“It’s the only one you have,” she said. “You don’t get to show up late to your own feelings and start rearranging his life to match.”
I leaned my head back again.
She softened, just a little. “Go home,” she said. “Binge something on that has nothing to do with love, connection, or personal growth. I’m talking loud, a little ridiculous, questionable decisions across the board.”
I let out a breath that turned into a real laugh this time. “No music?”
“Absolutely not,” she said, pointing at the screen. “You cannot be trusted with music right now.”
“That feels extreme.”
“That feels correct.”
I shook my head, still smiling.
“Call me when you get inside,” she said.
“Okay.”
“Drive, Nova.”
The call ended and I sat there for a second, looking at my reflection in the dark screen, like I might recognize something new about myself if I stared long enough.
Then I set the phone down and started the car.
Chapter4
DEION
By the timethe first bell settled into the building, the hallway had already decided what kind of day it was going to be. Lockers slammed in uneven bursts, voices carried farther than they needed to, and somewhere down the hall somebody was already negotiating with a teacher like Monday was a suggestion instead of a fact. My classroom held on to quiet a little longer than the rest of the floor. It always did, not because it was silent, but because it took its time arriving.
I had the board up before most of them came in, the image already waiting without introduction. A few of them glanced at it as they crossed the threshold, quick looks they tried to disguise while dropping bags and sliding into seats. One or two slowed down just enough to take it in properly, which told me it was doing what it needed to do.
Miles Morales filled the screen, one of those pages that split his life clean in two, the version of him at home and the version of him out in the city existing at the sametime without asking which one mattered more. It held the same moment from two vantage points, not asking the reader to choose which one counted.
I rested my hand along the edge of the desk and let the room settle without rushing them into anything. Timing mattered more than volume. If I spoke too early, they would listen to me instead of looking at the page, and the page was doing most of the work already.
By the time the second bell rang, the image had made its way around the room in quiet passes of attention.
DeAnna’s hand went up before I asked anything, her elbow already lifted like she was continuing a conversation we had paused instead of starting a new one. “He’s in two places,” she said, leaning forward, her voice steady with the confidence of someone who expected to be right.
I looked at the board, then back at her, giving myself a second before responding. “He’s not in two places,” I said, my tone even. “He’s one person, and the page is showing you more than one part of him at the same time.”
“That’s the same thing,” she said quickly, already setting her feet for the argument.
A few students turned toward her, interested now.
“It isn’t,” I said, pushing off the desk and walking slowly along the front of the room, letting the idea stretch out enough for them to sit with it. “Being in two places means you’re split. Being more than one thing at once means you’re whole.”
She tilted her head, considering whether she wanted to challenge the wording or the idea. “So he’s the regular kid and the hero at the same time.”
“He’s the same kid in both places,” I said. “What changes is what each place asks of him.”
A couple of them frowned at that, not disagreeing, just not fully with me yet.
“So he’s switching up depending on where he is,” someone said from the back, testing it out loud.
I nodded once. “He’s making adjustments.”
