april •peter parker•

one

"it's not everyday you meet your own superhero"

"April, come help me move these boxes into the living room," my mother shouted from the living room. Of course it came without a 'please' or 'my loving daughter' but that was expected. Although Rachel Glendale was probably the best mother anyone could ask for, she rarely understood the basics of manners.

"Why of course, dear mother that still doesn't believe in the words please or thank you," I muttered as I left my still unorganized and undecorated room. The apartment was bleak and unfurnished, but it was our new "home" that we were stuck with. Our apartment was on the second floor thankfully, so carrying boxes up one flight of stairs wasn't a huge problem. Unless you are my mother, who decided that placing all the heaviest items in the same box was a brilliant idea, causing me to struggle lifting the boxes out of the car let alone carry them up the stairs.

"She loves me right, she just wants me to be strong, ready for anything, that's why she's making me carry a ten ton box up a flight of stairs. Why else would this be happening to me?" I grumbled as each step seemed to add ten pounds to the box.

Two more steps had me taking a break and with no where to set the box down, I had to suffer. "This is how I die, I can already tell." I leant my head against the wall, eyes closed, as my very small muscles strained to carry the box.

"I'm sure you won't die carrying one box, that's not a very cool way to die," a voice called out from the bottom of the stairs.

I kept my eyes closed as I called back out, "A box this heavy just might do it. And heroic deaths aren't really my thing." I turned my head already smiling at the stranger below. A boy, that couldn't be much older than me, stood at the bottom of the stairs, backpack over one shoulder, holding an old computer panel in the other hand. His curly brown hair was swept up the one side and his brown eyes just gave him that kicked puppy look. The sky blue sweater only gave him a more innocent look. "I'll stick to the good old fashion fall down the stairs to my death plot line."

He smiled and walked up a few of the steps. "If you need some help, I might not be super strong, but I think I can carry that."

In my head, I sighed with relief. No more carrying the million pound box. On the outside, I gave him my biggest smile. "If you really wouldn't mind, you only need to hold it for a couple seconds, and I can take it back." I probably should have questioned a stranger in New York being this nice, but he looked like he wouldn't even kill an ant.

Computer Boy dropped his bag and panel on the steps and walked up a few more before placing his hands around the box. After making sure he had a good enough grip on the box, I let go. The box didn't even drop a little as I let go. He didn't even flinch, but I saw his arms strain under the weight. It didn't look to bother him too much though. "Not to be stereotypical, but for a computer boy, you are strong."