• Russian Revolution: 1917-1923

• 1918: Bolsheviks negotiate Brest-Litovsk

• Russia surrenders/exits war

• Russia did something else too. Not sure what. Was looking longingly at Subject 1 of The Plan's empty chair instead of listening

REMINDER: I do not love [redacted]

REMINDER 2: However, [redacted] is not here and my whole week is ruined

• Russia did another thing

• America did something too

• Who cares honestly?

• Number of times Flash has mentioned his new car loudly in front of the entire class:

• Number of times I have been impressed:

(Please take take due notice of the blank space)

• Subject 1 of The Plan entered class late today with another bruise on his face

• Asked Subject 1 about his bruise, who began to sweat profusely when questioned

NOTE: How much can one person sweat? This seems humanly impossible. Will research at a later time.

Figure 1

• Subject 1 is whispering with Subject 2*

*Subject 2: Ned Leeds-Midtown Tech sophomore, Subject 1's best friend, Lego connoisseur

• Subject 1 is wr

• More updates to come

•

"Hey."

Will jumped and gasped. She slammed her notebook shut, the sharp tip of her pen cutting across the page in a slash of blue ink. She whipped around, feeling her heartbeat in her ears.

Peter stood behind her, hands weighed down with textbooks. His collar was askew beneath a blue sweater, dipping below the bruise that lined the careful edge of his jaw. It was broken blood and the violet echo of something terrible. It cast the whole rest of him into shadow. Will felt sick just looking at it.

She hated herself for feeling that way, for noticing.

She always noticed, no matter how hard she tried not to. It was second nature. It was like her mind was made up of twenty thousand little gears and wheels that only spun one way. Try and force them the other direction, and everything jammed.

"Peter!" she said, leaning an elbow against the notebook in what she hoped was casual manner. "You scared me."

"Sorry," he said flatly.

He moved around to the other side of the table. He dropped the books on the table; they slammed against the desk that echoed through the library like a gunshot. Will jumped again.

"You're jumpier than usual," he remarked, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, I, uh, watched a scary movie last night."

"Which one?"

"Um. . . Shrek 2?"

Peter looked up at her.

"Did you just say Shrek 2?"

"Yes. I'm very afraid of. . . giant gingerbread men. And the song Living La Vida Loca. It's crippling, honestly."

"Well, I hope you get the help you need, I guess."

"Yup. Thanks. Listen, we came to study physics. Should we do that? Let's do that."

Peter nodded silently.

Ever since he had started tutoring her, Peter had been like this. Shadow stained and quiet, with bruises on his knuckles and a crease between his brows like a scar. The silence between them was always thick and unbearable, punctuated only by Will's fumbling questions or Peter's sighs.

He leaned down to grab his textbook. Will took the opportunity to sweep her notebook off the table and into her bag. As soon as its worn, dog eared edges disappeared, she let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She grabbed her physics notebook instead, flipping it open to a page littered with graphs that meant nothing to her.

Peter scanned the book, running a finger down the page.

"So," he said. "Should we start with what you were writing in that notebook?"

He looked up at her then, eyes unreadable. There was something tar black in his expression, something that made her shift in her seat.

Will froze.

"What?" she breathed.

"The notebook. What were you writing in it?"

"I-I don't know what you're talking about. It's just for school."

"Every time I've seen you, you've been with that notebook, Will. And every time someone asks you about it you turn into a nervous, paranoid wreck."

"I. . ."

Will's mind had gone blank.

'I was devising the next stage in an elaborate, ongoing plan to force myself into believing that I am not in love with you since you've spent the last year tripping over yourself for my own sister, not to mention, trying to figure out why you sweat so damn much,' didn't seem like the appropriate response.

"Erotic poetry," she blurted instead.

He slammed his textbook shut.

"Will, I know you're lying."

"I could be writing erotic poetry!"

"Oh yeah? Give me an example."

"Y-Your beef—"

"Stop. Just stop," he said, putting his hands up.

He looked at her.

"Will, just stop lying to me all the time."

"I'm not lying—!"

"Yes you are. You've been lying to me for years."

"What are you talking about?" she protested.

"You never let me read that notebook, not once, in all the years we were friends."

"It's private! What is this about, Peter?"

"This is about you, Will. You've always been like this, even back then. You never let me meet your parents or come over to your house, even though you spent all your time at my apartment."

"Peter—"

"I've never even seen your room, Will. Don't you think that's weird? We were best friends."

"I told you, my parents don't like guests."

"Yeah, you always had some excuse."

"Peter, my house—it's just a place. It's not a home."

"That doesn't matter to me, Will. I wanted to know, because it was your house and your family."

Will scoffed.

"Well, I know you care an awful lot about my family. Certain members at least."

Peter's eyes narrowed.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, Peter," Will sighed. "It's not supposed to mean anything."

He slammed his hand against the desk. She jumped, looking up at him in surprise.

"That's exactly what I'm talking about, Will," Peter said emphatically. "You leave me in the dark and expect me to just know what I did wrong. Well, I don't, so just tell me what's going on with you for once, please!"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"You turned the freaking light out on me last year and I've been in the dark ever since. Whatever I did to wrong you, whatever I did to make you hate me so damn much, could you just tell me?"

"Peter. . ."

"Seriously, Will. Because I'm going out of my mind trying to figure out what I did wrong. What I did to lose you."

"Peter, we—we"

"We were good together. We were."

"I know we were. But we're just better apart. Trust me. This is better for you."

"For me?"

"For us."

"For us? That's bullshit! That's bullshit, Will."

"Peter, please—"

"No, Will!" he shouted, jumping up out of his chair. "I'm done! I'm sick of this."

Will looked around, startled, waiting for the librarian to yell at them, but the library remained silent. Only the books stood on the shelves like watchful eyes.

"I'm sick of being lied to," he said bitterly, chest heaving.

Will's eyes narrowed at that. She stood up and placed her hands down in front of her, leaning over until she was facing him.

"Really, Peter? You're sick of being lied to? Because last time I checked, the biggest liar around here was you."

"What?" he said.

But she saw his fingertips waver, yearn to go and touch his bruise.

"That's right," she said with satisfaction. "You're a big, fat liar, Peter Parker. Showing up late to class, dropping all your activities, mysterious romps down alleyways nowhere near your apartment. And how exactly did you get those bruises again?"

"I-I tripped and hit my face on the edge of the steps."

"More than once, Peter?"

"I'm just clumsy. It doesn't matter—"

Will grabbed his wrist. It was a stupid, impulsive thing to do, but anger had clouded her mind, fogged the corners, and she wasn't thinking clearly. She held it tightly and looked him in the eye.

"I'll ask again. How did you get that bruise?" she asked slowly.

"I-I tripped, I told you," Peter stammered.

Lie.

Will let go of his wrist. Suddenly, without the bitterness disguising his face, Peter seemed much younger. The bruise on his cheek made him look so very mortal, china skin hiding glass veins.

Her stomach churned.

"I have to be somewhere," she said suddenly.

"Will," Peter said quietly. "Please."

His eyes were wide and glazed with hurt now, all traces of anger dissolved in their depths.

"Peter—"

"Just tell me why."

"I—"

love you

"—need to go."

Will grabbed her textbooks.

"Will—"

She closed her eyes.

"Peter, please don't."

He didn't say anything after that.

Will stuffed her books into her bag with hands that slipped and shook. She pulled it over her shoulder and turned away without looking at Peter again. She walked away, feeling like a catastrophe of hurt.

•

"Parker!" she called out, flinging her backpack to the side.

It was a hot day, and her shirt clung to her back. The sticky air hung around her in clumps of humidity that caused her hair to reach epic proportions.

"Out here!" came his response.

She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand and tucked her hair behind her ears. Not that it mattered. She knew she could be six feet tall and purple before Peter Parker noticed what she looked like.

She stepped out on the balcony where Peter sat in the shade of an umbrella, tinkering with a small piece of metal. He was wearing a shirt with the Avengers Tower sketched on it and his hair stuck to his forehead. Just the sight of his brown eyes and crooked nose made her heart leap, although she would never admit it.

Will plopped down next to him, stretching her legs out. She propped her chin on his shoulder, peering over.

"What are you working on?" she asked.

"Just something for robotics," Peter shrugged.

"Sounds like a snooze," she said, rolling over onto her stomach. "Guess what I did today?"

"What?" he asked, turning to face her.

"Found the best sandwich shop in the world."

"No way. We already found the best sandwich shop in the world. It's Delmar's."

"Way. This place is called Sub Haven and it's loads better."

"Not possible.

"Their bread is the best, plus they use those little swords in their sandwiches. And get this, the cashier's name is Will and he's only a year older than us!"

Peter was quiet. He stared at the piece of metal he was tinkering with, but his hands were still.

"What are you, jealous?" she teased, nudging his shoulder.

"Me? Hah, no way," he scoffed.

"Oh, come on. We both know the best sandwich shop in the world hasn't been invented yet."

Peter smiled.

"Right. Parker-Allan's Sandwich Emporium."

"Wait. We agreed my name was first. Allan-Parker sounds way better."

"No way. Parker-Allan!"

They bickered a few minutes until May interrupted them with lime popsicles, and then they were quietly content. They lay on their backs on the balcony, licking the artificial ice and listening to the sound of sirens and horns. Will's palms were sticky and her back burned from the hot cement, but her heart soared.

"Are you nervous for next year?" Peter asked finally, setting his popsicle aside, lips stained green.

"For high school?" Will asked, sitting up to see his face better.

He nodded, brown eyes serious.

She shrugged. "Not sure. I haven't really thought about going to Midtown much."

"I mean, I just thought. . . After what happened in middle school. You know."

"You don't have to tiptoe around it, Peter."

But Will's stomach had become a clenched fist at the mention of her seizures. She called them seizures because that was the best thing she could think of to call them. Her mom called them fits. Her dad called them weird.

The truth was, Will couldn't handle that many people, that many emotions. School was her hell. Her father had pulled her out of school for all of sixth and part of seventh grade because things had gotten so bad and homeschooled her himself. No one, not even Peter though, knew the real reason she hadn't been in school.

"Listen," he said. "Midtown can't be that bad. You'll have me."

"Unless I don't."

"Impossible," he said. "You'll always have me."

Peter's face curved up in a half smile. It reached his eyes, making them crinkle at the corners. The edges of his mouth were still stained green from the popsicle.

Her heart was beating big enough to swallow her.

And there, her fingers sticky and her tongue tasting of lime and her ears full of the sound of the city, she knew for the first time that she loved him. Wholly and completely.

It hurt so much that she almost gasped out loud. Her chest felt like a glass that had been dropped on the floor, all cacophony and broken edges and sharp sharp sharp.

I love Peter Parker.

Even thinking the words didn't feel quite real. She knew Peter, every piece of him. She'd liked him for years. But loving him was another reality.

The sky darkened up above as a passing cloud glazed the sky with slate. The air felt damp and tight and new and Will felt the urge to run her fingers through it. Loving Peter made the world sharper, in focus and edged in gold.

Will was still breathing fast, struck by her realization and how quickly the whole world could change when Peter sat up all of a sudden, pulling his knees to his chest.

"Speaking of Midtown, I wanted to talk to you about something. Well, tell you something, I guess."

There was a waver in his voice, a whisper of a tremble.

Will looked over at him.

He was staring at his bare feet, not meeting her eyes. Her stomach jumped.

"O-Okay," she managed.

"You know how I've been telling you for weeks that there's been this girl I've liked?"

Her blood froze in her veins. "Yeah?" she choked out.

"I think I'm ready to tell you who it is."

Will's heart was hammering in her chest so loudly it drowned out the sounds of the cars below. Her pulse slipped. She shifted, sitting on her palms to disguise the fact that they were shaking slightly.

She said "Who is it?"

She meant "Please don't."

"Promise you won't be mad?"

"What? Why would I be mad?" she asked in a voice calmer than she felt.

Peter took a deep breath.

"Because it's Liz."

Will said Oh.

Her voice was a tiny thing close to shattering.

She stood up, although she couldn't feel her legs. She walked up to the edge of the balcony, her legs moving like lead. She gripped the edge of the iron rail.

Will, said Peter.

His voice felt like an echo pounding somewhere at the base of her skull, a dull headache.

The edge of the balcony bent away from her, shifting and shaping.
The blood beat in her temples.

Will, he repeated.

"I have to go," she said quietly.

"What?" he asked, standing up.

"I just remembered," Will said flatly. "I said I'd help my dad with something."

"Are you mad?"

"No. I just need to leave."

"I—Okay, I guess. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Sure."

Will grabbed her backpack off the concrete floor of the balcony. Peter was looking at her with bright mirror shards of hurt in his brown eyes.Will had to turn away. Her heart felt bottomless—it threatened to swallow her whole.

"Goodbye, Peter."

Her world was crumbling, and all she could do was watch it fall.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: hi! i had some time to write on the plane so i figure i'd give this chapter another shot. i hope this sheds some light on things between peter and will's past. i'm so torn because i really want to write them as fluffy and cute but also i love torturing my characters and putting them through angst so. also everyone is meeting tom at ace comic con and i feel really left out can y'all stop having fun without me thanks