"You're telling me that you got Captain America-the War Hero, Steve Rogers-to become best friends with a thirteen-year-old kid? What, is this supposed to slowly introduce him to how irritating Generation Z is? Project Training Wheels or something?"
...
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New on the list of fears Lizzie had added over the years: Spider-Man's means-of-transportation. She'd decided right then and there that she would be getting serious about a driver's license and already pitied her father for that torture. To distract herself from the inevitable drop when Peter Parker's arm gave out around her waist, she'd started listing off all the things she really needed to get done before her 16th birthday. Number one on that list was to ask C.T. to Homecoming, then she would call Happy and tell him she needed help burying Peter, then she would apologize to her parents for ditching a school trip and hug them until they turned blue, maybe she would—No. Nope. No more future. She was going to throw up.
"Put me down. Put me down, put me down, put me down!...never again. There's no way you do that for fun. Oh, I'm going to throw up—"
"Sorry," was the response from the irritating Spider-Thing, cringing as she hunched over behind the station's sign. Although she hadn't thrown up yet, he figured she was either falling down that road or complete unconsciousness. Not only did she grow pale white when their feet hit the ground, but SUIT LADY was informing him of her condition. "You're the first person I've tried that with."
That comment didn't help make the situation or her any better, and Lizzie's head raised long enough to shoot him a deranged glare. The two dark braids had been abused much like the rest of her, and the frizz and baby hairs made it look like she'd slept for days on them. Unfortunately (because that was how most of Peter's existential crises started) the only barrier he had against the death-stare was his mask. Even that felt like it was melting against his skin. He hasn't specified the little fact when he was swinging her along like she was a rag-doll. No less throwing them on top of a moving vehicle like she was a bug.
"Never. Again."
"SUIT LADY says you need water."
"Tell SUIT LADY you hacked into her system," she spit back, wincing when she had to swallow again to fight back the urge to projectile-vomit all over Peter. Not that she'd apologize. But she would be disgusted. "You think I can't tell? You and Ned giggling over your laptop all dinner, and now you have enhanced access to your system—what, do you think I'm oblivious? Were you going to lie to me?"
