To Be A Hero | Peter Parker

03: "is peter parker stereotyping me?"

Song chapter:  Topanga by Noah Cyrus

As I walked home after school that day, a million different things occupied my mind, ranging from my first encounter with Peter to the rationalization that I couldn't give up my alter ego yet. I found an immediate friend in Mary Jane and even Ned, but Peter was something different. I could usually read people fairly easily, but I couldn't pinpoint exactly what he thought of me and it drove me crazy. One minute, he was giving me the cold shoulder, the next he was offering a spot at his lunch table to me. Not to mention he was smart enough to catch Tony Stark's eye and he didn't even brag about it. Whether or not he was sworn to secrecy, I wouldn't ignore the fact that he was a fifteen year old boy, and nothing would hold him back from talking about something as important as an internship from Tony Stark, himself. 

Peter was a gigantic question mark, but there was one thing I knew for a fact. My time as Ghost-Spider wasn't done yet. My search for answers proved to be futile in Chicago, but here, in New York, was someone just like me. It was too big of a coincidence for me to ignore, and I needed to act fast. Tomorrow, I needed to secure an invitation to Liz's party through Mary Jane. Surely, she would be invited.

My thoughts were halted as my condo building came into sight. My parents were still unaware of my transformation and would undoubtedly be pissed once they saw my face. I sucked in a deep breath and waited for the elevator door to close. It was a consequence I had to deal with. 

I closed the door to the condo and dumped my backpack on the floor. Sounds of pans clattering were coming from the kitchen and I braced myself as I crossed the living room. I heard my mom shout as I crossed the threshold into the kitchen. "Gwen, that you?"

My eyes were glued to the floor when I heard a gasp, then a grunt. Great, Dad was home, too. 

"Please tell me you were forced to do that to yourself against your will." My mother's reaction was completely predictable, and she said this while she returned to unpacking kitchen utensils. Her small frame bent over to the cabinets under the island and her red hair was frizzy from the humidity.

"I, uh - can't tell you that." I shrugged and picked at the thread of my old t-shirt. I always got nervous around my parents, and only my parents. I didn't know why.

What caught me off guard, though, was my dad's reaction when he turned around from the stove. "I think it looks good." He gave me a small smile and turned back around, continuing to make dinner. 

"Uh - Wait, what?" I was more shocked by his reaction than my mom.

"George? Are you serious? Look at her!" My mother had a temper like a lighter, and it could go off at any given moment. She gestured towards me for dramatic effect, because she was definitely the dramatic one in the family. 

My dad huffed without turning away from the sizzling pan on the stove. "Ground her, then. But she's just expressing herself. I don't see a reason in punishing her for that." I was always Dad's girl for a reason. 

My mom must have caught my smirk from his response, because she looked at me with the same look she gave me when I told her what I had been doing for the past year in Chicago. "You are grounded. For a week. Don't argue with me." She stood in front of me, daring me to oppose her. I said nothing and turned around to grab my backpack and go to my room. I thought of a million ways that could've gone, but I didn't think it would be that easy. My dad must've felt pity for me, and while I didn't appreciate pity from anyone, I would take it this time since it saved me from a much worse punishment.