darling [peter parker]

thwip!

Even Wendy had to admit this was partially her fault. Or maybe it was Liz Toomes's. Or Ned Leeds's. All she knew was that the majority of the blame rested on Peter Parker.

It all started in gym class last week when Ned blurted out that Peter knew Spider-Man. Wendy had scoffed and continued with her stretching. She knew in her heart it was some convoluted lie dreamt up to impress Liz, who was beautiful and kind and saw the good in everyone, even Peter, whom Wendy loathed. Still, when she heard the news Spider-Man was set to attend Liz's next party, she couldn't help but get her hopes up.

That party was her second party ever and it was kind of hell. Spider-Man never even showed up. Wendy wasn't all that surprised. She probably could've mostly let it go if that party wasn't an absolutely traumatic experience for her, but it was and so she was pissed. She only went to the stupid party because she was promised a real-life superhero and instead she received endless nightmares.

So when they all returned to school on Monday, Wendy made sure was vocal about her disappointment but lack of surprise. "I can't believe I let myself think it for a second," she had spat at Peter during lunch with the whole room watching them. "Of course Spider-Man wouldn't waste his time on someone like you."

Peter had scoffed and shot back, "Oh, and he'd be friends with you?"

"Is that a challenge, Parker?" she'd snapped and from that point forward it was on. She had two weeks to win the bet. If she won, Peter would have to publicly admit defeat as well as perform a short poem detailing Wendy's best qualities. If Peter won, Wendy had to go on a date with him, which was Ned's suggestion because Peter couldn't think of anything he wanted from her. Wendy gagged every time she thought about being somewhere private with Peter for more than thirty seconds.

She couldn't lose. Not again. Wendy was famous in the school for many things, one of which was her astute ability to win every bet issued. (She was also famous for her cheerleading status, one-handed-cartwheel record, and hating Peter Parker.) She wasn't about to let some jackass who had, mind you, already obliterated her previous reputations, demolish this one too. Wendy refused to let Peter take everything away from her.

She wondered what her parents would say when they found out. Her friends would probably tell them that she was only out that night to win that stupid bet, which wasn't true. She'd went to her third party ever to get her mind off the bet and off Peter, whose hair was always windswept nowadays and had definitely bulked up since last year, not that she'd noticed for any reasons other than developing a strategy to take him down. It was really just a coincidence that the night had gone like this, with her rather drunk and about to be stabbed and/or robbed and/or raped and/or kidnapped and/or drugged and/or killed or all of the above.

"Well, well, well, look what we have here."

They were frat boys, she observed. There were five of them and two of them were lettermen jackets. One wore an NYU sweatshirt. The other two were dressed in plain clothing that gave no indication as to who they were. All five of them were drunk. Well, six, really, if she was including herself. Everyone involved in this mess had had a few drinks.

She was so screwed.

"Look at her," NYU Sweatshirt chuckled. "She's a cheerleader."

Of all times to be approached by strange men late at night, she just had to be wearing her cheerleader's uniform. Logically, she knew it didn't matter what she was wearing. The situation would play out the same way. Still, maybe if she wasn't a cheerleader she never would've gone to that game and so she never would've been at that party and so she wouldn't be stumbling home at two in the morning.

"I've had a really long day," Wendy blurted. "I just wanna go home, please."

"Can we come with?" Shorter Letterman Jacket asked and the whole group crowed like it was the funniest joke in the world. She shivered and crossed her arms over her chest, rubbing her biceps with her hands in a futile attempt to create some warmth.

Graphic Tee smirked. "Need some help warming up?"

"I'm good, I just wanna go home," she reiterated. She'd learned once that sometimes if someone wasn't listening to your request or your argument, you just had to keep repeating yourself until they understood. It's called the broken record method. She knew the chances of it working were abysmal. These men were not just going to leave her alone.

"What's your name, pretty lady?" Graphic Tee inquired, moving closer. She stumbled back, but that only brought her towards Taller Letterman Jacket.

"Chloe," she lied. "Please, I-"

Polo Shirt cut her off with a wolf whistle. "Chloe the cheerleader. And you go to Midtown?"

"Midtown High School, yes." It probably wasn't the greatest idea to tell these guys what school she attended, but maybe they didn't realize she was underage. Maybe they thought she was a college kid like them. Maybe they would back off.

They didn't.

"The girls weren't as hot as you when I was in high school," Shorter Letterman Jacket said and apparently his friends found that hilarious. "I bet you're breaking all the boys' hearts."

"Not really," she replied, forcing some laughter. "I'm not allowed to date. Too young." The emphasis on her age meant nothing.

"Young, inexperienced, hot," Polo Shirt listed, licking his thin lips. "You're just our type, Chloe. Maybe we can show you the ropes, right boys?" The entire group giggled. Wendy didn't know what to do. She knew if she tried to run they'd catch her. She knew if she resisted they'd laugh. Her heart hammered in her chest. She had no options.

"I should be getting home, my dad's probably worried sick," she told them.

Taller Letterman shushed her and in the blink of an eye, grabbed her from behind. He pulled her flush to him, his face in the crook of her neck. He spoke just loud enough for his friends to hear. "Don't mention your dad, sweetheart. It's a buzzkill."

Wendy was out of time. She could not logic her way out of this. In fact, there was no way out of this. By daylight, she'd be dead or worse. She closed her eyes and reserved herself to her fate when a quiet noise caught her attention.

Thwip!