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CHAPTER ONE Penny For Your Thoughts
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WHENEVER A MISSION WENT well, Uncle Rich took Cecelia out to the twenty-four hour diner a few blocks from her apartment. He'd buy her whatever she wanted—usually a grilled cheese, tomato soup, and a milkshake—and, as they sat in their signature booth, congratulate her on a job well done. While Mr Sandman or It Was Only a Dream piped through the radio, silverware clattered against plates, and waitresses would bustle through the booths, their shoes squeaking on the black-and-white tiled floor, Uncle would make sure to tell her how proud he was.
Cecelia used to lap it up like a dog to its water bowl, taking in as much of it as she was able. These days—with the smell of sizzling burgers and French fries dripping with vinegar filling her nostrils, the stiffness in her body that meant a hard day's work, and her limbs still a little insubstantial—had been the best ones, because they had meant she'd been satisfactory. But lately, she'd been realizing there were plenty of other occasions where she should have gotten the same such treatment.
When she got an A+ on her Spanish test, for example. Ironically, despite growing up in New Mexico, Cecelia had always been abhorrent with the language. She'd studied her ass off, had two panic attacks, and only just finished it in time for the teacher to collect it. So, when she'd seen that red A+ scribbled into the corner—along with a smiley-face and a great job!—when she'd gotten it back, she'd been ecstatic.
Uncle hadn't shared her energy, however. When he picked her up that afternoon to take her to the warehouse, he'd barely been listening when Cecelia had told him about it. And when she'd dug it out of her backpack to show him, he hadn't even glanced at it.
He hadn't told her he was proud, then. Nor did he when she and Christine got second place in the robotics competition last year, narrowly beat out by Peter Parker and Ned Leeds, or when her school's Academic Decathlon team won the State Finals and solidified their spot in Nationals. No, it was only missions or work. Only when she came back to base with her arms full of Chitauri tech or put the finishing touches on one of the new weapons.
At least she had Mom and Dad to be proud of her. Alex, Jules, and Eva, too. But it would have been nice to hear it from Uncle, too. Because he was the hardest to impress, the rare instances where she managed it gave her a high she could ride for days.
And it was better having him proud of her than disappointed. The days he was disappointed were the days that ended up worst for her.
Cecelia dipped her grilled cheese into her soup and took a bite. Strings oozed off the bread, pressed and fresh from the oven, and she ducked her head. Uncle took a bite of his cheeseburger and laughed. He was always so jolly on days like today.
"Nice job today, kid," he said. "You've really been doing well for us lately. Keep it up, and you might have more than grilled cheeses coming your way."
