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Dear Maisy,

I want a rain check on that tea party.

Peter

——

The letter crinkled in your pocket all day long, a private reminder. Cleaning out the attic didn’t feel like a chore, and by the time Mom got home from work, you were covered in dirt smudges and dirt and dried sweat, and grinning like a fool.

“Hi, Ma,” you greeted her, wiping your hands off on your ratty shirt. “I just finished. Annie’s in the bath.”

Mom looked impressed, and fluffed out her hair as she disposed of her keys and wallet in the basket on the table by the door. “Really now? What’s gotten into you two?”

“Um, nothing! Just... excited for dinner, haha. I’m starving. What’s for dinner, anyway?”

Mom hung up her coat and heaved a sigh on her way to the kitchen. Not unkindly, she said, “How was work, Mom? Oh, thank you for asking, Mae, work was much better actually.”

You had nearly forgotten about her problems with her boss yesterday. You felt a trickle of shame and brought up, “Sorry. How was work, Ma?”

“Much better.” She was being purposefully cryptic as she retrieved food out of the fridge and cabinets.

“Better how?”

“Oh, you know. Mr. Sanders apologized for yelling at me yesterday, and offered to extend my lunch break for tomorrow.”

“You got the job?! For real!?”

Mom laughed heartily. “Yes, for real. Thank god, or we’d be ess-oh-ell, as Grandad would say.”

You snorted, and began to eye the ingredients and cookware she had accumulated on the counter.

“Soooo... Dinner?”

She waved a pan threateningly, and commanded, “Go away and let me cook!”

You busied yourself for an hour or so until the table was set and you were greeted with beautiful, steaming green bean casserole and fried fish batter, accompanied by butter rolls and a glass of apple juice. It took everything in you not to stuff it all in your mouth at once and choke to death.

“So, you mentioned that you met the neighbors yesterday. How was that?”

Annie had a mouthful of food, but managed to swallow it down so she could announce her feelings with fresh vigor. “They’re really great, Mom!!! Polly is my new friend, and she’s a princess, which is perfect because I am a fairy princess! Do you see, Mom?! It’s meant to be.”

Her voice was full of reverence by the end and her bright, serious eyes were nothing short of hilariously adorable. Mom chuckled and said, “Is that so? I’m glad you made a friend. What’s Polly like?”

“Um, well, Polly is like... she’s really nice, and fun! And she is good at being a princess. She also has good tea parties. And a big brother, who is really cool, and her mommy was nice, too. Can I go see Polly tomorrow?!”

“You met her mom and brother?” Mom’s eyes shifted your way for a moment, and you tried not to choke on your food. Your anxiety was creeping into your chest, and you were hoping that you could wiggle out of the conversation without having to bring up Peter unnecessarily...

“Mm-hmm! We went over to ask if Polly could have lunch, but she had to go home after because of stuff.” Annie prodded her fork at her plate, pouting. She hadn’t quite forgiven you yet.

Carefully, you peeked at your mom, whose expression looked more stern. It was tell-tale bad. Rather bad. You struggled for words, any excuse to change the subject, but Mom spoke first.

“Yes, speaking of ‘stuff’... Maisy, I heard from the woman across the street, Brenda, that the police dropped by next door. What’s all that about?” Her implied warning was clear: I don’t feel good about Annie spending time with a dangerous family.

Desperately searching for an answer, you wracked your brain until you suddenly remembered: Peter had made a deal to tell you what he did, and never followed through. Indignation throttled you, and you fought it down in order to speak.

“Oh, uh, yeah... It was nothing big, I think they just, like, mistook him for someone else.”

“Him?”

Fuck.

You shoved a wad of casserole into your mouth to buy yourself time, and mumbled after a minute, “U-uh, yeah, him, uh, Peter. That’s Polly’s brother. I bumped into him.”

“You met Peter?!” Annie squealed, inadvertently pointing out your lie. She seemed to have developed a minor case of hero-worship.

Mom looked unfortunately suspicious, and you sipped on your apple juice before tacking on, “It was only for a minute. He seemed like an okay enough guy.”

Then, Mom replied nonchalantly, “That’s strange, because Brenda said the police show up all the time.”

Your juice went down wrong and you were left coughing raucously.

‘All the time? What the hell? What is Peter doing over there?’

Wincing, you managed to say, “Huh. W-weird.”

You didn’t know what to do with this new information. It felt like a stone had sunk into your stomach and settled there, leaving you to stare at your now tasteless food. He was hiding something. He had to be. Something was incredibly suspicious about this boy.

“Maisy, I’m not sure I want you hanging around that boy if he’s a troublemaker. I expect you to be responsible. School’s starting in just a couple months, and you’ll have plenty of room to make friends there.”

At the word ‘troublemaker’, you flinched.

“Mommy,” Annie piped up, sounding a little sad. “Can I still be friends with Polly?”

Mom sighed. She took a long drink of tea before she said, “I’m sure you will, Ann. But I think it would be best if we went over and visited her mommy tomorrow to say hi and introduce ourselves. Doesn’t that sound good?”

“But I already met her mommy.”

“I haven’t, though. We’ll see her after I get back from work.”

Staring at the tablecloth so hard you thought you’d burn a hole in it, you wondered what ‘we’ entailed. Her and Annie? Or all three of you? Your heartbeat turned erratic at the thought of meeting his mother. Curiosity piqued, and you imagined what the inside of his house would look like. Or his room!

‘Oh my god, his room must be a wreck. There’s no way it isn’t.’

——

When you were 100% positive that your family was sound asleep, you placed the folded up note in the pocket of your track shorts and crept outside.

This time, you held your breath as you tentatively strode past the Maximoff household. Doubts bounced around your head.

What if Peter was some serial rapist after all? In all honesty, he was a grey-haired freak who showed up out of nowhere and had policemen regularly appear at his doorstep. You had known him a few brief days. What reason did you have to trust him?

Your eyes squeezed shut as the doubts blurred into crippling almost-panic. You were so stupid, so desperate for attention and friendship in this place where you were totally alone. Of course you would cling to the first person who gave you the time of day.

“Look at yourself, Maisy,” you whispered harshly to yourself, arms wrapped around your front tightly. “Running around in the middle of the night with some nobody.”

A small sound behind you made you start, and you whipped around to see Peter only a few feet away from you. It was the first time he had ever approached you without appearing out of thin air and giving you a heart attack.

Embarrassed at your prior thoughts and unsure of yourself, you forced a smile. “Hi.”

“What’s wrong?”

Scratch that. You blinked, and he was suddenly hovering over you, eyes scanning your body carefully, checking for signs of injury or answers and making your cheeks warm.

‘Maybe I should try and... and back out while I still can. Pull it off quick like a bandage. Right?’

The thought left you feeling very hollow, but you tried anyway.

“Peter, I don’t know if we should be friends.”

You weren’t sure if he heard you; he didn’t seem to react at all, just kept checking you for wounds of any sort. At a loss, you took the moment to glance him over as well. He seemed to be a fan of black jeans and soft, interesting t-shirts — this one was white with Speed Racer on the front, and you smiled giddily at it.

And, as usual, he looked good. Really good. Even with his bizarre hair and constant wry smile. You made a miserable face.

“Peter?” you finally repeated.

“Did I do something?” You saw his eyebrows do that thing where they tucked in, a testament to his conflict. His dark eyes flit from your face to meaningless points in his yard, and he relegated his hands to his back pockets. Then, his words came out in a rush. “I was thinking, tonight, we should stretch first. You should, I mean by we. Stretching is really important. If you don’t stretch, that’s how you pull muscles and end up hurt and it sucks. You have good stamina, which is helpful, but I don’t think you want me to carry you a mile when you get a charlie horse.”

“I-I mean, I guess so. But, still, I think—”

“Polly was asking about Annie today. She sounds like a firecracker and a half. But you seem like you’d be a really, really good big sister. It’s probably good that I didn’t get one, because I would’ve just driven her insane. I can’t say that I’m the best brother Polly could’ve gotten.” He smiled sadly, here, and he still kept talking a mile a minute. “But I do what I can. Anyway, Polly’s itching to see Annie again, and I told her I’d do what I could. Did you get my note?”

Unconsciously, your hand moved to your pocket and you absently, reassuringly ran a finger over the fabric. You felt the paper crinkle underneath, and noticed that sometime during Peter’s ramble, your anxiety had melted into that easy familiarity that always seemed to accompany him.

“What I’m trying to say is that even if you think I’m a nuisance, our sisters are gonna be like this.” He twined his pointer and middle fingers together. “So, what d’you say? Truce?”

You stared at Peter for a long time, torn and hopeful and...

“I want to be friends with you! You’re cool and I don’t have anyone else apart from Annie and Mom, and I like hanging out with you, and I’m upset because Ma heard about the cops and you never told me why they were at your house and I am afraid because I don’t know if I can trust you enough!”

You were talking as fast, if not faster than Peter’s average speed, and you groaned as his expression turned from astonishment to proud to clearly satisfied.

“Even though I make you nervous?” He took one step towards you, looming, smiling darkly. You took a step back, shaking your head.

“You don’t make me nervous. You make me frustrated.”

He looked like he had an answer to that, but took everything in him to hold his tongue.

“Okay,” he acquiesced. “I can accept that. I don’t want you worrying about me, though. I don’t know if I’m the most trustworthy person on the planet, but I would never hurt you, Maisy.”

His voice sounded so sincere in a delicious way. You chided yourself for such an unwholesome thought, and instead focused on the overwhelming relief his words brought you.

“You’re really dumb,” you jokingly mumbled, kicking a stone on the sidewalk. Peter Maximoff laughed.

“You say that now.” His eyes twinkled, and you smiled a little. “Now, stretch, and we’ll get going.”

——

Stretching was one of the most stressful moments of your life. But you weren’t even sure you could call it stress. Good stress existed, right?

Peter, charming and teasing as ever, taught you the motions on relaxing your legs and warming them up. That was all fine and good until he started touching you.

At first, you froze, but then quickly realized he was guiding you into better positions. If your back wasn’t straight, his fingers would alight to the base of your spine and press it in, then glide to your shoulders and fix those. When you had to lean over to pull, he would press you down further for a stronger stretch. And even the little things, minor positioning of your arms or hips or chin — he would casually brush his hands across any part of you necessary, and didn’t bat an eye at it.

He didn’t even ask you if you were nervous. You dully figured everyone on the block could hear your skyrocketing heartbeat and feel the burn of your blush. You had never had a boy this close to you before apart from your cousins, and it left you unprepared and frazzled.

Fortunately, running came right after, and you were thanking the heavens that he didn’t have to touch you anymore. This time, you felt out of breath sooner, but your body felt more relaxed and less tense. You completed a mile when he stopped you.

“C-can... we... w-walk... for a... little bit...?” you attempted to ask, hands resting on your knees. Peter hadn’t broken a sweat, and looked terribly proud of you.

“Of course,” he said. “You’ve earned it.”

Eventually you caught your breath. Talking became easier, but conversation took a little longer. It wasn’t until you almost tripped over one of your untied shoes that both of you laughed and the ice was broken.

“Sorry, I’m a little uncoordinated,” you confessed, making sure your double-knot stayed in place. Peter snorted.

“The uncoordinated girl with a knack for running and tea parties. Geez.”

“Yeah, well, at least I’m not in trouble with law enforcement.”

He rolled his eyes and shot back, “I haven’t been charged with anything. No evidence, no charges. Not even circumstantial.”

You narrowed your eyes in turn, but were curious.

“So...” you said lightly, trying to sound uninterested. “What’d you do? Rob a bank?”

Peter said, “Nah, haven’t done that in a while. I just picked up the new Pink Floyd album. They thought I stole it for whatever reason.” He shrugged.

Was he joking about the bank thing? But still, Pink Floyd! You had heard some of their stuff — who hadn’t, obviously — but you hadn’t listened to their new album altogether. You had been meaning to pick it up, but pocket money wasn’t really a thing for you until your birthday or a holiday rolled around.

“I’m so jealous,” you admitted. “I heard it was incredible.”

“You haven’t heard it yet!? You’re kidding me! Do you live under a rock!? It’s the best album of all time, Maisy!”

Under a rock? You blushed, feeling a little self-conscious about your previous lifestyle, before moving. But he didn’t need to know about that. In fact, nobody did. Unless you wanted to assure yourself that come time for senior year, no one would befriend you.

“Like, I’ve heard a few songs! I’m not uncultured,” you complained, frowning. “I just haven’t gotten around to it.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you met me, because I’m going to fix that. You busy tomorrow?”

The world skidded to a halt and rebounded again.

“Not really. I don’t think so. Not unless Mom has something planned I don’t know about.”

“Great! Then you’re coming over. We can even have that tea party you owe me for.”

“I owe you for? God, you’re a megalomaniac, aren’t you?”

Peter laughed freely at that, and you nearly squeaked when you felt the weight of his arm around your shoulders. A friendly gesture, that’s all, you thought. Peter is just comfortable. Peter is just friendly and nice and... he’s...

When he spoke again, his voice was right beside your ear, close enough that his breath warmed your cheek but left you close to shivering.

“You’ve got some mouth on you, Maisy.”

Bristling, you retorted, “Only with you, Peter.” But then you realized that might sound different than you intended, too intimate, but had no idea how to fix that, and you were fumbling for words when his fingertips drummed idly against your collarbone and you melted for a moment.

“How sweet of you.”

You weren’t sure why, but he didn’t take his arm off. If anyone had looked out their window, you thought feeling close to panicking, they would’ve seen the two of you looking far too close to be friendly. You would’ve looked like a young couple on a late night stroll, no mistake.

The worst part was the little flicker of pleasure that brought you.

Dejected, you wriggled out from Peter’s arm and wrapped your arms around yourself instead. It wouldn’t do you any good to think about him like that. You weren’t stupid. You were just Maisy.

When you looked up, you saw your homes were drawing very near, and felt the usual sinking dread of having to say goodnight and goodbye.

“Same time tomorrow?” Peter sounded unsure.

“Do you... still want to?” you replied, just as hesitant. Yes! you wanted to yell. Yes, tomorrow, and yes every day after!

“Yes.” He spoke so quickly and sharply it nearly made you jump, but it surprised you enough to give you back some life. “Yes. No, I mean, like, you have no idea how nice it is to get out of the house.” He was biting his lip and looking terribly coy, but didn’t take his eyes off of you. Even though your throat felt tight, you felt like you could breath again.

“Okay,” you whispered. Smiling at him felt easy and right. “Me too.”

The words were simple, but they sounded more like a deeply personal confession once they were spoken. You and Peter held eye contact on your porch steps for maybe a little longer than necessary, and you thought, maybe, this is what it felt like to be friends.

“You know, it feels like I’ve known you a lot longer than I have,” you admitted.

Peter smirked, and as he walked past you he playfully nudged you with his elbow. His hair brushed your cheek, and the last thing you heard him say before he slipped away, back on the path to his house was a quiet, “You have no idea.”