Chapter Text
"Class, we are going to be participating in a wonderful program here for the entire year!" Ria Harris' teacher explained, a beaming smile plastered on her face as she tried to rouse the students into cheering up. Nevertheless, her efforts were wasted. It was a Friday afternoon for these boarding school kids, prime daydreaming hours. They wanted nothing more than to go back to their dorm rooms and sleep or get a head start on their homework assignments. Marvel Boarding School for Girls, the British branch, was no fun when class was in session, just like most schools.
From her seat, Ria blinked slowly, her head propped up on her left arm. It was the only thing holding it up. In her right hand was a pencil she kept moving around on her page - a trick she learned that made her seem more alert in class than her face let on. Sometimes, she would fall asleep, and her hand would still be scribbling away in dizzy little circles. It was interesting to wake up and see the blobs of dark grey left behind from her sleep-writing. They were confusing little Rorschach tests.
What do you see? Boredom.
"We're going to be writing pen-pal letters!" Ms. Morris exclaimed, throwing her hands up into the air with a look of absolute glee. When she was met with silence, she asked, "Isn't that exciting?"
A dull round of agreeing murmurs rolled through the room. Ria grunted once, not hearing what was said but knowing her cue as a student. The mass of grey in the middle of her notebook got larger.
"I said, WE. ARE. GOING. TO. HAVE. PEN-PALS!" the frustrated teacher said, much louder and overflowing with fake enthusiasm now, dropping one of the English textbooks stacked on her desk to the floor. She hoped that would wake everybody up, or, you know, garner a response of some kind. Any kind. She was standing before a class of zombies, and it was rapidly turning creepy.
Ria jumped at the noise, trying to register the words coming out of Ms. Morris' mouth.
"These pen-pals are going to be from the country of Sokovia - all the way in Europe. They're all from children your age who have lived there for their entire lives. They've gone through those devastating bombings a few years back, so be mindful of their feelings. They just want to reach out and talk to children who live in another country. It is kind of like how when you need to talk to your friends some days about things rather than a teacher, or even your parents, you know? Be nice."
People perked up at the news of this new activity they would be involved in, so many students nodded without considering what the real ramifications could be if they disobeyed. Punishments here were mild at best. Everybody came from a family of influence and affluence.
Even little Ria, with her hair braided into two pigtails, innocent heart-shaped face, neat uniform and blackened notebook pages, was excited for the chance to know some scandalous foreign lifestyles. And she never got excited about anything, except the occasional teriyaki Wednesday and all the pizza Fridays in the cafeteria, or having her hair done by the older girls who didn't mind her listening in on their rauncy gossip.
"Pen-pals? Really? I want one!"
Ms. Morris finally felt she got what she wanted - a reaction. "Yes, Ria, pen-pals! Since you're so eager, I'll let you have the first pick of kids to write to. On each envelope, class, there are cards taped to the front with information about the people you are paired with."
Ms. Morris walked over to Ria's desk, purposely ignoring the picture of what looked like a black hole that her student had scribbled. Perhaps the girl wished to become an astronaut? Or, maybe she needed to send her to the school counselor for potentially disturbed thoughts?
"Err...Ria, read a couple of them and pick which person sounds like they could be the most fun for you to write to."
"Yeah, yeah," Ria sang, dancing in her seat.
A few of the other girls rolled their eyes at Ria's antics, wondering why she got picked instead of them. She wasn't special. Hardly even worth looking at twice.
By now, she was skillful in the art of ignoring her bullies, so Ria did as her teacher asked. She flipped through the envelopes as quickly as she could, looking for any words that sounded extra awesome to her, anything that would spark interest. By the seventh introductory card, Ria gasped, finding the words, "gender: male," "age: 10," and, "hobbies: exploring."
She wanted to talk to a boy who explored! That sounded so fun! There was nothing to explore for miles on school grounds. "Him!"
Many of the girls started shouting and squealing when they realized that boys were in the pile. It was so hard to see boys when school was in session. The only boy in the school was their headmaster, Mr. Lee, and he was old as dirt. Nothing like any teen idol they saw on the television or handsome movie stars sweeping up all the acting awards.
"Lovely choice," Ms. Morris commended, allowing her to take the envelope. She then went around to the rest of the class, letting the other girls pick, this time based on marks in class.
Ria opened her letter, immediately noticing the hurried and sloppy writing of her person. It was excusable, considering Ria also had writing that was best referred to as chicken scratch. It would just be a squinting and best guessing type of correspondence.
"Dear Pen-Pal,
My name is Pietro Maximoff. I am ten years old, and I live in Sokovia. Sokovia is best home. What is your name? How old are you? Where do you live? I hope you lives somewhere good. I want to see the world when I get older. I bet it is nice, not grey or broken."
Before Ria could get any further, the bell rang and the announcements for the evening were made over the monitor that was fixed to the wall space above the door. It was mostly tuned out by the scrambling to grab and go by the young ladies, chairs screeching across the floor.
Ria reached for her bag by her feet and halfway under her desk, ready to pack up a little more carefully than the others. However, she flinched when someone stepped on it, kicking the bag a few feet away for good measure with a muttering of, "half breed." Blue eyes were narrowed as they looked over the shoulder at Ria, meeting her green eyes. The brunette bully walked out without another word, having gotten the message across.
The familiar tingle of heat on her cheeks let Ria know she was about to tear up, and she was adamant about not crying on only the second day of school being back in session. If she cried, they won. Ria wasn't a loser by any means. Besides, there was nothing wrong with her being half-black and half-white. Nothing at all. Amanda Riverton's hang-ups about it was her problem.
Ria was fine.
So, she closed her eyes for a moment, thinking about pushing the British brat off a cliff or running her over with a stolen sports car. Cathartic.
She grabbed her notebook and walked over to her bag, wiping off what she could of the dirty footprint before shoving the notebook inside. Ria came back to her table to get her letter from the Pietro kid before she began to exit the room.
"Goodbye, Ria!" Ms. Morris called, belatedly noting that the girl was the last to leave her class for the second day in a row. Each time she left, the little girl looked more and more annoyed. Must be the end of the day rush getting to her. "Have a nice weekend," she added when Ria turned around, eyebrows raised as if she hadn't noticed the teacher's presence. Like she didn't know this was Ms. Morris' classroom. What a silly child.
"Oh, uh, bye..." Ria called back, slightly embarrassed and wondering if she saw the way Amanda picked on her. Did she know Ria was having trouble getting along with some of the other girls? Did she think Ria was wrong, too? "Have a nice weekend." The young girl left, head ducked down and body rigid as she clutched her purple bag close to her.
Ms. Morris hoped the future astronaut (or future problem child) was okay. Best not to start off the year with any unpleasant events.
~*~*~*~*~*~
She was hiding, and she knew she was hiding, but that wasn't the point. The real point? Ria was crying.
The girls, the same group as always, found her when she was on her way to her dorm, and they ganged up on her, backing Ria into a wall. When she tried to get them to go away with a threat of telling on them, Amanda slapped her. It was the first time they ever put their hands on her - the first time anyone had. Before, they'd only insulted her and messed with her belongings. The change in the routine shook Ria up, and she hadn't hesitated to push through them and bolt away to wherever was safe like some wild animal being hunted.
She had a feeling that the other four girls with Amanda were also just as shocked, and that was the only reason she'd been able to get away without a struggle.
Now, Ria found herself deep in the library, hiding behind a bookshelf with dusty volumes that no one had bothered to take a second glance at. She swiped at her face with her hands, irritated with herself for getting so emotional. She should have hit back, she should have yelled, she should have screamed, but no. All she did was run like a coward and hide. Ria would never be able to stop the bullying now. They'd only laugh at her if she did.
Why didn't she defend herself?
When she shifted in her balled up position against the bookshelf, a loud crinkling sound caught her attention. Ria scrunched up her nose, annoyed by it. "What?". She sat up, looking at her bag that was tucked under her hip. Ria opened it up, seeing that right on top was the letter she hadn't gotten the chance to finish. It was crinkled, but there were no rips, fortunately.
I may as well finish this...
She wasn't yet ready to go to the dorm hall again, to face people. This was a good enough distraction.
"Dear Pen-Pal,
My name is Pietro Maximoff. I am ten years old, and I live in Sokovia. Sokovia is best home. What is your name? How old are you? Where do you live? I hope you lives somewhere good. I want to see the world when I get older. I bet it is nice, not grey or broken.
The fighting broke my home and killed my parents. I miss them. We live in shelter now, but I have someone who I take care of. She is my twin sister. Her name is Wanda. I write because Wanda said I needs hobby. Writing pen-pal is good hobby. My mother taught me enough English words. Wanda knows more. I write, I get better. Practice makes perfect, yes?"
Ria laughed at this. She was reminded of her older brother, Jeremiah. Jerry went to a public school in America, where Ria wanted to be. Every boarding school their parents tried to send him to kicked him out for being unruly to the point of disrupting day-to-day activities. Ria wanted nothing more than to act up and be the same badass he was, but her shyness and fear of disappointing her parents kept her from so much as raising her voice out on campus grounds.
"I hope you write me back. I have little to say now, but soon, I get more to say. More each letter after. Thank you for being my pen-pal. I hope we have much fun and be good friends.
Sincerely, Pietro Maximoff."
Ria sniffled with a smile on her face. She liked him. He seemed nice. Getting out a pen - with purple ink - and a blank sheet of paper, Ria got ready to write back to Pietro. She planned on making the letter long enough for him to have lots to write back to her, just like he promised.
For the whole year, he would have her to talk to, so getting all the information about herself she could to him would make things easier on them both.
"Dear Pietro..."
~*~*~*~*~*~
Wanda was distracting a vendor on the street by asking about his crafts. The vendor was fooled by the innocent expression on the ten-year-old's face, telling her about who knit the overpriced scarf she was looking at and how much it cost, all the while Wanda made faces of interest and asked more questions.
Meanwhile, Pietro was stuffing a new coat for his sister into a backpack before he took a pair of leather gloves, two hats, and two of the stupid, fancy scarves off the second cart of the street vendor. He kept his eyes on his sister and their unwitting victim, feeling an immense amount of guilt in the pit of his belly.
Like many others in Sokovia, Pietro and Wanda were poor. They had no parents and very few people would be able to employ ten-year-olds. This vendor was just one out of the many people the twins had to scam in order to survive.
"H-Hey! Get away from there, you little bastard!"
Pietro jumped at the sound of a deep male voice bellowing at him. He quickly snatched one more pair of gloves (wool, good quality) off the cart and ran. Wanda, sticking to what they talked about, gave Pietro a surprised look and acted as if she didn't know him. When the vendor began to barrel over toward Pietro, the young Sokovian was already slipping through the crowded streets. Being much smaller and in better shape, Pietro was able to disappear in under a minute.
Twenty minutes later, Wanda met him at their designated meet-up spot, looking worried. She was always worried. "Are you okay, brother?" she asked in their native tongue. They only ever spoke English if speaking with any of the damned American soldiers that would stalk around trying to stop the protests of the people. "We cannot go back around there for a long while. The vendor was seething mad!"
Seething was probably a word Wanda read recently in a book. She always liked to try out her big new words with him first to see if they could slip casually into conversation. Most of the time, they did not. She sounded too prim.
With a laugh, Pietro brushed off his sister's fears. "They are always mad about something. Better it be at me than anyone else." He opened his bag, looking at the contents. "Look at our treasure! I am a pirate, Wanda!" he joked, holding a hand over one eye.
"If you are a pirate, I am a big, big actress." Wanda's response was dry as ever, peering into the bag with curious eyes. "Oh, no! No! We must return some of this! That man will go hungry after all we've taken!"
"We will die from the cold if we do not keep it!" Pietro snapped, all humor gone.
He was annoyed that his sister did not understand why they had to keep it. He already felt guilty enough, and her empathy for an adult who would manage to survive this theft of his made him feel worse. Logically, he knew he shouldn't be worried about it - if the seller could afford things of this quality, he was better off than most in Sokovia. Emotionally, Pietro was sure he'd be kept up tonight with the thoughts of his wrong-doings. What would karma return to him?
"Sister, we must take care of ourselves. I - You - " This conversation of theirs seemed to pop up every few weeks. "I cannot keep you warm by working the little jobs I am given. They are illegal, and no one wants to get arrested for a street kid. When I am older, when I save enough money, I will apologize and pay for all of this."
That information appeased Wanda enough to begin taking her share of the items, placing them on. It was already freezing cold this early on in September.
~*~*~*~*~*~
"Mail for you, Pietro! Do you think it is your pen-pal?" Wanda said as she walked into their shared room at the shelter. She was already ripping open the envelope, pulling out the papers inside. When she saw two pages of English writing, Wanda smiled. If it was one of their fellow Sokovian friends, then it would be written in their mother-tongue rather than English. "I think it is!"
"Wanda, what is the point of me having a pen-pal if you are going to be the one reading all the letters?"
"I want this to be for you... But, there is no harm in me reading and maybe adding my own letters, right? What's yours is mine, and what's mine is mine..."
She knew he would never deny her the little bits and pieces of entertainment they could scrounge up.
"Listen to this, Piet!" Wanda exclaimed.. "'My name is Ria Harris. I am eleven-years-old' - she's older! - 'and I also have a sibling. His name is Jerry, and he is five years older than me. He goes to school in America. I go to school in England, though I am also American.'"
Pietro didn't know how he felt about writing to an American of all people. An American was the reason for his parents' death. Plus, they were known by most to be major jerks.
"'My parents wanted for the both of us to get schooling in countries with better educational facilities. America doesn't have options that are as grand as England's. I go to Marvel's Boarding School for Girls. Jerry went to the one for boys, but got kicked out. There is another one in New York for boys and girls, but my parents won't let me go there until I am sixteen. They think that if I do most of my schooling here, I will become cultured - which is stupid - and never want to leave. I think that's the best joke I've ever heard.'"
Pietro listened as Wanda read to him about Ria, asking questions when he didn't understand the phrases or big words - of course Wanda knew them. It was Wanda. Everything from Ria's good marks in school, to her family's downplayed wealth and even her strained relationship with her parents sounded like the exact opposite of him. It made Pietro wonder why someone like her would choose to write back to him.
It wasn't until Wanda read, "'...It wouldn't be too bad being away from home if it wasn't for the bullies here. I miss my friends I only get to see in the summer. They were nice people and liked me back. I looked like them and they looked like me. In my class, I am surrounded by kids who have way more money, are known just for being rich, and they're mostly white. I look like the biggest outsider here in my class. I wish I was three years older, then I could hang out with the fourteen-year-olds. Their class has the most people of color. They don't judge me for being half-and-half like all the others do.'"
Wanda had to pause there, wiping a few tears from her eyes. "They do not accept her," she whimpered. Wanda was always the more sentimental twin, but even Pietro could see the similarities, and it broke his heart. The Maximoff twins were normally kept from the fun with local kids their age because many of them did not know how to approach mother-less and father-less orphans who lived in a shelter. Being different made you harder to understand. Ria was another one of the unfortunate ones.
"Write her back!" Wanda demanded, glaring at her brother. "Always write her back!"
"I never planned on not returning her letters." And he meant it. He'd always write her back. Ria needed someone just like Pietro did. He'd be Ria's Wanda.