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

twenty-three: i should've stayed in bed

I arrive in a sleepy haze at school the next morning, fighting to stay awake as I fight my way slowly through the halls of Midtown. Why does school have to start so early? I wonder to myself as I take a sharp turn, taking a shortcut through the large, empty hallway between the cafeteria and a few classrooms.

At the end of the hallway, I watch as Liz Allan and a few of her friends walk in a perfect, straight line. Liz stands in the middle, and her hair bounces as she walks and parts in the breeze created by her perfect face. She throws her head back and laughs as Betty Brant says something before quickly turning a corner.

I continue down the hallway and eventually make it to my locker, where Peter usually waits for me in the mornings. This morning, however, he isn't there. I wonder where he could be as I spin the lock and enter the combination to my locker.

I grab my stuff and soon the day starts off to a boring start, like it typically does. We have a substitute teacher in art class, meaning we're forced to read an article about Van Gough and take notes. Sure, I appreciate his art and all, but seriously, the articles are extremely boring. So, Ned and I resort to doodling rather obscene sketches on a separate piece of lined paper. We giggle and snicker at them quietly like seventh graders, being the immature teenagers we are.

After art, I head to history, which goes by in a blur. We have a quiz, and luckily, I was prepared, since somehow I managed to cram in studying last night. I'm almost certain I passed, maybe even aced it. I leave the classroom rather confidentially and pull my phone out of my pocket to text Peter. My fingers fly across the screen of my phone as I text him hurriedly whilst stumbling my way through the crowded hall, cramming through students and heavy backpacks.

Are you at school today? I type and press send, hoping to get a response, if my message even sends. The hall I'm currently in always has the shittiest service, so I watch the little blue bar showing the sending progress stretch slowly across my screen. It's almost agonizing.

I sigh in frustration and shove my phone into my back pocket forcefully before turning a sharp turn and heading down a different direction. I head off to my third period, which I have with Peter, hoping to get through with the day as quickly as I can.

Mrs. López's room is mostly empty when I arrive there. I'm usually kind of early to Spanish because history isn't too far, but students seem to enter the classroom rather quickly and find their seat. I sit in the dead middle of the classroom, and Peter sits beside me. Mrs. López sits at her desk, typing away rapidly without taking her eyes off of the computer. As I slide my binder out of my bag, the bell rings, and just as it does, I look up to see Peter practically sprint into the classroom.

"Tarde otra vez, señor Parker." Mrs. López laughs. This is my second year of taking Spanish, so the class is actually taught in Spanish, which, believe it or not, helps a lot. Peter laughs at her comment and awkwardly slides into his seat next to me.

"Hey." I murmur, glancing at him from the side with a small smile plastered onto my lips. He smiles back in return, though it's more like he's pursing his lips together. He gives a little nod as he does so. He doesn't say anything, and it's silent between as everyone else chats in the background.

I study Peter from the side. He looks like something's bothering him, but he also looks like he's paying attention for once. We always goof off in this class, though we still somehow manage to pay attention and learn, and both of us actually have an A.

Suddenly, Julie Briggs is turned around in her seat and holding a small stack of papers to me. I blink a few times and smile politely, taking the stack of papers from her hand gingerly. I sort through the papers to find my own and pass the rest of the stack back, glancing up at Julie as she gives me a concerned look.