Chapter 2
The lie felt heavier now.
Not in the earth-crushing, end-of-the-world kind of way. Just enough to make Gwen feel like she was carrying a second backpack, one she couldn’t take off. Every step she took through the school felt like it had a spotlight on it.
She knew what she had to do.
She knew where he’d be.
She just… hadn’t done it yet.
She saw him between classes that day—twice, actually. Once near the vending machines, earbuds in, flipping through his sketchbook with the kind of calm she envied. Then again by the stairs, hood up, slow steps like he had nowhere urgent to be. Both times, she opened her mouth. Both times, nothing came out.
How do you even start that conversation?
“Hey, remember how I said we’re dating? Yeah, I didn’t mean it. Sorry for the social chaos.”
It sounded worse every time she rehearsed it in her head.
By the end of the day, she had a plan. Not a good one. But a plan.
Her heart thumped harder the closer she got to the science wing. The hallways had thinned out. The final bell had rung a while ago, and most students were either outside, on their way home, or at practice. Gwen’s steps echoed louder than she liked.
Then she spotted him.
Alone by his locker. One headphone in, the other hanging loose. He hadn’t noticed her yet—he was sketching something on the back of his hand with a pen, eyes narrowed in concentration.
She stopped.
Her body wouldn’t move any further. Her brain was suddenly full of static.
He’s going to think you’re weird. Or fake. Or worse—he’s going to ask why you picked him out of all people.
But she didn’t turn around.
Instead, she exhaled slowly, adjusted the strap of her bag, and started walking again. Her feet felt too loud. Her heartbeat way too obvious.
When she was close enough to speak, she hesitated.
He noticed her first.
His pen paused. He looked up, a little surprised, but not unfriendly. There was something guarded in his eyes—like he was waiting for her to start this, not sure where it was going.
“Hey,” Gwen said. Voice too quiet.
“Hey,” he said back.
A beat of silence. She forced a smile, shifting awkwardly on her feet.
“You probably heard what people are saying,” she mumbled.
“Yeah,” Miles said simply. No edge to it. Just truth.
Okay. He’s not going to make this easy. Fair enough.
She looked away. “I didn’t mean for that to happen. I kinda… panicked. Said something dumb. And now everyone thinks we’re dating, and it’s—messy. I’m sorry.”
Miles studied her, like he was deciding what part of her to believe first. Then he asked, “Why me?”
Gwen blinked. “What?”
“I mean…” He scratched the back of his neck. “Out of everyone. You could’ve said any name. Why mine?”
Gwen opened her mouth—then paused.
She hadn't really thought about it like that. Not until now.
Because he was quiet.
Because he was kind of a mystery.
Because she noticed him—noticed that he was always alone, like her. And something about that made him feel safe. Like he wouldn’t laugh.
“I guess…” she started, then shrugged. “I thought you wouldn’t care. Or say anything. I don’t know. I panicked.”
He tilted his head, still unreadable.
“You mad?” she asked quietly.
He didn’t answer right away. Just clicked his pen closed and tucked it into his pocket. Then:
“No. Just… confused, I guess.”
“Me too,” she said, half-laughing at herself. “It was stupid. I can tell people it was a misunderstanding, if you want. I’ll fix it.”
Miles raised a brow. “You sure?”
“What?”
“You want to fix it?” he asked, more carefully this time.
And she realized—he wasn’t asking to be smug or clever.
He was asking because maybe… just maybe… he wasn’t entirely against the lie either.
Gwen felt the heat crawl up her neck again. “I don’t know.”
“Cool,” he said, zipping his backpack slowly. “Let me know when you do.”
And with that, he walked past her, brushing shoulders just lightly enough to make her knees feel a little weird.
Gwen stood there for another full minute, brain buzzing.
Okay. That definitely didn’t go the way I thought it would.
“So…”
That one word was all it took. Gwen barely made it two feet into the band room before Betty leaned in with raised brows and a grin that could only mean trouble.
Gwen blinked. “So… what?”
“Don’t play dumb,” Betty said, tugging a drumstick from her back pocket and twirling it. “We saw you.”
Mary Jane chimed in from the amp she was setting up. “You talked to him.”
“Who?” Gwen asked too quickly.
“Your boyfriend,” Gloria added with a teasing lilt. “Miles.”
Gwen groaned and dropped her bag by the door. “Seriously?”
Betty leaned her elbows on her drum set. “We’ve never seen you talk to him before. So it was kind of a moment.”
“Not everything is a moment,” Gwen muttered.
Mary Jane smirked. “It is when you’ve been avoiding bringing him to anything for a month straight.”
“I haven’t—” Gwen stopped herself. No point. She’d played this game too long. Every new denial only made it worse.
Instead, she flopped into the chair near the mic stand and rubbed her face. “Fine. I talked to him.”
“And?” Gloria asked.
“It was fine.”
“Did you invite him to Jules’ party Friday?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because…” Gwen trailed off.
She didn’t have a good answer. She hadn’t even processed what had happened between them yet. Miles hadn’t laughed. He hadn’t dismissed her. He’d asked her why. And when she couldn’t give him a real answer, he hadn’t pushed—he just… left the door open.
It wasn’t a yes. But it wasn’t a no, either.
It was something else.
Something that stuck with her.
“Gwen,” Mary Jane said gently, “do you even like him?”
That pulled her eyes up fast. “What?”
“I mean… it’s okay if you don’t. You can just say it was a dumb rumor, and we’ll back you up. You don’t have to keep faking it.”
Gwen looked at her friends. All of them. Bright eyes. Warm faces. People she loved but never quite matched lately.
She felt like a puzzle piece jammed into the wrong corner of the picture.
Did she like Miles?
She thought about the way he didn’t deny it.
The way he looked at her like he was really looking.
The quiet strength in his voice when he said, “We’re private.”
She thought about the sketchbook. The headphones. The way he walked like he was used to going unnoticed.
And how, maybe, that felt familiar.
“I don’t know yet,” she said finally.
And that was the truth.
Later that evening, Gwen sat on the windowsill of her room, phone resting beside her. She hadn’t texted him. She barely had his number—just once, shared for a Spanish group project months ago.
But it was still there. Still usable.
She looked at the screen.
Then at the sky.
Then back to the screen.
Let me know when you do.
That’s what he’d said.
Not “don’t talk to me.”
Not “stay out of my way.”
Just… “let me know.”
Her fingers hovered for a long time before typing.
Hey. It’s Gwen. Just… letting you know. If you’re not mad or weirded out… the party’s Friday night. You can come. If you want.
She hit send before she could overthink it.
Then she threw the phone face down onto her bed and buried her face in a pillow.
Outside, the city buzzed faintly, just a hum under the silence. Inside, Gwen felt the tiniest thread of anticipation pull tight in her chest.
Maybe this lie had started something.
And maybe—just maybe—she didn’t want to fix it yet.
Miles stared at the message for way longer than he’d admit.
It had come in hours ago—early evening, right before sunset. He’d been half-distracted with a pencil in one hand and an untouched sandwich in the other, music playing in the background like static he wasn’t really listening to.
Hey. It’s Gwen. Just… letting you know. If you’re not mad or weirded out… the party’s Friday night. You can come. If you want.
Short. Uneasy. Exactly how he figured she’d text.
He didn’t respond right away.
Didn’t even really read it at first. Just skimmed it and kept sketching. He told himself he was gonna ignore it, or at least wait a few days. Give it the slow treatment. Let her sweat a little. Make her think he was cooler about it than he really was.
But the pencil stopped moving.
And his eyes kept drifting back to the screen.
Over and over again.
Gwen Stacy.
Of all people.
She was one of those names you always heard in the background. Someone always playing drums at school events or running off with the same tight little circle of friends. She was either in the band room or the science lab, but never in the middle of things. Never loud, but never invisible either. Somehow both too cool and too far from his orbit.
And now?
People thought they were dating.
And she hadn’t shut it down.
And now she was inviting him somewhere.
Miles leaned back against the headboard, letting the pencil roll from his fingers. The sketchbook sat open beside him—half a page filled with a familiar face. Accidental, maybe. But not surprising.
He didn’t know why he hadn’t called her out when the rumor started.
Maybe part of him liked it.
Maybe it was easier to let people believe it. To pretend, for a minute, that he was part of someone’s story in a way that wasn’t just background noise.
"Why me?"
He’d asked her that—and she hadn’t had an answer.
But the way she’d looked at him…
Like she saw him, not just needed him for a lie. That stuck.
And now she wanted him at a party.
Part of him laughed at the thought. Parties weren’t his thing. He hated crowds. Hated noise. Hated having to pretend he wasn’t awkward. But he kept hearing her voice in his head.
“If you’re not mad or weirded out…”
He wasn’t.
But he was curious. And maybe… a little hopeful. Against better judgment.
So he picked up the phone. Read the message again. Then, without thinking too hard:
Cool. I’ll think about it.
He didn’t send anything more.
Didn’t need to.
It wasn’t a yes. But it wasn’t a no either.
And it was enough to leave the door open.