“Hey, Lara Jean, a bunch of us were gonna get lunch together today.” Isabel leaned against my desk, examining her manicure with one eye trained on me. “You wanna come with?”

“Who’s gonna be there?” I tried to remain nonchalant, but I could tell that she knew which name I wanted to hear. 

“Me, Junia from the mail room, Kiara, Peter…”

“Peter’s going?”

“Are you guys talking about me?” As if on cue, the photographer slipped back into his seat with a coffee cup and a crooked smile. 

“Mind your business, Parker.” Isabel rolls her eyes. “We’re going to that new taco place down the block if you want to come.”

“I’ll be there,” I replied immediately, almost too eager even for the bright-eyed new hire. I used to not really care for social gatherings, even something as small as lunch, but in a new city where I didn’t know a single soul, I couldn’t afford to turn down an invitation. 

Isabel went back to her desk, leaving me and Peter across from each other. My eyes were glued to the review of the latest Sally Rooney book that I had been working on, but I still found time to steal glances at Peter.

I wasn’t sure why I liked looking at him so much.

“What are you working on?” I tried my best to sound like I didn’t care, even though I was genuinely interested. “Photos for the new issue?”

Peter laughed and shook his head, turning his monitor around to show me the Wordle for the day. All green. Third guess. “CHASM”.

“Ugh!” I clapped a hand over my eyes. “I haven’t solved it yet! Thanks for spoiling, jerk.”

“I’m surprised it’s not the first thing you do when you wake up. Literature fanatic and all that.”

“I prefer the Mini. Or at least I did before they put the paywall up.”

“God, I miss the Mini.” He turned his monitor back toward his side of the desk. “Sometimes I spend the entire day doing Wordle and playing Solitaire. There’s not much for me to take pictures of when Spider-Man isn’t active.”

“What do you do here? Like, what’s your official role?”

“You’ve worked here for a month and you don’t know my official role?” Peter raised an eyebrow at me like it was my fault he liked to skulk around and dodge questions all day. 

“I wasn’t aware you had one besides tailing Spider-Man and wearing flannels,” I shot back.

“That’s pretty much my job.” He shrugged. “I don’t have an official title. I guess you could call it Current Events, but with a hyperfocus on Spider-Man. Anything he does, it’s my job to photograph it for the front page. I do some freelance on the side, but this pays the bills.”

“Side hustles are smart. Rent is ridiculous. I basically live in a closet with a shower.”

“You should consider doing some writing of your own.” He chewed the end of his ballpoint pen like it was a lollipop stick. “Have you done freelance before?”

Not unless you count Marichat fics on Tumblr.

“No, not professionally.” I felt the tips of my ears growing warm. “You really think I could make money off that?”

“Sure, I’ve read your stuff. It’s thoughtful. Emotionally charged. When you write about something you’ve read, I feel like I’ve read the book before I even hold it in my hands.”

If I hadn’t been blushing before, I was now. Nobody had ever really complimented my professional writing like that, especially not at the Bugle. Moreover, I was surprised that Peter had actually read my column, since he seemed like the type of person to only read one genre (probably science fiction) and stick to Goodreads. If he read my column, it wasn’t for book recommendations. It was for me. 

For some reason, that was just as nerve-wracking as it was sweet.

Lunchtime rolled around, and everyone walked down together in a big group. I had hoped to talk to Isabel, but she was busy chatting with one of the receptionists. In fact, it felt like everyone was talking to someone else.

It’s funny how little things had really changed. I used to specialize in disappearing in high school, floating through the crowd without braking or hesitating for anyone. In a crowd of people, I still had the ability to feel completely alone.

I was fine with that when I was younger. It was easier that way, not complicating my life by letting people see every side of me, not waiting around for them to leave me.

But I wanted to experience life fully. I wanted to talk to people, to feel like I belonged in this new life that I’d built for myself, and I couldn’t do that if I was always on the periphery of the social sphere.

I spent the elevator ride down in total silence, pretending I wasn’t holding back tears.

When we all arrived at the restaurant, the table at the back of the room had exactly eight seats. There were nine of us, including me. Everyone scrambled for seats, even Isabel, which stung because she was the one who invited me in the first place. Naturally, I was the only one left standing. 

To her credit, Isabel turned around in her chair and frowned.

“Lara Jean, do you want me to get you another chair? I’m sure we could squeeze you in somewhere!”

After the elevator ride, I didn’t feel up to another half-hour of listening to them talking about sports I didn’t watch and drama I wasn’t invested in. More than anything, I couldn’t bear to spend any more time feeling like an outsider in my own body. I shook my head and clutched my purse a little tighter.

“No, that’s okay. I was just gonna get some takeout anyway.” I shrugged, hoping that lie was convincing enough for them. “I have a lot of work to do on my article. I’ll, uh, I’ll see you guys back at the office.”

I turned on my heel, heading straight for the door so they wouldn’t see my reddened cheeks. I wiped my eyes with my sleeves, noting that I desperately needed to spray some Zout on it later from the mascara that was smudging on it. I detected that weird sensation when your teeth feel salty right before you’re about to cry, and if I stayed in that restaurant for another second, I was going to start bawling in front of everyone.

I didn’t make it five feet before I collided with something warm and solid. I felt my entire body jolt, which is usually followed by an unceremonious crash to the ground, but instead something steadied me. A hand on my shoulder. The lightest touch of a palm on my waist. 

It’s sick and twisted that I imagined his face before I even opened my eyes. 

Peter Parker looked down at me, stunned and grinning slightly. He must’ve noticed how flushed I was, because he immediately let go of me, though his hands still hovered just a few inches from my face.

“Oh, my God. I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” He sounded so genuinely panicked that I actually felt bad for him. “I didn’t see you there.”

“Uh, yeah, I’m-I’m fine.” I brushed off my skirt and blinked up at him. Was he always this tall? “Sorry, I should’ve been watching. I was kind of preoccupied.”

Peter looked from my smudged mascara to the table where our coworkers were all having a great time (without me) to the guilty expression on my face. He put two and two together in less than five seconds.

“Guess there’s no seats left.”

“Yeah.” I glanced back at the table, my arms wrapping around my own body like a protective layer. “It’s okay, though. I wasn’t really hungry anyway.”

“That sucks, because I am.” Peter smiled, and it was so bright that the sun felt dim. “I guess if there’s no space for us, we’ll just have to head somewhere else. C’mon. My treat.”

“You really don’t have to do that.”

“I know, but…I want to.” He pointed down the block. “There’s a really good sandwich shop near here. They make basically every sandwich you can think of.”

Trusting Peter came easy to me.

“Okay, sure. Lead the way.”

As we walked down the street together, I couldn’t help but notice how he slipped behind me, then reappeared on my left, walking between me and the street. Like he was shielding me from whatever water splashes or motorcycle accidents might be coming our way. Like he wanted me to be safe.

We ordered our sandwiches (meatball sub for him, turkey for me) and sat down at one of the small tables by the window. Physically, he kept his distance. Mentally, he stared into my soul.

“So I take it that the tacos were a bust?” Peter watched me over his bite. 

“I never even got to order them,” I muttered.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“I shouldn’t. They’re our coworkers.”

“Lara Jean, nobody gets along perfectly with their coworkers. Besides, I won’t tell.” His eyes twinkled for a moment. “I’m good at keeping secrets.”

“Fine.” I tilted my head backward, staring at the popcorn ceiling in dismay. “I just—I’ve been in New York for a month now, and I feel like I’m not making any progress whatsoever. I have no friends. My job is barely enough to cover rent and bills, and I get the nagging feeling when I look at other people that they all have their lives together and I just…don’t.”

“I think that’s how most people who move to the city feel, though.”

“Yeah, but this is just different. I mean, everyone back home is so proud of me. They’re all like, ‘Ooh, that Lara Jean is such a talent. She went to Berkeley! She’s working at one of the biggest newspapers in New York! She’s so independent and cool and collected!’ And the whole time, I’m eating cup ramen for dinner and taking silent elevator rides because no one wants to talk to me.” 

I paused for breath. I needed it.

“I guess I just feel like a huge fraud. Like I’m still a teenager pretending to be an adult.”

“Lara Jean, I literally can’t express how normal that is.” Peter pointed to himself. “I mean, I grew up here, but I’ve never felt for a day in my life that I really belonged with all these glamorous people you see on the street. Nobody really feels like they belong anywhere.” He took another bite of his sandwich and chewed for a full ten seconds, taking extra precaution not to speak with his mouth full. “To me, it sounds like you’ve totally got your shit together for a 23-year-old. You live in your own apartment. You pay your own bills through a job that you got over, like, a hundred other applicants. And you did graduate from Berkeley and you are talented. None of that stuff is overexaggerated. You just don’t give yourself enough credit.”

Nobody had ever framed it that way before. When Peter talked, it made me feel like he was telling the truth no matter what. 

“And what about the ‘not having friends’ part? When will that be an exaggeration?”

“It takes time. These people are like the mob. Once you’re in, you’re in, but it’s a lot of work to get there. Just put yourself out there, and if they don’t see how awesome you are, it’s their loss.”

I nodded. He was right, of course, and I hated that. How was I supposed to wallow in self-pity when he kept dropping excellent advice?

“God, I felt like a loser when they all sat down. It was like trying to find a table in a high school cafeteria, only you don’t have a friend to save you a seat.”

“I totally get that,” Peter assured. Somehow, I felt like he was being completely honest.

“It’s always been like this. People recognize me for who I know, not for who I am.”

“Sometimes you don’t even know which person they want when they’re talking to you.”

“And people just pass you by…”

“...Even when you’ve known them for your whole life.” Peter paused and shook his head. “It’s like you’re just—”

“Invisible.”

“Forgotten.”

I stared at this man who I’d only known for a month, but who could read my mind like he was living in it. To this day, I’ve never been more understood by another person. For once, someone else knew just how I felt.

“Exactly,” I mumbled, trying to hide the slight blush on my cheeks. Peter grinned from ear to ear. He looked at me like he saw right through me and saw inside of me simultaneously, as though he could sense the thoughts racing through my mind.

He took a bite of food. I fixed my lip gloss. We sat in comfortable silence for a minute before Peter nudged my foot with his under the table.

“It gets better, Lara Jean. Trust me.” When he smiled at me like that and spoke with that soft voice, I couldn’t help but believe him.

“I trust you,” I replied. I meant it. It surprised me that I meant it.

Unfortunately, the moment ended abruptly when the sound of a security alarm went off outside. Peter jumped to his feet almost immediately and ran to the window, peering out where I couldn’t see. Whatever he saw seemed to rattle him, because he pointed to the table and made a break for the door.

“I’m really sorry, Lara Jean, but I have to go take care of something really fast. I’ll be right back, okay? Don’t go anywhere.”

“What? Peter, are you okay? Was it something I said?”

“No, no, no, it’s nothing to do with you.” He looked back out at the street. “I just—I can’t explain right now, but I have to go. Just stay here and I’ll walk you back to the office after I’m done, okay?”

I nodded slowly, still confused. Peter grinned nervously and bolted out the door. He ran so fast that I couldn’t even see which direction he’d gone in.

My curiosity got the better of me. I peered outside, where my eyes were immediately drawn to the bank up the street. There were three men inside, all wearing masks that looked like cartoon characters (Tigger, Hello Kitty, and Yoshi) and all carrying guns.

People inside the bank were frozen still, hands above their heads. The robbers yelled at each other, then at the hostages, and then back at each other. Even from my safe location across and down the street, my hands were shaking.

Then I remembered Peter. He’d run outside. What if he had run to the bank? What if he was in there, right now, with a gun pointed at his head?

But he’d run out after the alarm went off. There was no way he would’ve ran into an active bank robbery, no matter how bad he needed to use the ATM or whatever he had to do. He must have been safe. Must have been okay.

At least, I hoped he was.

Almost on cue, a familiar red-and-blue blur came swinging down the street, right past my little window. Spider-Man looked right at me before he landed in front of the bank. 

He had the robbers wrapped up in webs in less than a minute. The way he moved was like nothing I’ve ever seen before: his feet barely touched the ground, and he seemed to sense a punch coming without even needing to see the fist move.

The people in the bank gave him a round of applause when the job was done. Spider-Man waved to them enthusiastically before he pushed the door open and went swinging off somewhere new. 

I’m not proud of it, but I ran outside just to get a glimpse of him. And before you ask, I was not turning into a fangirl. He probably didn’t even remember me. He probably saved a dozen different girls every single day. And besides, it had been a month since he’d last fought the Lizard. A month since I’d last seen him, unless you counted the photos that Peter always took.

Sighing and kicking myself for even thinking I had a chance, I turned to head back into the shop…and smacked directly into him. 

I’m not sure why I expected him to look different than last time. He had the same mask, the same vivid red-and-blue suit, and the same confusion in his bug-eyes when he tilted his head at me.

If he had looked different, I wouldn’t have been able to tell because he was hanging upside down from a web. 

“Oh, my gosh! I’m so sorry!” I smacked myself in the forehead as punishment for my own absentmindedness. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me today. I keep colliding with people like some kind of runaway train!”

“Hey, no worries.” He let himself down from the web, and when he stood on his own two feet again I was struck by how much taller he seemed. It felt strangely familiar to look up at him. “Sorry to spook you. It’s nice to see you again.”

“Y-you remember me?” My cheeks practically burst into flames. 

“Of course. You’re a hard girl to forget.” He crossed his arms. Biceps. “Had any more run-ins with the bad guys?”

“Not really. You?” Stupid stupid stupid

“Only, like, every single day.” The absolute embarrassment I felt in that moment cannot be overstated. Obviously he’s having run-ins with supervillains. What a dumb thing to say. “But I’m glad to hear that things are more peaceful on your side of the street.”

“I wouldn’t say it's peaceful.” I shrugged. “Sometimes it feels like my head’s gonna explode working at the Bugle. I mean, I’m sure it’s nothing compared to what you’re doing every day, but you know…”

“No, that’s valid. I mean, I’m kind of used to it now, but it was more than overwhelming when I first started out.” He tilted his head at me again, like he was sizing me up or something. 

“Seems like you’ve got the hang of it now.” I gestured toward the bank where the robbers were still tied up. 

“Oh, that?” If I had to guess, I’d say he was blushing through the mask. “That’s no big deal. I handle that stuff all the time.”

“It’s pretty scary for everyone else before you show up, though. I was literally alone and across the street and I still thought I was gonna puke or something.” 

Suddenly I remembered Peter. Where had he gone? He said he was coming back to get me. Was he okay? Was he safe?

“You looking for somebody?” Spider-Man leaned backward, looking down the block, but I just shook my head. 

“No, it’s just—my friend said that he was coming to get me. I’m waiting for him right now.”

“He’s walking you back to work?” I nodded. “Well, if you want, I could come with you. Give Jameson something to goggle at.”

It was such a tempting offer that I almost felt inclined to take him up on it.

“That’s okay. I’ll wait for Peter. Thank you, though.” I smiled and waved. “Bye, Spider-Man.”

“I’ll see you around!” He waved before slinging off again, leaving me on my own in front of the shop. I couldn’t stop smiling even after he disappeared into an alleyway, and I really hoped that Peter hadn’t left me to fend for myself, because I’d passed up a personal escort from the person whose attention I craved for this. 

Two minutes later, Peter appeared with his glasses askew and his shirt lopsided, like he’d just gone through a tornado. He was panting for air a little.

“You okay?” I removed a scrap of paper from his wavy brown hair. “Looks like you had quite the adventure.”

“Nah, I’m always like this.” Peter squinted. “Did I miss anything?”

“Uh…not really.” He didn’t need to know about my crush on Spider-Man, or the fact that a bank robbery had taken place across the street from me. From the little time that I’d known him, he seemed like the worrying type, and I didn’t want to stress him out over a nonexistent problem. “So, what errand did you have to run?”

“...Post office. I had to mail…invitations…for my cousin’s…piano recital.” He grinned nervously.

I didn’t buy it. I also didn’t say anything more.

“Okay. Sure. Well, we’d better head back to work before Jameson skins us alive.” I grabbed my purse and shouldered it. “You coming?”

“Yeah. Yes. Definitely.” 

He opened the door for me on our way out. If he noticed the cop cars now parked outside of the bank, he made no comment.

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪  ౨ৎ˚₊˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪  ౨ৎ˚₊˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪  ౨ৎ˚₊˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪  ౨ৎ˚₊

From that day forward, I wasn’t eating lunch alone anymore. I didn’t walk to the mail room by myself. Wherever I went at the office, if I wanted company, I got it in the form of a wavy-haired photographer who had an uncanny ability to sense when I was about to trip on something. 

And maybe I was genuinely stupid not to realize this, but it really didn’t seem like he had a crush on me or anything. He smiled at me a lot and he was always really nice to me, nicer than some of my friends had been in the past, but I assumed that was because he didn’t have many other friends, either. 

Basically, I assumed that any romantic feelings he might have for me were completely out of the realm of possibility. Maybe that was a result of the many years of unrequited crushes that I’d been through. Maybe part of me didn’t believe I was likable. 

Two weeks after the bank robbery, somebody at the office finally brought it up. To no one’s surprise, Isabel was the first one to clock it. One day, when we were at our desks and Peter was out on another one of his vague ‘errands’, she shut her laptop and narrowed her eyes at me.

“What’s going on with you and Peter?” 

I couldn’t help flashing back to high school, when I’d been asked that exact same question by everyone in my class.

“Nothing. We’re friends.” I shrugged. “I guess he’s a really, really good friend, but he doesn’t have feelings for me, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Uh, yeah he does.” Isabel chuckled and raised her eyebrows. “You seriously haven’t noticed how he follows you around like a puppy? It’s like you have a shinigami. It’s honestly really cute.”

“I think I follow him around more than anything.” I rolled my eyes. “Anyway, it doesn’t really matter. Nothing’s gonna happen between us.”

“Wait, why not?”

“We’re so different. I can’t see how it would ever work out.”

“You’re joking, right? Besides the fact that you’re two different types of nerd, you’re basically the same person.”

“We’re really not.”

“You have the exact same sense of humor. Whenever I’m scrolling, you guys always like and repost the same posts.”

“Coincidence.”

“You’re both so awkward that it’s almost a miracle how comfortable you are with each other.” She pointed her pen at me. “You know that before you started working here, he never dressed well or bothered taking care of his hair? He showed up every day looking like he’d fallen out of bed. Now he actually puts in effort to look nice. What d’you think that means?”

“That he decided to stop living like a slob?”

“Yeah, but why?”

“Beats me.”

“You’re literally hopeless,” Isabel groaned. “Anyone with two eyes can see that he’s head over heels for you—”

“Who’s head over heels for you?”

I stiffened at the sound of Peter’s voice. He slid into his seat like he never left and gave me a look that can only be described as unreadable. 

“Uh, nobody.” I grinned nervously. “Isabel’s just talking about her other friend. I’m offering some advice.”

“Yeah. Yeah, my friend…Clara. Clara June.” Isabel blinked. 

“Right. Okay.” Peter clicked his pen and began to scribble something on his little yellow memo pad. “I buy that.”

“Hey, where have you been, anyway?” A set of perfectly manicured nails tapped on the keyboard of Isabel’s computer. “Another post office run?”

“Mind your business, Fisher.” His ears reddened. 

“Are you shitting on company time? ‘Cause my fiancé’s a doctor, and considering that you disappear at least 5 times a day, you might want to get that checked out.”

“Oh, my God. I don’t have IBS.” 

“C’mon, Peter.” I nudged him from across the desk with my foot. “Spill. We won’t tell.”

His face softened, but he didn’t answer the question. 

Now I was actually curious. Where did Peter disappear to? Why wouldn’t he tell us about it? Was it something embarrassing? Illegal? No, that wasn’t Peter. So what was going on?

My eyes strayed to one of the TVs in the corner, where JJJ himself was tossing out vehement curses in regards to a crime scene cleanup ten blocks down. A clip of security footage played, showing Spider-Man getting flung into the side of a building by the Lizard. He looked like he’d hit the wall pretty hard, judging by how he gripped the left side of his ribcage.

Peter walked through my line of vision, heading toward the supply cabinet. 

He was limping. 

He leaned away from his left.

Suddenly, I remembered the first time he’d ever ducked out on me, at the sandwich shop on the day of the bank robbery. Coincidentally, it was also the first time I’d seen Spider-Man. 

Was it possible? Could Peter Parker, the nerdy photographer from Queens who stuttered over his own name, be the vigilante hero that New York proudly called its patron? Surely not. Peter and Spider-Man were polar opposites. 

Although, that could also mean that his persona was the perfect cover.

It would explain the disappearing, the ‘close friendship’ between these two seemingly unrelated people, and the limping. On the other hand, there were over 8 million people in New York City. There was no logical way to conclude that Peter was Spider-Man just because he happened to be limping that day.

As I lay bundled in my pink comforter that night, I couldn’t get Peter off my mind. I told myself it was just because of the secret identity conspiracy, but the truth was a bit more complicated than that.

I kept thinking about Spider-Man’s arms around me, when he’d saved me from the Lizard on my first day at the Bugle. If he and Peter were the same person, then that meant it had been Peter holding me like that. 

For some reason, I felt really warm inside when I thought about it that way.

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪  ౨ৎ˚₊˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪  ౨ৎ˚₊˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪  ౨ৎ˚₊˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪  ౨ৎ˚₊

Sunlight streamed through the kitchen windows. It danced on the floor and illuminated the windows, making everything golden and bright.

I watched the coffeemaker as it chugged away, each drop landing in the pot with a little splash and a plip. Even the little machine seemed cheerful this morning. 

A rustle behind me nearly made me jump out of the pink camisole and cotton underwear I wore. 

“Peter, don’t scare me like that!” I shoved his shoulder, which was notably bare. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, but he did have on a pair of red-and-blue pajama pants and a considerable bedhead. 

“Sorry,” he said through a fit of laughter. “It’s just too easy.”

He kissed my forehead, which tickled. I smiled through the guise of my frown and shook my head. 

“I can’t have a moment of peace with you.”

“Well, you wouldn’t be dating me if it weren’t for the adventure of it all.” 

Then he kissed me for real, and I kissed him back. He didn’t taste like anything in particular, but the weight of him pressing me against the counter felt extremely concrete, as well as the featherlight kisses that he trailed down my neck.

I expected him to stop when he reached the fabric over my chest, but instead I found myself pulling the shirt over my head and tossing it to the floor. He kept kissing down my body as he dropped to his knees, completely unaware of the world around him.

“Peter, I think the coffee’s ready.” 

“I’m not,” he whispered. “I’m not ready for the coffee yet.”

And he pulled the waistband of my underwear down, down, down…

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪  ౨ৎ˚₊˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪  ౨ৎ˚₊˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪  ౨ৎ˚₊˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪  ౨ৎ˚₊

I woke up sweating, my sheets too damp and my mouth too dry. That felt way too real for a dream. Instead of being grossed out by it, I felt a pang of disappointment. 

I could have lived in it forever.

taglist: @deprivedmusicaljunkie @boredsortof @senii410 @calicocassyy @astar-teaa @daxiiriux

My first day at the Daily Bugle took an unexpected turn, to say the least. I was totally prepared for whatever real-world problems that life had to throw at me: I packed my purse with extra snacks, pads, and even oil-blotting sheets. I had gone over a thousand sentence stems for starting conversations with strangers. I picked out the perfect outfit for the day: a baby pink sweater with a long brown skirt and Mary Janes with frilly socks. I looked like a corporate ice cream cone in the best way. 

Even my coworkers were nice. The girl who was training me, Isabel, was sweet as anything. She was somewhat new, too, having just moved here with her fiancé from Paris. She was a sportswriter, which really surprised me because she seemed like something more sophisticated would suit her more. Her French bob and red lipstick certainly made her look the part. I felt a little silly in my own outfit until she complimented it. 

“You’re the new literature columnist, right?” She glanced down at a clipboard, then to an empty desk, then back to me. “Our last girl quit after a little…mishap downtown. Decided that New York wasn’t for her. You seem a lot tougher than that, though. Think you’re up for this?”

“I hope so.” I smiled, following after Isabel to the desk. “I can’t wait to get started!”

“That’s the spirit!” She patted me on the back. “Okay, I do have to go, but here’s a packet of some of the materials you’ll need. If you head down to the mail room, there should be a few copies of books that you’ll be reviewing this month.”

“Where’s the mail room?”

“Downstairs, then take a right near the cafeteria. You can’t miss it.” And just like that, Isabel was gone, leaving me with the daunting task of finding the copy room. 

I couldn’t let the newness of it all intimidate me. I’m 23 years old, for God’s sake. I could find a mail room.

I finally found the place and managed to get the books that I needed, proud of myself for completing my first task. But on my way back to my desk, blinded by my excitement and my fear of dropping my materials, I crashed directly into someone.

My papers went flying. His coffee spilled all over his shirt.

“Oh, my gosh,” I mumbled. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry! I should’ve been more careful!”

“No, no, it’s fine.” He laughed and shook his head, his wavy brown hair falling in his eyes a little. “I’m just as much to blame. Should’ve been more vigilant, right?”

He had a nice smile, honest and sweet. His glasses were thin and wire-rimmed, matching his (now coffee-covered) blue button-up and jeans. His sneakers were filthy, but his fingernails were notably spotless.

I bent to pick up my papers, but he was already gathering them into a pile and dusting them off, handing them back to me with a grin.

“You didn’t have to do that.” My eyes dropped to his shirt, which was soaked with coffee and already wrinkled. “Oh, and your shirt is completely ruined! Here, let me see if I’ve got some tissues or something—”

“Hey, don’t worry about it. I have other shirts. I’ll just—” His voice cut off when I handed him a packet of wet wipes. “Wow. You came prepared.”

“It’s my first day,” I admitted. “I needed to have some contingencies ready.”

“Well, I’m glad you did.” He took the wipes gratefully and dabbed them on his shirt, which helped a little but not much. He didn’t make a big deal about it, though, which I greatly appreciated. “You must be the new literature columnist, right? The one from Berkeley?”

“Yeah, that’s me.”

“I’m Peter Parker. Photographer.” He extended a hand to me, but I was frozen on that name. Peter. The reason I’d moved to New York in the first place. It took a beat longer than necessary for me to take his hand and shake it. He had nice hands.

“Nice to meet you, Peter.” God, it felt weird saying that name to someone new. He raised an eyebrow.

“Are you gonna tell me your name, or am I supposed to guess?”

“Oh, right! Sorry.” I laughed nervously and smoothed out my skirt. “I’m Lara Jean Song-Covey, and I’m the new literature columnist.” Pause. “Wait, you knew that already.” 

“Lara Jean, huh? Yeah, I think Fisher mentioned something about you.” Peter scratched the back of his neck. “You work on the fourth floor, right?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Great. You’re right across from my desk, then.” He gestured to the elevator. “Want me to show you around a little?”

“Yes, please!” I followed him in, maintaining a respectful distance as we loaded into the elevator.

Everything was going great until we passed the editor-in-chief’s office. I’d heard about J. Jonah Jameson online, of course. He was infamous for being a terrible boss, but a position at the Daily Bugle was so highly sought after that I couldn’t turn down the offer when they gave it to me.

The minute we rounded the corner, he was standing there like some kind of executioner.

“Parker! What are you doing wandering around the floor? Get back to work!”

“Sorry. I was just showing the new hire around.” He gestured to me with an apologetic smile. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. I’m Lara Jean Song-Covey and I’m very—”

“Don’t care, didn’t ask, get back to work.” Jameson waved his hand dismissively in the air. “Parker, I expect those photos of Spider-Man on my desk by the end of the day, understand? And try to get some unflattering ones this time. That menace’s public opinion has been too high lately.”

“Yeah, I got it.” Peter watched him strut away with a roll of his brown eyes. 

“That’s JJJ for you.”

“He’s a jerk.” I frowned. “How can you stand to keep working here?”

“Cause I need this job. And I actually do like it…when he’s not all over my case.”

“He seems to have some crazy problem with Spider-Man.”

“Yeah, a lot of people don’t like the guy.”

“That sucks.” I didn’t think much of it at the time, but I’d heard about Spider-Man back in Oregon and wished my life were that exciting. “I mean, he seems pretty cool. Even if he’s a vigilante, he’s still helping people, right?”

Peter seemed surprised at that. 

“Right. That’s…that’s exactly how I feel. You get it.” He blinked a few times before following me back toward our desks. I sat down straight across from him and left my purse on the desk, still watching him over the top of my laptop screen. “I’m friends with him, you know. Or at least we have a professional relationship.”

“Is that how you always manage to get pictures of him up close?” I tilted my head. “What’s he like?”

“He’s cool. Pretty nice guy. But he can be real secretive about his identity. Likes his privacy.”

“That makes sense. It’d kinda be trouble if people figured out who he was, right?”

“That’s what he’s told me, anyway. But enough about him!” Peter turned back to me with a nervous smile. “How’s New York treating you so far?”

“It’s okay. Really different from Berkeley, but I’m liking it. I’m sure you’re pretty used to it, but for me it’s like being in a movie.” 

“Were you nervous about your first day?”

“Yeah, a little. But I’ve planned for everything! What could go wrong?”

In my mind, everything could go wrong, but I was totally prepared for every possible circumstance in the world of reason.

Somehow, I managed to forget that half of New York’s problems are completely outside of the world of reason.

Enter the giant lizard that tried to claw my favorite skirt to pieces during my lunch break. It appeared on the street out of nowhere— ten feet tall, scaly, and vicious. Most of the locals were used to this kind of thing and got inside immediately, but I didn’t notice the Lizard until it was breathing right down my neck. (I was wearing my headphones, sue me!) 

Either way, when I turned around and saw a real-life dinosaur with claws the size of meat cleavers standing in front of me, I froze. I had no idea what to do. Schools in Portland really don’t prepare you for this kind of thing at all. They think of supervillains as a strictly New York thing, which is mostly true, but extremely unhelpful when you move to the city and suddenly have no education on the protocol for this. 

At the moment, the most sensible thing I could think to do was run. 

For all my lack of athletic skill, I must’ve been going faster than I thought, because I didn’t even notice the fire hydrant until I tripped over it and went crashing to the ground. 

By now, the Lizard had caught up to me, and because everyone else had the sense to flee, its narrow eyes were locked on me. I scrambled backward on my hands, frantically searching for anything I could use to fight back.

For a moment, it looked confused. That gave me the window I needed to throw my shoe at it, but if anything, that only made it mad. Its scaly mouth opened wide, revealing rows of sharp teeth and a slimy pink tongue (gross) that reeked of blood and sewage. When I got up to run, it reached out and caught my skirt, dragging me back with its claws. 

“No! No! Get off me, you creep!” I tried to hit it again, but that did next to nothing. Instead, it smiled as it tossed me to the ground and reached out to claw my face off. I couldn’t move, couldn’t run, couldn’t do anything but stare in fear at the curved claw that reached out for my eye.

So much for my first day. It was a good run while it lasted. At least my obituary would be interesting—

“Hey, Jurassic Park! Heads up!”

Something white went flying through the air, catching the Lizard’s arm and tail and pinning them to the ground. At first I thought it was some kind of net, but upon closer inspection, it looked more like a spiderweb.

And the wielder of it came swinging out of the sky, his red-and-blue suit glinting in the sunlight as he reached out a hand for me. 

I didn’t think twice before reaching up to take it. He caught me on the upswing with a firm arm, lifting me like I weighed nothing more than a sack of flour, swinging across the street like it was nothing. The wind whipped at my face as I screamed, but he was holding me so tightly that there was no risk of falling. Still, even after we landed on a rooftop two buildings down, my knees were wobbling.

“What the—who are you?” I must’ve looked like a mess, but I wasn’t too scrambled to recognize the person who’d saved me. I’d seen his face in newspapers. He was all over the news, social media, anywhere I’d looked since high school. 

Spider-Man was standing right in front of me, his masked eyes twinkling as he set me down. I couldn’t believe I was seeing him in the flesh. He looked taller in person, a little broader, but still clearly the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man that he’d labeled himself as in the media.

“You okay, miss?” His voice was gentler than it had been a moment ago, when he’d heckled the Lizard. 

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, I’m all right.” I tried to smooth out my hair, looking down at my skirt to see a long rip going down the side of it. “A little shaken, but I don’t think I’m injured or anything.”

“You must have had quite the scare back there. Are you sure you don’t need anything?”

“I-I’m sure.” I was too focused on his mask to really hear what he was saying. What was he thinking under there? What did he look like? Who was he?

“You should really be more careful. Whenever there’s a supervillain on the loose, it’s best to get inside immediately and wait until someone gives the all-clear.” He touched my arm gently, like he was making sure I was listening. It made my heart jump. “Can’t have you getting turned into lizard food on me, right?”

“Right, yeah. Sorry. It’s just—it’s my first day in New York, and I’ve never really been in that kind of situation before.” I sighed in relief. It really could’ve been a lot worse if he hadn’t been there. “Thank you so much for saving me, Spider-Man.”

“Of course. You’re very welcome.” He glanced down the block to where the Lizard was still trapped in his webs. “Will you excuse me for just a moment? Don’t go anywhere. I’ve gotta beat this guy up real fast.”

“Oh, okay. Be safe?”

He laughed then, and it sounded familiar. It put everything at ease, so warm and honest that I couldn’t help but trust it.

“Thanks. I’ll do my best, miss.”

And just like that, he swung away, leaving me on the rooftop to watch. 

It was amazing to watch him fight. He might’ve touched the ground once or twice, but everything else was almost completely in the air. He was strong for someone his size, able to lift a fallen street sign and swing it at the Lizard like it weighed nothing more than a baseball bat. Every time the Lizard tried to grab him, he’d dodge it with a counterstrike and a corny insult. By the time he was finished, the creature was strung up in the air like it was hanging in a butcher’s window, and Spider-Man had barely a scratch. Before I knew it, he was back on the rooftop and holding my purse.

“Think you forgot this,” he said with a smile. At least, I think he was smiling. You couldn’t be too sure with the mask on. “I don’t think I ever got your name, by the way.”

“Oh, thank you so much!” I took my purse from him, relieved to find that all its contents were safe and accounted for. “I’m Lara Jean Covey. I guess I already know your name.”

“You said you were new to the city?” 

“Yeah, I just started working at the Daily Bugle—shoot!” I glanced down at my phone in panic. “My lunch break’s up by now! It’s my first day, I’m gonna get in so much trouble! Jameson’s probably gonna fire me and I’ll be a failure and probably end up going back to Oregon with my tail between my legs—”

“Hey, relax.” Spider-Man put his hand on my shoulder. “I’m sure it’ll be fine if you just explain what happened. Maybe you’ll get featured in an article, who knows?” He squinted down to the general direction of the Bugle. “I can give you a lift if you’re worried about being late, though.”

“I don’t want to impose…”

“Don’t worry! I’m offering.” He held out a hand to me, already standing on the edge of the rooftop. “You trust me?”

I took a moment to consider before taking his hand.

“I guess I do.”

The trip back to the Bugle was fast, windy, and terrifying. I’d never been so high up without being in a plane or something like that, and the knowledge that his arm was the only thing keeping me from falling was nervewracking, to say the least.

Even so, he dropped me off safely in front of the building and fished a leaf out of my hair, gentle even after whipping me around the skyline like some kind of adrenaline junkie.

“How do you do that every day?” I asked, incredulous.

“You get used to it eventually,” he replied, snickering when I wobbled on my own feet. “I suppose I’ll see you around?”

“Sure.” I shook his hand when he offered it. “And thank you again. I hate to think what would’ve happened if you hadn’t been there.”

“Just doing my job, miss. Stay safe out there!” He waved goodbye before swinging away, off to save someone else or defeat another supervillain, or maybe just to go get his own lunch. Either way, he was gone, and I was back at the Bugle, ready to get yelled at by someone. 

As it turned out, that someone was Jameson himself.

“Covey, where have you been? Your lunch break ended 20 minutes ago!” He took an angry puff of his cigarette, which I was 99% sure he wasn’t allowed to be smoking. “Are you trying to get fired on the first day? You can’t just wander around wherever you please!”

“I’m really sorry, sir. I just—there was an attack from this giant lizard, and I almost got clawed to shreds, and then Spider-Man came out of nowhere and saved me! So I was really trying my best to get back in time, but it wasn’t really safe because the Lizard was still there, but then Spider-Man gave me a lift back so I—”

“Spider-Man? That delinquent saved you?” Jameson frowned at me like I was the one who’d started terrorizing the streets and not the Lizard. “And what exactly were you doing fraternizing with the enemy?”

“But he saved my life! And he’s actually really nice, he seemed totally normal when he was talking to me—”

“Wait, he spoke to you? In a conversation?”

“Well…yes?” I was definitely about to lose my job.

Jameson’s face broke out in a wicked grin.

“What did he say? Did he seem mean? Maybe a little rude? Did he call you any names?”

“What? No! He was, like, genuinely one of the sweetest people I’ve ever met!”

Out of the corner of my eye, I sensed movement, and that’s when I saw Peter Parker standing right behind me, blushing hard. He carried a stack of photos in his hand, and he looked positively disheveled. His hair was a total mess. Even his clothes looked like he’d just thrown them on two seconds ago.

“Y-you think Spider-Man’s sweet?” He stammered over his words, which surprised me. 

“Uh, yeah. He was really nice. Saved me from the Lizard and everything.”

“That still doesn’t change the fact that you were late,” Jameson barked. 

“Unless Spider-Man himself comes in here and vouches for you, not that I’d trust his word anyway, you have absolutely no excuse—”

“Sir, I can vouch for her.” 

My eyes widened as Peter handed the photos to Jameson. They all depicted Spider-Man, swinging through the streets and punching out the Lizard, and one photo in particular showed him swinging through the air with me in tow.

“As you can see, Spider-Man was clearly fighting the Lizard earlier, and he’s got Lara Jean with him. Look at the rip on her skirt. Couldn’t you assume that the Lizard did that?”

I was shocked. How had he gotten those pictures? And how could he possibly have guessed that the Lizard was the one who ripped my skirt? Still, I was too grateful for the help to say anything.

Jameson glared from the photos, to Peter, then back to me.

“Fine. I suppose your story adds up. But still, I better not hear about you being late one more time, Covey. And that goes for you too, Parker.”

“Okay. I understand.”

I sighed in relief when he finally walked away. Peter just smiled.

“So, you met Spider-Man, huh?”

“Yeah. Crazy first day, right?”

“Sure.” He squinted like he was looking for something on my face. “Feeling alright?”

“Never better. Thank goodness Spider-Man was there, though.”

“Looks like he really won you over,” he teased. “Thinking about starting a fan club?”

“Shut up,” I mumbled, shoving at his shoulder. “He’s just—he’s a good person, okay? He was nice to me. And yeah, maybe he is kind of cool and strong and tall and kind, but it’s not like I’m gonna start fawning over him. Besides, he’s probably got a fan club already. I’m sure every girl in New York has had a thing for him at some point.”

We sat down at our desks again, but this time Peter was the one who kept looking at me while I was focused more on my screen.

“I think you’d be surprised. He’s single, you know.”

“Oh, did he tell you that?” I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t help smiling. Which was definitely not prompted by the fact that he was available. 

“Actually, yeah. We’re friends, remember?” He chewed the end of his pencil like it was a pipe. “I could put in a good word for you if you really like him.”

“It’s fine. I mean, what are the odds I’ll run into him again? It’s a huge city, and I’m just one person.”

“Hey, you never know,” Peter lilted, his eyes locked on mine. “He might be closer than you think.”

taglist: @deprivedmusicaljunkie @boredsortof @senii410 @mizucolors

What a week it’s been.

It’s 6 in the morning and I’m standing on the sidewalk, covered in Lizard goo and dollar bills, arguing with Peter Quill over his new status as a civilian.

“Look, buddy, all I’m saying is that you put down the spacesuit, so I think it’s only fair for you to put down the blaster. Otherwise we end up with situations like this.” I gesture to the scraps of green flesh that used to be the Lizard’s tail. 

“Hey, I totally killed that thing.” Quill points his blaster at the smoking puddle of green goo. “And by the way, who the hell are you calling buddy? I basically met you once on some crazy battlefield where we saw each other for a split second.” 

“Actually, this is the third time we’ve met.” I pause. Of course he doesn’t remember. “But whatever. Nevermind. Listen, you can do whatever you want when you’re back in Missouri, but here in Brooklyn, sit this stuff out.”

“I was helping you!”

“You can help me by not jumping into fights with my bad guys. For your information, you didn’t kill the Lizard. He has regeneration powers. That’s how he became the Lizard in the first place.”

“Geez, sorry. How the fuck was I supposed to know?”

“You don’t need to know if you don’t jump in.”

“I thought you were supposed to be some kind of friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. What’re you getting on my ass for?”

“I’m not trying to make your life harder, Quill. My job is complicated enough without a-a-a…Han Solo wannabe trying to butt into a scene he doesn’t know anything about.”

“Alright, Jesus. I’m going, okay?” Quill adjusts the strap on his jetpack and lifts into the air like the Lorax. “Chill out.”

I don’t feel bad for berating him. All I care about is how heavy my eyes feel.

“So, you wanna tell me why you’re covered in green slime? I thought the Kid’s Choice Awards were months away.” I recognize that warm voice.

“Officer Morales!” I turn around to see my favorite cop in Brooklyn holding two cups of coffee. “It’s been too long, dude. How’ve you been?”

“Been great, man. Here.” He hands me one of the coffees and points to a nearby bench. “Let’s sit down for a sec.”

“Oh, thanks. But the crime scene—”

“Can wait a few minutes. You look like hell.”

I’m all too eager to get off my feet. I plop down on the bench and lift the edge of my mask just enough to take a sip. Officer Morales sits next to me and surveys the slime-covered street.

“Did I see some asshole levitating into the air a minute ago, or is this coffee too strong?”

“He was wearing a jetpack. Used to be one of those space cowboy types before he retired…Now he lives in Missouri.”

“Geez. The hell was he doing all the way out here?”

“Sightseeing, if you can believe it.” 

“I hate when these Star Wars guys get involved with local problems.” Officer Morales waves his hand in the air. “They come in with their space blasters and just shoot first, ask questions later. People live here. You can’t just treat the place like a battlefield.”

“Right, yeah. That’s exactly how I feel.” My eyelids weigh a million pounds right now. “I’ve been fighting the Lizard all week. I’ve barely slept, and even on nights when there’s no crime, I still can’t fall asleep.”

“Why’s that?”

I pause. If I can’t trust Officer Morales, then who can I trust? It’s kind of pathetic, but he’s basically one of my only friends.

“There’s this girl,” I finally admit. 

“Ah. I see.” He nods in understanding. “How’d you meet her?”

“She’s someone I work with…you know, when I’m not in the mask.” I can’t help but smile just thinking about her. “She’s smart, but not in the way I’m used to. I mean, obviously she’s also really clever—she went to Berkeley and everything—but she’s got this crazy emotional intelligence. She understands herself so well, and she can read other people like they’re books. And she’s funny and kind and so, so pretty.”

“Good for you, kid. You gonna tell her how you feel?”

“I don’t know yet.” I tilt my head back to look up at the sky. “I literally lie awake at night thinking about what I would say, but I never think of the right thing. I’m no good at speeches.”

I tried giving speeches five years ago with MJ. I couldn’t do it in time, and by the time I figured out how to say what I felt, she didn’t even know me anymore. 

“Hey, you’ll think of something.” Officer Morales pats me on the shoulder. “If you’re meant for this girl, then it’ll work itself out.” 

“Yeah, you’re right.” I sip my coffee again. “How’s the family?”

“They’re great. Did I tell you they’re letting Miles skip a grade?”

“Seriously? That’s awesome!”

“He’s gonna go into sixth grade instead of fifth next fall,” he says, and I can tell he’s bursting with pride. “I tell you, that boy’s just like his mother.”

“I can’t believe how much he’s grown. Remember when he was eight and he tried to help that family of ducks cross the street, and he almost got run over?”

“I never liked you before you swooped in and saved his life.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Well, I like you now, don’t I?” He stands and shakes my hand. “I better go take care of the scene. Can’t keep the force waiting.”

“Hey, thanks for the coffee, sir.”

“Anytime, Spider-Man.”

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪  ౨ৎ˚₊˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪  ౨ৎ˚₊˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪  ౨ৎ˚₊˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪  ౨ৎ˚₊

“Evie, can you run an analysis on this goo?” I drop a cotton swab of the Lizard’s green slime from earlier on my desk, tossing the now-empty coffee cup into the trash. 

[It doesn’t match any biosecretions from other existing species of lizards, or even reptiles.]

“Great. So I’m back at square one.”

[However, I am sensing human DNA in this sample. There’s a match for a white male, around the age of 26, with brown hair and blue eyes.]

“Twenty-six? Seems pretty young for a supervillain.” 

[Twenty-three is pretty young for a superhero.]

“Well, it’s a start, at least.” I glance at the clock on the wall, yawning comically loud. “Shoot, it’s already 8:00? I gotta get to work.”

[Peter, when was the last time you slept?]

“Don’t make me answer that.” I thwip my backpack into my hands and shove my mask in my pocket. “See you later, Evie!”

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪  ౨ৎ˚₊˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪  ౨ৎ˚₊˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪  ౨ৎ˚₊˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪  ౨ৎ˚₊

“You okay, Peter? You look really tired.” 

Lara Jean tilts her head to the side, taking in my face in all of its sleep-deprived glory.

“Isn’t that just a nice way to say that I look like crap?”

“Well, I wasn’t trying to hurt your feelings, but…” She smiles at me. 

She has the best smile. Like, when she’s really happy or she thinks something is really funny, you can just see it in her eyes and feel it in the way she looks at you. It’s the type of smile you can’t help but return.

“Okay,” I huff, hoping she doesn’t see me blushing. “Yeah, I haven’t been sleeping much.” The coffee in this break room couldn’t wake up a newborn baby. I’m on my third cup today, and I’m really considering taking one of those energy shots that Ned swears by. 

“It’s hard to sleep these days with that Lizard thing on the loose. I mean, he literally broke into a bank just this morning. What’s the logic behind that? What would a mini-dinosaur even do with money?” She brightens when I laugh, and keeps going. “It’s not like he can just walk into a car dealership and buy himself a BMW with that cash.”

“And what kind of psycho does it at 6 in the morning?”

“Thank goodness Spider-Man was there.” 

“Yeah, thank goodness.” I grin nervously. She gives me a weird look, but doesn’t mention anything about it. “Good ol’ Spider-Man.” A long sip of my coffee fills the silence in the next few seconds. She glances at me from the side with a wicked smile.

“I wonder if the webs only come out of his wrists.” 

I spit my coffee out and immediately start to choke. Lara Jean pats me on the back, panicked.

“Oh, my God. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine. I just…that caught me off guard.” I shake my head and chuckle, praying to God that I’m not as flushed as I feel right now. “Uh, yeah. I’m sure he gets that a lot.”

Get it together, dork!

“Riiight. Anyway, I’d better get back to my desk. JJJ will kill me if I don’t have that review for the new Lynn Painter finished in two hours.” Lara Jean brushes her hand over my arm, and I feel literal electric sparks. “You’re coming with us to dinner at 7, right? You’ll kinda be my only friend there.”

“Oh, is that tonight?” I was kind of planning on doing some Lizard research tonight. In fact, I actually need to do some Lizard research tonight, but I think I might be developing a physical inability to say no to Lara Jean. “Probably. Yeah, I’ll be there.” 

“Great! See you then!” 

And just like that, she flutters away like some kind of butterfly in a Disney movie. I can’t help but be amazed by her zeal for life, how the world is her oyster no matter where she is. When she leaves, the room feels a little more dim.

The rest of the day crawls by. I snore through a Zoom call with my camera off and almost doze off again on the toilet. Someone steals a car two blocks down and I nearly collapse from exhaustion while talking to DeWolff about it.

The minute I get back to my apartment, I fall face-first into my bed and become dead to the world. I’m pretty sure I sleep for a grand total of twenty minutes before there’s a knock at my door.

I open it bleary-eyed, still in my work clothes and with my glasses (that I don’t actually need) askew. 

“Wow, you look terrible.” Ned Leeds chuckles and handshakes me. I’m honestly impressed that I can do it on pure muscle memory, considering that my brain is barely functioning right now. “Should I come back later?”

Rubbing my eyes, I push the door open and let him in.

“Wait, Ned, I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be rude, but I don’t remember inviting you over.”

“Dude, I almost couldn’t understand what your text even said.” He holds up his phone screen, where I can make out a string of incoherent keysmashes and the words ‘outfit’ and ‘help’.  “I assumed you wanted me to come over and help you choose an outfit for something? You know, sleep deprivation is actually pretty similar to intoxication in terms of how it affects your brain.”

“I’m fine, dude. I just need a power nap.” I point to my closet, which doesn’t boast much variety beyond collared shirts for work, my Spider-Suit, and t-shirts with science puns on them. “I’m going to a dinner with some friends from work tonight and Lara Jean is gonna be there, and I have no idea what to wear.”

“Bro, I got your back. Don’t even worry about it.”

“Here, I can—”

“Nope. Absolutely not. You go back to bed and get your forty winks in while I handle this. I’ll wake you up when it’s time to leave.”

“Have I mentioned that I love you?”

“Love you too. Now sleep.”

I’m lucky to have a friend like Ned. I’ve been saying that since middle school, but it’s true. Even the spell couldn’t erase everything. He doesn’t remember all of it, but stuff comes to him in pieces. Sometimes I’ll throw out a reference and I’ll see his face light up in recognition, and it feels like nothing ever even changed. 

And then I remember that everything changed.

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪  ౨ৎ˚₊˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪  ౨ৎ˚₊˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪  ౨ৎ˚₊˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪  ౨ৎ˚₊

There’s something I haven’t told you yet. 

That first day at the Bugle? It wasn’t the first time that Lara Jean and I ever met.

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪  ౨ৎ˚₊˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪  ౨ৎ˚₊˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪  ౨ৎ˚₊˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪  ౨ৎ˚₊

Back in eighth grade, I was a humongous nerd. Obviously. So being a nerd, but also one of those kids who was anxious to get a jumpstart on college, I joined my middle school’s Model UN. (I represented the UK, for those who are curious.)

The eighth graders got to go to this special week-long conference in California at the end of the year, which was something everyone looked forward to. Ned and I were going to go together and be roommates, but he got the flu right before the trip and his lola refused to let him leave his room. 

This meant that I got my own room, but it also meant that I had zero friends for the entire week.

When I walked into the big assembly hall where they were going to give the first presentation, every seat next to anyone I remotely knew was completely full. Even the people who looked sort of friendly were sitting with people from their schools.

Naturally, I went all the way to the back, sitting completely alone in a row of twelve chairs. This wouldn’t bother me if it happened today, since I’m an adult who only occasionally cries over crippling loneliness, but you have to remember that I was in middle school. I had acne and I still wore my glasses everywhere. I exclusively owned science and Star Wars shirts, with the occasional Zelda or Pokémon cameo (and I still have all of them). Even the smallest situations became the victim of my overthinking. I honestly considered throwing up a little in that back row.

And then I saw her.

She wore a red headband in her long black hair, and red Converse to match. Her bright yellow t-shirt and blue polka-dot jeans certainly caught the eye, but the main thing I noticed was her smile. It tried to be subtle, but it shone out like sunshine. It was the type of smile you can’t hide behind your hand.

“Is this seat taken? Everywhere else is full,” she said.

Girls never talked to me, not even to pass a test tube or cut me in the lunch line, so I short-circuited a little when I realized she was addressing me.

“Oh. Uh, yeah. Go ahead.”

“Thanks.” The girl nodded and sat down next to me. There was an entire row open and she still chose to sit right next to me. I wanted to melt into my Star Wars hoodie.

We were both quiet for a minute. I was honestly surprised that she wasn’t sitting next to anyone. I mean, she had to be the prettiest girl I had ever seen in real life, so it was impossible that she didn’t have a ton of friends or even a boyfriend.

I should probably introduce myself. It’d be weird if I didn’t, right?

The speaker came up to the podium, which was pretty much the signal for everyone to be quiet. If I was going to say something, I only had a few seconds to do it.

“My name’s Peter, by the way.” 

She smiled, and it was so brilliant the lights around us felt dim.

“I’m Lara Jean.”

We spent the next few days hanging out together, going to all the workshops as a package deal and eating our meals across from each other. I hadn’t had a girl friend since elementary school, so it was nice to actually be acknowledged by a member of the opposite gender. 

We had a lot more in common than I thought. She didn’t have many friends at her school, and neither did I. Her mom had died when she was 10, and mine had passed too. She liked Sailor Moon, and I liked ATLA. She read a lot and she liked old movies, just like me.

It’s sufficient to say that I had the biggest crush on her. I’d had crushes before, but not on anyone who actually thought twice about me, so she was the first person who I thought about in the way of, ‘wow, it really sucks that she lives so far away because I want to be her boyfriend’.

On the second-to-last night, a bunch of people in our grade went out to the hotel pool. It was this weird thing where it was invite-only, which made zero sense to me because it was a public pool for everyone in the hotel to use, but the ‘popular’ group was splashing everyone who tried to get in the pool so I didn’t even bother.

I was just lying in my room watching HGTV when there was a knock at my door. 

Lara Jean stood in front of it, sopping wet from head to toe in her galaxy print one-piece bathing suit. She was bright red in the face. Her towel was hanging off one shoulder.

I was suddenly very aware of my Bill Nye shirt and Sonic pajama pants, and her general lack of actual clothing.

“Hey, are you okay?” I reached out a tentative hand because she had actual tears in her eyes. 

“They kicked me out,” she stammered. “Th-they threw me in the pool and then pushed me out of the water again. Everybody laughed at me, Peter. I’ve never…I can’t believe…”

“Oh, Lara Jean.”

I didn’t know what else to do besides open my arms. She got my clothes wet, but I didn’t care. It seemed like she needed a hug, and she didn’t pull away. She rested her face on my shoulder and took a few deep breaths before I let her go.

“Can I come inside for a second?” She pointed into my room. “I just wanna use your bathroom to dry off.”

“Of course. There should still be a ton of towels in there.” I stepped aside to let her in. The minute the bathroom door shut behind her, I sprinted to my bed and began frantically tidying up. I couldn’t let her see what a slob I was, so I lost the pajama pants for sweatpants but kept the shirt.

“Peter?”

I dropped the pair of boxers I was folding and ran up to the bathroom door, pressing my ear against the wood.

“Yeah?”

“I really hate to ask, but do you have a T-shirt I could borrow or something? I just don’t want to walk back to my room and get my clothes in my bathing suit.”

“Sure. Just give me a minute!”

Back to sprinting toward my suitcase, which I dug through at such a rapid pace that I basically undid all of the cleaning I had done earlier. I was eventually able to produce a Darth Vader hoodie that probably came from the kids section at Goodwill (before it was cool to shop there) but was at least clean.

I knocked on the bathroom door and Lara Jean came out, mostly dry except for the ends of her hair. She accepted the hoodie gratefully and pulled it on. It looked good on her. It felt kind of like she was my girlfriend, like she was wearing my hoodie in a dating way and not purely for self-preservation.

“Thank you. I’ll give it back, I promise.” 

It felt like there was something missing. Something I could say to alleviate the weird energy I felt.

“Do you want me to walk you back to your room?”

Her eyes lit up like fireworks.

“Would you?”

Her room was five floors above mine, so we took the world’s slowest elevator up together. At the last second, one guy caught the door and wormed his way in, and Lara Jean visibly recoiled.

He looked familiar. I’d seen him at other Model UN stuff, since he lived in my district. He had his swim trunks on with a towel over his shoulders. Lara Jean gave me a skittish look, and I realized that he must’ve been one of the people who kicked her out of the pool. It checked out. He looked like a bully with that smug face of his.

I’d never really felt the urge to punch someone before, but he had me reconsidering my stance on violence never being the answer. How could anyone be so mean to someone so nice? I didn’t understand it in the slightest.

I physically stewed in anger up until all three of us got off the elevator. I don’t know what came over me, but I told Lara Jean to meet me back at the elevator and followed him. Even before I got bit, I was pretty light on my feet. He didn’t realize I was behind him until he reached his own room, when he finally turned around and saw me. 

“Yo, can I help you or something?” He had a really bad haircut and was completely glued to his phone. 

“Yeah, actually. You and your friends are jerks.”

“Nice insult, Ned Flanders. You got any more harsh digs?”

“That girl you kicked out of the pool was just trying to swim and you totally embarrassed her. What’s the deal with that? Why can’t you just share?”

“Look, it was invite only, bro. Not my fault she wasn’t cool enough to get in.”

“It’s a public pool! Everyone at the hotel is allowed to use it!”

“Jeez. Sorry if we hurt your girlfriend’s feelings, but she’s just weird. We don’t need any losers coming in and ruining the vibe.”

“Don’t call her that,” I snapped. “She’s not my girlfriend and she’s not a loser.”

“From how defensive you’re getting, it definitely sounds like she’s at least one of those things.”

I wanted nothing more than to punch him in his stupid freaking face, and I was seriously weighing the pros and cons of it until I heard Lara Jean’s voice down the hall.

“Peter? You there?”

I couldn’t keep her waiting.

“Coming,” I called. The kid looked at me all smug, and I dug my fingernails into my palm to the point where it actually hurt. 

That was the first time I met Flash Thompson. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the last.

I think she knew on the elevator ride down that I’d said something to him, but she didn’t bring it up until we were in the lobby by the vending machine, which yielded only Fritos and the plain type of Cheeto puffs that nobody actually eats.

“These snacks all suck,” I declared. Lara Jean was quiet for a moment. She’d changed into a pair of yellow shorts and a baggy pink t-shirt, and she kept fiddling with the hem of it.

“You went to go talk to him, didn’t you?”

I stood up from where I was kneeling on the floor. My hands went to my hoodie pockets by default.

“Um, yeah. Yeah, I did.”

“Did you beat him up?”

“What? No, no, no. I wouldn’t do something like that. I mean, I kind of wanted to, but I didn’t.” She laughed a bit, like something was hilarious about what I said. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, it’s just…it’s cute that you care. It’s nice. I’m not used to having people defend me like that.” She made room for me to lean against the wall next to her. “I think I told you that I don’t really have friends.”

“Look at it this way.” I smiled. “At least you’ve got one friend in NYC.”

“I’m sure that’ll do me a lot of good in Oregon.” 

“That’s what Skype is for, right? We don’t have to stop being friends in two days. We’ll just be further apart.”

“I wish I could just take you to school with me so I’d at least have someone to eat lunch with. Besides Margot, of course.” She gave me a once-over. “I think Margot would like you. But between you and me, she can be pretty overbearing sometimes. It gets annoying.”

“Yeah?”

“Like, after my mom died, she started acting like she was everyone’s guardian angel. Which, you know, I appreciated, but sometimes I wish she’d just be Margot again.”

“Maybe that’s what she wants, too. Maybe she just doesn’t know how to let go of your mom, so that’s her compensating for it.”

Lara Jean stared at the ground for a few seconds. I could see her tearing up and immediately felt guiltier than that time I accidentally stole a gift card with no money on it.

“Hey, are you okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.” She sniffed and wiped her eyes. “I guess I’m just homesick.”

“Well, what reminds you of home?”

“Korean yogurt drinks,” she mused. “I always get them with my sisters whenever we’re at the H-Mart.”

“Then we’re gonna get you some Korean yogurt drinks. There’s one of those stores down the block, right?”

“Yeah, but I thought we weren’t supposed to leave the hotel.”

Now, I’m a rule follower by nature, but Lara Jean was already looking happier and I would’ve sold my kidney to keep her that way.

“Sure. But we’re not gonna get caught. Besides, all the snacks here are gross.” I stepped out into the hallway and held out my hand. “Go get some actual clothes on and meet me back here in five, okay?”

“You’re crazy,” she teased, but she took my hand and ran all the way down the hall with me, laughing the entire time. 

Ten minutes later, we’d successfully snuck out of the hotel and were standing in front of H-Mart. I’d never seen such a huge grocery store in my life. 

“You coming, Peter?” Lara Jean turned to face me as she walked backward into the store. She’d changed into jeans, but she was still wearing my Darth Vader hoodie. We kind of matched, since I was also wearing jeans but had a gray NASA sweater on.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m right behind you.”

They had the AC cranked to the max in there, so it was freezing despite it being the middle of May. I couldn’t stop looking around. It was like a mini mall of its own, with restaurants and a little bakery and everything. When Lara Jean led me to the back, I saw tanks full of fish and lobsters and shrimp, and immediately became enraptured by the aquaculture of Asian grocery stores.

When I finally looked away from the tank, Lara Jean had an armful of snacks and two yogurt drinks in each hand. She stood there smiling slightly, like when you see a penguin doing something cute at the zoo.

“Oh, here. Let me carry some of those.” I reached out and took a couple of boxes and chip bags from her, despite her protests that she was perfectly capable of carrying her own snacks.

“So they really don’t have anything like this in Queens?” 

“If we have one, I’ve never been there before. It’s cool here, though. I bet my Aunt May would love to try cooking more Asian food. She always orders takeout for Chinese.”

“I know a couple recipes, but Margot and my mom were really the experts.” She chuckled to herself as we set our stuff down on the little conveyor belt. “My dad thinks he can cook Korean food, but he so cannot. He’s better with a grill.”

“Are you much of a cook? ‘Cause all I can make is cup ramen and tuna salad.”

“I prefer to bake. I love baking.”

“What kind of stuff do you like to bake?” I reached into my wallet to pay, and I swear to God a moth flew out. I had enough to pay for the snacks, but after that I’d be all out of money for the rest of the trip.

“Oh, here. Let me.” Lara Jean held out her money to the cashier. 

“No, I’ll pay. It’s the gentlemanly thing to do.”

“It’s a new day, Peter. Girls can be gentlemen too.” 

“Well, I’m the one who dragged you out here.”

“But I’m the one who gave you the idea.”

“Okay, fine.” I placed half of the total on the counter. “We’ll split it.”

“Sounds fair.” Lara Jean put down the other half. The cashier gave us a dirty look before putting the stuff in a grocery bag and handing us our receipt, but I didn’t care. I was mainly looking at Lara Jean.

Back at the hotel, she snuck me into her room. Her roommate was playing Uno in the lobby with the rest of the kids from their school, which meant we had the place to ourselves.

We pushed the beds closer together so we could share the snacks while Lara Jean turned on a rerun of Gilmore Girls, which I was familiar with because May had owned the entire series on DVD and convinced me to watch Seasons 1-5 with her. (After Luke postponed the wedding I couldn’t force myself to keep up with the show.)

It was the episode where Rory skips her mom’s graduation to go meet Jess in New York. It’s probably the one I’ve rewatched the most, for obvious reasons.

“So, which team are you on?” I glanced over to the other bed, where Lara Jean was engrossed in the show. It was kind of cute how much attention she paid to everything.

“You know, I’m usually Team Logan, but I have to admit that Jess is my guilty pleasure.” Lara Jean shrugged. “Logan’s the stable choice, but her relationship with Jess is so much more compelling. If it weren’t for Jess being a total jerk sometimes, I’d be on his side completely.”

“I blame the writers,” I said, taking another sip of my yogurt drink. This stuff really was delicious. So were the Marie biscuits that we’d already eaten an entire sleeve of.

“Wait, you’ve watched Gilmore Girls?” Lara Jean turned in her bed to face me. “It doesn’t seem like your type of show at all.”

“And what is my type of show?”

“Wild Kratts?” She laughed out loud when I threw a shrimp chip at her. “No, but seriously. What pushed you to watch Gilmore Girls?”

“Aunt May. Apparently she used to watch it with my mom right after I was born, when Mom was still postpartum and couldn’t really leave the house. Then she got me to watch it with her last year, and I just got hooked. I’d watch it even when she wasn’t around, but I dropped it at Season 6.”

“Understandable. I powered through Season 7, but I almost wish I hadn’t.” She tilted her head to the side. “Do you miss your aunt? I mean, I know I get crazy homesick sometimes, but I can’t imagine what it’s like when you only have one other family member.”

“Yeah, I do kinda miss her. I bet she would’ve given those kids at the pool a piece of her mind. She hates cliques and bullies and stuff like that.” I couldn’t help but laugh at the memory of her escapades. “One time in third grade, Cooper Bronson threw my Yoda lunchbox off the slide and dented it, and May marched right into the front office and made him and his mother give me a personal apology.”

“She sounds badass.”

“She is. You’d like her.” I reached into the shrimp chips. “If you ever come to visit New York, she’ll take us to the Central Park Zoo and do goofy voices for all the animals.”

“Okay, we have to start writing some of this stuff down.” Lara Jean fished a notebook and a pink gel pen out of her backpack. “Otherwise we’re gonna forget this stuff if I ever actually get the chance to visit you.”

“Great.” I turned the volume on the TV down as she hopped over to my bed and sat next to me on the mattress. “Got any ideas?”

PETER PARKER & Lara Jean Covey’s NYC BUCKET LIST!!!

Visit the Central Park Zoo with Aunt May

Go grocery shopping in Chinatown

Ride the Staten Island Ferry and eat the snacks we get from Chinatown

See a production of Wicked on Broadway

Build a Lego set together with Ned

Eat a whole New York style pizza on the subway

Watch ‘When Harry Met Sally’ in the autumn

“I’ve never seen ‘When Harry Met Sally’,” Lara Jean mentioned. My jaw dropped.

“Aren’t romcoms your favorite thing in the world?”

“I’ve just never gotten around to it!”

“Well, good. That means you can wait until you visit me, and we can watch it together.” 

“Deal," she said, and we shook hands on it.

The next day passed by in a blur of lectures, group work and activities, and counting the minutes until the meals where I could see Lara Jean. We had sandwiches for dinner and I gratefully accepted the pickles she didn’t want. On the last night they were extra strict about boys and girls going to each other’s rooms, but I called her and we spent the entire night talking while we both packed our bags. Her group wasn’t checking out until four hours after mine, which meant she wasn’t in nearly as much of a rush as I was.

I found her at breakfast the next morning, stacking a plate high with waffles and more whipped cream than I’d ever seen anyone eat. She’d saved a spot for us by the window where we usually ate. I set my backpack and suitcase down on the floor next to the table.

She wore Powerpuff Girls pajamas. I thought that was the cutest thing ever.

It was mostly quiet between us, but not in an uncomfortable way. We didn’t feel any pressure to fill the silence. I never did, around Lara Jean.

My teachers were calling everyone to leave by the time we finished eating. I only had a few seconds, but I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what to do, because I’d never really been in this situation before.

“I think those guys are from your school, right?” She pointed to a group of kids that had the same lanyards as me. “Are you leaving right now?”

“Uh, yeah. Kinda.” I stood up from the table and shouldered my backpack. “I don’t really want to go back.”

“Peter, you have to go or you guys will miss your flight.”

“Yeah, but…” My eyes begged her to understand what I meant. “I don’t want to say goodbye.”

“Me neither.” She opened her arms, just like I had the other night. “Let’s not and say we did.”

The brief hug was nice, but the group was leaving and my teacher was yelling my name, so I waved to her again and trudged out of the lobby, toward the hotel van that would take us to the airport.

Right before my hand reached the car door, something stopped me in my tracks. I didn’t have my Spider-Sense back then, but this was something even stronger than that. Somehow, before I even turned around, I had the feeling that Lara Jean was there.

“Peter!”

There you are.

“Lara Jean?” I stepped away from the van, closer to her. 

“Sorry, I know your school’s waiting on you.” She finally reached me, so we were standing about a foot apart. “I just—I wanted to give you this.” She pressed a small piece of paper into my palm. A phone number, with her name written at the end of it in neat handwriting, and two tiny hearts drawn right next to it.

I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten to ask for her number. Thank God she was giving it to me now, otherwise I might never have been able to find her again.

“Thank you,” I breathed. I clutched it tight in my hand, like it was a piece of her. 

“You’ll call me, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course I will. I’ll call you the minute I’m home. I promise.” I noticed that her bottom lip was trembling. “Hey, are you okay?”

“Uh-huh.” She wiped her eyes, and I noticed a little wet patch on her sleeve. “I’m gonna miss you, Peter. I had so much fun with you this week. It felt like I really had a friend.”

“You still do,” I reminded her, but I knew what she meant. “I’ll miss you too, Lara Jean.”

“Have a safe flight, okay?”

“Yeah, you too.” 

We hugged for real then, and it felt much more natural. But like all good things, it had to come to an end eventually. The van’s driver yelled for me to get in already, and my classmates were making all kinds of noises and comments. I didn’t care. 

She finally let go and stepped backward, waving goodbye as I climbed into the van. I lowered the window and waved back, all the way down the road, till she was just a pink speck in the distance, and then nothing at all.

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪  ౨ৎ˚₊˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪  ౨ৎ˚₊˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪  ౨ৎ˚₊˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪  ౨ৎ˚₊

When Ned wakes me up, he tosses me a pair of dark baggy jeans, one of my 1,279 white Henleys, and a brown leather jacket that I’m pretty sure used to be May’s. I give him a grateful nod and change into the outfit still half-asleep.

“Do a spin,” he demands, making a circle with his finger. I roll my eyes and oblige. 

“How do I look?”

“Dude, if I were Lara Jean, I’d totally be drooling right now.”

“Perfect.” My only mirror is so dirty that it should be considered a biohazard, but I can see well enough to fix my hair into something that doesn’t scream ‘hasn’t slept a full night in a week’. “What time is it?”

“6:30, so you’d better get going.” Ned tosses me something small and red. “Good luck, bro.” I open my hand and peer at the foil packet.

“Ew, is this a condom?”

“Safe sex is no joke, Peter. This is from my box of like 30. Look, it’s themed after you!” He points out the little Spidey logo on the packet. “For the confidence boost.”

“Why are you giving me this? We’re just hanging out tonight!”

“You never know what could happen! Besides, you’re free to save it for a rainy day. Just looking out for you, man.”

“How do you even have this in the first place?”

“Um, I bought it, doofus.” Ned crosses his arms. “Believe it or not, I got plenty of action at MIT. I’m basically the CEO of sex compared to you.”

“Oh, my God, I don’t even want to think about that.” I shove the condom in my wallet, mostly to get it out of my sight as quickly as possible. “Look, thanks for coming over and helping me with the outfit. And thanks for…this.”

“Of course, Pete! Anytime.” He hits me with our handshake and a quick hug before he grabs his keys and points at me. “Hey, don’t freak out about tonight. Just be yourself and the chemistry will do the rest. Call me after, okay?”

“Yeah, I will. Later, Ned.”

The door shuts behind him and I look in the mirror once more before I grab my phone and keys. It’s only a ten minute walk from my apartment to the restaurant, but it somehow takes me fifteen minutes to get there because I’m Googling conversation tips. 

Listen, I’m not socially inept or anything, but I haven’t dated anyone since high school and to be completely honest, I have no idea how to tell Lara Jean how I feel without telling her. I’m pretty much playing it by ear. 

By the time I arrive at the restaurant, everyone’s already there. I recognize a few people from work, as well as a few who I assume are friends and plus ones. I’m almost unnerved by how all 15 of these people seem to know each other, while I know maybe three of them. 

I grab a random open seat, which is at the end of the table with empty space surrounding it on either side. Everyone seems pretty spread out, but I feel like an island in a sea of people. Maybe it was stupid to come. I don’t even see—

“Want some company?” 

My breath catches at the sound of her voice. I look up to see Lara Jean standing next to me, smiling and pointing at the seat on my right.

I know she doesn’t remember the Model UN conference, but I’m getting the craziest deja vu I’ve ever had.

“Yeah,” I breathe. “Yeah, of course.” 

She looks so different in a yellow babydoll top and jeans. It’s a good difference, though. Not that she looks bad in her usual attire, but there’s something about seeing her outside of the Bugle that feels so much more personal. Like she’s letting me in on a secret.

Now she’s looking at me like she expects me to say something, and it’s like I can hear Ned in the back of my brain yelling, ‘Get a grip!’

“Hey, are you okay?” Her head tilts to the side. “You’re kinda flushed in the face.”

“Am I?” I know I am. Who am I kidding? “It’s just hot in here.”

“Yeah, I get that.” 

Say something, stupid.

“So, what did you do today besides work?” Yeah, that’s good. That’s safe. 

“Oh, not much.” She smiles and counts on her fingers. “I came home and I journaled, worked on my novel, made fried rice for dinner, read a chapter of Pride and Prejudice, showered, got ready, and walked here. Oh, and I meal prepped for the next two days since I had some extra time on my hands.” 

Jesus. How productive can one person get?

“What about you?” She tilts her head and smiles. “How did you fill your four hours of free time?”

I slept. Drooling with my mouth open. And I dreamed about you.

“Oh, you know. This and that.” I nudge her elbow. “Tell me more about this novel, though.”

“It’s something I’ve been working on for a while.” She blushes, and I like how it looks on her. “I’ve wanted to write a book since forever, and moving to New York inspired me to actually start working on the manuscript.”

“That’s awesome. What’s it about?”

“It’s a…romance novel.”

“Like Fifty Shades of Grey?”

“No, nothing like Fifty Shades.” She spreads her arms out. “It’s about these two people who were best friends when they were younger, but over time they lost track of each other because they lived in different cities and everything. Then, on New Year’s Eve in New York City, they just happen to kiss each other at midnight and reconnect for the first time in years.”

“Wow, that sounds…really familiar.” Almost like it’s basically what happened to us. “Where’d you get the idea for that?”

“I don’t know. I guess it’s just been in the back of my mind for a really long time. Like, you know when you rearrange your furniture but you can still remember where it was before you changed it?”

“Yeah, sure.” Does she actually remember me?

“That’s what it’s like.” She points at her temple. “I can flesh out the plot really well because I feel like I’ve experienced it, but I don’t remember having anything like that happen to me.”

She continues chatting about her novel, which I’m all too eager to listen to. The waiter comes over (she orders salmon, I order pasta) and we’re both grateful for the free water.

“The main thing that I’m struggling with is that I don’t have a second opinion,” she explains. “I get so stuck in my head about everything and sometimes I don’t know if my writing is fantastic or terrible.”

“You know, I could look it over. You know, i-if you need it.”

“Really?” Her face lights up like a Christmas tree. “Oh, Peter, that would be amazing. I’ll send you the Google Doc.” 

“Cool. Cool, cool, cool, cool.” 

Lara Jean chokes on her water like she’s about to say something.

“Sorry, I’ve been talking way too much about myself. Tell me about you, Peter!”

I hate this question. Not because it’s a bad question, but because I’m so bad at answering it.

“What about me?”

“Well, I just told you all about my interests. Tell me about yours!”

I like to swing through New York on my new-and-improved organic webs and fight crime.

“I like science and robotics and stuff.”

“Wait, that’s so cool! Do you build robots?”

“It’s more like machines. Stuff that I need but can’t buy anywhere. I used to build LEGOs a lot before they got super expensive, too. I wanted to go to MIT because I used to build computers in high school.”

“So you’re totally a STEM guy, huh? How’d you ever end up in photography, of all things?”

“Well, I mainly did it because I needed money and I know Spider-Man, so taking pictures of him for a living seemed like a good way to pay the bills.”

“That’s wild.” Lara Jean takes another sip of her drink. “So, how did you and Spider-Man even meet?”

I suck in air between my teeth. Time to lie.

“Can’t tell you that. Secret identity and everything. I don’t want to give him away.”

“Oh, come on.” She flutters her eyelashes, which is something that no one has ever tried on me but is incredibly effective. “At least tell me when you guys met.”

“I’ve known him basically my whole life,” I admit. God, could you be more cliche, Peter?

“That’s so cool! You guys must be really close.”

Closer than you think. “You could say that. My friend Ned is my best friend, though. Ever since middle school.”

“Aw, that’s cute. That means he’s seen you in your awkward phase.”

You’ve seen it, too. You just can’t remember it.

“To be honest, I’m not sure if I’m out of that phase yet.”

She giggles. “Yeah, me neither.”

Our food arrives, and we take a break for a few minutes to eat. Upon getting some calories to my brain, I start to think like a normal human being again, and I’m able to work up the courage to say what I’ve been thinking for the last twenty minutes.

“You look really nice tonight, by the way.” I spit the words out as quickly as I can, before I have time to regret them. Lara Jean looks surprised, but not upset.

“Aw, thanks, Peter.” She picks at the fabric of my shirt. “You look good, too.”

“Ned helped me with my outfit. I don’t really get out much, so I wasn’t sure what to wear.”

“Ned sounds cool. I’d love to meet him sometime,” she says. I feel my heart jump.

“Really?”

“Yeah! I mean, I don’t know too many people in New York yet, and anyone you’re close with must be pretty nice.”

“How do you know I’m not friends with serial killers?”

“How do you know I’m not a serial killer?”

“You’d be a pretty crappy serial killer if you walk around saying stuff like that,” I say with a chuckle. 

“Well, there’s lots of things I’m not good at, Peter.”

“Oh, yeah? Like what?”

“Skiing.” She nods proudly. “I am terrible at skiing. And also driving.”

Her eyebrows lift. I point at my chest.

“Am I supposed to go now?”

“Duh.”

“Okay, I also suck at driving, and I don’t think I’ve ever made a good drawing in my life. I have no eye for decoration, which you can guess from my Instagram grid.”

“Yeah, it is pretty bad.”

“Wait, how often are you stalking my profile if you remember what it looks like?” I squint and smile when she turns bright red.

“I am not stalking you.”

“Can we call a spade a spade?”

“I can call you lots of things, Peter Parker.”

And now it’s my turn to blush. I can’t help but laugh, just to cut off the nervousness I know she can sense. It’s not that funny in itself, but I have to acknowledge the irony of how that’s exactly what I want from her.

Seeing her sit next to me, looking like a dream and smelling like heaven, I want everything from her. I know it’s stupid. Maybe it’s even a little pathetic. But I’m sitting next to the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, and she’s laughing at my flushed face, and I am 1000% never getting over Lara Jean Song-Covey.

The rest of dinner goes by smoothly. Everyone argues over splitting the bill, whether we should go evenly or only pay for what you ate. I’ve fought the Hulk and this still unnerves me no matter what. 

I trail behind Lara Jean as we leave the restaurant. She looks back like she sensed me coming and laughs. 

“Now who’s the stalker?”

“Maybe I’m just making sure that you don’t get snatched off the street,” I shoot back. “The buddy system is tried and true.”

“My hero.” Glancing around, she gestures to the open street. “How’re you getting home?” 

“Oh, I don’t live too far from here. I’ll probably just walk.” I notice the Uber app open on her phone. “Want me to wait with you?”

“That would be really nice, actually. Thanks.”

We stand in silence for a few minutes. The driver’s ETA passes, and then another five minutes. Lara Jean’s ready to murder someone when the driver cancels the ride.

“What the hell?” She groans and kicks the nearest fire hydrant. “Awesome. Guess I’m walking home.”

“At this hour?”

“It’s only 9 pm. I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, and it’s dark out. Plus this is not the best part of town to be walking alone in.”

“Peter, you seriously don’t have to worry—”

“Look, just let me come with you, okay? I really don’t want you to get hurt or kidnapped or anything.”

She sighs and waves me on. I follow her gleefully, doing an embarrassing little jog to catch up to her.

“You know you don’t have to do this.”

“In my mind, I do.”

We’re quiet for a few seconds, and it’s just like the conference. The silence isn’t uncomfortable, but Lara Jean breaks it anyway.

“Is it just me or was dinner a weird vibe?”

“You mean, between us?”

“No! Well, kind of. I mean that everyone else was sitting away from us. And none of them talked to us for the whole night, even though they invited us. What’s the deal with that?”

I had noticed, but I didn’t want to say anything because I know Lara Jean is sensitive about that stuff.

“It’s weird,” I concur. “Although I’m sure Isabel would have talked to us if she hadn’t been sitting so far away.”

“I guess some people just never move past high school.”

“Well, look at it this way. That makes you fundamentally better than them.”

“And yet we’re all gonna see each other at work tomorrow, anyway.”

We’re getting closer to the bar. A group of guys are already outside, drunk off their asses, and my Spider-Sense does not sense good intentions from them. I see their eyes wandering. I hear Lara Jean’s heart beating faster. She’s uneasy, so she moves just a bit closer to me until our sides are pressed together.

I get the message and mentally scream before I place my hand on her side, like we’re on a red carpet or something. It’s warm. She feels so soft here. Her heart pulses between her ribs when I’m close, and I feel it even through her shirt and the skin beneath it. I know that she’s blushing, but somehow I’m more flustered by this than she is.

The guys look away almost immediately, heading back inside for more of whatever they were drinking. Lara Jean and I both sigh in relief, and I move to take my hand off her.

It’s sticking to her shirt.

I immediately start panicking. This is literally the first time that this has ever happened! She’s gonna think I’m a total creep. Why am I so nervous? 

“Peter, you okay?” 

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, I’m good. Are you?”

“Thanks for doing that.” Her eyes drop to my hand that’s on her waist. “Is your hand stuck to my shirt?”

“Sorry!” I finally manage to detach it and immediately shove it into my pocket before it can do any more damage. “It’s just, um…it’s really sweaty.”

I don’t think she buys that, but she doesn’t say anything about it.

We arrive at her building, and she walks up to the very top of the steps. The light from within gives her the illusion of an angel coming down from the heavens. Or maybe I’m just too smitten to think otherwise.

“Well, good night, Lara Jean—”

“Hey, do you want to come up?”

I stop dead in my tracks. The thought of leaving has completely left my mind.

“What?”

“I mean, you don’t have to.” She cracks a nervous smile. “I just—I was gonna watch Gilmore Girls on FaceTime with Kitty, but I forgot that she has an exam tomorrow…anyway, I know it’s kind of a weird request but if you want to you can—”

“Did you say Gilmore Girls?” I’m grinning. I can’t help it.

“Uh, yeah. It’s my favorite show right now.”

Of course it is.

I ascend the stairs until I’m a step below Lara Jean, meeting her eye level. Her gaze doesn’t shy away from mine, even for a second. To my surprise, I don’t feel the urge to look away, either.

She has really pretty eyes. I haven’t gotten the chance to see them so close before.

“I’d really like that.” 

I really like you.

“Okay.” Her face breaks into the cutest smile I’ve ever seen. “Cool. Come on up, then.”

I might live to be 100. I might die tomorrow. But as I step into the building, and I feel the warmth of her hand leading me toward the elevator, I know that I will never forget this as long as I live.

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