𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚛

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𝚋𝚊𝚋𝚢𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚜
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Peter and May left shortly after and I could go back to my pessimistic worrying. Peter was right, I was a pessimist. I didn't see anything wrong with that, though.

I went to bed with a million thoughts dancing around my head and woke up with ten times more.

In Midtown High, no big news ever went unnoticed. If everyone didn't know about it, it didn't matter.

For example, when Harriet Johnson dyed her hair pink or when Maya Miller accidentally suffocated her pet hamster. I wondered if my problem would make the list of the top ten.

Just my luck.

I got to school that day and kept my head low, as usual. I could feel everyone's eyes on me and I prayed it was just my imagination.

Someone walked up behind me and I scowled.

"So the Spider-Man thing got around." Peter pursed his lips awkwardly.

"No shit. Where's your friend?" I asked, noticing Peter's other half wasn't walking beside him.

"Math test. Where's yours?"

I glared at him, "You're an ass, Parker."

Peter chuckled and shook his head.

Another voice joined the conversation. This one I was even less keen on hearing.

"So, Lang's got a new boyfriend, huh?" Flash Thompson.

Flash and I were friends at one point, maybe for like one day, then I learned his personality was the equivalent of a pile of shit and we stopped talking to each other.

"Do you need something, Flash?" I whirled around and crossed my arms. 

"What's his name?"

"What?"

"Spider-Man, what's his name?"

Ah shit.

"Why would she tell you?" Peter spoke up.  I glared at him.

"I can fight my own battles, Parker.  Aren't you gonna be late for class?" He noticed the look on my face and nodded.

"Oh, right.  See ya later, Kate."

Peter slipped off leaving me with Flash.

"So-"

"Piss off, Thompson." I snapped and began walking in the direction of my locker.

"Come on, Lang.  Tell me, unless...you aren't really dating?" He tried, leaning against a locker.

I kept my face blank.

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

He kept following me until I turned on my heel and planted my feet.

die for you ➪ p. parker Where stories live. Discover now