This Way Down // peter parker

27

"MARINA, WOULD YOU mind giving me a hand in the kitchen?" Mrs. Dexton yelled with some kind of pie in one of her hands, and a collection of broken party hats in the other. Both were dangerously seconds away from totally falling down. I looked towards Julian as he waited in line for his turn in the Spider-Man bounce house.

"Julian, I'll be right back," I told him.

I walked across the long field towards the entrance of the large farmhouse. Mrs. Dexton was at the island of the counter, speedily putting messed up pieces of cake onto plastic colorful plates. "I only got two hands," she mumbled to herself. "I can only do so much."

Through one of the small kitchen windows, past the white curtains blown by the small bit of wind, I could see the group of parents, mostly dads, surrounding the grill with a beer in their hands, talking, laughing, and hardly flipping anything on the grill itself.

"How can I help?" I asked Mrs. Dexton.

"Can you take these plates out to the table? But make sure to place a plate over them so no flies get to them before the kids even have a chance."

I nodded my head and grabbed two plates with cake on them. I walked out of the kitchen, towards the large plastic table that was more than a couple of feet away from the bouncy house. I placed them on there and went back for more in the kitchen.

"Marina?"

Peter stood in front of me, appearing from what seemed like nowhere. I rolled my eyes, moving past him. "Go home," I told him. He didn't follow me inside, but when I returned with more cake, he was still standing there. I sighed, walking up to him.

He eyed the cakes. "Do you need a hand?"

"How did you even know where I was?" I asked. "Eddie wouldn't tell you."

"He didn't. He dropped me off at the bus station, just like you asked," he said. "It was your dad."

My dad was awfully nice to someone who made me cry so much.

"Just go home, Peter," I told him.

"I just wanna talk."

"Yeah, well, I don't think I want to talk."

Mrs. Dexton popped up next to me, with more cake in her hands. "Who are you?" she asked Peter. He opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, she added, "Doesn't matter. Friend of Marina? Here. Help us." She handed him two plates of cake, before leaving towards the kitchen again.

I sighed, leading him to the table. Why was it that Peter was always so easily accepted in situations like these? I felt like if I suddenly came to a kid's birthday party with no connection to the kid at all, I would be given the third degree, not cake.

He placed the cake in front of the chairs on the table, going back and forth between the table and the kitchen, until there was no more cake. Mrs. Dexton send him to re-hang a banner that was blown, nearly gone, by the fence entrance, while she had me washing some of the dishes and she dried.

"How much do you think we can get done before the kids realize there's cake outside?" she asked me.

I looked towards the window to see some of the kids have noticed the covered plates. I looked back at Mrs. Dexton, a slight smile on my face. "Not very long."

"These freaking kids," she said playfully. I smiled, looking down at the plates as I tried my best to wash off loads of ketchup that the kids had put on their burgers. I hoped I didn't smell like the condiment afterward.

"That friend of yours, I have never seen him," Mrs. Dexton said.

"Yeah, he goes to a different school."

"Which one?"

"It's in New York."

"New York City?"

I nodded my head.

A grin appeared on her face. "Don't tell me city boys are following you home?"

"Just the one."

"I bet Eddie's not too happy about that."

"Eddie doesn't care."

"Eddie's mom sure thinks he does."

I rolled my eyes. "We're kind of dating."

"You and Eddie?"

"No. Peter and I. The city boy. His name is Peter."

"You don't sound too confident."

"His name really is Peter."

"I mean about the dating part."

"Right, well, I think we're going to break up soon with the way things are going."

"With the way things are going?"

"I guess long distance just isn't for us."

"I don't think long distance is for anyone," she told me. "I think the key to long distance is a future. If you see a future where you can be together with them, one day, then you should keep at it."

Mr. Dexton walked in through the backdoor, his grilling apron on and a spatula in his hand. "Do we have any more coal?"

"Check the basement," Mrs. Dexton said.

"And napkins?"

"Should be there too." She looked at me. "Mind giving him a hand?"

"Sure."

I left the soapy water and followed Mr. Dexton to the basement. The coal was on a bottom shelf while the napkins were towards the top. I looked around from a stool of some sort.

"There should be one upstairs," he told me. "I'll go get it."

I nodded and watched him go back up the stairs. I looked around the shelves to bypass time, my eyes lingering on all the can food and extra equipment. I heard the sound of Mr. Dexton's steps, and turn slowly to look at the stool, and then up at a different face.

I sighed. "What the hell?"

"Mrs. Dexton told me to come down here and help you," Peter said as he held the stool.

"Of course she did." I gestured for him to walk forward, pointing at the place the stool should go. Once he placed it on the ground, I allowed the door behind me to shut and headed toward the shelf. "It's just napkins. I can handle them myself."

"Do you want me to hold the stool or something?"

"Don't be ridiculous." I took a step onto the stool, growing a few feet taller than Peter. "Go," I told him over my shoulder. I spotted the extra napkins wrapped in a plastic that was covered with dust. They were brown and a lot less fun than the current napkins being used at the party, but I guess they would have to do.

"Marina, maybe I can-"

I cut him off. "Peter, please. Just go."

I pretended to be busy, waiting for him to leave. I grabbed one pack of napkins, lifting them up only to set them down in the exact same spot. I heard his footsteps as they reached the door, and I could even hear the turning of the doorknob, but the sound of wood detaching from itself and the slight squeal from the hinges of the doors was nowhere to be found.

I turned around just as Peter looked back at me, his hand on the knob.

"It's locked," he said.

I looked back at the napkins. I laid my forehead against the end of the shelf for just a moment.

Of course, it was.

Dear Readers,

Hi.

Yours dearly,

aloneeedra