darling [peter parker]

details!

Ms. Creevy didn't question or mind Wendy hiding in her room for the rest of the day. 

Ms. Creevy was a short, stout woman who was often mistaken to be mean. She had a curt, dry sense of humor and she enjoyed using sarcasm to get her points across. Although quite a few students thought she was a total bitch, they all generally liked her because she let them curse and she hated the stuffy old books on the curriculum just as much as them. She even let them call her Creevy and Creeves.

Even hidden away in the room of one of her favorite teachers, it took everything within Wendy not to cry.

She knew if she cried Creevy wouldn't judge, but fuck, she was so sick of crying. She'd been crying ever since that goddamn party, ever since those boys laid eyes on her. Those boys who weren't just Taller Letterman Jacket or Polo Shirt anymore. They had names now, entire faces. They weren't just her demons now. They were people, people who had hurt her and were getting away with it.

Wendy was blessed enough that a decent amount of her coursework was online, a part of the school's initiative to be green and help the environment. As long as she kept her laptop charged, she could get her work done. It was almost like she didn't miss anything. It was almost like everything was normal. As long as she didn't pull up that tab with that article on it, she was fine.

Eventually, her classmates filed in for last period English. Wendy took her usual seat beside Erin, who immediately threw her arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. The two girls exchanged looks. Wendy's heart warmed, knowing the furrowing of Erin's eyebrows and the narrowing of her eyes and tightening of her jaw meant her friend was willing to fight for her. If anyone talked shit, they'd have to go through her, and despite Erin's somewhat short stature, she was quite terrifying.

"You guys are going to love this next assignment," Creevy said. A few of the rowdier students let out cheers. Wendy tried to pretend she couldn't feel Peter's eyes on her.

Creevy hopped onto her desk, her legs dangling. "Alright, assholes. We're more than halfway through the year and I still don't know some of your names." The class giggled. "I wish I was kidding. I barely know anything about you guys because when you write, it's all so technical. Even your creative writings tend to follow a formula. I'm obviously not talking to you, Wendy, aka the only one in this class who was ever impressed me." Erin whooped and clapped. Wendy ducked her head, her cheeks burning red.

Flash Thompson spoke up from towards the back of the classroom, "I don't know, Creeves. I think you'd be mighty impressed if you saw one of Parker's poems." Her classmates snickered and her heart sank. Wendy balled her hands into fists. Stupid Peter Parker. Why couldn't he just read the poem she'd written for him? Why did he attempt one of his own?

Unless it wasn't his own. She was suddenly faced with a realization that explained everything. She'd told Spider-Man about the poem. He said he would write it for her. Peter was friends with Spider-Man, right? What if Spider-Man wrote the poem and gave it to Peter to read? She'd have to ask when he swung by later. If he swung by later.

Did Spider-Man write that poem? The very idea caused a flurry of butterflies in her stomach.

"Wendy, did you hear the assignment?"

The blonde jolted and nearly fell out of her chair. Creevy now stood right by her desk, an eyebrow raised. Wendy ran her fingers through her hair. "Uh, no, sorry."

"It's fine, you're still my favorite," Creevy said nonchalantly. "I want to know all about you. Literally, just tell me about yourselves. In fact, I want the first line to be, Hello, my name is blah-blah. All you have to do to get a good grade on this thing is write it, meet the page requirement, follow the given format, follow the rules of grammar, and turn it on time. It's easy. After all, your generation loves to talk about themselves, right?" That line only got a few half-hearted chuckles.

Creevy shrugged. "I know I'm not funny. Anyway, you have the rest of class to write this bitch. It's due next class. Let the writing commence!" The room was full of shuffling as the students dug their computers out of their bags. A low murmur fell over them, friends talking to each other in hushed tones.

"This sucks," Erin grumbled. "I'm so boring. What am I supposed to write about?"

"You're not boring," Wendy chastised, elbowing her. "You're wonderful." The girls shared a warm smile. Wendy created a new document, set up her MLA heading, and typed her hook.

Hello, my name is Wendy Margaret Carter-Greene.

Well, that was her first sentence done.

She tapped her fingers on the desk. What next? She pursed her lips and added, I am sixteen-years-old. Brilliant. Somewhere, JK Rowling was quaking. Wendy fought a groan. Maybe Erin was right. Maybe this assignment was going to suck.

After all, what was there to say? Hey, I'm Wendy and my life sucks! Not only did I recently lose my Aunt Peggy, who I spent a lot of my childhood and who's responsible for about 79% of my personality, but I also was nearly raped! The boys who tried to rape me are in police custody, but they're being released today.

It didn't make for the most cheerful essay.

But Wendy didn't have a cheerful life. Wendy's life was awful. The world was cruel and she had clearly pissed it off in a past life. It wanted her broken and bitter and miserable. Well, it had her right where it wanted her. She was miserable and bitter and broken. To anyone who knew all the details, the idea of her smiling would be ridiculous.

And yet, when that little voice in the back of her head reminded her to open her window when she got home, she couldn't help but grin.

*

god the next chapter...

also this is a late update but i updated earlier in the week so i wasn't gonna update but i need y'all to read the next chapter like i need it so badly so i might do a double update bc y'all !!!!

also also on this evening i'm feeling many ways about tom holland so i need to get it out somehow