Spider-Man Oneshots

Of Tree Trunks and Dracula

Soaring through the air, the basketball careens toward the hoop, bouncing off the rim again. Irritation burning at the tops of my ears, I scoop the ball off the ground, wiping my hands on my skirt.
   
I'm usually a much better shooter than this, but the grips on the ball have worn down, and it keeps sleeping out of my fingers. And I can't get a new one until December. Groaning, I chuck the ball at the hoop again.
   
It slams into the hoop and bounces off the backboard, sailing through the air... and over the neighbors' fence. Oh boy.

Of all the places it could land, there could always be worse places than the Parker's house, but it's still not a great spot.

The Parker's have lived next door for as long as I can remember, having become the neighborhood's gleaming light since the dawn of time. Dedicated to charity and hospitality, May Parker is usually floating around the neighborhood, offering tea, cookies, or a helping hand to anyone she happens to run into. Her husband, Ben, is just as kind, if not sharing the same set of manners. Rather than the more stoic, traditional etiquette, Mr. Parker is all smiles and hugs. He spends most of his free time building things for the kids on our street. He's the one who put together my bookshelf, back when I first moved in, and even got Peter to help, albeit silently.

For all the people that run in and out of Parker's house daily, their nephew never seemed to learn to enjoy being around others the way they did. On the few occasions I've been inside, Peter quickly disappeared to his room, the only sign of his presence being the light shining under the door and the stack of abandoned comic books in the living room.

Peter is notoriously quiet and awkward, and most people on our street have never gotten more than a handful of words from him. The adults never seem to run out of patience for him, even when they get a little grumpy, because of The Incident.
Peter moved in with his aunt and uncle six years ago, his parents having dropped him off in the middle of the night. They never came back. None of the kids know what happened to them.

The kids, on the other hand, never had patience for him to begin with. Aunt Anna thinks that the teasing is why he hasn't come out of his shell more since he got here. He rarely goes anywhere, never shows up at birthday parties, or joins any sports. I know he hangs out with Ned, in my math class, but that's it. If I had not lived next door, I wouldn't even know he existed.

I look at the yard with a sigh. I could jump over and get the ball, but Mr. Parker should be home soon, and I don't want to get caught standing in his yard if anyone looks out the back window. Not to mention, Peter is probably still home.

I could always ring the doorbell. The worst that happens is that nobody answers.

Dragging my feet like they're tied to the ground, I trudge toward the front door. Stomping up the front step, I reach for the doorbell, listening to it echo through the vacant house.

"Hello?" Cracking the door open, a thin, pale face pokes out, squinting at the sun with dark eyes.

"Oh!" Stumbling back, I stand at the edge of the porch. I didn't really expect anyone to answer. Peter doesn't open the door for strangers. "Hi. Uh, my ball landed in your yard."

Leaning forward through the doorway, Peter peeks around the corner, staring at the fence. He looks back with an unamused glare. "So go get it."

"Okay, just double-checking," I say, starting down the front steps. "I didn't want to climb the fence and then get spotted in the backyard and you like, sic your dog on me."

"I don't have a dog." Peter slams the door.

Nodding to myself, I jog to the gate, lifting the latch. That conversation went better than I expected. Not that the bar was high.