▄▄ ˗ˏˋ 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐈 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐒𝐀𝐖 𝐘𝐎𝐔 'ˎ˗ ──
IN WHICH , ── ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚
after Spider-man almost breaks
into her window, Amala has to
balance her two new lives: the
life where she knows him and the
life where she falls for Peter Parker . .
▄▄ *+...
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CHAPTER TWENTY ONE; we're going to Prague?
"WE'RE GOING TO PRAGUE!" MR. HARRINGTON VOCALIZES LOUDLY, CUTTING THROUGH THE CROWD OF STUDENTS.
Outside the lobby, the entire class of Junior year stands outside, suitcases by their sides. The sun is scorching amidst the peak of summer and no amount of shade can wipe the sweat from everyone's brows. Everyone is visibly not in a good mood, considering they woke up two hours early at a startling seven a.m. and were hauled outside the hotel for an important "announcement."
Mr. Dell swore it was something life-changingly exciting and it would row the entire vacation back to the right stream — again, wrong choice of words, but what did you expect? Teachers weren't paid to handle monster-causing catastrophic events.
At Mr. Harrington's announcement, the entire class fizzle out into a perplexed jumble of conversation; they range from 'what?'s' to 'why?'s'.
"What happened to busing to Bassano del Grappa?" Amala questions, looking around.
"Not happening anymore." Mr. Harrington exclaims. "Tour company called; they upgraded us. You should've heard me; I really gave them hell!" He finishes off, hat slightly falling to his forehead before he adjusts it.
"All I heard was crying." Deadpans Mr. Dell.
In front of them, a sleek black bus is parked. Outside, a male with long tied up hair and a leather jacket stands besides the door, holding a sign that says: Midtown High.
Several 'ooh's' and mutters of praise come from some of the students. Glances of awe are also exchanged but Amala and Akira share a suspicious nod.
Something isn't right, Amala's gut churns.
Besides them, Ned and Peter give each other a look that radiates dread and denial. Peter's hands drop to his sides in what Amala assumes is defeat. He glances to his right and looks at her — his gaze burns with a myriad of unidentifiable things.
Amala has a blinding urge to walk to him and slip her arm around his torso, to walk up there and slot herself besides him and just talk. About their stay in Venice, about the change of plans, about Prague!
But she looks away. Rejection still tastes bitter on her tongue.
"You okay?" Akira nudges her.
"Hm?" She shakes her head. "No, yeah. I'm fine. 'Kinda confused about this, to be honest."
Akira purses her lips. "Yeah, me too. It doesn't make sense."
