Dancing Around // peter parker

17

I was prepared to face the same unfriendly-eye-Peter in the morning or maybe not even see him at all, but I was met with a kind smile when I walked out of my apartment.

Still, his eyes looked offbeat even if they weren't how they were the night before. I couldn't help but feel like there was still something wrong, even though Peter talked and acted as if nothing had happened. I kept eyeing him oddly trying to find any tokens of passive-aggressiveness, but there weren't any. He seemed fine.

I didn't know why, but that bugged me even more than if he had behaved enraged. Why was he pretending like I didn't hurt him last night? What good did it do him or even me by him acting like he was okay?

I kept wanting to ask him if really he was alright, but I never had the nerve to say it out loud. He seemed cheerful, smiling and waving, telling me to have a good practice once we split ways.

I couldn't stop thinking about it as I put my stuff into my locker. Was it really okay to act as if nothing had happened? I knew what I witnessed last night. I knew something was on his mind. I knew something was troubling him. Was it really okay for me to pretend like I didn't?

It seemed that was what he wanted, but did that make it okay? My head was starting to hurt. I looked around to see if anybody could tell how stressed I was only to see the locker room was empty. I hurried to shut my locker, before running out of the locker room.

I sprinted to the field, before quickly getting in line with the rest of the girls. My earrings dangled from my ears, hurting the small hole, but I ignored the discomfort as the soccer coach looked me in the eye.

He had his whistle in his mouth as his green eyes tried to make mine look away. I didn't. I watched as they traveled to the gold jewelry before shaking his head. He blew his whistle before tossing it out of his mouth. The small blue string around his neck kept the whistle from meeting its fate.

"Ms. Roció, how many times have I told you: no jewelry on the field," he spat in my face.

"But sir, these look great with my gym shorts," I joked.

He was not pleased. He took a few steps back as he looked me up and down. His blond eyebrows were lighter than his brown hair, making it look almost like he didn't have any.

I had a confession to make. I didn't really know his name. I'm sure at one point it was in my head, but it must have fallen out along with the other useless things during my weekly mind cleaning. If it weren't for those, I would be stuck all day thinking about stuff I have no answers to and no way to control, leaving me in a depressing tunnel with no bright light in sight.

Anyways, his camouflage eyebrows were pinned against one another like two boxers making eyes at each other right before a fight. His jaw was clenched and he looked frustrated, more than usual I mean.

His mind was probably trying to come up with some kind of way to punish me, to shame me for the unsafe behavior that I was most likely, if not probably, going to regret once something catastrophic happened. Like if I accidentally stab another teammate with my superb accessories.

To be honest, I was all about that safety. I wore my seatbelt. I imitated Dracula when I sneezed. I wash my hands before touching food and after deposing of food. I wouldn't have worn my earrings if I didn't get completely chewed out on my first day for forgetting to take out my small gold hoops.

Safety wasn't what was irritating me, it was the man whose name I didn't care to remember. He used the little authority he had over teenage girls to let out anger issues he clearly didn't want to acknowledge he had. I didn't know what his problem was.