Look 'bad luck' up in the dictionary. Go on. We'll wait. See there? That picture of an awkward college student tripping over his own feet? That's Peter Parker. He's majoring in chemical engineering, and by some stroke of (you guessed it) bad luck, t...
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"You don't understand..." Peter whispered from across the oaken table. "He killed Gordon Ramsay and I couldn't do anything to save him."
Mary Jane's perfectly green eyes swirled with uncertainty. Though she believed Peter's story, she hadn't heard anything about Gordon's death...and she had only just had tea with him last week! That was one of the perks of her rocketing model career; she met a lot of influential people. "Are you sure it wasn't an impersonator? There's a lot of them around here, especially this close to Halloween."
"Why does that matter?" Peter replied, almost appalled by her response. "The guy's dead and I couldn't stop it."
MJ sighed, heavily, and the sound whistled through her clenched teeth. "You're right, I'm sorry, I just-"
Suddenly, as if God himself (or herself) had changed the channel and cranked up the volume, the small television in the corner of the room drowned out the chatter within the cafe. It immediately grabbed their attention. A reporter stood inside the tiny box, a microphone grasped tightly in her hands.
"Yesterday afternoon renowned chef, restaurateur, and food critic, Gordon Ramsay, was shot in the head by what onlookers described as a 'dismembered hand'." The reporter relayed with a frown so tight that it had to be mostly fake. "Miraculously, the Johnstone-born personality survived with little to no serious injuries."
Peter let out an almighty exhale. It was so loud, in fact, that it almost sounded like a large gust of wind. He slumped in his seat, stretched his legs out until they were taking up most of Mary Jane's foot-space, then mumbled to himself. "Thank God..."
The red-head's lips twitched into a frown. "Am I the only one that thought that was a little too coincidental? I mean, that television wasn't even on the news channel the last time I checked...and how many people survive a bullet to the head?"
"I don't care. I'm just happy he's alive." Peter shrugged dismissively. "You're starting to sound like that weirdo Deadpool. He thinks we're all in some story, at the mercy of an all-powerful narrator. I mean, how insane is that?"
A laugh erupted from Peter's throat and it echoed through the cafe like a failing engine. Mary Jane, on the other hand, only gave one small chuckle. Deadpool didn't sound so crazy to her.
"Has your order been taken yet, Pete?" A familiar voice jolted through Peter's nervous system, throwing him out of his comfortable position and forcing him to sit up so straight that he looked like someone had stuck a pole in his back.
"Hey, Belle, I didn't know you were working today." Mary Jane spoke, ultimately saving Peter from stumbling over his words and embarrassing himself for the hundredth time in front of his crush.
"I'm filling in for someone." Annabelle responded, and Peter finally dared to glance over at her. Today, she was wearing a dress with shoulder pads so broad that it would make any 80s mom jealous. Her hair was almost left loose, except for the fringe that had been pinned back with a comically large bow. "Actually, I'm glad you're here. I've been meaning to speak to you."
