Chapter 8
The glow from Gwen’s laptop screen painted her face blue as she clicked “publish” on her latest blog post. She stared at it for a second longer than necessary, then shut the lid with a soft click and leaned back in her chair. The room was quiet, save for the faint hum of a white noise machine across the room and the rustle of fabric as Gwen pulled her knees to her chest.
A knock came at the door—soft, hesitant.
“Gwendolyne?” her mother’s voice called from outside.
Gwen sighed, brushing her hair back quickly. “Come in.”
Her mom stepped inside, already in her coat. “We’re heading out. Just wanted to say goodnight.”
Her dad appeared behind her, his expression unreadable. “Big day tomorrow. Remember, the ballet instructor is expecting you at nine.”
Gwen blinked. “Tomorrow’s Saturday.”
“We thought you’d appreciate the extra help. Your mom spoke to her after your last showcase,” her dad said, like it was a favor.
“But I didn’t ask for more ballet.”
Her mom offered a tight smile. “You didn’t have to. It’s just what’s best for your focus. You’re already spread thin, and the drums…” Her voice trailed off like a disapproving whisper.
Gwen felt her throat tighten. “The drums are my focus.”
“They’re loud. And... not very graceful,” her mom said gently, as if trying to spare her. “You shine when you dance.”
“I shine when I’m me,” Gwen whispered.
Her dad stepped in with a sigh. “You can’t do everything, sweetheart. Pick what matters most.”
Then they were gone, the door clicking shut behind them.
She sat there, blinking, swallowing down the heat in her chest.
She stood slowly, crossed to the corner where her drum pads were folded beneath her bed, and pulled them out—carefully, quietly, setting them up with practiced hands.
With headphones in and sticks gripped tight, she started playing.
Not for ballet.
Not for anyone.
Just for herself.
The cafeteria smelled like industrial cleaner and warm cinnamon rolls. Folding tables were lined with trays of donated food, and a slow stream of people filtered through the doors, grabbing plates and nodding thanks.
Gwen adjusted her volunteer badge, her fingers fidgeting with the plastic clip. She wasn’t even sure how she ended up here. Well—she was. Her physics teacher had pulled some ridiculous “class bonding” excuse and assigned both her and Miles to the same shift. Said it’d be good for their academic synergy. Whatever that meant.
She glanced up—and yep, there he was. Miles Morales. Rolling up his sleeves and looking unfairly good while carrying a tray of cornbread like it was a mission from the gods.
Their eyes met.
He smiled.
Gwen blinked. Stupid cute smile.
“Hey,” he said, crossing over to her. “They’ve got us working drinks. You good with lemonade duty or should I man the ladle?”
She smirked. “Depends. Do you trust me near sugar?”
He laughed. “Honestly? Not even a little.”
They fell into an easy rhythm behind the table. Gwen poured drinks, Miles handed out cups, and between polite smiles and paper napkins, they kept glancing at each other just a bit too long.
At one point, Gwen leaned in slightly. “Is this weird? Us doing this together?”
Miles tilted his head. “Not unless you want it to be.”
She flushed but didn’t look away. “No. It’s... nice. You’re nice.”
Someone accidentally bumped the table, and Gwen splashed lemonade on her hand. Miles reached for a napkin, brushing her fingers as he handed it to her. “You always spill stuff when you’re nervous?”
“I’m not nervous,” she said too quickly.
He grinned. “Cool. Then I’m the nervous one.”
The moment hovered. Soft, almost giddy. Then a kid ran by screaming about extra cookies, and the spell broke.
Still, Gwen caught herself smiling way too much as she handed over another cup. Miles leaned close again—not enough to touch, just enough to feel it.
“You wanna switch shifts so I can hear your expert lemonade commentary?”
She smirked. “You wouldn’t survive five minutes.”
The dorm room hummed with quiet. A lo-fi playlist played softly from Amaya’s side of the room as Gwen flopped onto her bed, face-first into her pillow.
"That good, huh?" Amaya asked without looking up from her sketchpad.
Gwen groaned. "I'm fine."
"Sure," Amaya said, unconvinced. "Just throwing yourself into your pillow like it insulted your entire bloodline."
Gwen peeked out with one eye. "We were handing out lemonade. It’s not that deep."
"You were glowing like you won a Nobel Prize when you walked in."
Gwen grabbed her pillow again and smushed it over her face. “It was fine.”
Amaya raised an eyebrow, pen paused mid-stroke. “Did Physics Boy show up?”
There was silence. Then a muffled, barely audible: “Maybe.”
"Girl."
Gwen rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling. "I don’t know. We were volunteering, okay? He just… he made it kinda fun. It wasn’t weird or awkward. He spilled lemonade on his shoe and tried to pretend it didn’t happen."
“Adorable.”
“I know.”
They sat in comfortable silence for a while. Gwen glanced toward her drumsticks resting on her desk, untouched. Her ballet shoes sat neatly by the wardrobe—clean, rehearsed, expected. Physics homework lay open, but unread.
“So,” Amaya said after a beat. “You gonna blog about it?”
Gwen smirked. “Already did.”
The city lights outside his window flickered like fireflies, casting soft shadows over the room. Miles sat at his desk, a physics textbook spread out in front of him, but his mind was miles away—no pun intended.
He could still hear the sound of Gwen’s laugh from the community center earlier that day, the way her eyes lit up when she handed him the lemonade, and how when she’d said “you’re nice,” he’d felt like his chest might’ve done an actual flip.
His fingers hovered over the page of his notebook. He should probably study. But his mind kept drifting back to her. To that stupid smile. The way she had flushed when he accidentally brushed her fingers earlier.
It felt like a strange kind of quiet when she wasn’t around. Like the air wasn’t exactly the same. Like something was missing.
The thought caught him off guard, making him sit back in his chair. He’d known Gwen for a while, of course—shared a few classes, worked together on school stuff. She was smart, witty, and... really, really cute. But today? That was different. That was the first time he felt the way she made him feel.
It wasn’t like Spider-Man style admiration. It was something warmer. A pull that wasn’t about heroics or saving the day. It was just... Gwen.
He leaned back and looked out the window, trying to clear his head.
But the thought stuck with him. And as his fingers drummed lightly on the desk, he realized that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t want to just be friends with her anymore.
The knock at the door pulled him out of his thoughts.
“Yo, Miles,” Ganke’s voice called from the hallway. “You in there? Need a snack run?”
Miles pushed his chair back and stood, throwing the textbook aside. “Yeah, I’ll be there in a sec.”
Before he opened the door, he glanced one last time at the window, the city sprawled beneath the dark sky.
He wasn’t sure what was going to happen with Gwen, but one thing was for sure: it was different now. He could feel it in his gut.