Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
© 2018 MARVEL © 2018 SPA & CPII
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Little, Brown and Company
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First Edition: December 2018
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Library of Congress Control Number: 2018959654
ISBNs: 978-0-316-48028-4 (pbk.), 978-0-316-48027-7 (ebook)
E3-20181110-JV-NF-ORI
Contents
COVER
TITLE PAGE
COPYRIGHT
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
EPILOGUE
PHOTOS
CHAPTER 1
The best thing about headphones? When you wear ’em, the rest of the world doesn’t exist. Nothing else exists except you and your music.
The worst thing about headphones?
You have to take ’em off sometime.
“Miles! Miles!”
Whipping off his headphones, Miles Morales heard his dad calling his name. He was sitting at the small desk in his bedroom, drawing, listening to music. Carefree, not a worry to his name.
Well, that wasn’t entirely true.
“Yeah?” Miles shouted at the door.
“Are you finished packing for school?”
“Yeah!” Miles hollered back. That was the general all-purpose answer when his parents asked him if he had done something yet—YEAH. It saved a lot of yelling. Then he added, “Just going back over my list!”
Looking down at the floor, Miles saw his empty suitcase and his backpack. Then he leaped into action. He opened his dresser drawers one at a time, grabbing various items he would need—socks, underwear, T-shirts, shorts. He tossed them into the suitcase.
Darting over to his closet, he pulled a few shirts and some pants off a small wire rack inside. Toss.
Then the blue uniform jacket for his new school.
My new school, Miles thought. Wish it was my old school. He threw the uniform into the suitcase, then slammed the lid shut. He stuffed a few books into his backpack, along with his drawing pad and a case full of pencils, pens, and erasers. He zipped it up.
“Miles!”
Uh-oh, Miles realized. Mom.
When his mom yelled, it was all over. Miles picked up his backpack and suitcase and ran down the hallway to the living room.
“Where’s my laptop?” Miles asked, out of breath.
“Where’d you last put it?” Miles’s mom, Rio, asked. It was a question she asked her son at least fifty times a day.
Miles rooted around the living room, trying to find the laptop. It was a prerequisite for school—there was no way he could get along without it.
How does a laptop just disappear?
Miles’s dad, Jefferson, stood by the front door, dangling his car keys. “If you want me to drive you, we gotta go now…” he said.
Miles didn’t look up from his search. “No, Dad, I’ll walk!” he protested.
“Personal chauffeur going once…”
“It’s okay!” Miles said again, trying to drive home the point that he really didn’t want to get a ride with his dad. Not in the first few weeks of school.
Rio stared at Miles, shaking her head. “¡Ay Maria, este nene me tiene loca!”
At last, Miles swatted away a bunch of magazines on the coffee table and found the laptop underneath. Tucking the computer under his arm, he reached for the quick, on-the-go breakfast his mom had made for him. He shoved the toast into his mouth and tried to remember to chew with his mouth closed, with limited success.
“Miles, gotta go!” Rio said, insistent.
“In a minute!” Miles replied, mouth full of food.
“Gotta go-oh…” Rio said in a singsong voice.
“IN A MINUTE!” Miles said, raising his voice reflexively. Rio rolled her eyes, an amused smile on her face, unaffected by her son’s outburst.
Miles finished chewing, gathered up his suitcase, stuffed his laptop into his backpack, and raced out the door.
“Mom, I gotta go!” Miles said. He was standing on the stoop of his apartment, trying to break free of his mother’s embrace. The embrace that threatened to squash him like a bug. She was hugging him and showering him with kisses. It was at once embarrassing and awesome. Miles knew how much his mother loved him.
“In a minute,” Rio said, still kissing her son’s cheeks.
Miles put his suitcase on the ground and rolled the wheels down the steps from his apartment to the street.
“Papá! Llámame, okay?” Rio shouted, a sad smile on her face.
“Sí, claro, Mama. ¡Adiós!” Miles shouted.
Away from his apartment at last, Miles made his way down the early-morning Brooklyn street. He’d have to hurry if he was going to make it to his new school on time. He wasn’t making good time. The suitcase was cumbersome, and the backpack was really heavy.
Maybe I should have packed a little more carefully, Miles thought.
“Ohhhh. Look who’s back! Yo, what’s going on, bro?”
Miles snapped to and looked up. He realized he was walking right past Brooklyn Middle School, where he had gone the last few years. His friend Laszlo was standing outside on the sidewalk, and he waved to Miles.
“Hey, I’m just walking by, how you doing?” Miles said, smiling. He was glad to see Laszlo, and more than a little sad that they wouldn’t get to hang out at school this year.
“You keepin’ ’em on their toes, Miles?” asked Domingo, another friend.
“You know I’m trying,” Miles replied, trying to sound cool.
“Look who it is! Nice uniform!” another kid interjected. It was that kid whose name Miles could never remember. He felt kind of bad about that.
Miles nodded. “Hey, they make me wear it, all right?” He gestured with his right hand at the school uniform he was wearing. It made him feel uncomfortable, and he was pretty self-conscious about it.
A girl ran up from the schoolyard, squeezing in between Laszlo and Domingo. “Just gonna walk away? We miss you, Miles!” she said, her face sinc
ere.
“You miss me?” Miles replied. “I still live here! Wait, you miss me?”
The bell rang, and the kids threw a collective wave at Miles. Miles waved back, then watched as they ran through the schoolyard and into the building.
It was pretty sad, just watching it. Miles missed his old friends already. With a sigh, he grabbed his things and continued down the street.
Reaching into his backpack, Miles fished out a couple stickers that he’d been working on. Some cool designs that he’d come up with overnight. Drawing was a great release for him. It let him work out all kinds of thoughts and feelings on paper. But the best part? Walking around town and slapping his art in places where people could see his work. He peeled the backing off one sticker and smashed it on the side of a mailbox. Then he took another and slapped it on a stop sign with a loud clang.
He took a few steps, crossing the street, then stumbled. Before he could even pick himself up off the pavement, he saw flashing lights and heard the BWOOP BWOOP of a police siren.
Oh, c’mon, he thought.
“Seriously, Dad, walking would have been fine,” Miles said, sitting in the back seat of his father’s police cruiser. Jefferson was listening to the news on the radio, and the sound filled the back seat as well.
“You can walk plenty on Saturday when you peel those stickers off,” Jefferson chided Miles, talking over the voice of the newscaster.
“You saw that?” Miles said playfully. “I don’t know if that was me, Dad.”
“And the two from yesterday on Clinton,” Jefferson replied.
Dang, Miles thought. Can’t get anything past him.
“Okay, yeah… those were me,” Miles admitted.
Miles looked forward and saw his dad glaring at him in the rearview mirror. The look said it all: DON’T MESS WITH ME. Miles sighed and slumped down in his seat, watching the buildings move by as he stared out the window. They passed coffee shop after coffee shop, and Miles had to wonder just how much coffee people could actually drink.
“Soooo,” his father said, trying to make conversation. “Look at that, another new coffee shop. You see that, Miles?”
“Yep, I see it,” Miles said, disinterested.
“You see that one, what’s that one called?” Jefferson said, pointing out his window.
“Foam Party,” Miles said, sounding bored.
“Foam Party, come on,” Jefferson said. “And everyone is just lining up! You see that, Miles?”
“I see it,” Miles replied.
“Is that a coffee shop or a disco?” Jefferson said, trying to crack a joke.
“Dad, you’re old, man,” Miles said flatly. He slumped even deeper in his seat as he turned his attention to the news broadcast.
“This is the second earthquake this month, but lucky for these folks, Spider-Man was there to save the day!” said the newscaster.
Jefferson shook his head, then punched a button on the dashboard, turning off the radio.
Oh man, here it comes, Miles thought.
“Spider-Man,” Jefferson railed. “I mean, this guy swings in once a day, zip-zap-zop, in his little mask, and answers to no one, right?”
“Yeah, Dad,” Miles sighed.
“And meanwhile, my guys are out there, lives on the line—”
“Uh-huh,” Miles said, nonplussed. He had heard it all a thousand times before. Probably more than a thousand. His dad hated Spider-Man. So what? Big deal.
Miles looked out the window of the police car and saw that some schoolkids were running right alongside. Miles sank into his seat as one of them hit the window and mouthed, You get arrested?
I definitely should have walked, Miles thought.
“—and no masks!” Jefferson continued, still on his Spider-Man rant. “We show our faces. Accountability!”
“Dad, speed up, I know these kids.…” Miles pleaded.
But Jefferson was too wrapped up in his diatribe to notice. “You know, with great ability comes great accountability,” he said.
“That’s not how the saying goes, Dad,” Miles corrected. “It’s a yellow light!”
“I do like his cereal, though,” Jefferson said magnanimously. “I’ll give him that.” Then he slammed the brakes on the car.
Miles was flung against the divider between the front and back seats. “Oh my gosh!” he exclaimed. “Don’t cops run red lights?”
“Some do,” Jefferson said. “But not your dad!”
CHAPTER 2
“You going in?”
Miles sat in the back of his dad’s police cruiser, not wanting to get out but knowing he had to.
“Dad,” Miles said, trying not to whine but failing. “Why can’t I go back to Brooklyn Middle?”
He wasn’t sure why he was choosing now to have this conversation that they’d already had a million times, especially now that he’d started school at Visions. But Miles just had to keep trying.
Jefferson sighed. “Miles, you’ve given it two weeks,” he said, staring out the front window at the students walking across the street. “We’re not having this conversation.”
I knew he was gonna say that, Miles thought.
“I just think this new school is elitist,” Miles said, dragging out his losing argument. “And I would prefer to be at a normal school among the people.”
“The people?” Jefferson said, his voice and his temper raising. “These are your people!”
“I’m only here ’cause I won that stupid lottery,” Miles moped.
“No way,” Jefferson said, putting a stop to Miles’s protest. “You passed the entry test just like everybody else.You have an opportunity here. You wanna blow that, huh? You want to end up like your uncle?”
“Uncle Aaron is a good guy,” Miles muttered under his breath.
“We all make choices in life,” Jefferson said, shaking his head.
“Doesn’t feel like I have a choice!” Miles volleyed back.
“You don’t!” Jefferson roared, the tone of his voice final and absolute.
Miles sighed and pushed open the door. He started to get out of the car.
It’s hopeless, he thought.
“Look,” Jefferson said, slightly calmer. “I know it’s hard during the week being away from Mom and me—”
Sticking his head back into the car, Miles said, “Actually, that part’s great. I love that part.” He smiled at his dad, trying to lighten the mood with his joke.
His dad just stared at him.
Ugh.
Miles stepped back and slammed the door. Then he opened the passenger door and got his suitcase.
“I love you, Miles,” Jefferson said, seeming at a loss for words.
“Yeah, I know, Dad,” Miles said. “See you Friday.”
Then he shut the door and walked away from the police cruiser. He knew his dad was watching him, but Miles didn’t turn around.
A burst of static cut through the air, and Miles cringed.
“You gotta say I love you back,” Jefferson boomed over the cruiser’s PA system.
The students who had been milling about outside Visions Academy all turned to look in Miles’s direction.
“Dad, are you serious?” Miles felt his face flush red.
“I wanna hear it,” Jefferson replied.
“You wanna hear me say—”
“I love you, Dad.” Jefferson’s voice crackled, still on the PA, as he completed the sentence.
“You’re dropping me off at school!” Miles protested.
“I love you, Dad,” Jefferson repeated.
“Look at this place,” Miles said, noting the presence of all the other students and the incredibly embarrassing nature of the whole situation.
“Dad, I love you.”
Miles sighed, knowing there was no way he could win this battle and keep even a shred of dignity. “Dad, I love you,” Miles said loudly, if somewhat grudgingly.
“That’s a copy,” Jefferson thundered over the PA. “Tie your shoes, please!”
Serve him right if I trip, Miles thought.
All around him, Miles saw kids wearing the same blue uniforms. They all seemed to be taller than him. He walked past a wall of photographs, all pictures of the donors and corporations that had contributed money to keep Visions Academy up and running. He saw a picture of Wilson Fisk, one of the biggest businessmen in New York City. His company, Fisk Industries, underwrote much of Visions’ budget. And there was Alchemax, a company that held so many patents that Miles couldn’t keep track of them all.
“I love you, Dad!”
Miles whirled around to see a big uniformed kid sneering in his face.
Great, Miles thought. He saw the whole thing with Dad. Now I’m gonna be the I love you kid for the rest of my life.
Then he took a deep breath and decided he wasn’t going to let any of that derail his day.
All right, Miles. Let’s give this another shot.
“Hey, good morning!” Miles said, flagging down another student. “How you doing? Weekend was short, huh?”
“That’s a copy!” the student responded.
Ugh, Miles moaned internally.
Miles moved on, extricating himself from any more embarrassment. He looked around and saw all the kids hurrying about their day. They just seemed to keep right on going, as if Miles weren’t even there.
Everyone seemed so serious at Visions. Not like Brooklyn Middle. At Brooklyn Middle, the kids knew how to have fun.
“Hey!”
Miles snapped to attention when he heard a student’s voice. “Yeah?” he said, hopeful that someone might finally want to have a normal conversation.
“Your shoes are untied,” the student said, pointing at Miles’s feet.
Miles looked down, saw his laces dangling on the floor, and sighed. “I’m aware,” he said, as the student rushed off. “It’s a choice.”
CHAPTER 3
From that moment on, the day was a blur of classes. Miles went from one room to another, inundated by an ever-changing group of students and teachers. From math to logic, from literature to chemistry, Miles’s brain was being overloaded with new concepts.
Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse: The Junior Novel Page 1
