The week following my "date" with MJ was a strange mix of exhausting training with Peter and a constant feeling of I was being watched. The redheaded girl seemed to have a radar for my presence. Every time I went out to take out the trash or get the mail, she would appear like a ghost—an incredibly beautiful, smiling ghost—on the sidewalk, ready to strike up a conversation.
Peter, of course, was seething with jealousy.
"Her mom asked for help fixing the hairdryer," he complained, swinging his legs on the edge of his roof on a Saturday afternoon. "I fixed it and made it even better, she barely looked at me."
"Fixing hairdryers now, Peter?" I rolled my eyes, leaning against the warm shingle. "Truly, the height of romance."
"Shut up, Spooky. You don't get it. You have the coolest girl in the neighborhood obsessed with you without even trying."
"Obsessed" was a strong word. But I couldn't deny that MJ had an... intense interest in me. And I couldn't figure out why. Unless cool girls had a thing for pale, messy guys who could literally disappear from their lives at any moment.
That day, we were in my living room. Peter had come over under the pretext of "studying," but in reality, his web-shooter was malfunctioning.
"I think the internal gyroscope is out of calibration," he explained, the parts of the device carefully laid out on a towel on our coffee table. "If I don't fix it, I might end up launching myself into a building instead of swinging past it."
"Sounds like an upgrade," I joked, handing him a tiny screwdriver.
It was at that moment that the news on the background TV caught both of our attention. Channel 4 reporter Sally Floyd was on screen with a serious expression, standing in front of a picture of Tony Stark.
"... and sources within the Pentagon now confirm what many have speculated for months. Billionaire industrialist Tony Stark, recently returned from captivity in Afghanistan, not only built the new armor but operates it personally. In a surprise press conference just minutes ago, Stark stated categorically: 'I am Iron Man.'"
The air left my lungs. I am Iron Man.
I stopped what I was doing and just stared at the TV. Tony Stark. Iron Man. One of the world's greatest geniuses and playboys was a superhero. He just... told everyone. It was rule number one for heroes, to keep your secret identity secret.
"Incredible," was all I could say.
Peter whistled low, focusing even more intently on the web-shooter. "Yeah, that's... a bold move. I hope to meet him someday."
"UNBELIEVABLE!" my father roared from downstairs. "A SUPER-POWERED HERO, AND HE ADMITS IT! HE SHOULD BE HUNTING GHOSTS LIKE US! A PUBLIC MENACE!"
"Now, Jack," my mother said, though her eyes were also glued to the screen, analyzing. "It's a fascinating shift in the vigilante paradigm. One that could have... ectological implications."
I looked at Peter. He was biting his lip, his shoulders a little tense. I could feel the unspoken weight in his words. For him, a kid who hid behind a mask, this was both inspiring and terrifying.
The conversation was interrupted by the doorbell.
"I'll get it!" I yelled, jumping up from the couch, followed by Peter.
When I opened the door, my heart skipped a beat. MJ was there, wearing a Ramones t-shirt and jeans, her sketchbook under her arm. Her smile was even brighter up close.
"Hey, neighbor. Thought I'd stop by to say hi."
"Hi," I replied, my social skills having apparently evaporated.
"MARY JANE!" my father's thundering voice echoed from the living room. "COME IN! COME MEET THE FENTON FAMILY! WE HUNT GHOSTS!"
MJ's face lit up with pure delight.
"Really? That's the coolest thing I've ever heard."
She walked in, and I stepped aside, feeling a wave of anxiety approaching. She greeted my parents with a confident handshake and even waved at Peter, who blushed and dropped a small nut from the web-shooter onto the carpet.
"Cool project," she said, looking at the scattered parts.
"Yeah, well... it's for... school," Peter stammered.
"Peter's a science genius," I interjected, trying to help him get closer to MJ. Even though she was a beautiful girl, Danny wasn't that focused on dating, especially knowing how his friend seemed to have feelings for her.
MJ smiled at him, but then her gaze returned to me, full of that intense curiosity.
"Even more mysterious. I like your parents, they're captivating! Hey, Danny, can you show me your room? I love seeing how people decorate their spaces. It says a lot about them."
"His room is a graveyard of failed projects!" my father announced proudly.
"Dad!"
"Of course," said Maddie, with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Go ahead, Danny. But leave the door open."
I led MJ upstairs, my palms sweating. My room was... well, a teenage boy's room. There were posters of astronomy and constellations, a pile of superhero comics, and, of course, the disassembled ghost-hunting equipment I still hadn't had the courage to throw away.
"Wow," she said, walking in and looking around. "It's... incredibly you."
"Is that good or bad?" I asked, closing the door but leaving it ajar, as ordered.
"It's good," she replied softly, running her fingers over the cover of one of my physics books. She turned to face me, her expression serious. "You're hard to read, Danny Fenton. Most guys our age are open books. You... are like one of those old books with locks."
"I'm not trying to be," I protested, feeling exposed. Maybe she was used to boys trying to get her attention.
"I know. That's what's cool about it." She took a step toward me. Then another. The space between us shrunk to just a few inches. I could feel the heat from her body. I could smell her scent, a mix of green apple shampoo and something unique, just her.
My heart started beating very fast. The familiar hum of my ectoplasmic power began to tingle under my skin, a reaction to my nervousness.
"MJ, I..." I had no idea what I was going to say.
"Shh," she whispered, her green eyes fixed on mine. "I just want to see one thing."
And then, she did something that made me stop breathing. She took my hand, her skin incredibly warm against my cold, and gently placed it on her chest, over the soft fabric of her t-shirt.
I could feel it. Everything. The quick beat of her heart, the soft contour of her body, the vital warmth radiating from her. It was overwhelmingly human, intensely real. A stark contrast to the cold, dead energy that now ran through my veins.
"See?" she whispered, her voice a little shaky. "Real."
She leaned in, her eyes closing, her lips approaching mine.
Panic. Pure and absolute panic. It was a hurricane inside me. The overwhelming desire to kiss her, to be a normal boy kissing an amazing girl. And the equally overwhelming terror that if our lips touched, she would feel the supernatural cold of my skin, or that my eyes would glow, or that I would just float through the ceiling.
The internal war was quick, violent, and decisive. My emotion, my power, my instinct for self-preservation, all collapsed at once.
There was a snapping sensation, like a rubber band stretched to its limit and breaking.
And then, I simply wasn't there anymore.
Not physically, at least.
I opened my eyes—or at least, had the sensation of opening them—and saw the room through a slightly hazy filter, as if I were underwater. I looked down and couldn't see my body. Nothing. Just the carpet.
For the first time, I had turned invisible.
And MJ... MJ was standing exactly where I had been, her lips pressed against nothing. Her eyes opened, filled with confusion, then shock, and then absolute, profound embarrassment.
She had closed her eyes for a split second. To her, I had simply... vanished. Dodged the kiss so quickly and silently it was as if I had never been there.
Her face turned red. She stepped back, bringing her hand to her mouth, her eyes filling with tears of humiliation.
"I... I'm sorry," she stammered to the empty room. "I... thought that..."
She didn't finish the sentence. With a muffled sob, she turned and ran out of my room. I heard her feet rushing down the stairs and the front door slamming shut.
I stood there, invisible and intangible, a cloud of misery and ectoplasmic energy. The ghost of what almost happened.
I heard footsteps coming up the stairs. Peter appeared in the doorway, a worried look on his face.
"Hey, man, MJ ran out like she'd seen a..." he stopped, looking at the empty room. "Danny?"
"I'm here," my voice said, echoing from an empty spot in the middle of the room.
Peter's eyes widened, looking around.
"Whoa. New trick?"
"Not intentional."
He whistled low, coming in and closing the door.
"Let me guess. You got a little too excited?"
"I guess so," I replied, my voice laden with bitterness. "She tried to kiss me, I panicked and... well, now I'm here."
Peter didn't laugh. He just shook his head, a bit of pity in his eyes.
"Man, that's... rough. But hey, you got invisibility now! That's amazing! Super useful for... espionage... and... avoiding awkward social situations, apparently."
I concentrated, pulling my energy inward, trying to remember the feeling of being solid, of being seen. Slowly, like a TV blur adjusting, my body reappeared, starting with my hands and ending with my feet. I was back, but feeling more like a ghost than ever.
"What do I do, Peter?"
He leaned against the door, crossing his arms.
"Well, step one: master your powers so you don't vanish in the middle of a romantic moment. Step two: maybe wait until high school to try that again. And step three..." He pulled the web-shooter parts from his pocket. "...help me finish this. I still have to patrol, and I don't want to end up in the East River."
I looked at the door where MJ had fled, my heart heavy. School started on Monday. I would have to face her. Explain the inexplicable.
But for now, helping Peter fix his web-shooter seemed like the easiest and safest task in the world. At least with technology, you could see what was broken. With a girl's heart and a ghost's powers... well, that was a mission for another day.