Chapter 3
“I hate you so much.”
Peter threw on a sweatshirt--red, as formfitting as a sweatshirt could be-- and turned around to show Ned. He gave him a thumbs down, so Peter tore it off and grabbed a flannel.
“As if you’re a catch,” Ned cheekily remarked. “Why are you freaking out about your clothes? MJ doesn’t care what you wear.” He grimaced when he saw the yellow mustard color his friend had chosen. “Do you own any blue? Besides our school shirt and your Spider-Man suit. Oh! I know, wear that.”
Peter flipped Ned off and grabbed a blue long sleeve shirt. “Ha. Ha. And, I don’t know, honestly. I can’t control what she says about my house, I can’t control what May says to her, but this-- I am in control of this, and I don’t want to look stupid.”
“She doesn’t care, though. She’ll probably show up in PJs.”
“I know she doesn’t care. I just need my hands on the wheel, y’know? It’s been years since anyone that isn’t you or Tony have visited and it’s freaking me out.” Peter pulled the shirt over his head. “And the fact that it’s someone who hates me--”
“Hate is a strong word.”
“Strongly dislikes me, is not helping. Thanks a lot for that, by the way.” He looked in the mirror and, after decided it was adequit enough, found his desk chair and slumped into it. “This night is going to majorly suck.”
Ned looked at his friend sympathetically, hesitating with a response. “Dude, if I knew this was going to hurt you I wouldn’t have--”
Peter opened his mouth without a plan of action, but at that moment his aunt swung the door open. A dish towel was swung over her shoulder, riddled with spaghetti sauce, and some of it was on her jeans, as well. “Boys,” May said, a proud smile on her face. “There is a very pretty girl in the living room waiting for you two.”
“What’s with the whole…” Peter pointed to the stains.
“Another failed cooking attempt. I’m ordering some food soon. Ned, why don’t you go ask Michelle what she would like.” Ned nodded in agreeance. He collected a blanket and a pillow in his arms then got off of Peter’s bed, squeezing past May who stood in the door frame. When he was gone, May turned to her nephew. “She gave me a boquet of flowers. Tulips, actually. Did you tell her those were my favorite?”
He didn’t. Peter only remembered telling her about May once; it was his very first Decathlon meeting where he had to introduce himself. There was one person he did tell though…
“No. Lucky guess, I’d bet.”
May, her voice playful, shouted, “What are you still doing here? You’re making your very nice guests wait. Go!” She couldn’t help but laugh when she pointed her finger down the hall.
Michelle was sitting on the couch, in Peter’s spot, debating with Ned about what movie to watch. She was wearing leggings, a Spider-Man sweatshirt, and her hair was in a high bun. Peter thought again about changing his clothes, but Michelle had spotted him.
She didn’t say anything. She just smiled and waved, then went back to her and Ned’s argument. Michelle’s lack of a witty remark made the butterflies in his stomach disapear; she was smart and had manners, maybe she wouldn’t outright trash everything about him with his aunt thrity feet away.
Peter, his thoughts now on food, stuck his hands in his sweatshirt pocket and made his way to the kitchen. He grabbed three different bags on chips and stacked soda cans on top of each other, making a tower. He rested his chin on the tower and carried everything into the living room.
“We’re watching Heathers,” Ned announced. He grabbed a can of grape soda and offered it to Michelle.
“I hate the artiffical grape flavors. Do you have any regular fanta?”
Peter tossed her a can. “We only get grape for Ned, honestly. Why Heathers? Who suggested that?” When he talked, Peter looked soley at Ned, but he could see out of the corner of his eye that Michelle was avoiding eye contact, as well.
“I did,” said Michelle. “Ned brought out a whole list of sy-fi movies and I thought you two needed a more realistic movie once in a while. Pass me the Cheetos?”
“He manipulates her into murdering people,” he scoffed while Ned handed her the bag.
She shrugged. “That’s totally happened before. I’m not saying that we should all turn into Bonnie and Clyde, I’m just saying that sometimes it seems like your head is stuck in the clouds, Pete.”
“Don’t call me--”
“Who wants pizza?” May exclaimed, almost jogging into the room. “I know I want pizza. Michelle, what kind of pizza do you like?”
She looked distastfully at Peter, and tried to kindly tell May, “Cheese.”
“Cheese? That’s boring,” he laughed. He looked over at Ned, expecting support, but he was texting his mom I might not make it out alive. “It’s your fault,” Peter whispered to him after reading his phone screen.
“Well sorry, I’m not interesting enough, Pete. Not everyone can ditch third period and come back with black eyes every day.”
“Black eyes?” May interjected. She knew about the Spider-Man stuff and was slowly, very slowly, becoming okay with. She loosley set some rules for Peter about it, worrying that if she set too many he’d run to Stark and live with him, but she never said he couldn’t leave school to stop crime. May just thought it was common sense; Peter liked finding any loophole he could. “Ditching third period? Uh, you know what-- We’ll talk about this later, Peter. I’ll get you your cheese pizza, Michelle. Play nice, okay?”
Once May left, Peter took a handfull of Doritos and threw one at Michelle. “Thanks a lot,” he grumbled.
“I… I thought she knew.”
“You think she’s okay with me missing class every day and getting beat up?” Ned looked over at Peter, his eyes wide, as if to say you fucking idiot.
“Beat up?” she repeated.
“What? I didn’t say that.”
“Yes you did. Peter, do you get beat up every day? Is that why you miss so much school?”
“Are you asking as my Decathlon captain or an actual person?” And with that, any shred of concern that might have been lurking under the surface, dissapeared from her face. Michelle stared at him blankly, then receeded into the corner of the couch and pulled out her phone.
Ned looked between them and cleared his throat. “I think we should watch this movie before someone actually kills someone else, that sound good guys?” No one responded. “Great. Don’t get any ideas, you two.”
“Stop talking,” Michelle said through her teeth.
P: my bi-daily “please talk to me im literally dying without you” text
M: leave me alone
She knew she wasn’t being nice.
Michelle’s plan was to naturally be bitchy, like before she found out. Usually her insults would roll off the tongue, they weren’t something she had to think about, but that night they were getting stuck in the back of her throat. It was as if her body was intentionally blocking her. And, usually, Peter’s comebacks didn’t hurt her. She’d shrug them off, since they were usually lame and if they were somewhat clever, Michelle would feel inclinded to laugh.
And then she met May. As spectacular as Peter had described, she reminded Michelle of her own mother. Before she went to get the boys from Peter’s room, May told her, “It’s really nice that Peter has you as a friend. I worry about him all the time--you know how hard of a time he’s going through--I guess it’s just good to know that he has someone else to confide in.”
Michelle, after that conversation, wanted to be nice to Peter that night. She didn’t know what was going on in his life, not really--he could’ve left out a whole part of his life and she wouldn’t have known. She was going to cut him some slack that night.
It was really his fault. He made those comments about cheese pizza being boring and Heathers being unrealistic, and it didn’t really matter what he said; the way he said sounded repulsive and confrontational. Like he was already prepared for a fight.
The final blow was when he asked her, “Are you asking as my Decathlon captain or an actual person?” As if she didn’t care about his wellbeing. As if she wanted to see him bloody and broken in a hospital bed one day. As if the Decathlon captain persona she had created to coach her team to victory is cold and terrible and a sadist.
Did Peter see her like that? As cold and terrible and sadistic. Thinking about it made her sick, and it made it even worse that Michelle valued Peter’s opinion.
And thinking about it, she was angry. He didn’t know her well enough to think of her like that, and perhaps he didn’t deserve to.
While watching the movie, she angled her body away from them and kept her hood up, which only slightly blocked her view of the two boys. Michelle was still vidily aware of their presence; her shoulder was slightly pressed against Ned’s, and Peter was a heavy breather. Cold, terrible, sadistic. Maybe that was how she acted.
Those three words wouldn’t leave her head. Michelle had jumped to conclusions. Peter never said that, he would never have said that, but his actions were different. She wanted to go home, but she was stuck on the couch that continuously felt smaller and smaller.
Had her father raised her to only care about one thing? Her academics were the only things Michelle found herself stressing about; she forgot every jab at Peter or an embarrassing stutter by the time she was on the train ride home. What she did remember, though, was the A- she got on a pre test. Oh, how she cried about that flimsy little minus symbol, on a test that didn’t even matter. Did her father raise her to be cold to others?
If her mother was still around, maybe Michelle would’ve turned out different. She would’ve had actual friends.
Suddenly, Heather Chandler’s falling body paused in mid-air. “Are you okay, Michelle?” Peter hesitantly asked.
“Yeah,” she said, keeping her head on the TV screen, “Why wouldn’t I be?”
Ned turned to her, adding, “Y-You sound like you’re crying or something. Is it something in the movie? I thought you said you’ve watched it before.”
“I’m not crying, see? Dry as a bone.” She turned to them, finally, gesturing towards her eyes.
The two boys exchanged worried glances. Ned nudged Peter with his elbow, and after groaning, Peter started speaking again. “It just seems like you’re upset about something, and Ned is--” Ned kicked Peter. “--We are concerned.”
“The only thing that’s wrong right now is that we aren’t watching the fucking movie,” Michelle snapped. “Do you know what, I should actually be going. My dad doesn’t know I’m here and if he tracks my phone here he’ll kill you guys.” She stood up and folded her blanket over her arms, and started walking towards the door.
Peter jumped over the couch with little effort. “Woah, calm down. We’ll just watch the movie and not talk, yeah?”
“You don’t even want me here.”
“Th-that is not true.” She continued her walk forward, but Peter hastily walked backward until his hand was on the doorknob. “Maybe a little bit, b-but! Ned wants you here. My aunt really likes you, and how are you going to get home in the dark?”
“Do you care that I, your Decathlon captain, gets home safe, or an actual person?” Michelle threw his words back at him, and realization hit him quickly.
“That’s not what I meant! I just meant that--”
“That I can’t have concern for anyone without ulterior motives? It’s great to know that’s how you think of me, Peter. Could you get out of the way?” She knew any attempt to move him would end in failure.
Peter kept his ground. “Okay, yeah, I shouldn’t have said that. It was a dick move. I’m sorry. But it’s not like you haven’t said equally bad things to be…” his voice trailed off, like he meant to whisper it to himself.
“You’re such a dick, Parker.”
From behind them, Ned got off the couch and made his way over to them. He handed Michelle her phone. “You forgot something,” he said to her. “Peter, let her go home. You’re kind of kidnapping her.”
Peter looked between them, biting his lip in intense thought before stepping out of the way. “Fine. Can we talk tomorrow, though?”
“Whatever,” she grumbled, swinging the door open, but turning around before leaving. “Thanks, Ned. Oh, and Parker?” Tell him right now. Drop the “I’m Mary” bombshell and ruin his night.
“Yeah?”
“Fuck off.”
spiidermfans: someone tell me why i thought walking alone this late was a good idea
spiidermfans: @ spider-man help me out here
Peter closed the door behind her. Yeah, he felt bad about what he had said, but he really didn’t mean it like that. He was referencing what she had said the day before, which was the same thing— but they didn’t have that type of relationship where he could say that.
Peter was trying to stop her from leaving because of what his aunt would say. Also, she looked upset. He felt uneasy just letting her leave.
“Asshole,” Ned called him. “You’re seriously going to let her walk home after that?”
“No. I have a plan.” Peter raced past him, or tried, before Ned grabbed his wrist.
“Please don’t tell me—“
He nodded, “Listen, I’m just going to follow her until she gets on the train. She won’t even know.”
It was a stupid idea. He didn’t know where she lived, he didn’t even know if she took the train, and he certainly didn’t know which direction she went in. But sometimes, Peter’s stupid ideas worked out. And he felt like shit about that night, and couldn't wait until Thursday to apologize.
“Fine,” Ned said, letting go. “But when Spider-Man crawls back into that window and sees me finishing the movie, you’re not allowed to be pissed.”
“I won’t,” Peter promised, a contagious grin on his face as he ran back into his room. He quickly stripped and bounced around, trying to get his suit on.
A female voice rang in his ears once the mask went on. “Hi, Peter. Where to tonight?”
“Karen,” he replied and climbed out his window. “Any way you can track a cellphone? Michelle Jones, sev- no, sixteen years old, Midtown student.”
Quickly, a location popped up on his screen. He muttered, “Awesome,” as he activated his web shooters and swung in that direction.
Queens wasn’t the most beautiful part of New York, but Peter would’ve hated living anywhere else. Manhattan was too busy, Brooklyn was… Brooklyn. Despite all the crime, which he was stopping and inspiring all at once, he loved the borough.
Peter spotted her, just as she shrieked in surprise. Michelle jumped back and dropped her phone as a man whipped out a gun, pointing it at a guy in front of him. “You bastard,” the man yelled.
Of course, Peter couldn’t follow someone without a confrontation occurring. He pointed his web shooters at the gun and yanked it out of his hands, then webbed him up and attached him to a pole.
“Is everyone okay?” Spider-Man asked, his voice deep. “Besides him.”
“Yeah,” the guy at gunpoint confirmed. “Thanks, Spider-Man.”
He turned and left, sprinting.
Spider-Man turned to Michelle, who had eyes wider than saucers and held her hands above her head. “And you, ma’am?” She was looking at his feet, where her newly cracked phone laid.
Peter couldn’t help but look at her phone screen when he bent down to pick it up. And when he did-- holy fuck. Opened was her Twitter account, with a layout he was very familiar with. The icon was of himself (Spider-Man, not Peter Parker), a picture he remembered taking. The banner was simply baby blue--he had made fun of Mary for her basic Twitter layout countless times, but he actually quite liked it--and Michelle’s username sent chills down his spine.
It was her. Michelle was Mary. Ned was right.
It took him a second to realize it, but it felt like an eternity. So many thoughts flooded his head but the only one at the forefront was holy fuck.
Spider-Man handed Michelle the phone, and a smile spread on her face. “O-Oh my god! I love you, s-so much. You’re the best Avenger,” she boasted. “Can I get a picture?”
“Yeah, of course.” Out of pure shock, he didn’t deepen his voice, but she didn’t seem to notice. He put his arm around her and copied her when she did his iconic hand gesture, not really processing any of it. Michelle’s smile was wider than Peter had seen anyone smile before--that kind of shocked him, too.
Michelle took the picture, and then a few more. “Thank you so much,” she told him.
Peter nodded. She smiled, laughing somewhat, and waved goodbye before walking away from him. He was going to ask if she needed help on her way home, but that totally slipped his mind. Because holy fuck.
Holy. Fuck.