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[b]M A N H A T T A N,   N E W   Y O R K[/b]

[i]“Robin.”[/i]

Miles nodded. Robin suited the kid. Whether his parents named him so because of the bird or the folk hero, it fit him well – despite his best efforts, he was a little chirpy, and he [i]did[/i] just save an old lady from being robbed.

“I guess I’ll see you around, then, Robin,” he said, beginning to turn to follow Mayo. “Nice meeting you. Tell Chuck and Bruce I said hi.” At that, he left.

Condiment King made it to the police without any hassle. He let them escort him to their cruiser with his head hung low, his shoulders quivering as he cried.

Miles watched from a nearby roof, thinking thoughts about child ninjas laughing into the barrel of a gun, and of sad men just doing their best to get by. He thought of money. Of how it could compel people to do the unthinkable.

He thought about Spider-Man.

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The next few days passed without incident. No kids from the Matrix stopping muggers in Central Park. No so-called supercriminals attacking him because of some bounty on his head. There was only class and lunch. Study and bed. 

The “study group” came together on more frequent occasions, moulding into tradition. They’d come to the library every day after the last period would end, sitting at the same table they’d sat at in their first get-together. Some of the time, they’d actually study. But Miles couldn’t lie to himself – most of the time, they used the group as an excuse to hang out. To talk. 

Kate Bishop continued to elude Miles. Despite having passed her physics exam, she kept coming to the group. For whatever reason, she seemed to [i]like[/i] hanging out with them, something that Miles just couldn’t wrap his head around, because, well… Ganke, whose fifteenth birthday was just around the corner, never stopped talking about Lego, Judge was a closet hipster, and Lana was… well, Lana. And then there was Miles. The guy who for some reason was always the last to arrive and the first to leave, who couldn’t help but get on edge whenever someone mentioned superheroes or Spider-Man – who always arrived with a new cut, scrape or bruise, injuries that he tried so desperately to hide. Why Kate Bishop, a girl with all the money, popularity and normality in the world, would want to hang out with [i]them[/i] was a complete mystery – one that Miles was okay with.

Now, he sat at the study group’s table. He’d arrived earlier than usual, the earliest he’d ever been. First. Sitting alone, he went through the motions of studying; notebook out, pencil in hand, an open but otherwise untouched textbook waiting to be read. He didn’t hear Kate when she got there, or when she sat down; when she said hi or when she asked if he was okay.

No. He only heard her when she flung her pencil at his forehead.

“Miles,” she said, if a bit exasperatedly, as he jerked up in his seat. He’d been staring into space, preoccupied with his thoughts – [i]Wait, when did Kate get here?[/i]

“Uh, Kate – hi,” he said, scrambling to recover his composure. “I, uh, didn't hear you come in.”

“Yeah. Or when I said hi. Or when I asked if you were okay,” she half-drawled, half-stated, looking him in the eye.

Miles avoided her gaze.

“Are you okay, Miles?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” He nodded unconvincingly. Kate raised an eyebrow. “It’s just – no, nevermind.”

“What?”

Miles bit on his bottom lip, trying to get his thoughts in order. “Has anyone ever been out to get you? I mean, for no reason. They just… want to mess with you because they can.”

Kate snorted. “You have no idea.”

“Well… what did you do?”

She looked him in the eye. This time, he didn’t look away. “I found out what the problem was,” she said, “And I fixed it.”

[i]She fixed the problem.

[b]Roxxon[/b].[/i]