Chapter 4
Peter stayed up until two in the morning looking through old messages. He was looking for anything that screamed, “You dumbass! It’s so obvious who you’re talking to!” He didn’t find a lot, but a few little things that made him infuriated with himself.
Michelle had a codename for him--“Penis,” which really should have set off some bells the first time he saw it. She ranted only a few times about Peter not working. Nothing else about him was mentioned, though.
Once, Michelle unintentionally described what she was wearing at school. “I’m actually wearing a joan or arc shirt right now!” She followed that up with, “Oh shit, don’t look for me in the halls.” Peter remembered that day hazily, but he did remember spilling ketchup all over Michelle’s Joan of Arc t-shirt. He didn’t even think twice about it.
Another time, he mentioned a book he had to read for English and she had to read the same one. Peter thought, That’s weird, I’m in Mr. Jacob’s only junior class, and none of the other english classes have to read it. Then there was the time when she described Abe breaking a desk during history. Surly, Peter should’ve realized that they were in the same history class, since he literally sat right next to Abe, but he never did. He just assumed he heard it from someone else.
Idiotic was the only word to describe Peter. No other word--except maybe imbecile-- would sum up how he felt about himself. He should’ve found out earlier.
Maybe he didn’t want to, though. Mary wasn’t real, in so many ways. In the obvious way, she didn’t have any real life implications. She couldn’t tell his secrets to the whole school and ruin his non-existent reputation. But, the way he built her up in his mind, also, wasn’t real. To Peter, Mary was this selfless, spectacular, hilarious girl who he thought was his best friend and if he met her in real life… He was going to be disappointed no matter who she turned out to be.
After processing it fully, he found out that he wasn’t disappointed that it was Michelle the whole time. He didn’t like her, and she sure as hell didn’t like him, but Peter was only judging her by the very little information he knew about her.
Now, he knew everything. Peter knew her coffee order, he knew her favorite type of cactus (it was the bunny ear cactus,) and most importantly, he knew about her mom.
That also meant that Michelle knew everything about him. Like, his uncle’s death. That frightened him to think about, that at any moment she could turn around and tell the whole school how Ben Parker really died.
But, she wouldn’t do that.
He really hoped that she wouldn’t do that.
Peter didn’t want Michelle to be in a constant state of worry because of him. Following much consideration, he decided not to tell her that he knew. She was probably just going to freak out and yell at him, anyways, and that’s not what he wanted to happen. Peter wanted to be friends with her. Real life, in the flesh, best-fucking-friends. Most likely it was the sleep deprivation talking, but his two in the morning self loved the idea.
He missed talking to her, he missed her so much it hurt, but talking to her with his mouth always ended with him in deep shit. Peter needed to find a way in that would force them to work together. Just the two of them.
Say, for example, a school project.
In history on Friday, Peter received a message from God himself. Not really, it was just a text from Ned saying their teacher was assigning group work in history where you got to chose your partners, but it felt like a sign from God. Michelle never had a partner to work with. Neither did Peter. They always got away with it by Peter telling the teacher, “But I do better work by myself.” She would chime in, adding that she too worked better alone, and she’d let them.
When Mrs. Bishop announced the project, Peter turned his head to Michelle. After a while she looked up, seemingly confused. “Aren’t you going to ask her?”
“Nah, not this time.”
Michelle, originally slumped in her desk, sat up and faced her body towards his. “And who do you think you’re going to be partners with?” She watched as Peter shrugged, blatantly and impolitely pointing at her. “I’d rather do all the work by myself, Parker.”
“This isn’t a classwork project. She’s making us make a whole poster, a slideshow, and an essay. You’ll do all that by yourself?” The semester was almost over, and it was a lot of work for just two people. Peter laughed as Michelle stammered out of frustration.
Finally, she said, “When did she say that? The poster thing?”
“When you were on your phone.” Michelle stuck her tongue out at him, and it would’ve been something different if Mrs. Bishop wasn’t in the room, he knew.
“Fine, we’ll be partners. But,” she said reluctantly, “we have to do it at your place. My dad has a no boys rule.”
Sarcastically, Peter groaned and threw his head back. “Dads suck. How am I supposed to get you into trouble if May is always around at my place?”
“I don’t know,” Michelle laughed heartily. She laughed with her whole body, he quickly noticed, her shoulders shook and her feet bounced and it was kind of… adorable. “Guess you’ll just have to find another way.”
“Will he kill me, though? The other night you said he’d kill Ned and I if he found out where you were. Could I take him in a fight?”
“No way. He’s six foot two and hard as steel, and you’re like the opposite of that. Flimsy, tiny, couldn’t rip paper.”
He counted that conversation as a win for him. Sure, he got insulted, but he made her laugh and she agreed with him on something. It was revolutionary. Later, he suggested they do their project on the Great Plague, and Michelle only fought him on it a little bit.
Peter knew that this was going to work out. He was going to get his best friend back.
parkerpeter: hey michelle, it’s peter. may wants to know what you want for dinner tomorrow. give me a backup take out option if she can’t do a homemade meal
michellerjones: no shit i thought you were jake gyllenhaal with that username
michellerjones: i’d like some lasagna. take out option: lasagna from Giuseppe’s
parkerpeter: smartass
They were going to start their project that Saturday--Michelle intentionally skipping over Friday night. She was never going to watch another movie with Peter again.
On Thursday, they never got around to talking, but only because she ignored him the whole day. Michelle planned to remain spiteful and bitter towards Peter until she graduated, even though anyone with half a brain understood what he really meant with what he said. But, it was easier to be mad at him. That way she wouldn’t realize how much she missed him--his online self.
However, it was easy talking to Peter in real life when she didn’t put up walls. Walls she had up on Wednesday. Their senses of humor were similar, and admittedly, he was charming. His smile was persuasive, his eyes were kind, and Michelle could have found herself getting very comfortable around him very quickly.
She might’ve gone home after school and planned her outfit. She also might’ve straightened her hair, just to see what it looked like, and thought about him to great extents.
Why, out of the blue, was Peter interested in talking to her? The project was a ton of work, yeah, but it might have been manageable for her to do it herself. If he felt bad about Wednesday night, she would have accepted a note. (Michelle would have still harbored bad feelings for him, though.) The most he had ever said to her at once before that night was, “Holy shit, Michelle, I think your hair is way too close to the burner. Move! Move!” It was in chemistry last year. He pushed her out of the way, carefully, but she lost her balance and tripped over a chair. It didn’t make her like him any more.
Michelle’s limited experience with boys led her to her next question: what was he expecting out of this? She was not going anywhere near his face, the thought of it made her gag, and Peter had never expressed anything like that towards her but… But they were going to be alone in an apartment for three hours. The last time she was alone with a boy was in the eighth grade, when she was the last to be picked up after Harry Osborn’s birthday party, and he kissed her in the back of an arcade.
Peter wasn’t going to do that. She hoped.
Once the paranoia passed, Michelle thought of the best ways to convince her father to let her go to Peter’s place. The “no boys rule” wasn’t just an excuse so Peter wouldn’t see her messy room; Mr. Jones was incredibly strict on that. No boys in the house, even if it’s for school work.
She came up with two solutions: One, lie her ass off and say it was a Decathlon outing, or two, tell the truth and beg on her knees. Michelle didn’t really have a problem lying to her father--of course she always felt guilty about it, but she only lied one time that month. That lie let her go to Peter’s place.
If she had to manipulate her way to Peter’s every time, it was going to end in a shitstorm. Michelle would feel bad, her father would feel betrayed, and Peter would, too, probably. So, she wasn’t going to lie.
But, nobody said she had to tell him that night. Michelle was going to wait until the very last minute, where he had no room to argue.
michellerjones: is it okay if i head over early? like 11?
parkerpeter: you sure you want to be at my house 11-dinner time?
michellerjones: nevermind i’ll come at one
The only way Michelle’s father was letting her go was if he walked her there.
He made them leave at twelve--way too early, she had insisted, but he ignored her and said, “If they’re not ready for you in twenty minutes, they won’t be ready for you in an hour,” which didn’t make any sense.
She tried stalling by going into a grocery store and buying an almond cake for May. However, that only consumed ten minutes. Thankfully for Michelle, though, outside the grocery store Spider-Man was stopping a car theft, drawing a crowd that made it difficult for them to leave the store.
Mr. Jones gawked for only a minute. His daughter got on her tiptoes to see the fight, grimacing when Spider-Man got clocked in the face, and didn’t even notice when Mr. Jones tried tugging on her arm. “Michelle,” he said, sternly, “Let’s go.”
All in all, they arrived outside the Parker’s door at 12:34. He might not even be dressed, Michelle thought as her father knocked.
May Parker answered the door, a smile plastered on her face. She had her glasses on and a yellow sweater that made her look younger, but her grey hairs were persistent to make you think otherwise. Even with them, May was incredibly beautiful.
“Oh!” she exclaimed. “You’re so early.”
Michelle held the almond cake out in her palms. “We brought you this. We don’t know how to bake, so…” Her father’s presence made Michelle feel awkward, as if she was a seven year old again being dropped off at a sleepover.
“It’s great, thank you, Michelle. It’s so good to see you again,” May said, genuinely. She took the almond cake and pulled her in for a half hug. “Come in side, both of you.”
Mr. Jones walked inside last, asking, “You two have already m--”
“Peter is on my Decathlon team, remember? We met that night we came back from Washington,” she quickly spat out, giving May a pleading look. Please don’t rat me out, please don’t rat me out.
“Where are my manners? I’m May, Peter’s aunt.” Relief washed over Michelle as May extended her hand out for Mr. Jones to shake, which he did. “And you are…?”
“Markus Jones. Where is Peter? I’d like to meet him before I head out.”
Michelle chimed in, “He’s very overprotective,” giving a large smile to her father.
May shook her head. “It’s fine, my dad was the same way. Peter went to the store to get some snacks and some supplies, but he should be back any minute now.” She saw Michelle struggling with her backpack, adding, “Peter set up his laptop on the kitchen table, you can just put your backpack on one of the seats.”
They waited seven minutes for Peter, and when he finally walked in the door, he looked like a mess. He wore baggy joggers and a green sweatshirt, was balancing two full grocery bags in one arm and held a poster board in the other, with a KitKat between his teeth.
Michelle’s father did not seem impressed.
Peter dropped the poster board on the couch and took the KitKat out of his mouth. “May, you should’ve--” When he turned around, his eyes widened and he stopped dead in his tracks. “Holy sh-- You’re so early. Uh, hi, I’m Peter. Parker.” He waved to her father.
“Mr. Jones. Why is your lip all bloody and swollen?” Michelle’s father asked without missing a beat. Peter’s lip was busted open, she now realized. A pit formed in the bottom of her stomach as she thought of him getting punched.
“I tripped on the stairs when I left earlier. No biggie,” Peter shrugged.
Mr. Jones stayed a little while longer, supervising them as they started their project. He asked what they were doing, why the Great Plague, and if May had a car to drive Michelle home. When he got the answers he wanted, he kissed the top of his daughter’s head and left, glancing over his shoulder one last time.
Peter, whispering, leaned over and said, “I think your dad hates me.”
“That’s plausible. You’re an easy person to hate.” Michelle imitated his volume as she talked. “Why are we whispering?”
“Because I think he’s still on the other side of the door, trying to listen in on our conversation.”
She laughed as she shoved him away. “Shut up. He’s strict, not insane.” Peter raised his eyebrows unconvincingly, and after a moment when neither of them had talked, Michelle asked, “What really happened to your lip? Don’t tell me that you tripped.”
“Like I said, it’s no biggie. I’m good, Michelle.” He scratched the side of his head, not looking at her, and that’s when she noticed the dried blood on his knuckles.
“Peter,” Michelle hissed, grabbing his wrist and surveying his hand. “What the hell? Are you in a gang, or something? Are you in a fight club? How do you manage to have more injuries every single day?”
“I’m a superhero,” Peter laughed.
She kicked him in the shin. “I’m serious, Parker. I’m not visiting you in the hospital, just to let you know.”
His smiley expression dropped, and he put his free hand on top of Michelle’s, earnestly saying, “It’s really nothing. This morning I had a boxing class, and I didn’t duck out of the way before getting hit in the lip. And-- I actually don’t know what happened to my hand.”
Michelle nodded her head, happy that Peter wasn’t risking his life every day while being an idiot. Soon after, she regained her composure and yanked her hand free from his. “Good, I’m glad to know that someone is beating your ass.”
“Michelle?” He looked deeply into her eyes.
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for caring.”