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FOUR; 𝒎𝒚 𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆'𝒔 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒄𝒍𝒂𝒓𝒂!
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"DUDE, ARE YOU sure you want to keep lying to her?"
Peter shot Ned a withering glance, leaning away from the railing. Now was not the time to go over the ethical codes of Spider-Man conduct. Not when he was suffering from crushing anxiety and feeling like someone had lit his insides on fire.
From this exact building's rooftop and this precise angle, he could see the curb, sidewalk and entrance of the burger joint that Clara Rose—a.k.a really cute thief—had promised to meet him in.
"I told you I'm not lying. I'm protecting my identity from a burglar," Peter reasoned. Irritated, he fidgeted with the thick collar of his shirt. "And does this shirt look too prudish to you?"
"She can't still be a burglar if she returned your stuff," Ned supported, folding his arms over the stone bannister to look over the street. "And she even wrote over your notes. Remember how you didn't talk to me for a day because I underlined a sentence?"
"Because you used green. Green on my red and blue notes!"
"Green is—"
"—gross, Ned. Gross. I don't care what Bob Ross says."
"No, you hate green because of the Green Goblin."
"That dude should really do better. Green ain't his colour."
Peter turned to grab his backpack off the ground and opened a front zip to wrestle out the panda-bear keychain he'd gotten for her. When he found it, he looped it around his index and closed it safely in his palm.
"You've got problems, Pete." Tell me something I don't know, he thought to himself. In his periphery, he saw Ned lean over the railing as if taking a closer look. "Don't freak out, but a bizarrely cute girl just crossed the street."
Peter scrambled to his side like a ball of fire and tiptoed for a proper glance. A slow sigh rolled out once he spotted the person he wanted quietly walking toward the diner.
"That's her," he said with a full-fledged smile.
"You weren't kidding," Ned whispered, awed. "She is Halle Bailey-cute. Those are super rare."
"I told you so. And Sticky Fingers is wearing her glasses."
Peter swore no one looked sweeter than Clara Rose—it was confirmed—and especially in those huge, black horn-rimmed glasses. It was too oversized for her face, just like her witty graphic t-shirt which was definitely another hand-me-down, and a con of these glasses; they hid her big doe eyes. She had her headphones plugged in, and thanks to super-sensitive hearing, he heard her listening to The Neighbourhood. He wondered for a moment how Clara Rose was so inherently unaware of how incredible she was.
