his own reflection in Jamie's sticker-covered mirror: pale and small and thin as a bird. He'd even looked like a…like...
But then Jamie had reached over and slid an action figure into Billy's spasmodically clenching hands. Johnny Storm, all blonde hair and shit-eating grin. "I bet the Human Torch would totally do you," Jamie had said solemnly, and the whole thing had somehow turned into an epic wrestling match, comic books scattering, action figures flying, Jamie howling, "Flame on! Flame on!" as Billy growled between laughs, "I'll kick your ass."
It would have been better if Jamie still went to school with him, Billy mused, but so long as he knew there was someone out there who thought that he was okay, he was mostly content.
"She kind of looks like Sam, don't you think?"
Billy squinted at the big-chested blonde in the badly drooping red dress and tried to picture her with a ponytail and freckles. Samantha Gardner was a neighborhood girl whose family had moved to the Upper East sometime between third and fourth grade. She was pretty and personable and more than a little smart, so she was immediately popular…and immediately out of Jamie's league despite her occasional overtures of friendship. Not that Billy would ever say that to him. "Uh. Sure."
"Do you think she'd go out with me? If I went to CPE with you guys, I mean?"
Billy didn't hesitate; he never did. "Of course she would," he said, not letting a trace of doubt slip through. There was no room for doubt in pure fantasy. "She'd have to be stupid not to. You have the biggest Avengers action figure collection this side of the Mississippi."
Jamie pointed at him. "Right? Totally a catch."
"A supreme catch."
"And after I dazzled her with busts of Thor and Iron Man, I'd show her my collection of signed comic book sketches—"
"Always a winner."
"—and bad poetry I've been saving up about her sunny-side smile and brazenly naked body."
Billy laughed and pushed at Jamie's shoulder, reaching to grab his bookbag from where he'd dropped it earlier. "See? You're such a charmer, she'd be sure to melt all over you if you just gave her half the chance. Which you never do."
Jamie shook his head, hands shoving into his pockets as he rocked back onto his heels. "Yeah, thanks Dr. Phil, but I'll start taking love advice from you when you've graduated past making out with your pillow at night."
"Aw, Jamie." He pressed a hand over his heart. "That cuts deep. You know I've been making out with your pillow for years." Billy ducked away from the half-hearted shoulder-punch, laughing, for once unself-conscious of the eyes drawn his way. Let them look; what did he care? "And besides," he added, walking backward, "that's Dr. Ruth, thank you."
"Uh-huh. Oh, hey, Billy, watch o—"
Too late. Billy's shoulder clipped the edge of a bookshelf and he course-corrected, half-turning. It was the turn that got him, sending him crashing headlong into the arms of someone big and muscular and male. Time seemed to go slow and stretched thin at that. Like he’d stumbled into some kind of romantic comedy, only, fuck, it wasn't funny. Even so, big hands grabbed him for balance, he grabbed a fistful of cotton in return, and the two of them teetered and swayed for a long, embarrassing minute as their shuffling limbs got into each other's way.
Finally, when balance was restored, the boy dropped his hands and Billy let go. He looked up with a startled noise, meeting remarkably pretty eyes rimmed in too-long lashes, and felt something deep inside him twist in mingled pleasure and mortification. Billy wet his lips as he pulled back, searching for an apology and increasingly aware of a faintly spicy, expensive smell. It was...it was really, really nice.
"Sorry," he sputtered, cheeks going red. The boy looked down at him with a frown, seeming to expand and fill up the cramped aisle with every second that passed. "I wasn't looking."
"Yeah, I got that, Dr. Ruth."
The sneer was a bucket of ice water down his spine. Billy took another instinctive step back as the dark-haired boy crossed his arms over his chest and glared down at him, one brow arched in challenge. Billy should have known Impossibly Hot Guy was an asshole. They were all assholes. That was the rule of the frigging universe.
"Yeah, uh, like I said," Billy murmured, backing away slowly. Jamie had already retreated halfway down one of the stacks, warily watching. "Sorry."
He thought for a moment the guy would grab for him, and he could hear in his head the sound of bells ringing and lockers slamming. Every neighborhood was a schoolyard, somehow, and he never could seem to shake the bullies. But then the overhead speakers crackled and began to play something upbeat and Impossibly Hot Asshole shrugged and let his arms drop.
"Just watch where you're going next time," he said, slouching away with effortless cool. "Fag."
Billy froze where he was, shoulders hunching instinctively. He didn't hear Jamie come up behind him and didn't respond when a warm, comforting hand touched his arm.
"Hey," Jamie said, voice low. "Since when can dickfaces read?"
Billy shrugged him off. All he wanted, in that moment, was for the ground to open up and swallow him whole—no, better than that: he wanted the whole world to invert itself around him, pulling him somewhere warm and alone, far away from bullies and best friends who meant well.
"No, seriously," Jamie continued earnestly, brows drawn together. "If it wasn't about you being, you know, it'd be about something else. Guys like that are always assholes. There's a kid at my school who calls me Jew-for-Brains. Can you believe that? Jew-for-Brains. What does that even mean?"
"Yeah. It doesn't matter," Billy lied, looking up with a faint smile. "Hey, didn't you want to check out the art books?"
Jamie snorted, visibly relaxing. "With Assmunch trolling around looking for nerdlings to accost? Not likely. Want to head down to Shake Shack? We could hit up the comic book store there."
Billy glanced over his shoulder, catching sight of the dark-haired boy. He was leaning against the counter chatting up the salesgirl. The way the light came in through the dusky window made his hair glow glossy and dark. He was still so hot, even though Billy knew he was a jerk, and he flushed in an anxious mix of annoyance and awareness. "You go ahead," he said, fitfully shifting the strap of his bookbag. "I'll catch up with you in a few minutes."
Jamie looked wary. "Billy…"
"I just want to look at the used CDs. Go, get us a place in line. I'll be there soon," he promised. Jamie set his jaw stubbornly, but Billy merely rocked back on his heels, waiting him out. He could sense Jamie's instinctual urge to flee. He couldn't blame him; he felt the same way. Avoidance was the best trick he knew to keep himself all in one piece.
But even though he didn't want to stand up to Impossibly Hot Asshole—he wasn't stupid—he didn't want to run away either. Not today. He'd gotten his fill of his own cowardice already. "Seriously. Go claim us a place in line. If I'm late, you can send the Avengers to rescue my scrawny butt."
Jamie pointed at him in warning. "The Avengers are in space right now, remember? So don't be stupid." But he backed away a step and headed down one of the stacks toward the door. "Fifteen minutes!"
"Right," Billy said, mostly to himself. He glanced toward the front register again, stomach giving an unpleasant lurch, before turning and heading to the back of the store. He skirted past the idly browsing hipster, murmuring an apology, and trotted down the stairs to the basement level. The light was even dimmer here and the bookshelves even more unsteady. Billy gripped the chipped metal railing and jumped down the last steps, sneakers slapping against worn concrete. The sound system didn't reach down here, and the farther he moved into the stacks the more distant the soulful crooning became. Instead, he could hear the soft rustle of paper and click of jewel cases; a woman in a purple hoodie whistled as she read the back of a penny dreadful.
Billy stopped at a large bin of used CDs and dropped his bag at his feet, glancing around the room in a quick, instinctual survey before beginning to thumb through cracked cases. Most of the music was shitty, of course, but that was the way of the bargain basement.
He stopped to look at a psychedelic cover, letting his attention wander as his eyes focused on the swirls of color.
It had been a rough day. His shoulder ached and he was pretty sure there'd be bruises on his shins. Still, it was better than he'd feared; lately Kesler content to shake him up for money and leave bruises where they wouldn't show—still painful, still humiliating, but at least he could shrug them off without his mother fretting or his brothers promising to sweep in and protect him like mini Captain Americas.
He sighed, shrugging his shoulders violently, and let the CD he'd been studying fall back into place. His brothers didn't seem to have any problems at their school; if anything, they were popular—well-liked, athletic, unharassed. Maybe there really is something wrong with me, Billy thought as he flipped through the jewel cases so quickly that the colors blurred together like a phantasmagoric kaleidoscope. Or maybe they knew how to cut it all off at the pass. They didn't roll over and take any shit at that pivotal moment that separates the regular boys from the prey.
He wondered if he'd had it in him to refuse to back down when he was their age. He wondered if he had it in him now.
Then someone stepped next to him and a shoulder brushed his, very lightly. The tinny blare of music was unmistakable: "Biiillly, don't be a heeeeero."
Jamie.
"Damn it, that's not funny!" Billy snapped, even though, well, it sort of was. He whirled to face Jamie anyway, in no mood to be teased...and froze when he met a pair of startled blue eyes.
Crap. Not Jamie.
The boy blinked at him slowly and reached up to tug the earbuds out. The music blared louder, wires dangling down his chest, and Billy felt a hot wave of mortification wash over him. The boy was tall and muscular; a striped grey and black sweater stretched across his broad shoulders. He had casually messy blond hair and perfectly symmetrical features, like a painting or a model or something. He was even hotter than Impossibly Hot Asshole, and Billy hated how aware he was of that.
"Sorry," Billy mumbled, heart sinking.
The blond smiled, dimples flashing at the corners of his mouth. Of course he had dimples. "Hey, no, you're right," he said, and he had a great voice. Deep and warm and just a little old school Brooklyn. "Paper Lace is nothing to joke about."
Billy fought against the inevitable flush of heat. Well, at least he isn't treating you like a punching bag, he reminded himself. So there's that.
"Boomtown Rats, though," the boy added, reaching over Billy to snag a CD. The plastic was busted open and the lining had faded along the corners. "Now there's a band that's just asking for it."
Billy glanced up to meet blue eyes and gradually felt his shoulders begin to relax as they smiled at each other. The tone had been light, teasing, but not mocking. His face was handsome—holy hell, so handsome—and friendly. It was the friendliness that made him so attractive, Billy decided, smile slowly widening. He didn't look like the sort of guy who tripped you in the hallway or called you a...whatever.
Still. He'd learned to be cautious. "Not a fan?" he asked, going for casual even though it had never sounded cool on him. Billy twitched a shoulder in an absent, anxious move, but then forced himself to go very still. He radiated geek, he knew he did, but that didn't mean he had to radiate it now.
The boy laughed again, absently flipping the CD between his big hands. There was a strap of leather around his left wrist, studded with dulled copper; it looked old and worn in, and it probably smelled like sweat and sunshine. "They're fine," he said. "I was just grasping for idle conversation. Word fail, I guess. I'm Teddy," he added.
"Billy. Hey."
Teddy's grin widened, dimples flashing again. "Billy, huh? That's ironic."
"Yeah, well. I promise not to make any lame jokes about time travel."
"Exxxcellent."
Billy snorted, then cleared his throat, flushing, but Teddy didn't seem to notice. Or if he did, he didn’t care, which was even better. "Billy, though—I guess that explains why the song pissed you off." He leaned over to drop the CD back in the bin, idly flipping through without really looking at the covers. His gaze was focused squarely on Billy, scanning his face and scrawny shoulders.
Billy couldn't remember the last time a boy his age had looked at him with so much interest without the underlying thread of malice. He couldn't help the way his stomach twisted in pleasure, or the quickening of his heartbeat. "I thought you were my friend," he explained weakly. "There was this guy, and I got upset, and I thought Jamie was—" Billy stopped himself, shaking his head. "Never mind. I thought you were my friend, anyway. I usually don't snap at random strangers."
"That's a pretty good stance to take, in this city. Or, you know, in life." There was a brief, awkward silence, and then, "What are you looking for?"
Billy glanced away. "I don't know; whatever. You?"
"Whatever, yeah."
Small talk sucked. Billy hated it, and he knew he was failing miserably. Think of something, he told himself, fiercely trying to come up with a question that wasn't completely stupid. He was no good at keeping casual conversations going, especially when...
Well. Especially when he thought the other guy was hot, but that, he told himself firmly, was neither here nor there. He wasn't going to start letting his unruly brain churn out ridiculous and unrealizable fantasies about every guy he met. "Um," he said, feeling a little desperate. Teddy was focusing on the CDs again. "Find any good books?"
Teddy looked up, jerking his chin to flip a longish strand of blond hair out of his eyes. "A couple. You?"
"Just Fabio."
Shit. He shouldn't have said that—he knew he shouldn't have. Billy bit the inside of his lip, bracing for impact, but Teddy just grinned as if he got the joke. "Fabio Bingo? Or are you a fan of heaving bosums?"
"Uh, the former. Not that there's anything wrong with a…a…uh, nice pair of... I can't finish this sentence with dignity."
"Dignity’s for the weak of spirit. Do you come here often?"
"I do, yeah," Billy said. "Here or the Strand, if I don't mind tripping over people every few feet."
"Every season is Tourist Season. God bless New York." Teddy looked up through his lashes, grinning, and Billy found himself answering the smile shyly. He opened his mouth to say something else—he wasn't sure what yet—when the moment was broken by the sound of heavy footfalls and a casually mocking voice said, "Teddy, you done? I got what we needed."
Billy looked up with a start, heart sinking. Impossibly Hot Asshole cocked a dark brow, glancing between him and Teddy with open curiosity. He had a slip of paper in his hand and a number scrawled in blue ink on the meat of his palm. He looked like every teenage television hero Billy had ever seen.
"Greg," Teddy said, and Billy had to turn his head to look at him again—he had to. The blond hair, the square jaw, the bright eyes and broad shoulders and gym-fresh muscles. Teddy looked like Impossibly Hot Asshole—like Greg. He fit with him.
Blue eyes met his, and Billy could read the apology there even as Greg grabbed Billy by his collar and tugged him back before shoving him away. Not hard—certainly not as hard as Kesler had—but it stung all the same. "Come on, scram," Greg said carelessly, slinging an arm over Teddy's shoulders when it looked like Teddy would go after Billy. "And you—we've got a party to go to. They'd be pretty disappointed if the guest of honor didn't show up, yeah?"
Billy rubbed at a bruised elbow, cheeks crimson, trying to will himself invisible. He could feel eyes on him, but he didn't have the courage to look up and meet them. Or maybe, he thought angrily to himself, he just didn't have the stomach.
"Yeah," Teddy said slowly, after a long minute. He sounded resigned, and maybe a little sad. Whatever. Fuck him. "Yeah, right, okay."
Billy didn't look up from the ugly stained concrete until their footsteps had died away.
**
212-555-9078: you dead or something?
212-555-9078: your mom will be pissed at me if i let you die
212-555-9078: come on, assmunch, answer me
212-555-8743: im fine! hold your horses, be there soon
212-555-9078: good. shackburgers waiting. mm, tasty murder
**
Several nights later, Billy sat on the floor, leaning back against the arm of the family room couch and staring moodily up at the television. His brothers were bickering a few feet away, squabble rising and falling in angry hisses and pained grunts as they took occasional swipes at each other.
"Shut up."
"You shut up. I called dibs."
"You can't call dibs!"
"That's funny. I seem to remember calling it."
"But that's not fair, buttface."
"You know what's not fair? Stealing Rey Mysterio."
"Rey Mysterio was mine!"
"Liar. Mom gave him to me."
"No she didn't! Dad gave him to me."
"Whatever. It still wasn't fair. Just ask Billy."
Billy didn't look up. "Please don't ask Billy. Billy doesn't care."
"But Billy."
He reached out to snag the remote off the coffee table, ignoring the chorus of complaints as he turned up the volume until Spock was nearly shouting his measured orders to the bridge crew of the Enterprise.
Holiday break was going so well.
Andy tried to snag the remote from him, but Billy yanked it away, slapping at his hand in annoyed protest. "Can't you two go bother Mom?" he demanded, tossing the remote to his other hand and squirming up to avoid David's reach. "She's not doing anything."
"Don't listen to him," his mother called from the kitchen. "Your mother is very busy being not involved in this."
"Give that back," David demanded, launching for him. Andy was just behind him, like always—the two fought like caged tomcats, but they always came together to form a unified front when the chips were down. Billy tried to squirm away, but they had him about the waist and legs, and he went down hard, crashing to the ground with a muffled cry.
Andy scrambled up and planted his ass on Billy's face. David sat on his legs and wrenched the remote from his hand. Billy tried kicking and biting, but his younger brothers were already stronger than he was—and wasn't that a mortifying thought—and he couldn't seem to find any purchase.
He contented himself with pinching a tanned thigh and rolling away when they let him up, panting and flushed and pissed off. "Jerks," Billy muttered, wiping at his face, but Andy just smiled beatifically and David changed the channel, flipping through them in quick succession without bothering to turn the volume down. Sports, Sports, MTV, Weather, Top Models, Rudolph.
"Whatever," Billy said, turning away and stalking out of the room. He usually got along with his brothers more or less okay, but they'd been getting under his skin more than usual the last few days. Familiarity breeds murderous rage, he thought, passing by his mother on the way to his room. At least his parents had finally agreed to allow him to install a lock on his door; he had every intention of crawling into his bed and blocking the world out.
Billy shut his bedroom door with a snap and then leaned against it, vindictively twisting the lock. His room was dim but not particularly dark—light seeped in through his curtains. A stray beam of headlights streaked across the wall, illuminating a jumbled line of posters: Spider-Man, the Fantastic Four, Thor, Captain America, Iron Man…
The pictures hadn't changed since he was a kid; he hadn't changed.
God, he was such a loser.
Billy pushed himself away from the door, fighting back the wave of self-pity that had been dogging him for days. He wasn't a loser—and, hey, so what if he was? Not everyone had to be big and handsome and casually cool.
Just guys like Johnny Storm. Or Iron Man. Or, oh, any of his heroes.
Just guys like Teddy.
"No," he said firmly, throwing himself down onto his bed and squeezing his eyes shut. He wasn't going to think about Teddy or Greg the Asshole. "This pity-party is over." Billy dragged the covers up over his head, trying to block out the passing headlights and the grave, heroic faces of the Avengers.
He wasn't going to think about it. He was going to go to sleep.
**
Avngerfan2119: SOS. Mom driving me slowly around the bend. Please advise.
CaptnAmazing: That sucks. Mine's too busy mooning over online vids of McDreamy. Or is it McSteamy? One of them! McAssholes.
Avngerfan2119: Argh. The boys are driving me nuts, too. I'm about to pelt them with dreidels. Save me from this fate worse than death.
CaptnAmazing: Poor Billy. The Strand, then Juniors?
Avngerfan2119: I could go for some cheesecake. Brooklyn or Times Square?
CaptnAmazing: Infidel. Brooklyn.
Avngerfan2119: Meet you tomorrow, then.
**
"And then, wham! Iron Man punched him in the stomach and he went flying across the street," Billy said, one arm flinging out in demonstration. "Brick and mortar rained down everywhere, surrounding his head as he twitched and tried to get up. Iron Man just walked up to him, though, cool as you please, and stood over his body in the rubble. Like this."
Billy hopped up and rested one foot against the bottom rung of his chair, Captain Morgan style. He tried to make his face as blankly menacing as he could, though he probably just looked stupid if Jamie's snorted laughter was anything to go by. Billy didn't care; he was too swept up in the memory.
"Like this. And Ultron just gave up—right there! Bitch-slapped by Iron Man."
"You totally want to have Iron Man's little mechanical butt babies, don't you?" Jamie snickered, ducking and protesting when Billy threw french fries at his head before finally trying to slide beneath the booth. "Hey! Hey! Fine, uncle, you win!"
Billy dipped one last fry in gravy and flung it at him before slipping back into his chair. "Darn right I win. And no, for your information. I don't want—you know." He felt stupid for not even being able to say it, but whatever, who cared? It wasn't as if it were the truth. "Iron Man's a hero."
"And completely not your type," Jamie added.
"And completely not my type."
"Not nearly blonde and swaggery enough."
Billy narrowed his eyes, but Jamie just laughed and held up his hands in surrender. Billy's old crush on the Human Torch would never stop haunting him, it seemed, no matter how much his taste had matured over the years. Sure, Billy amended, Johnny Storm was hot—pun not intended—but he practically had "JERK" written all over him.
A heroic jerk—but still. And Billy was done forming crushes on assholes.
He jabbed another french fry into gravy. "Whatever. Like you're one to talk about blondes," Billy said sullenly, before adding, "And speaking of blondes—have you heard from Samantha at all this break?"
Jamie determinedly glared at a spot over Billy's shoulder, mouth pulled into a scowl until suddenly the expression changed to one of surprise, and then sly delight. Billy went very still; when Jamie looked like that, nothing good ever came of it.
"Forget about Sam and Johnny Storm," Jamie said, giving a little hoot of delight. "There's a hot blonde heading this way now—and I think he's coming to talk to you!"
Billy froze, shoulders going stiff and tight. The hairs along his arms and the back of his neck seemed to all stand up at once, bristling as if a spark of electricity had jumped through his body. He got a sudden image of the boy from the bookstore—Teddy—but he quickly banished the thought. There was no way. No. Way.
Jamie was probably wrong. Jamie was—
Jamie was crawling out of the booth and abandoning him.
"Hey!" Billy squawked, grabbing at Jamie's sleeve as he darted past him, but then he caught sight of Teddy, ten paces away, and, yes, heading straight for him. The sparks became an electrical current as excitement and anxiety and a little bit of annoyance jolted through him, each emotion clambering for dominance. Jamie just grinned and hurried away, murmuring something lame about using the can.
Billy looked down at the diner floor and drew a deep breath—then another when a pair of battered sneakers came into view.
He looked up slowly to meet Teddy's eyes, and he wasn't sure whether it was his imagination, but for a moment Teddy seemed to look just as anxious as he felt. But then it melted away into one of those casual smiles, as if they were old acquaintances meeting up again after a long absence.
"Hey," Teddy said, jerking his chin toward the chair next to Billy's. "This seat taken?"
He was tempted to say yes; maybe add something snarky about—about—well, he wasn't sure, but something snarky about something. Teddy had been pretty nice at the bookstore, but he'd blown him off quicker than you could say, "Kick the nerd," when his friend caught them talking.
Greg, the Impossibly Hot Asshole.
Billy opened his mouth, then shut it again when he met Teddy's eyes. They were wide and blue and a little uncertain. The cutting words died on his lips.
"No, it's fine," Billy muttered, looking down again.
Teddy slid into place beside him and sprawled back, hands folded over his stomach. He moved so gracefully that Billy felt an odd rush of jealousy and desire. Teddy would never feel ugly and out of place in a locker room; he would never be the last one standing as everyone picked teams. He probably had no idea what it felt like to be small and insignificant and somewhere so far from normal that everyone immediately went from schoolmate to potential threat.
He was one of them—and yet he was watching Billy with a quiet, earnest focus that made his stomach do an uncomfortable somersault.
"I didn't expect to see you here," Teddy said, voice low. He reached up to brush back the longer strands of blonde hair that had fallen into his eyes. Dressed in jeans and a black woolen coat, he looked like he'd stepped out of some kind of men's catalogue: GQ or Vogue. It just wasn't fair that he looked so good. "Do you live around here?"
Billy began tearing his napkin into neat strips. "No, I live in the city. Um, around 61st and Lexington?"
"Oh, yeah? Must be nice. It takes me an hour to get into the city. Sunset Park," he added, jerking a shoulder. "Though Mom keeps threatening to move us to Park Slope."
"You don't like it around Park Slope?"
Teddy grinned ruefully. "What's not to like? The adorable-small-dog-to-human ratio alone is a ringing endorsement."
Billy laughed despite himself, shoulders relaxing. Teddy was just so likeable; it was maddening. "Yes, but the true test of the neighborhood is how many of them are wearing sweaters."
"The dogs dress better than I do, Billy. I can't move there and still hold my head up high! Besides, I've got a better chance of a Spider-Man sighting where I am, and I'd trade a shorter commute for the regular chance to geek out anytime."
Billy blinked in disbelief. There was no way. "Big fan?" he asked as casually as he could.
Teddy ducked his head as if embarrassed. "Uh, yeah. I mean, well, who isn't, but."
"Who is your favorite female Avenger?" Billy asked in a rush.
"She-Hulk. Yours?"
"Scarlet Witch. Male?"
"Cap, of course. You?"
"Cap. Best villain?"
Teddy grinned brilliantly. "Green Goblin—but only because Kang the Conqueror has such a lame costume."
Billy balled up his napkin and threw it at Teddy's head. "I'd like to see you do better," he scoffed. "Not that I'm defending him! Since he's, you know, evil."
"Evil and tacky. If I were a supervillain, I'd have some kind of great dark armor. And a big sword or something."
Billy rolled his eyes. "All right, Xena."
"Hey!" Teddy protested, lightly shoving his shoulder, and Billy felt a sudden rush of fierce joy at the casual, friendly gesture. He wanted so badly to remain mad at Teddy, to hate him, but it didn't feel possible. Not now, when he was laughing and talking about superheroes with him—not when he was sprawled back in his rickety old chair, looking so at home here.
"We should hang out sometime," Billy said impulsively, eyes scanning Teddy's face. "You know, if you want to."
Teddy looked over at him, surprised, and Billy fought the urge to sink under the table and die, but then Teddy's smile broadened and he nodded. "Yeah," Teddy said with real warmth. "Yeah, that sounds good. Here, lemme get you my number."
He lifted his hips, digging into his pocket for a pen while Billy swallowed back a mad grin. He could hardly believe this was happening.
Billy leaned forward a little, watching as Teddy found a felt-tipped pen and began searching for a slip of paper. The napkins were all balled up and messy; the placemats were splattered with gravy. "Erm," Billy said, half afraid Teddy would change his mind.
"Here," Teddy finally said, turning toward him. He caught Billy's hand between his own and turned it over, palm-up, his fingers calloused and warm against Billy's smooth skin. He smelled like…like something amazing.
Oh, oh, wow, Billy thought dazedly, squeezing his knees together against the liquid rush of heat low in his belly; the glide of the pen against his palm was the most arousing thing he'd ever felt. The sight of Teddy's golden hair falling into his face made him want to do something incredibly stupid, like lean forward and kiss him, or throw his arms around his neck, or… Or something. Anything.
"There," Teddy said, sitting back again. He didn't seem to notice the lightning storm raging inside of Billy, focused as he was on recapping his pen and sliding it back into his pocket. "Give me a call if you ever want to hang out or something. I mean, Billy and Teddy—we have to hang out just for that."
Billy nodded, breathless. "Yeah," he said, hoping his voice didn't sound as strained as he felt. He shifted in his seat, squirming. "It's fate or—uh—something."
Teddy grinned up at him, but then glanced over his shoulder to the counter, where the pastry clerk was leaning over the scarred wood and looking around, red-and-orange box in his hands. "I have to go," Teddy said, standing. "I just dropped in to pick up a cheesecake for my mom. It's her birthday," he added.
"Oh? Happy birthday. To her, I mean."
"Thanks." He took a step away before turning back again, meeting Billy's eyes earnestly. "I'm glad I ran into you," he said. "What happened before was—well... Anyway. I'll see you around."
"Yeah," Billy said, though Teddy was already trotting over to the pastry counter. "I'll see you," he murmured as he curled his fingers into a fist, watching as Teddy handed over a few bills and laughed at something the older man said. Billy looked down quickly when Teddy glanced over, then up again in time to give him a shy wave. Teddy waved back, boxed cheesecake in hand, before slipping out into the flurries of snow outside.
The store seemed suddenly very still, as if he'd taken all the color with him.
Stunned and pleased with himself, Billy dropped his gaze to his hands as he blew out a breath. He could hardly believe what had happened—but there it was, written across his palm in neat, boxy script.
212-555-3129.
He didn't look up when Jamie threw himself into the seat next to him, or even when Jamie punched him on the shoulder to get his attention. "Tell me everything!" Jamie demanded, a shrill note of excitement in his voice. Then, "Dude, is that his phone number?" as if Billy had done something incredible.
Maybe he had; he certainly felt as if he could take on the world. Teddy was handsome and popular and cool, and he wanted Billy to call him.
He wanted to hang out sometime.
Billy closed his hand into a tight fist, heart pounding loud enough to drown out the whole world.
**
CaptnAmazing: Sooo?
Avngerfan2119: What?
CaptnAmazing: You know very well what! Have you sealed the deal yet?
Avngerfan2119: Oh my God, I hate you.
**
212-555-31—
"Crap," Billy sighed, hanging up. He flopped back onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling with blind eyes. Ten simple numbers, one conversation—how hard could it be?
Impossible, if the last few days were anything to go by.
He squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing a palm over his brow, then sat up again. "Okay," Billy said, setting his jaw. "Okay." He flipped open his phone and began to dial slowly. 212-555-312—
"Crap!" He snapped the phone closed again and shoved it under his pillow, cheeks flushing hot. What was he going to say to Teddy, anyway? Hi, hello, just thinking about you obsessively; want to come hang out so I can stare at you some more?
"Oh—and PS, I'm totally mentally unhinged."
He flopped back, insides twisting with conflicting desires. The numbers were still visible on his palm, black ink just now beginning to spread out in little spider veins. Teddy had written them there; he'd grasped Billy's wrist in warm, calloused hands and brushed the pen over his skin.
Billy turned onto his side, sliding one hand under his pillow to wrap his fingers around the phone. All he had to do was bring himself to dial: ten numbers—ten simple numbers, a few seconds, and he'd hear Teddy's voice; he'd be talking to Teddy, and maybe he wouldn't crash and burn. Maybe he'd think of something clever to say; maybe he'd make Teddy laugh, like he had at the diner.
Teddy had a really great laugh.
"Easy," Billy said, knees curling up against the wild churning in his stomach. "You can do this. You can do this. You can do this. You can—"
He yelped when the phone buzzed in his hand, rings muffled by the pillow. Billy glanced toward the door guiltily—his mother was working on case notes in her office across the hall—and tugged the phone out to glance at the faceplate: Jamie. Billy sighed and flipped it open, leaning back against his pillows and staring across the dark room to his life-size poster of Antman. "Yeah?"
"So? Have you called him yet?"
"No, seriously, I hate you."
"Aw, come on. Seize the day, Billy! Carpe Hottie!"
**
212-555-3129: Hello?
212-555-8743: *click*
**
212-555-3129: Hello?
212-555-8743: ...
212-555-3129: Hello? Is anyone there?
212-555-8743: ... *click*
**
212-555-3129: This is Teddy.
212-555-8743: *click*
**
"Who do you keep calling?"
Billy looked up guiltily. Andy was standing in the doorway, toothbrush in one hand and lips flecked with white foam. His head was cocked to one side and his eyes were dancing merrily, as if he had a pretty good idea already.
Or, at least, he had a pretty good idea what kind call it was.
"No one," Billy said, fighting the impulse to hide his cell phone. What was it about little brothers and their noses for secrets, anyway? "Go away."
"If it's no one, why do you keep calling them?"
"Oh my God, if you don't go away, I swear I'll brain you," Billy growled, jumping to his feet and dropping the phone onto the bed as casually as he could manage. He doubted he was fooling anyone, but he had to try or die of embarrassment. He glowered at his brother as he stalked to the door, but Andy simply grinned through the mass of toothpaste now dribbling down his chin and let himself be pushed out of the doorway.
"Billy's in looooove," he crooned gleefully. Billy slammed the door in his face and turned the lock with a loud, angry click. He leaned against it, cheeks burning, but even through the thick oak he could still hear young voices drifting back to him.
"What's going on?"
"Billy's in looooove, David."
"Ooh, yuck, with who?"
"Dunno. Don't care! Billy's got a girlfriend! Billy's got a girlfriend!"
"...Um, okay, but I thought Billy was... I thought he didn't like... Um, I thought that he..."
Billy pushed himself away from the door and stumbled back to his bed, burying his burning face against the pillows. He didn't want to hear any more.
Only six more days, and winter break would be over.
**
CaptnAmazing: Oh crap, Billy, Spider-Man is outside Lotus signing autographs.
Avngerfan2119: Wait, what, seriously?
CaptnAmazing: Yes, and Mom won't let me go. She said it was family time. I can't believe this. I hate family time! A pox on my family.
Avngerfan2119: Mine will. Fill you in later.
CaptnAmazing: Haaaaate you.
**
Billy shoved his way off the train as politely as possible, tossing apologies over his shoulder as he stumbled onto the dirty station platform. The long ends of his winter coat swung behind him and his sneakers pounded against the concrete in a frantic rhythm as he wove his way through jaded locals and curious tourists.
"Excuse me, sorry," he said, quickly bypassing a harried-looking woman overburdened with shopping bags to race up the two flights of steps, until finally he broke to the surface and trotted down the street, breathing heavy white clouds into the cold air.
Lotus was a popular club, but he probably would have been able to spot it even if it had been a hole-in-the-wall bodega. Throngs of people milled about the sidewalk and spilled into the street, cameras flashing madly. The frenzy of bulbs was like a fireworks show, Billy thought dazedly, coming to the edge of the crowd. He ducked low, for once grateful he was so small, and began to weave his way through the throng.
"Sorry," he murmured, slipping between a pair of gawking twenty-somethings. "Excuse me. Sorry. Sorry!"
An oddly familiar voice was raised over the general hubbub, saying things like, "Hey, relax, Spidey and I aren't going anywhere," and "Well, hello there. Did you want to meet Spider-Man? Here, come stand by me and I'll be sure to introduce you."
He sounds like a carnival hawker, Billy thought, outraged. As if Spider-Man were some kind of sideshow freak. A growing part of him wondered if this was even really Spider-Man. There had been fakes before—people who cobbled together convincing enough costumes and paraded around as if they were the real deal.
But then he broke through to the front of the crowd and got his first real look at the hero, and all doubt fled. No, this was Spider-Man. His build was exact, his costume was perfect—even the way he held himself was true to everything Billy knew from years of obsessive study. Only an equally obsessive mimic could even hope to come so close, and the likelihood of that was small enough for him to dismiss it in a fit of fanboyish glee.
Oh. Oh. It was Spider-Man!
Billy grinned, bouncing up onto the balls of his feet in excitement. He couldn't believe his luck; he'd never managed to get within a few blocks of his hero—never mind this close, so near he could track each minute movement, could hear the familiar voice even above the crowd. Spider-Man was so close Billy could lunge forward and touch him if he wanted.
Not that he'd dare. But he could, and that was enough to make him dizzy with happiness.
He fumbled for his phone and flipped it open, determinedly weathering the jostling of the crowd. He wanted to call Jamie desperately. He wanted to call Teddy, and the idea of doing just that made him flush and grin in shy exultation. Teddy probably wouldn't mind; he'd probably be just as excited as Billy to be here, and it would be the perfect excuse he'd been waiting for.
But there was no way Teddy would be able to make it from Brooklyn in time, and it seemed cruel to call him over for nothing.
Mind made up, Billy pressed a few quick buttons and aimed his phone, snapping a series of pictures. He'd text them to Jamie later, and maybe when he and Teddy hung out some time, he could casually flip his phone open and show him.
He shifted his phone to get a better angle, no longer paying attention to the crowd even as it grew progressively wilder; when someone in the far back pushed forward, the entire front row staggered. A big man in cowboy boots stepped on Billy's foot, and he was nearly knocked into a pretty redheaded girl. She grabbed his shoulder as a tall boy behind her shoved closer. Billy pushed his phone into his pocket and tried to haul her up, suddenly alarmed.
The crowd was getting dangerous.
"Hey, whoa, wait a minute," Spider-Man said, hands lifted. It didn't do any good. The crowd was pushing forward with growing strength, narrowing the circle that surrounded the superhero. Billy looked around wildly, no longer certain he wanted to be in the center of the melee. He spotted an opening and ducked toward it, but another familiar voice brought him up short.
"Ow, wait, let go of me. Ow!"
He turned, heart hammering, and anxiously scanned the buffeting mass of people. The blonde hair caught his eye, bright and shining and pulled back into a neat ponytail. Samantha tried to push her way free, one arm lifted, but she was trapped between two lanky teens and an excited-looking middle-aged man.
"Sam!" Billy called, cupping his hands around his mouth. She turned her head toward him, blue eyes wide, and he cursed and darted into the thick of things. Spider-Man was calling desperately for order and his carnival hawker was saying things like, "Hey, chill out guys! There's plenty to go around!"
Billy darted under a wildly swinging elbow and barely squeezed between two arguing men. Someone in heavy boots stepped on his foot and Billy hissed in pain, lurching into the soft gut of a glowering man. "Sorry," he said, ducking under a heavy arm and squirming past a cursing woman. He could spot Sam's bright blue coat as she lifted her arm above the insane press, but the rest of her was lost. "Hey!" Billy yelled, trying to put as much authority into his voice as he could muster. He grabbed a boy's shoulder and pushed him aside, sidestepping the angry returned shove and grabbing a flailing red mitten.
"Sam! It's Billy," he yelled, squeezing her fingers. She squeezed back tightly and he took that as recognition—it would do for now, at least. "Come on!"
He cast around him before tugging her past the clump of now seriously-shoving men and through a small gap that had opened up. The crowd kept trying to swallow her up again, as if it could sense weakness, but Billy held on with grim determination, keeping her slight body next to his.
Jamie would kill him if he let anything happen to Sam.
The carnival hawker was yelling for people to make way, and Billy heard the all-too-familiar sound of fists meeting soft flesh. He winced and wrapped an arm around Sam's waist, glancing around for a weakness in the crowd. They were nearing the edge of it, they had to be, yet it seemed as if there was no end of people pushing and shoving and falling underfoot.
It was mayhem.
"Billy," Sam said, then, "Get your gosh-darned hands off me!"
Billy looked over, startled, and quaked inside at the sight of the big-shouldered man crowding close. He'd taken advantage of the cramped quarters, it seemed, to slip a thick hand into Sam's bright blue coat, and he was grinning despite—or maybe cause of—the girl's flushed-faced protests.
"Hey," Billy said weakly, then louder, "Hey!"
The man looked up, smirking, and allowed himself to be buffeted away by the swarm before Billy could think of what to do. The crowd seemed to part a little, pulling back, and suddenly the hawker was at Sam's elbow. He looked around before zeroing in on her pretty, flushed face, distracted from his feeble attempt to control the crowd. "Are you okay?" the boy asked, and Billy's eyes darted to his face for the first time as he recognized the voice.
"Greg the Asshole!" he blurted before he could stop himself.
Greg looked just as surprised as Billy felt. "Oh, it's you," he said, glancing almost guiltily over his shoulder toward Spider-Man. Spider-Man's back was to them as he tried to calm the crowd, gentle hands helping the young and elderly out of the crush. Greg turned his attention back to Billy, expression hardening. "What the fuck are you doing here, Dr. Ruth?"
Billy took an instinctive step back, but the crowd was packed too tightly. There was no escaping that way. "I—I just came to see Spider-Man," he said.
"Billy," Sam said, blue eyes mistrustful as she watched Greg.
Good instincts, Billy thought grimly, shoulders tightening when Greg reached out to put a hand on her arm. "Come on, sweetheart," Greg said, offering Sam a dazzling grin. It was strange how he could turn from menacing to charming in a flash—as fast as quicksilver. Billy could almost see how a girl would be drawn in by that lopsided smile and handsome face, and he hunched his shoulders as if preparing for a blow.
But Sam only narrowed her eyes and shook off Greg's hand. "I'm not your sweetheart," she bit out, voice steely.
Billy wanted to cheer; he wanted to laugh at Greg's surprised face. But then Greg began to pull away with a disgusted look, hands lifted. "Fine, have it your own way," he said, beginning to turn.
"What's going on here?"
Billy looked over, surprised, then nearly jolted back when he saw Spider-Man—Spider-Man, just a few feet from him!—looking between them anxiously. It seemed as if Spider-Man's eyes lingered on him a beat too long, but that could have been the thrill of the moment.
The crowd had fallen back some more to give them room, forming a ring around them. Oh my God, I'm standing next to Spider-Man, Billy thought dizzily, and he bit his lip hard when his hero turned to look at him again.
"We were just leaving," Sam said, sounding a bit breathless but firm. She squeezed Billy's hand and he squeezed back reflexively, nodding. "If you wouldn't mind helping us fight our way through?"
"Of course," Spider-Man said quickly. His gaze moved between Sam's face and Billy's, and he sounded almost eager to help. Your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man indeed. "I can lift you out easily."
Greg stepped in smoothly. "Two may be a bit of a struggle, Spider-Man," he said, "what with your webbing acting up and all. Why don't I take Dr. Ruth here, and you can heroically sweep the girl to safety?"
Billy's heart froze in his chest, and Sam narrowed her eyes. Even Spider-Man seemed wary. "I'm not sure," he began.
"Oh, well, in that case—you take the boy and I'll take the girl."
There was no way he was letting Sam be alone with Greg the Asshole. "No, it's fine," Billy said, letting go of Sam's hand. "You go ahead, ah, sir. I'll just..." He trailed off, gesturing.
"Billy," Sam protested, but Greg was all smiles and charm again. "No, hey, it's cool," he said. "We'll be fine. Just get the girl out of here, then beat a hasty exit, Spider-Man. It looks like you're more famous than either of us gave you credit for."
It was weird—wrong—seeing Greg the Asshole give casual orders to Spider-Man like that. It was even worse to watch him take them.
"You're right," Spider-Man said, not meeting Greg's eyes. He didn't look at Billy, either, focusing instead on the excited crowd circling around them like the arms of a hurricane. Then he offered a hand to Sam. "Come on," he said, getting a good grip before leading her away, sans webbing.
Billy frowned, watching them go. The crowd seemed to fold in on itself in his wake, moving closer to Billy and Greg, jostling for position. We're no longer the eye, Billy thought absently, steeling himself against the rough surge of people. He supposed it wouldn't have lasted anyway.
He moved as if to slip through the crowd, but Greg grabbed his arm and dragged him back. "Hey," Billy protested, trying to squirm away. He finally did manage to wrench his arm free with a sudden surge of fright, meeting Greg's dark eyes as steadily as he could. "Keep your hands off me," Billy said, fumbling for bravado. "Or I'll—I'll—"
"Yeah? Or you'll what?" Greg laughed—an ugly, mean laugh. The sound of it sent chills down Billy's spine. "Run find your little geek friend?"
Billy flinched as Greg's big fist shot out, grabbing hold of his shirt. "Coming through," Greg said, pushing through the crowd roughly as he dragged Billy behind him. He knocked people over heedlessly—an elderly woman with a kind face, a young man craning his neck to see the action, a boy and his mother standing toward the rear—and Billy winced as each of them was shoved aside. He twisted and squirmed to avoid them himself, to get free, but just as he reached up to grab at Greg's wrist and opened his mouth to call for help, he was forcefully shoved away.
Billy staggered down the slick sidewalk before losing his balance and stumbling to his knees. He caught himself with his palms, crying out in surprise at the sting, and looked up the meet Greg's eyes in silent shock.
The other boy stood over him, tall and handsome and terrible. His big fists were balled up and he looked unaccountably furious. Billy didn't understand, but he braced himself, uncertain whether to protect his head or his stomach—not sure what was coming next.
Greg leaned in, vibrating with rage. "Stay away from me," he hissed, low and angry, "and don't ask any questions, if you know what's good for you."
Ask any—"What?" Billy said, dizzy. The crowd was slowly beginning to break up since Spider-Man was gone, and he couldn't help but glance over his shoulder to see if he could spot his hero webbing away. No luck. "I don't understand. What are you talking about?"
Then, before he even knew what he was going to say, "What are you doing with Spider-Man?"
Billy could have swallowed his tongue; he almost wanted to at the sight of Greg's suddenly flushed face and balled fists. Billy ducked, too slow, as Greg grabbed him by the front of his shirt and shook him hard. His handsome face was pressed close, breath making thick puffs of condensed air around them.
"Shut. The fuck. Up," he hissed. "And stay the fuck away from me and mine. I don't need a little fag sticking his Goddamned nose in my business." Billy hunched his shoulders, not even trying to fight back. It only made it worse when he fought back. "You got that?"
He didn't answer. His palms stung and Greg's grip on his collar was so tight he could barely breathe.
Greg growled in response to his silence and shook him again until stars began to explode across his field of vision. But I haven't done anything, Billy wanted to protest. Or maybe, What are you up to that you're so desperate to keep me away?
Yet he didn't say either of those things; he wasn't sure he could speak now. The stars were fading into black holes that ate away at his vision like corrupted film.
Then another hand was on him and a furious voice was shouting, "You let go of him right the heck now or I swear I'll punch you in the nutsack so hard you'll be shitting sperm for the rest of your gosh-darn life!"
Greg's grip loosened abruptly and Billy fell back against the concrete, half supported by Sam. Her blonde hair was mostly falling out of its ponytail, cascading around him, and her pretty, freckled face was set in a mask of grim hatred as she glared up at Greg. She'd never looked so beautiful.
"Easy there, sweetheart," Greg said, straightening. A few lingering members of the crowd were looking their way, curious. "There's no call for any of this. Dr. Ruth and I were just having a little chat, that's all."
"For the last time, I'm not your sweetheart, and Billy's not your bitch, so just clear on out of here before I start screaming loud enough to drag the rest of the Avengers in on your sorry butt."
That, oddly enough, seemed to bring him up short. Greg's jaw tightened and he almost looked afraid for a moment. Sam was bluffing—of course she was—but even just the threat of the Avengers was enough to make Greg step away quickly. "Fine, whatever, you cunt," he said, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I'm through here anyway."
He turned on his heel and quickly strode down the clearing sidewalk in the direction Spider-Man had taken.
Billy drew in a shaky breath, rising to his knees. Sam was flushed with color and breathing hard, but there was a glint of victory in her eyes that he admired; he should have stood up to Greg. He felt it in his bones. But he hadn't had the guts—unlike Samantha.
"Thanks," Billy said quietly as he stood. He brushed himself off as she straightened, torn between shame, embarrassment, and an odd glow of pride.
"Thank you," she countered, pushing her hair back. "I thought I was going to get trampled in there."
"Yeah, well." He tried to smile. "We short people should stick together."
Sam laughed. "Definitely. Then at least we can stand on each other's shoulders. Are you going to be okay getting home? Do you need help?"
"Nah," Billy said quickly, touching his throat. It hurt, but it wasn't too bad. Kesler had done worse in the past. "I'm good. I'd better get back, though, so I can IM Jamie all about Spider-Man. He'll have fits of jealousy." In more ways than one.
She smiled warmly. "Okay, if you're sure. I'll see you around, Billy. Happy holidays!" She stepped back, heading toward the street, then paused. "Oh! And tell Jamie hello for me, will you?" Sam added before stepping off the curb and hurrying away.
Billy watched her go, pleased for his friend and, for an instant, forgetting Greg the Asshole. Then he swallowed, wincing in pain, and everything came crashing down again: Greg acting like some kind of carnival hawker for Spider-Man; Greg telling Spider-Man what to do; Greg's irrational anger, and his fear of the other Avengers.
Something, Billy thought grimly, is most definitely afoot.
Rubbing his neck gingerly, he dug into his pocket for his phone. He had to talk to Jamie about this.
**
212-555-8743: tell your parents they can spare you. im coming over.
212-555-9078: did you see him? did you get pictures? TELL ALL.
212-555-8743: oh i will. ten minutes.
**
"That's so weird," Jamie said again. He'd sat Billy down and forced him to tell the story straight through. And then again. And then one more time, just to be sure he got it all. Even still, he didn't seem to be able to absorb what had happened. "And Spider-Man was just letting Greg the Asshole boss him around?"
Billy shrugged helplessly. "Yeah. I mean, it sure seemed that way to me. Though I can't figure out why he'd let him. Greg is… Greg is just…"
"An asshole. Thus the name." Jamie made a face, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "It just doesn't make any sense."
"No," Billy agreed. "It doesn't make any sense at all. And why would he act so...guilty over it? Or, like, afraid of the Avengers?"
"Well," Jamie pointed out for what had to be the sixth time, "that part does make sense. Who in their right mind wouldn't be afraid of the Avengers? Or Sam." He grinned. "Wow. I mean, I knew she had it in her—she's amazing—but still, wow."
Billy made a face, but he didn't argue. Jamie was probably right about the Avengers. "It just seemed so wrong," he said wistfully. "The crowd was going crazy, and Spider-Man was helping a bit, but…not as much as he could have. Should have. Where was his spidey sense?"
"Maybe he was having an off day." Billy made another dubious face, but Jamie just shrugged it off this time. "I don't know, Billy. I agree, it sucks, and Spider-Man is way less cool now than he used to be, but… I don't think that there's anything nefarious going on between Greg the Asshole and Spider-Man. Greg is just as asshole."
"A giant asshole. A bigoted asshole."
"There are too many of those in the world," Jamie said. "But there are good people too, yeah? There's me, for instance. I'm awesome."
"Yeah. You're a real charmer."
"And you. You're all right, I guess. There's Sam. And then," Jamie added, eyes dancing, "there's Teddy."
Billy flushed and looked down at his hands. Jamie hooted a laugh and punched his shoulder happily. "Man, you really have the hots for him, don't you?" he teased. "Poor Johnny Storm—he's been replaced by some hottie in a striped sweater."
"Oh, shut up," Billy protested, but he couldn't swallow the pleased grin creeping across his face. "He just gave me his phone number. It doesn't mean anything."
But Jamie wouldn't be put off so easily. "This is the first phone number we've managed to score in our entire pathetic lives. I don't care how much you try to pretend your little heart doesn't go pitter-pat when you think about him—I'm going to be excited about it!"
He paused then, looking thoughtful. "Though," Jamie said slowly, "I do have to meet him. I mean, what if I don't approve of your potential boyfriend? I'm going to have to get vetting rights. It's only fair, after putting up with you for so long."
"Put up with me?" Billy sputtered. "After listening to you moan about Samantha since we were all in grade school together, I…and I'm not even mooning over…and…"
He flipped Jamie off as his best friend laughed, merciless in his teasing.
"Oh, God, you really do have a thing for him, don't you?" Jamie said, visibly delighted. "You're so turned around you can't even speak! Have you called him yet?"
Billy grumbled under his breath, looking down at his hands.
"I'm sorry, I don't speak fluent sulk-ese. What was that?"
"I said no."
Jamie blinked at him, then reached back and grabbed one of the pillows off his bed, thwacking Billy across the head with it. "Ow, hey!" Billy protested, trying to snatch the pillow away. "What was that for?"
"For supreme idiocy!" Jamie said, looking stern. "Even I know that when a girl—or a guy, as the case may be—gives you their number, you call."
"I'm going to!" Billy protested, finally wresting the pillow away. He folded his arms around it and held on tight to keep Jamie from stealing it back again. "I will," he added at Jamie's dubious look. "I'm just…building up mystique."
Jamie sniffed. "Or your pathetic courage."
"Or that," Billy agreed. His stomach twisted as he thought about calling Teddy. But Jamie was right about a lot of things: about Greg the Asshole, about Teddy, about Billy. He should call. He would call.
As soon as he found the nerve.
**
212-555-9078: No, seriously, you should stop being a baby and call him. It's New Year's Eve! If you regret it in the morning, you can blame it on too much sparkling grape juice.
212-555-8743: You're the worst best friend ever. Stop calling me!
**
212-555-9078: But really, if you just called him—
212-555-8743: Oh my God, let it go!
**
212-555-9078: But who better to ring in the New Year with, huh? Am I right?
212-555-8743: ...
212-555-9078: On that note, my pillow misses you.
**
When Jamie called to harass him for the sixth time that night, Billy had had enough. "Oh my God, if you don't stop calling me, I swear I will beat you to death with your plaster bust of She-Hulk!"
There was a long, awkward silence, then the voice on the phone—the voice which was most definitely not Jamie's—said, "Well, I wasn't expecting that."
Billy froze. His brain felt like a hamster on a wheel, turning over and over with dizzying rapidity. His heart was thrumming in his chest and he thought, dimly, that he might as well die now. "Oh. Oh, crap," he said. "Teddy. I thought—I was—I—how did you get my number?"
"Well, I kept getting hang-ups from a mysterious 212-555-8743, so I figured I'd take the chance that it was you and not some kind of creepy, mouth-breathing phone stalker."
"Oh." Oh, crap. He hadn't even thought of it like that. He hadn't even thought, period. "I'm. I. Oh."
Why couldn't he speak?
"But it all worked out. Unless you plan on being a creepy, mouth-breathing phone stalker, in which case I feel compelled to warn you that I not only saw Scream six times, I also know When a Stranger Calls by heart. So I am wise to your ways."
"Um."
"Right. Sorry. Uh, did I call you at a bad time? I could hang up and pretend I was drunk or something tomorrow morning."
That, at least, spurred his brain into some kind of response. "Too much sparkling grape juice," Billy said, leaning back against his wall and pressing a hand over his heart; he could feel it racing, beats thudding quick and sharp against his fingertips.
Teddy laughed. "Right. That stuff kicks my butt."
Billy could hear the blare of horns and the dim thrum of bass-heavy music through the phone. "Where are you?"
"I'm in the city. Some stupid club that my friends dragged me to for New Years, but I've been ditched. I thought maybe I'd give you a call to see if you wanted to, you know, hang out." He paused. "Uh, and I realize that sounded bad—that I was ditched, then called you, but in my defense... I don't have a defense, actually. But I have been hoping you'd call."
Oh. Oh, God. He'd been hoping... "No, great, fine, it's fine," Billy said quickly, breathless. "I'm, yeah, I'm free."
"Awesome! I was heading toward Union Square, if you want to meet there. Or I can come uptown to around your place."
"No, Union Square sounds good. I'll be there soon. Fifteen minutes!"
"I'll be here."
When Billy hung up, he barely knew what to do with himself. He was grinning so hard that his cheeks hurt, and the crushing embarrassment had turned into soaring elation with just a few minutes of conversation.
Teddy had called him. Teddy wanted to hang out.
"Oh crap," he said happily, squeezing his phone tight before launching into action. He didn't have much time to get dressed into something a little less geektastic—fifteen minutes was cutting it close enough as it was—but he threw off his clothes and tugged on clean jeans and a Threadless hoodie in record time. Billy hopped from foot to foot as he jammed on his socks and shoes, then nearly strangled himself with his scarf when he tried to throw it on over his coat without untangling it from its hook.
"Shit, shit, shit, come on," he chanted, yanking on the scarf frantically until it finally tugged free. He patted his pockets to check for his wallet, Metro card and keys before hurrying out of his room. "I'm heading out!" he called as he raced past his parents' office. Andy and David were downstairs in the den watching Anderson Cooper and Kathy Griffin.
His mom stuck her head out of the office as Billy dashed down the stairs. "Be safe and remember your curfew," she called after him. Billy could hear his father's voice drifting down, "Say hello to Jamie for us."
David was already beginning to wail about how Billy got to go out until two am while they were stuck at home as Billy slammed the door shut behind him. He paused on the brick stoop, drawing in a steadying breath of cold air. It was dark, but lights were coming out of the windows of the brownstones up and down his street. A mix of light mist and snow fell around him. Someone down the block was singing as she walked her dog.
And Teddy was waiting for him at Union Square.
Grinning, Billy jumped down the steps and sprinted down the sidewalk. The sharp thwap thwap of his sneakers was a counterbalance to the rapid staccato of his heartbeat. A bodega owner was leaning in the doorway of his store, smoking a cigarette, and Billy grinned at him as he raced by, buoyed by the memory of the sound of Teddy's voice, of his laughter.
The train took forever to come, and by the time Billy stepped into the R, he thought he would come right out of his skin with excitement. The train was crowded with revelers from Queens and the mood of the cramped subway car was electric. He tried not to let the nervous energy overtake him, instead closing his eyes and picturing Teddy: blonde hair falling into blue eyes; a wide, perfect smile; features that were so symmetrical, so obviously beautiful that it seemed almost impossible.
His stomach twisted at the memory and he thought for an anxious moment that he was going to hurl—but then 14th Street-Union Square was announced and Billy stepped off the train.
The Square was crowded with late-night shoppers and party-goers. Billy shoved his hands into his pockets and looked around anxiously, trying to spot Teddy over the crowd. He stepped past the pagoda exit, glancing across the street toward Whole Foods before turning around and looking toward the center of the park.
Teddy was sitting on a rickety old chair, laughing as he moved a chess piece. A nut-faced old man sat across from him, bundled up to his wispy white hair with at least three separate scarves. He was gesturing broadly as Billy approached, lecturing Teddy on... something.
Oh, the rules of chess. Right.
"A game of kings!" the old man said, moving his pawn. "A game of generals!"
"I'm more of a infantry man, myself," Teddy remarked, reaching out to move one of his pieces.
The old man smacked his hand before he could close his fingers around the knight. "No! No, no, no, do you learn nothing?"
"Um, try the bishop," Billy said and then hunched his shoulders a little, embarrassed, when both Teddy and the man looked up at him. "Hi," he added, lifting a hand in an awkward wave.
The man glowered; Teddy grinned. "Billy, hey," he said, climbing to his feet. He reached out, and for one dizzying moment Billy thought he was going to hug him, but Teddy merely clasped his shoulder in a friendly way and led him to the chess table. "Come on, man, take my place. Clarence here is kicking my ass, and he just won't take ignorance as a defense."
"There is no excuse for stupidity," Clarence sniffed, eyeballing Billy balefully. "Are you as brainless as your pretty friend?"
"Teddy's not stupid," Billy protested, letting himself fall into the chair. Teddy crouched near him, nudging Billy's knee playfully with his elbow. "Well, you're not."
Teddy shook his head. "In the sport of kings, I'm a self-confessed dunce. Come on and kick his wizened old ass so we can grab a late dinner."
Billy flushed and nudged Teddy back before focusing on Clarence again. Clarence looked like any number of his grandfather's friends in Boca—old, crotchety, and gleeful in his bad-tempered abuses. "All right," Billy said, meeting the old man's eyes. "Let's do this."
Clarence scoffed. "You're going to lose, little boy. I'm something of a wizard at chess."
Billy grinned. "Bring it, Dumbledore."
He wasn't sure how long the match lasted—Clarence was good, but Billy had learned chess at his father's knee. Teddy remained crouched by him as the game went on, the weather occasionally improving and worsening. He left and returned once with cups of rich hot chocolate, and he never seemed particularly bored, though Billy couldn't see how he could be enjoying himself.
When Clarence finally won, it was late and snowing fitfully. "Check and mate," the old man said, looking fiercely gleeful—and a little respectful.
Billy knocked his king over with a smile. "I guess you are something of a wizard after all. Thanks for the match, sir."
But Clarence waved off his good manners as he stood, rubbing at his back fitfully. "You don't suck as bad as Blondie, I'll give you that," he said. Teddy stood from his easy crouch and began gathering up the pieces for him, sliding them into Clarence's worn case with respectful tidiness. "I come here most every day to see what's what. If you come back, I won't want to kill myself rather than play you."
Billy bit back a grin. "I'll do that. Thank you, sir."
"And you," Clarence added, glowering at Teddy. "You come and watch. Learn a thing or two from your friend. I suppose I won't want to kill myself rather than look at you for a few hours now and again."
Teddy glanced at Billy, blue eyes dancing, but he just said, "Thanks, I'll come. Until next time, Clarence."
"Goodbye, sir."
The old man just waved them off, shuffling toward the Metro station with his box of chess pieces tucked under his arm. When he was gone, Teddy turned to Billy, brow arched. "So, you're a genius too, huh?"
"Uh, no, not even," Billy countered, looking up at him with a flush. "He was probably going easy on me."
"Somehow I doubt it." Teddy checked his watch. "It's 11:14. Do you want to grab something to eat?"
"Sure," Billy said quickly. "That sounds good. Um, where?"
"There's Max Brenner's, which is always good... but it's pretty loud. How about Chat N' Chew?"
He'd never heard of it, but that didn't matter—he'd go anywhere Teddy suggested. "That sounds fine. Great! Uh, lead the way."
Teddy cocked his head toward the road and headed off, hands sliding into his pockets. Billy followed, casting occasional, surreptitious glances at him. Teddy was wearing the black wool coat again, red scarf knotted around his neck. His jeans were dark and worn in, and his shoelaces were trailing in the gathering puddles. "Your shoelaces," Billy said, pointing.
Teddy didn't even look down. "Yeah, they do that. My mom keeps threatening to buy me Velcro shoes if I can't learn to keep them tied."
"That could be cool. Maybe they could have GI Joes on them, too. You'd be, like, the envy of every fifth-grader out there."
Teddy glanced at him with a crooked grin. "Cobra Commander would be sweet," he said.
"And hey, maybe they could even light up when you walked."
"All right, smartass." Teddy took a fake swipe at him, but he paused to tie his laces, forming messy loops that would surely unravel with only a little provocation. "There. Saved from Velcro light-up shoes for another day."
"You may think I'm joking, but I'm going on ebay tonight."
It was strange how easy it was to talk to Teddy when he didn't let himself think. Teddy had a great sense of humor—or, at least, he seemed to have Billy's sense of humor, and their conversations just flowed. He laughed at all the right jokes, playfully teased Billy without once taking it too far, and took Billy's own teasing in stride.
The diner was perfect for extended conversations, too, Billy mused, looking around when Teddy excused himself for the bathroom. It had a oldstyle bar-slash-country restaurant feel to it, random kitchy odds and ends stacked up in corners, amusing old advertisements pinned to the walls. It felt like the kind of place Teddy would like.
He was picking at his food again when his phone rang, and Billy glanced at the faceplate before flipping it open. "You have to stop calling me, Jamie," he began.
"No, but seriously, Billy. The hotties to the bold."
"No, but seriously, Jamie. I'm, uh, out with him right now."
Jamie was silent on the other end of the line. Then he began whooping loudly—very loudly—in excitement. Billy pulled the phone away from his ear, making a face, and let Jamie shout himself out for a few seconds. "Jamie. Jamie!" he finally interrupted. "Okay, God, shut up. Yes, I'll call you in the morning. But you can't call me any more tonight, okay?"
"Roger. Radio silence. Oh my God, one of us got a date."
"It isn't a date!" Billy hissed. He could see Teddy heading toward him. "Now go away. I'll call you later."
"Right. Good luck. Oh, hey, kiss him at midnight for m—"
Billy hung up.
"Hey," Teddy said, sliding into his chair. "They have a picture of Spider-Man eating Thanksgiving on a Roll in the hallway."
"Oh, yeah? Oh!" Billy leaned forward, pushing aside his empty plate. "Speaking of Spider-Man, I have to show you this." He flipped open his phone again and pressed a few buttons, turning the screen so Teddy could see the pictures he'd snapped.
Spider-Man, outside of Lotus. In one picture, Billy could even see half of Greg the Asshole's face.
He looked up at Teddy, grinning, expecting him to be excited and envious that Billy had gotten so close. But Teddy looked surprisingly anxious—a little green, too, as if he weren't feeling well. "What's wrong?" Billy asked, immediately concerned.
Teddy shook his head slightly, then tried to smile. It was dull and obviously forced. "What? Nothing. Everything's fine. Hey, are you done? We should get the check."
"Wh—yeah, um, I'm done." Billy shut the phone and pushed it into his pocket, confused. What had he done wrong? "Uh, are you sure everything's..."
"Yeah, just a little tired. It's pretty late." Teddy waved the waitress over and pulled out his wallet.
Billy straightened. "Oh, hey, let me get—"
But Teddy interrupted him. "No, I've got it. You can pick up the tab next time."
Next time. With those two words, Billy no longer cared about Teddy's odd reaction to the pictures. Teddy was assuming there'd be a next time. Teddy wanted to hang out with him again. "Yeah, of course, yes," Billy said, unable to fight back the grin. "I'll pay next time."
"Maybe you could call sometime this weekend and we could do something?"
"Yeah, that sounds really good."
They paid up and headed outside. The light flurry had let up again, but the air smelled like cold and rain. Billy tugged his scarf up to cover his nose, falling into step with Teddy as they walked away from the restaurant. They moved slowly, meandering, and the silence that fell between them was remarkably comfortable.
Which, of course, meant Billy had to break it.
"I'm, um, really glad you called," he said, studying the sidewalk intensely. "I mean, I'm sorry you were ditched, but... Yeah, anyway."
"Yeah, me too. Thanks for coming to hang out with me, Billy." They were silent for a few more steps, then Teddy lightly nudged his shoulder. Billy looked up at him, trying to keep his expression from reflecting the bubbling warmth he felt inside. "Look at the time," Teddy said, nodding toward a darkened storefront.
Billy followed his line of sight to the clock in the window. The hour hand was pointing firmly at 12. The minute hand was almost touching it.
"Oh," Billy said, flushing with heat. Midnight. Midnight on New Year's Eve, and here he was with Teddy.
He stopped, staring blankly at the clock as the second hand ticked around the wide white face. His skin prickled and his entire frame felt as if it were conducting electricity; it sparked deep inside him, making his body hum.
God, he was stupid to even hope. Of course Teddy wasn't going to kiss him. Teddy was straight. And even if he weren't, Teddy was obviously out of his league. Teddy was...
Teddy was...
Teddy was pretty much everything he'd wanted his first, real crush to be. Even if Teddy never dreamed of kissing him, Billy was fiercely glad to be where he was right now.
He looked over to Teddy's face, soaking in the way moonlight reflected off the sun-warmed cheeks, the blue eyes. Teddy's expression was peaceful, almost serene, and Billy felt a measure of tranquility just looking at him and watching the play of shadows as the seconds ticked away to midnight.
I'm glad we met, Billy thought. He gently nudged Teddy's shoulder when the clock began to chime midnight and, all the way up at 42nd street, the mad crowd began to cheer as the ball finally dropped.
"Happy New Year," Billy said, and for the first time in a long time, it felt like that might actually come true.
**
212-555-3129: Teddy's phone, Greg here. Teddy's too busy being a giant pussy to talk—can I take a message?
Hello?
Hello? …No, they hung up, dude. Hey, who the hell is Billy?
**
Billy hung up quickly, cheeks stained pink. He dropped the phone onto his bed, staring down at it as if he'd been bitten, feeling strangely hot and cold all at once.
Greg. Greg the Asshole. And Teddy laughing in the background, crying out protests as if he were trying to wrestle the phone away.
Billy jumped to his feet and paced to his desk, stomach twisting in complicated knots. He didn't know why it surprised him that Greg was hanging out with Teddy. They were friends, after all—Billy knew that. He'd seen them together at the bookstore, when Greg had slung an easy arm around Teddy's shoulders and said, "And you—we've got a party to go to. They'd be pretty disappointed if the guest of honor didn't show up, yeah?"
But somehow it did surprise him. Maybe it was how easily Greg had called him a… called him a fag. Teddy didn't seem like the kind of guy who'd be friends with someone who could say that. Or maybe it was the way Greg had grabbed Billy's collar and yanked him away, as if he were a dog.
The way he'd threatened him outside of Lotus, violence barely leashed.
He glanced back toward his phone, biting his lower lip. Teddy probably had a good explanation for their friendship. Maybe they'd known each other for years, since they were kids, like Billy and Jamie. Maybe… Maybe Greg had something over him, like blackmail or something. Or maybe Teddy just didn't know what a bigoted jerk his friend was.
But no. No, he'd been there, looking sorry, as Greg yanked Billy away. He'd watched, and he hadn't done anything.
"Teddy, you done geeksurfing yet? I got what we needed."
Billy blew out a breath and let his forehead drop against the windowpane. The glass was cold against his flushed skin; he could see flurries of snow circling outside. His heart ached, and his chest felt tight, and his mind kept going, but but but, as he spun his mental wheels and tried to come up with excuses.
Teddy and Spider-Man. It was like the universe was trying to tell him something.
"Okay," Billy muttered, then louder, "okay." He turned and leaned back against the sill, looking down at his feet.
"Okay," he repeated.
Fact: He liked Teddy. He liked him a lot, even. Not just because he was hot as hell and made Billy's stomach twist in pleasant awareness. He seemed like such a nice guy, and he had a great smile, and he was funny and charming and easy to talk to.
Fact: Teddy was a superhero geek, like him. Maybe he kept it hidden from his other friends, or maybe he let his geek flag fly… but no, Greg the Asshole probably wouldn't have been so casual with putting Billy down if that were true. So, Teddy was a geek and kept it hidden.
Fact: Teddy seemed to like him for some reason Billy couldn't put his finger on. Maybe it was because he was a secret geek, and like most geeks, he longed for someone with whom to nerd out. Maybe Billy was the first person outside the internet that Teddy had met who could chat Iron Man and Kang the Conqueror without judging him.
Fact: Teddy was pretty much the whole package—hot, friendly, funny, smart, geeky. But—
Fact: Teddy was close friends with bigots.
Billy frowned and scuffed his foot against the floor, wanting to squirm away from that thought, but he couldn't: it was true, he knew it was true, and he couldn't think of any way to sugarcoat it. Maybe Teddy and Greg had been friends for years and years—that didn't excuse Greg for being a bigot or Teddy for tolerating it. There were lines. There had to be.
Billy had to draw lines. He just wasn't sure he could.
He threw himself down on his bed, flinging an arm over his eyes, trying to blot out the image of Teddy's face lifted toward the moon as the clock hit midnight—the image of Greg thrusting Billy out of the crowd, expression twisted and fists clenched as Billy desperately tried to protect his face—Teddy grinning across the chess board at a glowering old man—Greg sliding an arm around Teddy's shoulders as if it belonged there.
As if Teddy were his.
As if. As if. As if.
"God!" Billy snarled, grabbing his pillow and flinging it at the wall. It hit Captain America square in the face and dropped to the floor with a soft thwump. He grabbed his other pillow and flung it too, not caring when it knocked over a row of figurines.
It would be one thing if Teddy were an asshole like Greg—then Billy could just cut him out of his life. But he wasn't—he wasn't—and Billy wasn't sure he'd be able to bring himself to do it.
"Asshole. Asshole. You stupid asshole," Billy muttered, covering his ears and curling up, hating himself. They didn't cover these kinds of situations in stupid after-school specials; Zach Morris didn't have to decide whether he wanted to be friends with Slater after A.C. Slater's best friend beat up a few fags.
He knew what his conscious was telling him to do. He knew what his common sense was telling him to do. But his heart kept tightening up, bit by bit, stuttering hard in his chest as if in protest, until it hurt to fucking breathe. He wanted to be friends with Teddy. He wished he could be more to Teddy. He wasn't sure he should. He wasn't sure it would be right to support Greg by association—to say it was okay for Teddy to like them both.
He wasn't sure of anything.
And it wasn't fair.
Shoulders hunched, legs drawn up, Billy stared balefully at the unhelpful posters of his heroes and had no fucking clue what to do next.
**
CaptnAmazing: I made it back—home sweet craphole. I can't believe school starts back tomorrow.
Avngerfan2119: Yeah.
CaptnAmazing: You be careful. I don't like that Kesler the Jackhole has been bothering you again.
Avngerfan2119: It's okay. I can take care of it.
CaptnAmazing: Uh-huh. That's us, right? Scrawny but scrappy, like two little superheroes.
Avngerfan2119: Oh yeah. We're oh-so heroic.
**
Billy sat on the low brick wall, staring moodily into space. The snow flurries that had marked Christmas break had ended, leaving the ground dismal and brown. The last few leaves drifted from mostly bare trees, falling into soggy drifts.
He shifted, wincing despite himself, and reached up to gingerly touch his face. His nose and eye burned dully, throbbing in time with his heartbeat. It hurt to breathe.
There's no way I can hide it this time, he thought.
Billy dropped his hand with a sigh. His limbs felt heavy and listless, and all he wanted to do was curl up somewhere warm and sleep. He hadn't even seen it coming—that was the hell of it. Usually he was so careful, but this time… there had been too much on his mind.
Teddy had been on his mind; Teddy was still on his mind, and his entire body ached like one giant bruise.
Fuck, no, he wasn't going to cry. He wasn't going to cap off his day by giving in to that.
Billy frowned down at his feet fiercely, trying to drag up the tattered shreds of his self-righteous anger. He didn't care that he was different, right? He and Jamie, they were geeks, they were nerds, they didn't fit in… and that was okay.
He was okay.
People like Kesler were jerks. Predators and jocks and bullies and—and—
"Oh hell," he said quietly, closing his eyes.
And then a soft, accented voice interrupted his thoughts. "Excuse me, are you all right?"
Billy opened his eyes, catching sight of a woman in red clothes hovering near him with palpable concern, but he didn't lift his head. "I'll be okay," he said dully. "Thanks."
"You're bleeding."
He reached up again to touch his nose, tentatively dabbing at the bead of blood still trickling down his busted lip. "Sorry," he said. "I thought it stopped."
"What happened?" She moved to sit beside him, pushing back the hood of her brightly colored jacket. Billy was aware of a tumble of loose curls and a sweet, earthy smell, like jasmine and fresh soil.
His nostrils flared at the scent, familiar and yet not, and he shrugged a shoulder reflexively, hand dropping away. "I kinda got punched in the face. Repeatedly."
"Why?"
"Because I'm…" A fag. Stupid. Weak. Lame. "Different."
"A mutant?"
He snorted, then winced in pain. "I wish," he muttered. If he were a mutant, he would at least have the tools to fight back.
"No, you don't. Believe me," the woman said, tugging a handkerchief from her pocket. She lifted his chin with gentle yet firm fingers, turning his face toward hers so that she could inspect the damage. "Being a mutant only makes people want to punch you more."
Billy's eyes flickered to hers, then widened. He felt a jolt of shock, like lightning coursing through him, chasing away the remnants of pain. "Oh, my God… You're… the Scarlet Witch." He was talking to the Scarlet Witch, an Avenger, a hero. One of his heroes. " You're my favorite Avenger," Billy said earnestly before flushing darkly and ducking his head. "I can't believe I just said that out loud."
"Don't worry," Wanda murmured with a warm smile, pulling his face back up to dab away the blood. "I won't tell She-Hulk if you won't."
"Deal." His eyes moved back to her face as if drawn by lodestones. She was so beautiful—prettier in person than in the news—and her voice was low and deep and lulling. Somehow he'd always expected her to have a higher voice—pretty, soprano—but Wanda's real voice was better than anything he'd imagined, better than he could have imagined. Everything about her was wonderful, he thought dazedly, letting her wipe away the last of the blood. "I…I can't believe I'm actually talking to you."
"Why?"
Billy blinked, and she dropped her hands to look at him, neatly folding the handkerchief away. "Um. Because you're… you're a hero."
Wanda tucked back a reddish curl, one brow arching. "I see. And that means I'm not a woman as well?"
"Um. What?"
"I'm not human? I don't go on walks or meet strangers or talk to boys with all the world perched on their shoulders?"
He shrugged his shoulders, embarrassed. "No. I mean. That's not what I meant. It's just. You're the Scarlet Witch. You're an Avenger. I guess I just… never pictured you out of your costume."
"You never pictured me out of my costume, hm? That is a relief."
Wanda's dark eyes danced mischievously and Billy cocked his head, missing the joke. Then it hit him and he went red, nearly tumbling off the low wall with embarrassment. "Oh my God, not like that! I mean, like that, but—I never—Crap, why couldn't I have just let Kesler kill me?" he said with a mortified laugh, covering his face. Now he couldn't help but picturing her out of her costume, and that was almost as wrong as imagining one of his teachers naked. Or, God, his mother.
"Tch, no. You shouldn't say that," Wanda said firmly, teasing gone out of her voice. She touched his wrist, gently tugging his hands from his face. Her fingers were soft and cool against his skin. "Walk with me," Wanda said suddenly, standing, "and tell me what happened."
Billy looked up at her, bewildered—somewhere between mortified and awed that she even cared. Nevertheless, he stumbled to his feet, grabbing his bookbag and slinging it carefully over his shoulder. They walked together, going slowly because it hurt Billy to move too fast. His ribs ached with each step he took, and he thought he'd probably be in even more pain in the morning, but somehow standing next to her, it didn't seem so bad.
"Well?"
He glanced up at her through his lashes. "It's not…it's just this guy at school. Well, these guys."
"And they bully you?"
"Boys being boys. That's what I should say, I guess. Or maybe, it's nothing, I can handle it. But, yeah. They do."
"Because you're different."
He winced a little, looking out toward the skyline. The city was grey and lavender, dusk gathering rapidly. "Yeah," he said, feeling unaccountably sad, "because I'm different."
Her fingers brushed his. "And you cannot pretend to be like the others. You cannot make compromises to fit in."
"No. Stupid, I know. If I just tried harder, it'd probably be all right." He wondered whether that was what Teddy did—tried hard enough. Teddy who looked so cool, who could laugh and sling his arm around Greg's neck, and who secretly made bad jokes and longed to see Spider-Man. "I just. Can't."
"No. And you shouldn't. But you shouldn't turn your cheek and let anyone hurt you, either."
Billy looked up, surprised. He hadn't expected that. "I'm sorry—what?"
"You should fight back. You should always fight back."
He shook his head, stunned into silence. That was the opposite of anything his parents had ever told him, the opposite of anything he'd ever told himself, though there were times—plenty of them—when he'd wished he could fight back. He just wasn't sure he'd be able to—not to save his own hide.
"So, when you see this bully at school tomorrow, what are you going to do?" Wanda asked, breaking into his thoughts.
Billy paused, making a face as he considered offering a bold lie. Instead he answered honestly. "Run as quickly as possible in the other direction."
"No, you're going to stand your ground. Show him you're not afraid."
"But I am afraid," he protested. "If I had powers—"
She stopped and he turned to face her, a little desperate. That was the crux of it, wasn't it? Even if he wanted to fight back, to be a hero—and fine, yes, he wanted that more than he cared to admit—there was nothing he could do. Boys like Kesler or Greg the Asshole could always push him back down again, make him feel small.
But Wanda was shaking her head, expression stern. "You do. Everyone has some gift—something they do better than anyone else."
Billy tried to smile. "I don't think my keen analytical skills are any match for John Kesler's simian strength, so I plan to stay out of his way."
"In my experience, the more we do what other people want us to, the more we get into trouble. Be yourself, and the Keslers of the world can't touch you."
"Despite all physical evidence to the contrary," he said, gesturing to his battered face.
Unexpectedly, Wanda smiled, lips curving up at the corners as she looked at him. She reached out to touch a finger to the tip of his nose and Billy instinctively closed his eyes, lifting his face toward the caress.
Red light washed over him—through him; he felt it coursing through his blood in a rosy wave, warm and bright and beautiful. Billy gasped in a breath, lashes flickering: it felt like a thousand-year-old thirst being quenched; it felt like sunlight after he'd clawed his way from a grave; it felt—
It felt like every overblown analogy he could muster, and more. It felt like a homecoming.
"What physical evidence?" Wanda murmured, kissing his cheek. The smell of jasmine and earth surrounded him, comforting. "Stand your ground," she said. "See what happens. You may be surprised."