The Masks we Hide Behind || Peter Parker [1]

fifteen: empty

As I sit in the boring, plain classroom that belongs to Mr. Jordan, my mind wonders off to places its never been before. Dad was killed only three days ago, yet I came back to school as quickly as I could. I hadn't talked about Dad since Peter had come over, and whenever anybody came up to me and told me they were sorry, I just shook my head and didn't speak. It's been so empty since, and I haven't done anything except schoolwork. I haven't even opened my sketchbook outside of art class, let alone suit up and try to save the city.

I'm so lost in my own head that I don't even realize the bell had rung until the classroom was empty, and Mr. Jordan standing over me with his hand on my shoulder. I look up at him, seeing the sad, sympathetic look on his face.

"S-sorry, Mr. Jordan." I murmur quickly, grabbing my stuff and leaving the classroom without another word. I dump my stuff into my locker and shut it, heading out to the cafeteria slowly.

Peter smiles at me as I sit down. Ned is drifting off to sleep, and MJ is flipping through her book. I return Peter's smile, except mine was probably three times more dull than his. MJ elbows me softly and I turn to face her.

"Did you ever turn that guy's bag in to the police?" She asks quietly. I realize that I completely forgot about the bag. It's been sitting under my bed ever since the two of us snuck into the library.

"No," I answer softly. "haven't had the chance to."

"You know," She continues. "you could always look through it." I rolls my eyes and smile slightly, leaning forward and resting my chin in my hand. Time passes, and it's quiet, with Ned somehow asleep in the noisy cafeteria and MJ with her nose in her book, like usual. Peter and I don't say anything, and my eyes stay glued to the table as I continue to push away any thoughts related to Dad. I soon notice Peter's eyes on me, and I look up and make eye contact with him. He leans forward and sets his hand on mine.

"It's going to be okay." He says softly. I immediately look down, and I don't reply. "Trust me. Out of most people, I would know. Just give it time."

I suddenly feel bad for being so quiet and unresponsive. Peter has had possibly the worst past out of every kid here. Both of his parents are dead, along with his uncle. I think of his aunt May, and suddenly feel terrible for her. I never really thought this much about it, since she always seems to positive. Her husband died, her brother and sister-in-law died, and she has single handedly taken care of Peter, who is more of a son than a nephew to her.

"I'm sorry," I whisper.

"Why are you sorry?" Peter asks quietly, concern filling his big brown eyes.

"I...I just...I don't know." I murmur. I feel his hand wrap around my own, and I shut my eyes as I feel the familiar lump forming in my throat.

"We can talk about it later," He says softly.

"Thank you."

"Of course."

I look up at him one more time, seeing him look over me and feeling the warmth of his hand disappear quickly. I turn around, only to see the familiar face of Flash Thompson. "Not again," I murmur, letting my forehead fall to my palm slowly.

"Hey, so, I can't be at the library tomorrow. Can we just get it over with and finish the project today?" He asks, sitting down next to me. I look up at him tiredly, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear.

"Finish it? Flash, we're not even close to finishing it." I say.

"We aren't?" He asks.

"No," I say, leaning back. "but, a lot has happened. I can't work on it today."

"Oh, please," He says, smirking and rolling his eyes. "what else could Madelyn Lee possibly be doing?"