THREE.
FOUR DEEP BREATHS later, the edges of her mind still bleeding faintly, Will pushed open the door to the classroom.
Already, Room 124 had fallen into its usual pattern of organized chaos. Will was forced to duck as a wad of paper, badly aimed towards the trashcan, sailed towards her head. She squeezed past two girls engaged in a passionate discussion consisting of a boy in spandex and a lot of flailing elbows that came dangerously close to her face.
When she reached her seat, Will slammed her bag down on the lab table and pulled out a stool, the metal skidding against the linoleum with a low scrape. She flopped into it, her spine immediately folding until she was bent over the table. She placed her chin in her hand and sighed.
"Aha! Milady returns! It hath been nearly a fortnight since I have seen milady last!" a voice said loudly in her ear, in the worst Old English accent she had ever heard.
Will turned to see Ned Leeds sitting in the stool next to hers, a pencil tucked behind his ear and a blinding smile on his face. His binder was already opened neatly before him, Pokemon cards tucked into the clear sleeves alongside worksheets on frictional force.
"Hello, Ned. I see they still haven't found a cure for your condition."
"My wha—Hey! I am perfectly capable of—"
"Making a fool of yourself? Yeah, you've proven that. Routinely."
"Man, what was in your Frosted Flakes this morning?"
"Not a sedative, unfortunately, which I'm regretting now that I'm here with you."
"Keep this up and I'll leave you without a lab partner, Will. Who's going to teach you about velocity then?"
". . . Richard?"
"Sticky Ricky? Hah! Good luck."
"Fine. Good morning, Ned. You look lovely as always."
"Thank you. I've been craving validation all morning."
"The nerd in your shirt really brings out your eyes."
"Hey! This is vintage Star Wars. Vintage!"
"So it's old and nerdy. Two in one. What a steal."
Ned stuck his tongue out at her and Will finally grinned. Physics felt slightly more bearable with Ned as her lab partner. Will liked Ned—everyone did. Ned was made up of soft laughter and goofy laser noises and eyes that crinkled at the corners from smiling so much. It took a level of bitter cynicism not even Will had achieved not to smile along with him.
"So, how was your weekend?" Will asked, peering into her backpack as she searched for a pen.
She stuck in her arm, rummaging through the layer of loose binder paper and crumbs that had accumulated at the bottom. After a minute of watching her struggle, Ned slid a blue pen across the table to her. Will accepted it, shooting him a grateful smile.
"Not much," he shrugged. "Peter hung out with me."
There it was—the tiny, needle-sharp twinge in the pit of her stomach that arose at the mention of Peter's name.
"We built my new Lego Death Star, which was awesome."
Ned's grin was larger than usual. She could feel the excitement radiating off him. Literally. The hair on her arms stood up at the burning heat that rushed over her skin. Her curiosity piqued, she peered over at him.
"That's all you did this weekend?" Will probed. "You didn't do anything more. . .exciting?"
Ned looked offended.
"Are you implying Legos aren't exciting?" he asked.
"Uh, no. You just seem more enthusiastic than usual."
"Yeah, Will. It's the Lego Death Star. The Death Star."
Will had been taught to listen carefully her whole life. And right now, she could hear the undercurrent in Ned's voice, like a riptide beneath the surface of calm waters. There was something else, Will was certain of it.
She reached out and pressed three fingers to the back of Ned's hand, where a faint red line stood out against his tan skin.
"How'd you get that scratch?" she asked casually.
"Scratched myself on a lego from the broken Death Star."
Truth.
Damn. Will leaned back, her fingers leaving Ned's hand. Her nerves began to settle once more, the feeling of wrongness leaving her. Maybe her father's paranoia was starting to rub off on her.
"Broken?" she asked, trying to return to their conversation.
"Yeah, I had to pick up like, a thousand pieces. Actually, three thousand and eighty-three," Ned complained. "Peter destroyed it. Well, he didn't destroy it—I did. By accident. But Peter caused it. By being. . . naked. Half-naked, really."
"Is he really that horrific to look at without clothes on?"
"What? No! Peter's, like, ripped."
"Peter Parker? Peter-I-fainted-after-one-push-up-in-gym-Parker?"
"It was two and a half at least."
Will's retort was cut short by two sharp, loud claps from the front of the classroom. Class had begun. Will's ears were filled with the screech of thirty chairs pointing themselves in the direction of Mr. Clark and his hideous sweater vest. He smiled beneath his mustache and pointed to the board.
"Today, we embark on a journey through space and time. Today, we explore the boundaries of the universe. And I will be your guide as we unravel the fascinating secrets of. . . gravity."
Mr. Clark let the last word hang in the air dramatically, an eager expression on his face. One which slipped slightly when the class didn't erupt into excited screams as he was unduly expecting. He cleared his throat, mustache twitching.
"But first," he said, his voice distinctly less airy. "Your quiz."
His words were met with a resounding groan and scattered shouts of protest. Will felt her own face shaping itself into a grimace. Mr. Clark raised his hands defensively.
"Hey, hey! Let's not shoot the guide on the passage of learning, all right? Amy, help me pass these back."
The overwhelming noise in the classroom sputtered out as kids received their tests. Forgotten were weekend plans and cafeteria menus and masked men swinging about buildings. Brows were furrowed and pens uncapped as the air was once again shaped into silence.
But for Will, the noise never stopped.
The stifling quiet that had enveloped the classroom only made it worse. It stripped away the outside world like a frayed wire, leaving her exposed. Her knee began to jostle from side to side under the desk of its own accord, her bones pulsing with the nervous energy of everyone else. Their anxiety filtered through the cracks and mixed with her own in a poisonous blend.
Will slid her palms up the sides of her face, under her curls, until they rested against her ears. She wasn't sure wasn't why—it wasn't as though she heard the noise through her ears. This kind of noise came from everywhere. It seeped up from the floor and drifted through the air and slid down her throat and became ensnared inside her.
"Are you okay?" Ned whispered, eyebrows creased with concern as he peered over at her.
Will took her hands away from her ears and placed them against the table. White bone shone through her knuckles, stark against her skin. She shot Ned a reassuring smile.
"Just nervous," she replied quickly. "I hate physics."
He grinned and gave her two thumbs up. "You'll do great."
Will nodded. A flash of a hand and a white page appeared facedown on her desk. She turned to it, grateful for the distraction.
"Your test begins in three. . . two. . . one," Mr. Clark counted from the front of the class. "You may flip over your papers and begin."
Will turned over the page and put her pen to the paper. Her blood was raging in her ears.
She took another deep, practiced breath, her father's voice in her head. She willed the world away until all that remained was the pattern of black and white on her page. There was no longer Will and The World—just girl and paper and pen. With a deep breath, she began the test.
•
As soon as she stepped out of the classroom, Will felt whole again.
The knot in her stomach loosened and her breathing felt back into a steady rhythm of in and outs. The prickly heat that had been crawling over her skin faded in the cool air. The lunch bell still echoed through the halls. Will followed the sound, shouldering her backpack.
She pushed past a pack of giggling girls to reach the swinging doors to the cafeteria. She was greeted with the deafening chatter of dozens of high school students enjoying their solitary hour of freedom. The stale smell of something Will had no desire to identify filled the air, only making her more grateful for the sandwich she'd packed.
She scanned the tables, searching for an empty space big enough for her and Michelle. Her eyes didn't even linger on the tables on the right. This is where Liz sat—no man's land for someone like Will. She belonged left of the unspoken barrier.
Will brightened when she spotted a long table that was nearly empty, save for two figures at the end. Her smile slipped when she saw who it was. Midtown Tech's own Wonder Twins.
Currently, their attention was devoted to a spot along the far wall. Will followed their gaze to find none other than her own sister, beaming as usual and stringing a homecoming poster along the wall. Ned and Peter were caught in the kind of trance only Liz could cast, and Will was almost tempted to clap her hands in their faces to see if they would even notice.
Peter leaned his chin on his hand and let out a soft sigh, a faraway look in his eyes and a slight smile on his face. She could practically see cartoon birds and hearts fluttering in his eyes. If her heart hadn't been doing something terrible in her chest, she might've offered him a tissue for when he inevitably would start drooling. But Will failed to find the humor in the situation.
His gaze felt like broken glass, and she cut herself on its edges.
This was the only way she could describe what it felt like to love Peter Parker. It was the worst kind of love, the kind that ripped you down to the bone. Will had only known this kind of love, but even she knew that this was the worst kind.
If she had been any other fifteen year-old, Will would've passed this off as a fleeting crush. But Will was no stranger to love. She had felt every shade of love from strangers in passing—from sweet attachment to deep, dark passion. Will knew what love was, and she knew what she felt for Peter Parker.
Which is why when she sat down, she took the seat farthest from him.
Ned waved and called out her name, but she steadily ignored him. Ned and Peter were a package deal—talking to Ned meant talking to Peter, and Will had promised herself she'd stay away a long time ago. Before, when things were simpler, Peter had been her friend. Now they were almost strangers.
She leaned down to pull out her English homework. Will placed her unfinished essay on the table, her own black scrawl interrupted with bright purple markings. These belonged to Liz, who had given her feedback just last night. Liz's neat, round handwriting looped over her own slanted lettering, nearly illegible with corners sharp enough to draw blood if she ran a fingertip over the page.
Will uncapped her pen, determined to pretend she was alone at the table. However, she found it increasingly difficult to focus on the themes in F. Scott Fitzgerald's writing with Peter and Ned chatting loudly about Liz's new top. She was close to giving up and eating lunch in the library, when they finally changed the subject.
"So, how was your math test this morning?" Ned asked Peter.
He made a face. "That question about derivatives killed me, man. I don't think I did that good."
"Well," Will said from the other end of the table.
She didn't look up, even when both heads instantly swiveled to face her.
So much for staying away.
"What?" Peter asked.
Will felt her face go hot.
"Well," she answered. "It's do well, not do good. You didn't do that well."
"You don't know that," Peter grumbled, looking affronted.
"Were you listening to our conversation?" Ned chimed in.
"Yes," she replied, turning her gaze back to her essay.
She made a mark in pen before looking up to see them still staring at her.
"What? Did you think I'd miss another lunchtime seminar on my own sister's wardrobe? This is my only source of fashion advice. Without you two I'd be lost," she said tonelessly.
Peter had the good grace to look embarrassed. "You heard all that?"
"Yeah. You two don't exactly speak in hushed whispers. But don't worry, I think there were a couple people in the International Space Station who might've missed your conversation."
"She's so sarcastic," Peter said to Ned. "It kind of hurts."
"You get used to it," Ned replied. "It's kind of like living with herpes—you just accept it and keep going."
"I can still hear you," Will called out. "and I'd really prefer you didn't compare me to sexually transmitted diseases."
"I didn't say you were like herpes, I said you were like living with herpes."
"Oh, well in that case, thanks so much, Ned! You really know how to make a girl feel special."
"Is this a bad time?" a new voice asked. "I wouldn't want to interrupt. . . whatever this is."
Will turned to find Michelle standing over her, an eyebrow raised. One arm was weighed down with hardcover books while the other held an actual tea cup, the edges curling with steam. Will scooted over on the bench, pushing her papers along with her to make room.
"Thank god," Will said. "A sign of intelligent life. I was starting to lose faith."
"Hey!" Peter and Ned chorused at the same time.
Michelle and Will ignored them.
"So, how was physics?" Michelle asked, sliding onto the bench.
"Awful. I'm doomed. Physics is truly my hydra, and I am Hercules."
"Did you wake up this morning and decide to be extra pretentious, or did it just happen naturally?"
"You're drinking out of an actual teacup, Michelle. Unless you're the Queen of England or own a minimum of six miniature poodles, you don't get to say shit."
"Touché, William. Touché."
"For the last time, call me Will. William makes me feel like a man from the eighteen-hundreds. I feel like I should be roaming the Yorkshire moors or something."
"All you need is a creepy estate and a crazy old lady in the attic."
"That's Jane Eyre, M."
"Which one's Wuthering Heights then? Oh, wait. It's the "'Heathcliff! Heathcliff!' one right?"
"Emily Brontë would be proud. Only an actress of your talents could execute that line so perfectly."
"Emily Brontë is probably rolling in her grave."
"Yeah, I just said that to be nice."
"Well, it's good to try new things."
Will lightly swatted Michelle on the back of her head.
"Oh!" Will said, retort forgotten. "I almost forgot. I have a new book for you."
She leaned down to reach her backpack, pulling out a hefty paperback book bound in black. She slid it across the table to Michelle, who caught it and peered up at the title.
"Of Human Bondage" she read out loud.
"It's great. Lots of angst. You'll love it."
Michelle grinned. She disappeared briefly from view as she bent over to grab something out of her weather beaten bag. She emerged triumphant with a bright blue book grasped in her hand.
She held it out to Will, who took it.
"The Great Gatsby?"
"I can't believe you've never read it, but believe me, now is the time. You'll already be in love by the first three pages."
Will put it in her bag. The slim novel fit much better than the massive work of text that had been occupying its space.
"Okay, you know the drill. Two weeks and we have another book swap."
Will nodded.
"You guys have a book club?" Peter asked, from the end of the table.
Michelle whipped around to face him, but Will suddenly became fascinated by the sandwich in front of her. Her body went through its usual routine when Peter was around. Palms: clammy. Face: burning. Heart: ticking time bomb.
"Yeah," Michelle said. "But you're not invited."
"What is this, second grade?" he huffed.
"There's a Lego Star Wars figurine poking out of your pocket as we speak."
Peter turned pink and went back to talking to Ned. And Will went back to breathing. Will found Michelle looking at her strangely.
"Are you okay? You look like you just had an asthma attack or something," she asked, brows knit together.
"I'm fine," Will said.
She watched the steam from Michelle's cup rise towards the ceiling in groping tendrils, wondering how many times she would have to say those two words before she truly meant them.
•
Will practically sprinted out of school when the final bell rang. She shoved open the double doors with the side of her shoulder, the early afternoon light immediately flooding through the halls. Outside, the concrete steps were empty, the rest of her classmates still caught up in the after-class rush.
The crisp air danced over her skin like needles. Will welcomed it. She pulled her jacket tighter around her shoulders, grinning despite herself.
Will Allan wasn't designed for seven hour days of books and boredom. She was designed for perfect fall days like these, when the air was alive and the leaves were softly stirring.
A low, hollow rumble in her stomach interrupted her admiration of the afternoon. Her sandwich at lunch was a distant memory now. Will headed towards the bus stop, her head already filling with visions of the best sandwich shop in Queens. The bus rumbled to a stop in front of her, the smell of cheap gasoline and rubber doing nothing to lessen her appetite. Will clambered on, picking an orange plastic seat under the window to sit in.
Seven stops later, and Will had arrived in the heart of the city. Everything here lived and breathed, even the yellow cabs spewing black smoke and the concrete buildings swallowing the sky. She hopped off the bus, her sneakers hitting the pavement with a satisfying slap. The bus had deposited her nearly perfectly in front of Sub Haven, her favorite sandwich shop.
As Will pushed open the door to the shop, a bell chimed somewhere overhead. Hot, dry air rushed over her chilled cheeks from a radiator in the corner. She squeezed past a burly man in a flannel coat to reach the line. The shop was busy as usual. Will could barely hear herself think over the clamor of voices and crinkle of brown paper and the clink of silverware, which was a relief.
Sometimes she felt the quietest when the world was the loudest.
"Allan!" someone called, jolting her out of her thoughts.
Will turned to see Aaron Davis, another Sub Haven regular, several spots behind her in line. He gave her a small wave and she grinned.
"Davis! How's the nephew?" she called back.
"Pain in my ass. How's the sister?"
"Pain in my ass."
Will craned her laugh as she heard him laugh, trying to catch a glimpse over the shoulder of the burly man behind her. She only knew Aaron from Sub Haven; to her, he only existed within these four walls. His life outside was a mystery other than a couple of facts Will had collected over the past few years (1. He had a nephew and 2. A love for mint chocolate chip ice cream). But he made Will laugh, and that was enough reason for her to talk to him.
"Next!" the cashier called.
Will hurried forward, not wanting to lose her spot in line to the mob behind her.
"Hey, Will," the cashier, a tall boy with frizzy blonde hair and a dimple in his chin, said with a smile.
"Hey, Will," she mimicked.
She tapped his name tag, a square piece of plastic that read Will in white blocky letters. It was a joke that should've gotten old years ago, but never failed to bring a smile to her face.
"I'll have the Sub Special with—"
"—extra mustard, tomatoes and pickles on the side?"
"Yeah, so the bread—"
"—doesn't get soggy."
"Exactly."
Cashier Will grinned and rang up her order. He passed her her change, which she promptly dropped in the tip jar.
"You're in here almost every day. You know there are other sandwich shops, right?" he teased.
"Yeah, but you guys are the best," Will shrugged.
"Can't disagree with you on that one. Have a good day, Will."
"You too, Will."
Soon, heaven wrapped in white paper arrived in Will's hand. She clutched the sandwich close to her chest, feeling the heat of the warm bread against her skin. She gave one last wave to Aaron and Cashier Will, then pushed open the door to the sandwich shop.
Outside, the sun had chased away the cool fall air. It felt like summer. She wriggled her toes in her shoes, relishing the feeling of the heat of the sunburnt concrete seeping through their rubber soles.
She looked up to the skyscrapers, the skyline already different from the last time she'd been here. That was one of the things she loved the most about New York–it was fluid, ever-present, shifting every second. Will craved change. When she was in the city she could slip out of her suburban life and pretend she was someone else.
She looked up to the hungry buildings and let herself unwind in their sloping lines.
Something flashed in the corner of her eye, and Will turned away, skyline forgotten. Across the street, a familiar figure was darting through a row of trash cans in a way she assumed was supposed to be stealthy. She watched Peter Parker trip over a pile of garbage with a half smile. Peter glanced over his shoulder, then ducked into an alleyway behind the dumpster.
He couldn't have acted more suspicious if he'd tried. What could Peter Parker possibly be hiding? Her curiosity was stronger than anything else she felt towards Peter, and Will was soon crossing the street. She kept to the left of the alleyway along the wall, creeping towards the slice of darkness. Her heart was pounding in her ears. When she turned the corner, however, she found the alley empty.
"Hello?" Will called out. The only response was her own echo.
Weird.
Will reluctantly ducked back out of the alleyway, her head filled to the brim with questions. She crossed the street again, this time without bothering to check for oncoming vehicles. If she hadn't been so caught up in Peter's after-school activities, she might've been paying closer attention. Because while Will was lost to her own thoughts, the world was moving on without her.
And right now, it was moving quickly and steadily in the form of an enormous truck.
By the time Will heard the low bellow of the horn, the sixteen-wheeler was already bearing down on her in a looming mass of metal. Will's heart froze as she squeezed her eyes shut, flinching. The scream never had time to leave her lips, doomed to be caught in her throat forever.
But instead of being crushed alive, Will felt herself jerked forward by an unseen force with a bone-rattling jolt.
The air left her lungs as she was pulled up and away from the truck. Something solid and warm was pressed up against her and wrapped around her waist tightly. When she felt wind stinging her cheeks, Will opened her eyes slowly. She let out a squeak when she saw fifty stories worth of buildings flashing beneath her feet. Somehow, she was soaring throughout air.
The pieces began to come together, even in her state of shock, and she began to realize that there was someone holding her up.
With another heart-stopping jolt, they arrived at the edge of a concrete building. Her stomach gave another heave as whoever was latched onto her lifted her over onto the roof. She didn't breathe until her feet made contact with solid ground again. The person let go and Will stumbled forward. She bent over, hands on knees, shaking slightly.
"Holy shit," she whispered hoarsely.
"You shouldn't swear," a low voice said.
Will looked up. She blinked away the tears that had welled up in her eyes from the wind, squinting to make out the blurry red figure in front of her. When her gaze sharpened, she found the masked man from the news standing in front of her.
"Holy shit," she said again, louder this time. "Did you—"
"Save your life? Yeah."
"—make me drop my sandwich?" Will finished.
"What?"
"I can't believe you made me lose my sandwich! All that beautiful bread and cheese, smashed to pieces on the pavement."
"I saved you from being smashed to pieces on the pavement!"
"That sandwich was five whole dollars!"
"Well, coffins cost a lot more than that!"
The figure crossed his arms. "Don't damsels in distress usually thank their saviors?"
"I prefer to be in distress, thanks."
Will stepped forward, poking the masked man hard on the shoulder. He let out a yelp, distinctly higher than his low baritone voice, and took a step back.
"Who do you think you are, anyway?" she demanded.
"I'm Spider Man," the figure in red said proudly.
Will laughed. "Good one. What's your actual name?"
"Wha—It's Spider Man!"
"Yeah right. That's the worst super hero name ever."
"Aha! But you admit I'm a super hero!"
Will crossed her arms.
"Listen, if I wanted to hang out with skinny kids in spandex, I wouldn't have quit ballet."
"You did ballet?"
"Yes, and it gave me the agility and strength to strangle you with my feet."
"Okay, message received. Jeez."
Will's eyes narrowed. She took a step closer to the man.
"You know, your voice sounds familiar," she said slowly.
"I have to go!" the masked man shouted suddenly.
"What—"
"There's, uh—a fire! I need to go put it out!"
"Wait!"
"Bye, Will!"
Will watched him disappear over the ledge, then reappear seconds later. The sun was burning through the sky, and she had to squint to watch him swing away. He traveled over the skyline, a tiny red dot among concrete giants.
It wasn't until later that she wondered how he knew her name.
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
moodboard: will in school
moodboard: will in nyc