The Butterfly Effect: a Peter Parker Fan Fic

Part 11; Bottoms Up

There are no secrets that time does not reveal ~ Jean Racine

A light layer of foundation covers my face and I begin to apply a dark shade of burgundy lipstick. Standing in front of the tall mirror, I feel different. I look different. I seem... happy.

It's probably just the makeup.

A pair of high-waisted, black denim shorts hug my small figure and a loose khaki shirt hangs over them. The shirt is tied into a knot, turning it into a crop top rather than a plain t-shirt. My hair flows in curls relentlessly over my shoulders. A frown falls on my face. It makes me look like a hippie. I reach for a hair tie and tie half of it up.

My frown turns upside down into a satisfied smile.

Better.

My phone lights up and a text from Peter appears on the screen.

We're here ;)

I peer out to see a car parked on the curb, its headlights beaming. I grab my leather jacket from the chair and my feet carry me down the stairs hurriedly. A pair of white Converse are the first shoes I see so I pick them up and quickly shove my feet into them.

"Where are you off to dressed like that?" mom appears behind me, Phil by her side.

"A party," I mumble.

Phil gasps, "a party?"

"You didn't tell me there was a party," mom's arms fold across her chest, "who's party?"

I sigh, "Cassie."

"I thought you guys weren't friends anymore," she says with her mom-like I told you so expression.

"We're not," I reach for the door, "but the whole school is going."

A hand reaches for my shoulder. But it's not mom's hand, it's Phil's. He speaks softly, "no drinking and no drugs. And be home by--"

"--you're not my father, Phil," I snap, cutting him off. His face falls and mom winces. That's probably the most I've ever said to him in one sentence and I hurt him. He has no right to be telling me what to do and what not to do and it's common sense, especially considering he knows that I don't like him.

I jog towards the car and hop into the vacant backseat. Peter sits behind the wheel and Ned, in the passenger seat. "Hey," Ned grins goofily into the rear-view mirror.

"Hi," I grunt.

Peter smirks, "someone's feisty today."

I ignore him, "where's MJ?"

"She's already there," he shrugs.

My brow furrows, "what do you mean she's already there?"

"She's already there," Ned repeats, "Michelle likes to be early so then she can go home early."

That makes a load of sense in her own messed up way. I realize how Peter was right about MJ being so smart even if this is just logic. Ned turns the radio up and an old and unfamiliar 80s song begins to play. The two of them sing along, completely out of sync and out of tune, but it's entertaining none the less. A smile grows on my face as I watch these two dorky guys sing to a song that was made two decades before they were even born.

We turn into Cassie's street, potentially one of the most expensive ones in the whole of Queens. Her parents work as lawyers which explains why they are so rich.

"Which one is it?" Peter asks quietly, scanning the street.

I take off my seatbelt and lean over, "gee, I don't know, Peter. Maybe the one with a bunch of people on the front lawn?"