Spider-Man Imagines II

Disappointment | Peter Parker (TH)

i'm getting sick :( still gonna power through these updates though. pray for me y'all

requested by im_junghooked

//

You walked into your class confidentially. Peter was sitting in his seat, smiling at you as you sat down.

"You look happy today," he commented.

"I'm feeling good about my test grade," you said, shrugging.

"That's good," he said.

"How are you feeling, Parker?"

"Definitely getting an A," he said sarcastically. He leaned his head against his closed hand. "I don't know. I'm hoping I get a C, at least. I need to pass this class."

"You didn't study again?" you asked. He shook his head. You sighed, "Peter..."

"I know, I know."

The bell rang. Your teacher walked in and you sat up straight, eager to get your grade. You hated being one of those people that knew they were getting A's, but ever since you were a kid, your parents made it such a big deal. If you got an A, they were beyond proud of their daughter. If you didn't-

You'd never gotten anything below an A- because you weren't really interested in finding out how your parents would react.

The teacher began to pass out the tests. You eagerly sat at your desk, leg bouncing with anticipation.

When she placed the sheet of paper on your desk, you picked it up, smiled, and flipped it over.

A giant B+ stared at you in dark red ink.

All of the color drained out of your face. Your heart dropped. You felt the pins and needles that start off an anxiety attack at the back of your neck and under your arms.

You'd gotten your very first B.

"Hey, ___!" Peter turned around. He showed off his test. "An A! How about that?" He grinned.

You tried to smile, but you couldn't. You were panicking.

Peter, being the good friend that he was, noticed fast. "What is it?" he asked. "What grade did you get?"

"B," you breathed.

"Whoa what?" He grabbed it and looked at it, mouth open with shock. When he saw your hurt face, he shook his head. "B's are good. And this is a B plus, so-"

"My parents are going to kill me," you said. "I am going to die."

"It's not like you got an F," he said. "They won't be mad."

"They will," you said. "You know how they are."

He bit his lip. "I'm sure you're gonna be fine..."

"I'm not," you said. "I'm so not." You put your head on your desk.

Peter stared at you sadly. He raised his hand, wanting to pat your hair or something, but he felt too awkward, so he turned back around and frowned to himself.

...

You were dreading going back home, but there was no avoiding it. You were also cursing yourself for having spent the week talking about the test. Your parents were expecting your grade.

Sure enough, when you got home, they were in the living room, watching TV. They turned and saw you.

"Hey, kiddo," your dad said. "We're ordering pizza for dinner. You can pick your own toppings."

"Oh," your mom said, turning in her seat and grabbing your father's hand, "your test grade. Let us see!" She was grinning so wide and you prayed she would understand.

"I didn't do as well as I thought I would," you said.

Her eyebrows pulled together. "Oh? Did you get an A- again, sweetie? It's okay, we know history isn't your strongest subject, so we're okay with an A- every now and again."

"No, I got a B," you said.

Your parents blinked at you. Then, as you wrung your hands nervously, your dad sat up a little straighter.

"What?"

"It's my first B ever," you said. "I can do better now. I missed the A by one point-"

"It's unacceptable," your dad said.

"I'm sorry-"

Your mom shook her head. "After all your hard work this semester..."

"Mom, I can do better!" This was exactly what you were afraid of.

"This is disappointing," your mom said. She crossed her arms. "I am very disappointed in you."

"Mom," you whispered. Your heart was breaking.

"Your record is ruined," your dad said. "I knew that Peter boy was a bad influence on you. You were hanging out with your new friends when you should have been studying. And now look at what you've done!" He shook his head. "No more Peter. No more."

"It's not his fault," you said.

"No, it isn't. It's yours. Go to your room. We'll call you down for dinner."

You didn't respond. You just walked towards your room, trying to hold back your tears as long as you could. You made it to your door before they began to spill.

...

Peter had sent you a few dozen texts, but you weren't answering. He was worried about you, so he decided that it wouldn't hurt to swing by your window and see if you were alright.

He pulled off his mask as he landed on your window sill. He knocked on the glass and saw your shape moving behind the curtains.  They pulled back and you opened the glass.

"So?" he said, sitting on the ledge. You looked down at your feet. "How did they react?"

"I got yelled at," you said. You sniffed. "I try so hard, why can't they see that? Why can't my effort be enough for them?"

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"I'm such a disappointment," you breathed. You sat down on the carpet, burying your face in your hands.

"Hey, hey... no you're not!" He sat down next to you and grabbed your arm. "___, hey. Stop crying. I hate it when you cry."

"I know," you wept. "I just hate this. I hate trying so hard and them not caring."

"Well, I care," he said. "I think you're doing great. And you're the smartest girl I know." You lifted your head and looked at him. Looking at your tear streaked face made him smile sadly. He reached up and wiped one of your tears away, making you smile. "I am proud of you for everything you do."

"And that's what makes you a good friend, Peter," you said. "Even though my dad thinks you're a horrible influence." You burst out into a fit of giggles.

He laughed, too. "That was nice of him to say."

"Right?" You wiped your eye. "I don't care. You're always going to be my best friend."

"And you're always going to be mine," he said.

You leaned your head into the dip of his neck and closed your eyes. He leaned his cheek against the top of your head and sighed, imagining how it might feel if you finally liked him as more than a best friend.