ᴇxᴘᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ ᴜɴᴇxᴘᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ (peter parker x oc) (g x g)

nine

Two minutes into the drive, Happy had removed his hands from the grab handle and were using them, instead, to cover his eyes. He screamed on top of his lungs as I, once again, lurched the car onto the other lane and then back to swerve the slow driver in front of me. Tabia, on the other hand, had rolled down her window and smiling widely, seemingly carefree.

"Slow down!" Happy yelled from the back, clutching his seatbelt for dear life.

"What?" I shouted.

"I said, slow down!" He yelped as half a dozen cars around me honked. "I knew letting you drive was a mistake!"

"No, you're the best!" I called, grinning. Tabia laughed, holding her long hair back in one hand and closing her eyes contentedly.

When we arrived at the farmer's market, fifteen minutes later, Happy tumbled out of his seat and onto the dirt carpark, spluttering. "Never...again.." He coughed. "I'm having your license revoked."

"Bite me," I said, stepping out. Tabia did the same, ignoring Happy's dramatic performance and looking over to the rows of vans and tents, lined up haphazardly. "Markets in Wakanda are not too different.." She mused. I looked down on Happy.

"Look, I think the jams are nearly sold out.." I squinted off into the distance. Happy sprung up without a hitch, walking his arms swinging at each side towards the

We walked towards the cluster of vehicles and I couldn't help but smile, remembering years ago, when I had only been about eleven or twelve, visiting this same market with Happy. We had raced through each and every stall, piling more and more unnecessary items into my wheel barrow.

"I'm need to hurry if I want to catch the mechanical bull-riding contest. You girls need any money?" Happy offered, reaching for his wallet. I raised an eyebrow, and the chauffeur met my gaze. "Forgot who I was talking to," he muttered. "Call if you need anything," He said, beginning to trundle away. "Pick me up some blackberry jam!" He called over his shoulder.

So Tabia and I watched the man disappear into the small crowd within the market. "So what exactly is the American experience?" She asked as we strolled slowly towards the first stall. "All my sister has said is that Americans are selfish and fat and have no respect for their environment." Tabia's voice was so collected and calm that I couldn't even find offence in her statement. Not that anything she had said was false.

But I just laughed. "Your sister is correct," I gestured for her to sit on the mini set of tables and chairs right by a truck that sold smoothies. "A strawberry for me and..." I glanced at Tabia.

"Mango, please," She smiled pleasantly at the lady who owned the stall. She beamed back, immediately whirring up her machines, stuffing them with assorted fruits.

"How about Wakanda?" I asked. Two smoothies were placed in front of us. I thanked the lady and passed her a fifty dollar note that she took with wide eyes. "Keep the change," I told her, and faced Tabia again. "Is it as amazing as it sounds?"

She sighed, sipping her mango drink out of the sippy straw. "I don't know," She said.
I raised an eyebrow. "You don't know?"

"Don't get me wrong it's beautiful. But I always felt so.. trapped," Tabia explained. "I'm a literal princess, and everything has to be just so all the time. But here in New York, I.. can see why everyone says it's where dreams are made of."

"Like the song?"

Tabia grinned. "Exactly."

"Even when the streets are urine-soaked?"

"Even then," She replied. "But my mother would never allow me to leave my princess duties to live here."