Chapter 4
The morning sun painted Brooklyn in golden streaks, and Gwen was already perched on a rooftop, sneakers gripping the edge of a six-story building like it was nothing. Her heart pounded—not from fear, but exhilaration. Her fingers flexed, sticky with the faint tingle of power, and the world below seemed to slow down.
She took a deep breath, focused, and jumped.
The wind rushed past her ears as she plummeted for half a second before instinct took over—she flicked her wrist. A thread of web shot out, latching to a streetlamp, and she soared into the air with a clumsy swing that made her squeal midair.
“I’m doing it—I’m doing it!” Gwen whooped, legs flailing as she shot across the street.
The second swing was smoother, more graceful. The third felt like flying. She zigzagged between buildings, heart pounding, hair whipping behind her. It was messy and imperfect, but Gwen couldn’t stop grinning.
Eventually, she landed with a breathless thud against a brick wall and clung there, crouched like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Okay,” she muttered, glancing at her hands. “This is officially insane.”
But incredible.
She continued testing things. Crawling up buildings was almost too easy. Lifting the back of a dumpster with one hand? Freaky. She even managed to cling upside down under a fire escape—until her phone buzzed and she screamed, losing her grip and landing in a pile of garbage bags.
“Smooth, Stacy,” she groaned, brushing off banana peels.
Later, as she strolled toward a convenience store to grab a snack, a scream cracked through the air. Gwen froze. A mugging—right across the street. Her heart thundered. Her legs moved before her brain could.
She ducked into the alley, pulled her hood over her head, and leapt into the fray.
“Hey!” she shouted.
The man turned, startled—then lunged at her with a crowbar.
Bad move.
Gwen dodged and reflexively shoved him with her hand. The guy flew backwards—into a car windshield, groaning as he slumped unconscious.
“Oh no, no no no—” Gwen winced, running over. “I didn’t mean to do that!”
The mugged woman was already running off, phone in hand, probably calling the cops. Gwen panicked and launched herself back into the alley, scaling a fire escape and disappearing into the skyline before anyone could get a good look.
By the time she landed on her dorm’s rooftop, chest heaving, she was a storm of adrenaline and nerves.
She’d stopped a crime.
She’d also maybe broken a guy’s ribs.
“Well… this is going great,” she muttered, collapsing onto the roof, hands over her face.
The sewing machine whirred softly in the background, a steady rhythm that matched the soft hum of Amaya’s playlist. Gwen sat cross-legged on the floor, holding up a sketch Amaya had drawn just minutes earlier.
“So you’re telling me… this is all from scratch?” Gwen asked, raising an eyebrow at the half-constructed bodysuit laid across the futon.
“I’ve been waiting for a moment like this my whole life,” Amaya said dramatically, adjusting her glasses as she fed black fabric through the machine. “A best friend with powers? Babe, you’ve basically handed me a live-action fashion thesis.”
Gwen chuckled. “You’re loving this a little too much.”
“Correction,” Amaya grinned, “I’m loving you a little too much. You’re literally a superhero now, and I get to design your look? Iconic.”
The room smelled faintly of fabric glue and lavender detergent. Swatches of pink, white, and black were scattered on the bed, with Gwen’s boots and gloves laid out neatly beside them. A roll of mesh for breathability sat in a basket under Amaya’s desk.
“I just wanted something simple,” Gwen murmured, watching Amaya attach a light pink hood to the sleek black bodysuit. “Not too flashy. Just… something that feels like me.”
Amaya paused, looking up. “You mean something that hides how awesome you are but still screams ‘do not mess with me’?”
Gwen grinned. “Exactly.”
The two shared a laugh before Gwen’s smile faded a little. “Hey, can I be real with you for a sec?”
Amaya stopped the machine, swiveling in her chair. “Always.”
Gwen picked at a loose thread in her leggings. “I’m… really scared. I mean, it’s been days. I still don’t have a full grip on these powers, I nearly flattened a mugger earlier today, and I can’t even tell my boyfriend I’m turning into him.”
There was a moment of silence before Amaya got up and sat beside her on the floor. “You don’t have to do this alone. I’m not just here to make you look cool, Gwen. I’ve got your back. Even if you accidentally glue yourself to the ceiling again.”
Gwen smiled, eyes glistening slightly. “You’re the best.”
“I know,” Amaya said, nudging her shoulder. “But seriously. You’ve always been brave, even before all the super stuff. Remember when you stood up to Coach Brunner for making fun of your posture in ballet?”
“God, that guy was a jerk,” Gwen laughed.
“And you told him to go ‘stretch his personality out’ before he tried talking about flexibility.”
They both burst into laughter.
By the time the suit was finished, it was perfect: sleek black with white arms, pink web patterns peeking from the inner hood, and enough stretch to move easily. Gwen stood in front of the mirror, slipping the mask over her face.
“I look… kind of badass,” she whispered.
“You look like the hero the city didn’t know it needed,” Amaya declared, hands on her hips.
Gwen turned, pulling the mask up. “Thanks, Amaya. For everything.”
Amaya smirked. “Just promise me when you become famous, I get to be your stylist-slash-sidekick.”
“Deal.”
The afternoon sun spilled over the courtyard at Vision Academy, casting long shadows across the pavement. Gwen sat on the edge of the stone fountain, her phone in her lap, screen dark. She kept glancing toward the entrance, knowing Miles would be out any minute.
Avoiding him hadn’t been easy. She’d missed lunch. Slipped out the back stairwell after class. Let most of his texts sit unanswered. And still—Miles always found her.
“Gwen.”
His voice cut through the buzz of students. She looked up. There he was—messy hair, backpack slung over one shoulder, concern all over his face.
“Hey,” she said, trying to sound casual.
He walked over slowly, sitting beside her on the fountain’s ledge. “Okay. What’s going on?”
Gwen blinked. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve been... off. Distant. Like, really distant. I know something’s wrong.”
Her throat tightened. “I’ve just been tired. New internship, ballet stuff—”
“Don’t do that,” Miles interrupted gently. “Don’t shut me out.”
She swallowed. “Okay.” A beat. “Wanna go out tonight?”
Miles blinked. “Wait—like a date?”
She smiled, soft and small. “Yeah. Just us.”
Miles hesitated only a second before nodding. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”
Later that evening, they found themselves tucked in the corner of a small diner near Gwen’s dorm, where neon lights flickered against the window and the smell of fries filled the air. They shared a milkshake between them, old-school style, and Gwen almost let herself forget the pressure building in her chest.
“You remember that reporter?” she asked, twirling her straw. “The one who wrote that article about the new Spider-person in Brooklyn?”
Miles narrowed his eyes. “Yeah. Wild, right?”
Gwen nodded. “Since there is… y’know… another hero in the city. Like another Spider-person. What would you think?”
Miles blinked. “Like… someone with powers like mine?”
She nodded again.
“I mean— it's cool, I guess?” he said slowly. “I don’t know. It depends. I kind of work better alone.”
Her heart sank. “Oh.”
“I mean, it’s already dangerous enough out there. Another person swinging around with no training? Could get messy.”
“Right,” she said softly, looking away.
Miles reached for her hand across the table. “Why are you asking?”
She forced a smile. “Just curious. Hypotheticals.”
Miles didn’t press. He smiled back, lacing his fingers through hers. “Well, I’m glad we’re here. With everything going on, I missed you.”
Gwen stared at their hands. She felt a weight settle deeper in her chest. How could she ever tell him now?
Later, walking back to campus under the streetlights, Gwen felt like she was living in a world cracked down the middle. In one half, she was Gwen—ballet student, girlfriend, friend. In the other, she was something new. Something masked. Something alone.
And maybe that’s how it would have to stay.
“So,” Amaya said, sprawled across her bed with a sketchpad propped on her knees, “have you given it any thought?”
Gwen peeked up from where she was hanging—literally upside down—from the ceiling by her fingertips. “Given what any thought?”
“A name! Your spider-alter-ego! Every hero needs one.”
Gwen groaned and let go, flipping off the ceiling with a half-stumble. “You make it sound like I’m building a brand.”
“Well,” Amaya said with a grin, “you kind of are.”
Gwen sat on the floor, legs crossed. “Ugh, I don’t know. I don’t want it to be too cheesy. Like Spider-Girl? Spider-Chick?”
“Spider-Chick sounds like a fast-food mascot,” Amaya deadpanned. “And Spider-Girl sounds like someone’s fanfiction username.”
They both cracked up.
“Okay, okay,” Amaya continued, tapping her pencil against the pad. “Let’s think vibes. Mysterious? Cool? Rebellious? Elegant?”
“Can I be all of them?” Gwen asked, flopping onto her back dramatically.
“You already are,” Amaya teased, then held up her sketchpad. On it was a rough design of Gwen in her new suit—sleek white and black, touches of pink, a hood drawn up. “Look at her. She’s mysterious. She’s powerful. She’s got... web appeal.”
“Did you just make a spider pun?” Gwen asked, mock-horrified.
Amaya gave her a proud nod. “Unapologetically.”
Gwen sat up, reaching for the sketch. “You really made this for me?”
“Duh,” Amaya said, cheeks pink. “You’re literally a superhero. If I’m not designing your suits, what am I doing with my life?”
Gwen’s voice softened. “You’re the best.”
They were quiet for a moment. Outside, traffic rumbled past. Inside, the room was warm and filled with the soft scratch of pencil on paper.
“I’ve never told anyone this,” Gwen said, her voice quieter, “but this whole thing? It’s kinda terrifying. I don’t always know what I’m doing. And when I try to talk to Miles, it just—feels wrong. Like I’m keeping something big from him, but I can’t even explain why I have to.”
Amaya scooted closer, her expression gentler. “You’re figuring it out. And I’m with you, okay? Every step.”
Gwen gave a tiny nod, swallowing the lump in her throat. “Thanks.”
“Oh,” Amaya said, brightening. “How about Spider-Gwen?”
Gwen blinked. “That’s literally just my name.”
“Exactly! No one would ever suspect it’s really you. Reverse psychology!”
“Amaya…”
“Okay, okay,” Amaya laughed. “We’ll workshop it.”
As the night wore on, they tested names, giggled at the ridiculous ones, and even choreographed some dramatic poses. For the first time in days, Gwen felt a little lighter.
Meanwhile, across the city, an article was already going viral: “Spider-Woman? Mysterious Vigilante Seen Swinging Across Brooklyn Skyline.”
She didn’t have a name yet—but the city was already watching.