I sit with Michelle in the cafeteria. Anthony is part of some private research project, so he's gone every other lunch (which is most lunches now, given how much school we both are missing). Most of the time that we sit together, Michelle is neck-deep in a book and doesn't pay me any mind. Today is no different than any other.

I don't mind sitting with her. She's smart and quiet, which makes the perfect springboard for ideas.

"Michelle, if you were a superhero," I begin looking over at her. I pause, waiting for her to put down her book. Slowly, she peeks over the top, waiting for me to continue.

"Let me start over," I correct myself, trying to phrase my question perfectly. "Which high school do you think is most likely to produce Spider-man?"

She shrugs, glancing back down at her book. "Whatever high school Tony Stark went to."

I roll my eyes but leave Michelle to her book. If Spider-man came into contact with a radioactive spider, then he is either really unlucky, or he is some tech genius. Midtown isn't off the table, but there are dozens of schools specifically for tech geniuses in New York.

Oh my God. He could even be from New Jersey.

Shit. That's a new possibility which frightens me more than the last.

"Also, MJ's fine," Michelle turns a page, not daring to make eye-contact with me.

I guess Michelle is MJ now. She can try to hide the fact that she likes me all she wants, but I can tell. She wouldn't just put her book down for anyone. When she's not with me, she sits with Peter and Ned, who she doesn't bother to give the time of day.

I don't push my luck by further discussing Spider-man. Instead, I turn over at look back at Ned and Peter. They are engrossed in God knows what. Something Star Wars related, probably. That intersection between Star Wars and Lego. That's what they are doing tonight.

An alarm goes off overhead. Please be a fire drill, please be a fire drill.

"This is a lockdown, we repeat, this is a lockdown," the voice overhead booms.

The cafeteria erupts into screams. People begin to run about, shoving tables against walls, trying to barricade the doors. I move out of the centre of the room, trying to get away from the bodies rushing around me. When the school does drills, they always give us an advanced warning.

I watch Peter brush by me, jogging out of the cafeteria. I leave MJ at our table, rushing out into the hallway and following him. He keeps moving farther and farther away from the chaos. I hear the doors lock behind us, leaving us exposed to the hallway.

"Where are you going?" I ask. "We need to get inside."

He turns around, his face bright red. "You shouldn't be out in the hallway."

I roll my eyes. "Yeah, no shit. Neither should you. That's kind of my point."

A door slams up ahead. Peter runs back towards me. He grabs my hand and begins to drag me with him. We run deeper into the school, ducking around corridors. Finally, he grabs a key out of his pocket, unlocking the door.

"Get in," he tells me.

I grab his sleeve trying to pull him with me. "Not without you. Why do you want to stay in the hallways?"

He grimaces, finally stepping into the classroom with me. His fists tighten as he shuts and locks the door behind him.

"Did you honestly think you had a shot at fighting somebody?" I demand, trying to make my voice as stern and as quiet as possible. "Peter that's insane."

"Yeah, yeah I know," he doesn't agree with me firmly, but he doesn't press the issue any further. Instead, he sinks to the ground against the wall, like we've both done hundreds of times.

We might as well get comfortable, seeing as we could be heard for hours. The alarm continues to play overhead, warning us that we are still in lockdown, and that we are not in a drill.

I cross my legs, sitting back up against the shelf. The room is so still and quiet. It's dark too, which is nice. The blinds are drawn, preventing any light from leaking into the room. I like the night, and I feel like I'm surrounded by it.

Peter's footsteps are quiet. Every step he takes is delicate. He isn't thinking about it, it's just natural for him.

"Why do you have the key to this place?" I ask him.

His face shifts, some of the tension relaxing. Though he gulps, his frown begins to disappear. His feet stop to, as he turns to talk to me.

"I, uh, I do some work in biochemistry. It's an independent research project," he tells me, as if I haven't heard of it. I'm thankful he spares me the details of the research project. I would get lost in his complicated science jargon.

"You're, uh, you're really calm," he notes. "Everybody else was shouting."

I shrug my shoulders. The shelf beneath me in sturdy enough that I can relax my weight on to it.

"When I was a kid, I was taken hostage by some guys who robbed my Dad's store," I sigh. "So, I've done the whole gun thing before. Not going to lie, it was terrifying. I didn't think I was going to die though."

Peter moves around, so that he too is leaning on the shelf. His added weight doesn't make it creak though. The fancy science school comes equipped with state-of-the-art shelving units too. Not like Barty's floors, which are I still believe are intentionally loud. We are sitting next to each other, making it difficult to look at each other.

Purposefully, I stare at him.

"That sucks," he tells me. He's distracted though. Not scared, at least not about his own life.

To keep him from leaving, because he looks so determined that I worry he might dart outside any second, I keep talking. "As a baby, I was in an earthquake with my Abuela and my older brother. They found my brother and me under the rubble. It took me three months in the hospital, him five. I figured that if the universe wanted me dead, it would have killed me fifteen years ago."

"I was in the house when a burglar shot my Uncle," Peter leans in closer to me. "I haven't been afraid of guns since then."

He's suddenly stern. The lack of fear is all too real. There isn't much that scares me. Maybe getting evicted is in there, but that itch has been on the back of my mind since I was 12. Maybe something else too, something that I don't like to talk about.

I search through Peter for that same fear. It's there, though it isn't very intense. His family must've left him with a bit of inheritance then.

The other I don't bother prying for. It's useless to give myself a headache over secrets that are mine and mine alone.

I'm so used to listening to all the things people keep hidden away. All the little gestures and expressions which add up over time. Often, I feel like getting to know someone is like digging through a file folder. It takes a while to shift through all the information and to piece together who exactly is standing in front of me.

After only two short conversations with Peter, I feel like I simultaneously know everything about him and nothing. He has, perhaps, told me more about himself in this conversation than I think I will ever learn about myself.

"I'm sorry for your loss," I know that doesn't quite begin to explain exactly what he feels. It's not a loss, it's a cavern. My Abuela died holding me, protecting us from falling debris. I never got to know her, but the loss of someone who loved me so much is too great for me to even possibly imagine.

"I just don't want anyone else to be as scared as I was," he looks over at me, meeting my eyes. "I don't know how to explain it."

"I don't think I've felt afraid in decades."

"What's your biggest fear?" He asks me.

I know the answer. It pops into my head as quickly as the question pops out of his mouth. While I stare into this empty classroom, looking at the desks in front of me.

"I'm decently good at figuring things out," I scan Peter, trying to see if he catches what I'm saying. His brown eyes stare back at me, void of analysis. I wish I could be someone who doesn't analyze every single detail. "Like, really good. I've come to rely on my brain to get me out of sticky situations. I worry that if I lose the ability to think as I think now, that I won't be able to function in life. Outside of my brain, do I have any value?"

I probably wouldn't be talking like this if I couldn't hear footsteps in the hallway. Every so often, the track plays again, drowning them out. Right now, it's silent.

"I don't know," he says, looking me over.

He doesn't exactly get it, but I can feel him analyzing me. Searching for an answer to a question. Wondering how he knows me. It's a familiar gaze. One that I can't pin down.

"What about you?" I ask back, bringing my knees up to my chest. "What's your biggest fear?"

He breathes out heavily. I've figured out his fear before he even tells it to me. "I don't want anything bad to happen to me." He turns more towards me, so we are facing each other head-on. "You know my Aunt May has been really nervous about letting me go out and do things since Uncle Ben died. It's why I have to sneak out at night, and why I keep secrets from her. I can't hurt her any more than she's already been hurt."

I can't help but want to scratch away at the inside of the file folder. My hands long to flip through Peter's pages. What secrets is he keeping? What is he sneaking away to do? I can't ask the questions, not when his eyes look wet. No matter how much I want to poke and prod him, I resist the urge.

"I keep secrets too," I tell him.

I don't ask him to tell me his and in exchange, he doesn't ask me mine. We sit in limbo, only a few feet apart, with an alarm blaring over our heads reminding us that somewhere in Midtown there could be an active shooter.

We are doing nothing.

"It's not a secret that you don't want to join robotics club," he smiles.

I stifle a laugh, trying my best to catch it in my sweater. I look up with him, watching the grin spread through his rosy cheeks to his eyes.

"Is it that obvious?" I ask Peter.

Peter nods up and down quickly. "Yeah, more than obvious. Tony just keeps bringing it up though."

"I don't know why Tony keeps insisting. He knows I'm bad with computers." I shake my head back and forth, biting my lip to hold back my grin.

"I mean, m-maybe he just wants to spend some more time with his fiancée," Peter shrugs.

I playfully shove him, but it barely makes him move at all. Which I guess I'm thankful for since I don't want Peter bumping into a desk. He doesn't seem to mind though, not at all. His cheeks turn pink when I touch him.

Peter likes me.

I mean, at least a little bit. Enough that my touch stirs something inside him that has long since been dead inside me. It catches me off-guard, enough that I feel the air stolen from my lungs.

At least I've won the bet with Dantae.

"Would you, uh, would you maybe..." Peter can't help himself from stammering. He scratches the back of his neck and avoids meeting my eyes.

"This is a termination of the lockdown drill," the voice comes over on the loudspeaker. "I repeat, this is a termination of the lockdown drill. All scheduled classes for the rest of the day will be cancelled. Thank you for your co-operation."

I stand up, moving over to the lights. I flick the switch on and the change makes my eyes strain. Maybe now, Peter will be able to see me for the girl I really am. One from the hood, who breaks into people's houses and blackmails her boss, and who cheats on tests and is anything but good.

"That's my cue," I shrug my shoulders, unlocking the room and leaving.