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xp_logsAnother little scene from the party. Just friendly chatting over drinks.
Miles's spider-sense was useful for more than avoiding getting beat upside the head by angry criminals or helping to navigate web-slinging through the skies of New York. It also let him hold his beer in one hand and text with his phone in the other and avoid bumping into people who would make him spill one on the other. When he made it safely to an unoccupied corner of what looked like a home office, he sent off the text and took another sip of the nasty bitter drink.
Clea appeared in front of Miles after watching him walking across the room while texting, drinking, and not bumping into a single person. "That was impressive. The way you moved across the room." She smirked at him. "Must have been an important text for not watching where you are going."
Miles had to blink a couple of times before Clea came into proper focus. "I'm pretty sure my ma is like a mutant herself and can see where I am at all times, so I have to make her think I'm not actually here," he told her, grinning. "It is hard to text right, you know what I mean?"
"I don't think mothers needs to have powers to know where their children are." She smirked and then laughed. "That is why man created autocorrect." She lifted up her own can of beer to her lips. "But I can imagine it is difficult when you are intoxicated."
"Ay, your mama, too? Hi, Clea's mom!" He waved to the empty air and laughed. "Wait, she's not, like, a witch, too, or anything, is she? She's not, like, looking in a scrying glass right now . . ."
"I am not sure." Clea smirked. "I am adopted and I am pretty sure my adoptive mother is not a witch."
"Oh. Wait, 'witch' isn't, like, a slur or anything, is it?" Miles asked, eyes widening in concern. "I don't mean to offend you or your heritage. Witch pride! Or, uh, Magic American pride? Although I guess not American . . ."
"I don't believe it is a slur. What else are we supposed to be called?" Clea couldn't help but smile at Miles. "No. Not American. And no offense was taken."
"I am so glad the year's almost over," Miles said, sighing, and then took another drink. "AP done. ACT done. Finals are going to be so easy compared to all'a that. Now just a summer of doing freakin' nothing." Except working for Warren, visiting colleges, preparing applications, and of course Spidering as normal. He grimaced when he remembered all that.
"How long are American holidays? Long? Short?" She asked.
Not long enough, was the real answer. "Uh, like, two or three months. Enough time to forget most of what you learned before the next year starts. Not enough time to read the crappy book they'll assign you to read. Ugh, last year we had to read Oliver Twist and that was just the worst. Like, who cares? At least give us something new and American. No offense again."
Clea looked at Miles and smirked, "Well look on the bright side Miles. You'll never have to read Oliver Twist again. To Kill a Mockingbird is very good literature and it is American." She took a sip of her drink.
"Yeah, I read that one already in, like, eighth grade. My schedule's gonna be so light next year. I've done most of the AP I need to. I think next year will be calc and maybe one or two others. But not four. That's too much. Not matter what my mom says. Right, Ma?" he called out as if she could hear him (which he was still almost sure she did). "How 'bout you? You're a junior next year, right?"
"Does this mean you'll have a free period?" Clea nodded, "Yes. I am pretty excited about it. But school generally does. I want to become a teacher."
Miles let out a sound of relief that sounded positively euphoric. "Yes. I'll be able to leave early once or twice a week, too. " So more Danger Room time. How weird was it that he was actually looking forward to that? He shrugged. "Wait, you wanna be a teacher? What kind? And why?"
"I am not sure yet. I am thinking either grade school or maybe a college professor and just major in one subject rather than all." She shrugged. "And why not? Someone needs to teach the future kids not to blow up the place."
"But isn't it true that, like, those who can't do, teach?" Miles quoted sagely, as if reciting Scripture. "And those who can't teach, teach gym. Right?"
Clea laughed again, "Right. Hey do you need a refill? I think I need one."
Miles's cup went from two-thirds empty to fully empty in just a couple of seconds. "Yeah now I do. Vámonos."
Miles's spider-sense was useful for more than avoiding getting beat upside the head by angry criminals or helping to navigate web-slinging through the skies of New York. It also let him hold his beer in one hand and text with his phone in the other and avoid bumping into people who would make him spill one on the other. When he made it safely to an unoccupied corner of what looked like a home office, he sent off the text and took another sip of the nasty bitter drink.
Clea appeared in front of Miles after watching him walking across the room while texting, drinking, and not bumping into a single person. "That was impressive. The way you moved across the room." She smirked at him. "Must have been an important text for not watching where you are going."
Miles had to blink a couple of times before Clea came into proper focus. "I'm pretty sure my ma is like a mutant herself and can see where I am at all times, so I have to make her think I'm not actually here," he told her, grinning. "It is hard to text right, you know what I mean?"
"I don't think mothers needs to have powers to know where their children are." She smirked and then laughed. "That is why man created autocorrect." She lifted up her own can of beer to her lips. "But I can imagine it is difficult when you are intoxicated."
"Ay, your mama, too? Hi, Clea's mom!" He waved to the empty air and laughed. "Wait, she's not, like, a witch, too, or anything, is she? She's not, like, looking in a scrying glass right now . . ."
"I am not sure." Clea smirked. "I am adopted and I am pretty sure my adoptive mother is not a witch."
"Oh. Wait, 'witch' isn't, like, a slur or anything, is it?" Miles asked, eyes widening in concern. "I don't mean to offend you or your heritage. Witch pride! Or, uh, Magic American pride? Although I guess not American . . ."
"I don't believe it is a slur. What else are we supposed to be called?" Clea couldn't help but smile at Miles. "No. Not American. And no offense was taken."
"I am so glad the year's almost over," Miles said, sighing, and then took another drink. "AP done. ACT done. Finals are going to be so easy compared to all'a that. Now just a summer of doing freakin' nothing." Except working for Warren, visiting colleges, preparing applications, and of course Spidering as normal. He grimaced when he remembered all that.
"How long are American holidays? Long? Short?" She asked.
Not long enough, was the real answer. "Uh, like, two or three months. Enough time to forget most of what you learned before the next year starts. Not enough time to read the crappy book they'll assign you to read. Ugh, last year we had to read Oliver Twist and that was just the worst. Like, who cares? At least give us something new and American. No offense again."
Clea looked at Miles and smirked, "Well look on the bright side Miles. You'll never have to read Oliver Twist again. To Kill a Mockingbird is very good literature and it is American." She took a sip of her drink.
"Yeah, I read that one already in, like, eighth grade. My schedule's gonna be so light next year. I've done most of the AP I need to. I think next year will be calc and maybe one or two others. But not four. That's too much. Not matter what my mom says. Right, Ma?" he called out as if she could hear him (which he was still almost sure she did). "How 'bout you? You're a junior next year, right?"
"Does this mean you'll have a free period?" Clea nodded, "Yes. I am pretty excited about it. But school generally does. I want to become a teacher."
Miles let out a sound of relief that sounded positively euphoric. "Yes. I'll be able to leave early once or twice a week, too. " So more Danger Room time. How weird was it that he was actually looking forward to that? He shrugged. "Wait, you wanna be a teacher? What kind? And why?"
"I am not sure yet. I am thinking either grade school or maybe a college professor and just major in one subject rather than all." She shrugged. "And why not? Someone needs to teach the future kids not to blow up the place."
"But isn't it true that, like, those who can't do, teach?" Miles quoted sagely, as if reciting Scripture. "And those who can't teach, teach gym. Right?"
Clea laughed again, "Right. Hey do you need a refill? I think I need one."
Miles's cup went from two-thirds empty to fully empty in just a couple of seconds. "Yeah now I do. Vámonos."
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