STICKY FINGERS » peter parker

TWENTY-FOUR

Unless Sun-hui was missing, too. Like the countless other homeless people who had suddenly started to vanish into thin air without anyone knowing.

Relentless terror set in when Clara faced Sun-hui's locker. Did she even dare to take action and call the police? The receptionist was resolute on the sick leave status. Perhaps it was true.

Her phone buzzed and she stopped halfway to answer it without looking at the screen. Technically, she wasn't allowed to take calls within the school premises.

"Hello?" She felt light-headed all of a sudden.

"Hi. I'm nearby your school." Peter's breathless voice was both startled and reassured.

Clara blinked down at her phone, dazed. Was this on the boyfriend-girlfriend MO, too? She was new to this. This must be convention. She jotted it down as a mental reminder—random drop-ins to ensure they're thinking about you. It should be to keep the spark alive. How else do relationships last, right?

She placed her phone back on her ear. "Okay, go past it."

"I'd laugh, but I deserve that," he said in a swift murmur. "Look, can I just see you for a second? Super important."

"How about a simple 'I'm sorry for ditching you, Clara' instead of going through with whatever you're going to—"

A deep, chesty cough wracked her up from what she was about to say. Her sleeve snagged the disgusting phlegm and her face soured at the sight. She took a turn toward the restroom to clean up.

Peter caught on fast. "Are you okay?"

"Eh, just a tickle." She cleared her throat, massaging it. "What about you? What happened last night?"

Impatience leached through his tone. "Don't divert. Talk to me, please."

"I dunno. I just I..."

No, it wasn't acceptable for her to gain an unfair advantage just because she hit it off with a superhero. If something hadn't happened to Sun-hui and she was unwell, then Clara would've gone through all this routing out for nothing. Besides, Peter didn't know Sun-hui. Even if he did, he had more significant Avenger-sized problems to undertake. It didn't seem right to ask for help right then.

She fixed her lips to a thin line and spoke in a guarded voice. "It's nothing. I'm fine."

A contemplative beat passed. "You're still sick?"

"I'm not," she lied.

"Clara, it's been a whole day. The shot should've worked in hours."

Unconsciously, her infected arm itched, and the guilt unfurled in his chest, mushrooming shame. She knew she'll have to tell him, but she was going to wait until the prescribed antibiotics healed her enough to make it seem like it was enough to write off as a non-issue.

"Just sleepy, jeez. What is with you?"

"I just had this," he sighed, "gut feeling."

"About me?"

"Not particularly. It's like spider heebie-jeebies or something. I felt like I needed to see you," he explained. With a short puff of breath, she heard the scuffle of shoes. "Can I see you? Just for a bit?"

Clara slipped into the girl's restroom by the threshold when she saw a teacher scout the corridors with a suspicious eye. She dropped her bag by the sink and stared at her reflection in the mirror. She almost wished she'd ignored it.

With the light sunlight that came in through the tainted window and in the little places where the shin caught her skin, it looked ashen, all drained of colour and waxy. That must be the sweat, she'd been sweating buckets since last night. The more she inspected the hollow concave that held her eyes, she realize how incredibly vulnerable she was and how much toll the infection had brought on her.