Spider-Man:The Other Option

Ned wipes his eyes on the back of his wrist again, but the tears aren ' t coming as freely anymore. He sniffs.

"Uh, more like how could I be so slow. I went straight to Morita as soon as you emailed this morning. I skipped first period. I would have skipped the rest of the day, but then they would have called my mom and, well, you know. Ugh, speaking of—"

Ned looks at his watch, then over his shoulder at the beginnings of the rush hour traffic in the street beyond. He gives Peter a strained look.

"It's fine," says Peter. "You've already—I don't even know how to thank you." Ned reaches into the front pocket of his jeans and pulls out—a flip phone. It ' s tiny and so outmoded Peter almost doesn ' t recognize it as a phone until Ned presses it into his hands.

"You can thank me," he says, "by using that."

"Uh, thanks Ned, but Skip actually got me a phone. A freaking StarkPhone , and—" "Okay, that is insanely cool and we will be talking about all of this as soon as I get home, but right now just shut up for a second. That's a burner phone."

Peter raises an eyebrow.

"This is very Q of you, Ned."

"Yes, it is, and also don't make fun of me, because you know this is a good idea. I got it at the bodega at lunch. I only prepaid twenty bucks, so you should only use it for emergencies, but it's small and it's worth pretty much nothing, so if you're ever—if you ever need to, you can hide it. And you can use it to call me. And—"

Ned snatches the phone back, flips it open, and points to the number one, which he has colored in with a red Sharpie.

"Panic button," he says. "I did it during study hall. There ' s a tiny tracker inside — you remember the robotics camp I did two summers ago? I made a bunch of them for my drones —so if you press it, your location gets sent straight to my phone. That way if you ever can't call me—I'll still know where you are."

It's Peter's turn: tears well up in his eyes before he can help himself.

"This is—" Peter swallows. "I've really missed you, Ned." Ned hugs him again. It's briefer than the one in the elevator, but just as good.

" I will see you, " says Ned, " at school. Which is just — " He pulls away and makes the universal sign for mind-blowing. He looks up at the building they've just left. "Skip is actually pretty cool, isn't he?"

A small shiver runs up the length of Peter's spine, just like when Skip took his hand last night.

(Irrational.)

(Isn't it?)

"Yeah," says Peter, "I guess he is."

Ned immediately resumes his barrage of text messages and email the second Peter is back in the apartment, and since Skip is in the kitchen, Peter retreats to his room to slowly fill Ned in on the events of the last few months. Ned's righteous indignation on his behalf is a panacea for his throbbing hand and the lingering disbelief about the halfway housedisbelief that it happened at all, as well as disbelief that he is actually out —but somehow doesn't soothe the buzz in the back of his skull, nor the chittering little ghoul on his shoulder. Peter knows he is supposed to feel safe now, but somehow he feels even more on edge than he did at the halfway house. He keeps expecting his social worker to pop up and tell him there's been an enormous mistake.

Which is why when Skip actually does pop into his room about thirty minutes after Ned leaves, Peter jumps so hard he almost falls off the bed. He scrambles to his feet, stuffing the StarkPhone into his back pocket alongside the burner phone, heat rising on the back of his neck.

Skip doesn't laugh, though. He looks Peter up and down, the way he did last night, and says, "Come into the living room for a minute. I want you to meet the girls."

Peter follows him back to the living area, where the babysitter from last night, Bea, is helping the girls out of their backpacks and rain boots. The twins are perfectly identical, down to their matching outfits — dresses slathered in pictures of horses over pink leggings—but Peter knows which one is Lily right away, because as soon as she sees him she gasps, flails out of her jacket, and wraps her arms around his knees.

"You aren't sleeping so I'm allowed to do this now," she informs him. "Emma. Emma, look. New brother, Emma!"

"Hey, Lily." Peter puts a hand on her head and feels, for the first time since she sneaked into his room that morning, calm. Kids, at least, he can handle. Kids don't drink and carry around rolled-up magazines in case they want to swat you like you're a poisonous insect. Kids don't put locks on the front door and the refrigerator and sneer at you like they wish you were dead every time they're in the same room. Kids are safe. "Is this your sister?"

"Uh-huh. Emma, come say hi. Come on!"

But where her sister is all enthusiasm, Emma shrinks behind Bea the moment Peter looks at her. Despite all Lily's bright-eyed babbling and easy trust, it appears Emma does not feel the same way about Peter as Peter does about her. She peers at him with a dark, cautious expression, her hands wrapped in Bea ' s coat until the babysitter gently untangles them.

"Sorry, Em," says Bea. "And sorry, Mr. Westcott. I have homework."

"It's fine, Bea. Thanks for hanging with them while I sorted Peter out, there'll be a little extra in your next check."

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