Another World (Y/n x Peter Parker)

Just Peachy

I wake up again in my own bed, surrounded by the thick, fluffy sheets of my starfish print duvet. Groaning and rubbing my face, I calm my racing heartbeat. That was not a fun dream. But that's all it was; a dream.

The sun shining through the window wet with morning dew washes the room in a rainbow glow. Turning to look at the clock, my heart resumes it's racing pace as I realize that I should have been up 25 minutes ago. Why didn't Jarvis wake me up like he normally does? I don't have time to think about that, though. The shock and fear of being late hit me like a Mack truck, causing my heart to beat faster in my chest. I jump out of bed and messily throw my covers over the mattress, while quickly straightening up my decorative pillows.

I get ready as quickly as I can, putting my hair up in a messy bun and brushing my teeth in a rush, spilling a bit of toothpaste on my shirt.
"Crap," I grumble, grabbing a washcloth to wet my shirt. Hopefully it will be dry by the time I get to school.

I rush out the door after reading the note from my mom, telling me she'll be working another late shift at the shelter tonight and probably won't be home by the time I'm asleep. Running down the apartment stairs that lead out to the street, I rush off to the subway praying that there is a train that I'll be able to make. Luckily, the universe decided to be on my side because as soon as I got to the station, they announce the next leaving train.

I quickly rush through the shutting doors, and settle onto the crowded train. A creepy old guy is looking at me, so I avert my eyes and look out the subway window to the platform I was just on, as the train starts moving. Looking out the window as the platform edges closer to being out of view, I notice a familiar blue sweater and brown curls running towards where the train had just been. Before I got a good look, though, the train was off, and the platform was out of sight.

There was no way that was him, right?

Running through the gates of the school, I get there just as everyone is funneling into the classrooms. Deciding I had no time to visit my locker and drop of my books, I follow along in suit, walking into my History class.

After about 15 minutes of class, someone bursts through the doors of the classroom, causing everyone to look up from their work. Everyone but me.

"Sorry I'm late, Ms. Patchett. I missed the subway," the person who just came in addresses the teacher.

"For the fifth time this month?" Ms. Patchett replies, the annoyance and possible concern audible in her voice.

"I'm sorry," says the voice. By now my heart feels sympathy for the student. I mean, he truly does sound like he feels bad.

The tension in the room is high as neither of them say anything for a while, everyone eavesdropping, but trying not to make it obvious. I mean, how can you not listen? It's not like they are trying to be discreet about it. They're standing in the middle of the classroom.

Finally, after a few seconds that feel like an eternity of awkwardness, Ms. Patchett speaks up. "Just take your seat, Mr. Parker. But if this happens again, you'll be getting a week's worth of detention."

At the sound of his name, I feel my heart slow down and almost stop. There's no way it's him, right? I must be imagining things. I mean, there are plenty of kids with the last name Parker. But still, I can't help but let my mind wonder. First the kid at the subway station, now this? I'm scared to lift my eyes to look at him, afraid I might me wrong, crushing my dreams that I know would never come true. But mostly, I'm scared that I'm right.

As I draw my eyes up to meet the boy with his back to me, sitting down in the seat in front of me, my heart truly stops. Blue sweater over a plaid button up, curly brown hair, unexpected toned muscles, it all seems too familiar. I can't look away, hoping that maybe, somehow it could be him.

As I'm lost in my thoughts, I see him turn around and say something, as I'm met with the face that I know all too well. The face that constantly runs through my mind, the face under the mask, the one I've seen up on the big screen probably 100 times. Shaking my head out of my daze, knowing I must be hallucinating, I realize that he just spoke to me.

"What?" I ask him to repeat.

"Oh, um, I was just wondering... if you had a pencil?"  He asks, clearly confused by my demeanor, but seemingly flustered, as well.

"Yeah," I say, feeling like I got the wind knocked out  of me. Opening up my backpack, finding it hard to draw my eyes away from him, I pull out a spare pencil.

"Are you alright?" He asks, his eyebrows furrowed in concern, and I'm sure confusion. "You look... pale," he adds, trying not to make it seem rude.

"Just peachy," I croak, handing him the pencil, my eyes still threatening to pop out of their sockets.

"Thanks," he responds with a smile, genuine, but concerned. He turns back around in his seat, hunching over to write on his paper, leaving me sitting there looking white as a ghost.

Peter Parker is in my History class.