No One Like You (Peter Parker & Stark Daughter)

No One Like You

You'd truly think with all the money my father had, he'd send me to some awesome, expensive, fancy private school with a fro-yo bar in the cafeteria and memory foam seats. Yet, I somehow got punished and was forced to go to a simple STEM public school. I know. Public school for someone whose trust fund has its own trust fund. But I was there, sporting what I had coined my signature look. A way too overpriced Bottega Veneta backpack, with an outfit the stylist I hired had picked out for me, with a cheap unnamed coffee stands blue cup in one hand, and an overpriced phone not even out to the public in the other hand. This was what I thought was normal, at least for me. I was used to the stares of the 'unworthy' boys and the envious girls. But as I walked through the hall, I wasn't prepared to have my ass grabbed. Apparently people have no manners.

It was a quick reflex, and it was kind of a blur, if I'm being honest. I think I broke that poor boys wrist. My father had me take martial-arts ever since I began developing breasts in the fourth grade. He was taken to the nurse and I was sent home.

The second day was much better, though. I got to my class ass-grab free, no flashy outfit or cheap coffee. I remember the thought that I couldn't mess up syllabus week. I have a perfect record- had a perfect record. I found my class right away and took the only available seat. "Make friends." My dad said to me that very morning. So, I did the only thing a fifteen year old who has had no friends, not counting her dad's superhuman work associates, her entire life would do. You guessed it. Pull off my most convincing Russian accent in an attempt to have some sort of interesting quality.

"I'm assuming this seat's free?" I ask, already setting my bag down next to the chair. The boy next to me looked surprised, simply nodding. I noted that he had a bruise that had almost fully healed on his left eye, and he was particularly tense. "I am Yekaterina Milkovich. And you are?"

"U-uh Peter- I'm Peter." He stammered, offering a weak smile. "Are you from Russia or..?"

"Dude, I actually had you believing I was Russian?" I grinned, back to my normal, not my beet-farming-russian-hooker voice. He nodded, laughing softly after realizing it was a joke. "I'm from Manhattan."

"It was a pretty convincing voice, for someone from downt..." He trailed off as he saw me slowly shake my head. "Uptown." He recovered.

"I'm Chloe." I decided to leave out my last name. He really didn't need to know that. I saw some potential here.

"Good to meet you, Chloe." He smiled that shy smile he seemed to do a lot of.

That's where Peter and I began our friendship, we had four classes together, three being AP. He even invited me to grab some ice cream the next day after the final bell. I, of course, accepted. I even convinced my dad to let me bike to school so we could bike to the ice cream parlour.

To say I was upset when he didn't show would have been an understatement.

I waited for forty-five minutes, but it was clear sooner than that he wasn't coming. I kicked my bike stand up and began riding slowly, digging for that stupid bus pass I now had. As I was digging, it was as if the universe needed to kick me even harder in the balls, when I was pushed off my bike. I stumbled back and opened my eyes to see a red and blue figure riding off on it at, what I'll say, is a pretty fast speed, getting only a "Sorry!"

I looked at the scrapes that now dressed my palms, and withdrew my phone from my pocket, clicking speed dial 1 and holding it to my ear. As soon as I heard the familiar "Hello?", I was off like a rocket.

"Daddy, I need a new bike!"