This Way Down // peter parker

32

THE FISH-BOWL Man, Mysterio — as Peter called him — was the one that saved the day. Peter could only tell me so much after dinner before we headed to our individual rooms, with the promise of letting me know more later. But, from what he told me so far, something didn't seem right. Still, I didn't care enough to question further, still sulking about Peter wanting to go to MIT.

I was buying time, lying in my bed against my side of the wall, when Eddie video called me.

"So when are you going to break up with him?" He asked after I told him about Peter's college plans.

College was always something I knew was coming, but I also saw it as something always in the horizon — a thing that would eventually come but I never once actually thought I would experience. It seemed too big for it be real, like the suggestion of greatness at the end of a movie. Something that I was never really suppose to see.

But, as I told Eddie about Peter applying to MIT, as casually as my voice allowed, I couldn't pretend it was over the horizon anymore. It was right after a hill instead, a hill I was almost over. And that somehow made this topic seem immediate, like Peter was leaving for college tomorrow or something.

"I'm not going to break up with him," I said.

That wasn't an option, not after everything that I was put through the last few months. I finally had Peter back, fully, and there was nothing that could let me go of him.

"Marina," he said lowly. "MIT? Seriously?"

"Apparently, it's a good school."

"Marina, you don't want to go to MIT."

"Great programs."

"Isn't it mainly a school for technology? You don't want to study anything STEM-related. I thought you wanted to be a journalist?"

"I never said that."

He gave me a look.

"I didn't," I said again.

Sure, ever since joining the school newspaper, I had been writing more articles than I have been taking pictures to go alongside them, and though the practice was fun, it was also silly stuff. New parking lot spots. The next game is away. Junior Zach Grassman won the local baking contest. Small stuff meant for the columns. Five hundred words a minimum.

Did that meant I wanted to spend the rest of my life writing about other people doing cool things? As if. Plus, it didn't seem to pay very well either. I could see my dad rolling his eyes at the mere thought.

"Still, it's a school for technology. You don't want to do something with technology," Eddie said.

He had a point.

"I looked it up and they do have other programs," I said.

"No one goes to MIT for their other programs."

"But I can."

He looked disappointed.

"I'm not breaking up with him. I don't want to. Things just got good again. Worse comes to worse, we'll just do long distance again."

He gave me a wary look, similar to the one he wore when Peter popped into my hometown unannounced. His face was full of sympathy and pity and behind his eyes, they held onto some knowledge that I had yet the possession of.

"And what happens after college?" He asked me carefully. "Is he going to move to New York? You still want to live in New York, right? What if he doesn't?"

"I'm sure he does. It's his home. Ms. May is there. He would never leave Ms. May."

"But what if he doesn't?"