Life is 10% what happens to you and 90% how you react to it ~ Charles R. Swindoll
My eyes feel heavy and I feel them closing... I pull my head up from the cool lunch tables in the cafeteria, trying to keep myself awake despite the lack of sleep I got last night. After talking with Peter for a while, I went to bed early but tossed and turned for hours. Am I really selfish? I'd like to think not.
Eyes stare in my direction, probably thinking of what a freak I am for sleeping in the cafeteria. Like wow, what a big deal, yet you're all still judging me for it. A group of girls walk past and exchange giggles and whispers while looking at me. One icy glare from me cuts them off. They walk faster and one nearly stumbles over as she tries to hurry away from me.
Even if I'm a freak, I'm an intimidating freak which means that I can actually be left alone.
I pull out my earphones and begin to play rap music to keep me awake. The iced coffee resting on my tray calls my name and so I pick it up in one swift movement. It feels cool and refreshing as it travels down my throat. I already feel more awake.
My bag is slightly unzipped and rests at my feet. A novel I had begun to read pokes out, inviting me. I give in to the temptation and pull it out, flicking to the page the bookmark sticks out of. The words all flow into my head and I immediately become oblivious to the surrounding chitchat.
It's nice to read without being interrupted, all peaceful and--
"Hey Raven."
My insides scream with annoyance and I exaggerate a smile as I turn to see Peter standing there with a tray in his hands. A boy with black hair and tanned skin stands on his right and the girl I had been laughing at Pinell with on his left.
"Hi," I reply.
The girl cocks her head, "you're in my calculus class, right? With Pinell?"
I nod, "yep."
The corners of her mouth tilt into a large grin and she slides into the seat beside me, "great, I'll just sit here."
"You're just going to interrupt me and my reading?" I say sarcastically even though I do mean it a little.
She shrugs and pulls out a book from her own bag, "I'm not interrupting. I'm MJ by the way."
"Raven," I genuinely smile back at her.
Peter and the other guy take the seats across from MJ and I. She begins to protest, "hey, hey, hey no. You can't sit here if you don't read."
"I will read," Peter insists.
"Oh, yeah?" she raises an eyebrow, "what are you going to read?"
"I am going to read..." he drums his fingers on the table and an idea passes through his brain, "I will read some people!"
A disgusted expression falls upon MJ's face. "You do that," she says and goes down to continue reading.
"See there?" Peter says, pointing to a girl standing in line peering over the shoulders of everybody else, "she's hungry and she is worried her daily garlic bread won't be available."
MJ peers up from her book and growls, "can't you read silently?"
He puts his hands up in defeat and goes back to eating. The boy and I exchange a glance and he rolls his eyes. I try to conceal a snicker.
He extends his hand from across the table, "I'm Ned. Ned Leeds."
"Raven," I say and take his hand.
Peter frowns, "I already introduced you two."
"Um, no you didn't," I say.
Ned smirks, "you were too busy flirting with MJ."
I look between the two of them. Her book and bushy hair conceal her face but with Peter's pale face, I can see him blush a bright shade of pink.
"I was not flirting with MJ," he responds hesitantly.
MJ squirms. "Mhm, sure. Whatever you say, Peter," Ned shakes his head and gives me a look as if to say, can you believe this one?
I take one more look, my eyes darting between Peter, who is picking at his food, and MJ, who's nose is buried in a book and I can already tell there is undeniable chemistry between them. They're cute... I guess.
Lunch passes by slowly, the three of them engaging in a conversation I don't want to be a part of. I block out whatever they talk about and continue to proceed with my book. Eventually, I have officially had enough of the chitchat. I glance down at my watch. There's five minutes until the bell sounds. I sigh, relieved, and step out of my seat.
"You're going already?" Peter perks up.
I shrug, "yeah, I forgot my Chemistry book so I should get it before the next class."
"You have Chemistry next?" he asks enthusiastically, "I do too."
Great. "It'll be nice to have a familiar face in a class," I say and he slings his bag over his shoulder, "where are you going?"
He raises his brows as if to say isn't it obvious? When my face continues to show a confused expression he sighs, "I'll walk you."
Oh. Well. Isn't that just fantastic?
"What if we're not in the same class?" I suggest.
He crosses his arms across his chest, "who is your teacher?"
I glare at him playfully and snatch my schedule out of my bag. "Ms Truesdale," I answer.
"Yeah, I'm going to walk you," he says, satisfied. I shake my head out of sarcastic annoyance.
"I'll see you after school then, Peter," Ned waves.
Peter agrees and then realizes something, "yeah... I can't meet up after school. I'll just see you tomorrow."
Ned's eyes widen as he understands the hint, "oh... right. Tomorrow, then."
MJ and I share a lost glance. She rolls her eyes and gives me a small grin goodbye. I give her one back.
"Are you coming?" Peter says from a few steps in front of me.
I stride towards him and he gives me a small smile. It's cute. Peter gives off an innocent vibe which is nice to see at a high school. His backpack hangs from one shoulder and he shoves his hands inside of his pockets as we walk side by side. I clench the straps of my bag so tight, I feel the blood draining from it.
"So tell me about yourself," I say suddenly.
He turns to me clearly snapping out of a daze, "hm?"
I shrug, "I dunno. You're Peter Parker. What's your story?"
He chuckles softly, "yeah, I'm Peter Parker. I don't really have a story. I come to school, do my work, study, hang out with Ned, eat, sleep and repeat the whole process everyday."
"There has to be more than that," I scoff.
"Like what?" he laughs, "I don't exactly have the most interesting life."
"What's your family like?" I ask out of the blue.
He winces. Oh my God, I hit a sore spot. Family is the most sensitive topic to ever bring up around someone and I guess because Peter seems like a go-lucky kind of guy, I immediately assumed he and his parents have a good relationship. I'm now assuming he doesn't.
"You don't have to answer that. I understand if you don't," I add quietly but reassuringly.
He shrugs, "no, it's okay. Well my parents passed away when I was young and I live with my Aunt. My Uncle also died a few years ago."
I look up at him in awe. Some people really did have it worse than I do. How can he be so happy and care-free even though he lives with only an Aunt?
"Wow," I say incredulously, "I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"For asking," I reply.
He shrugs as if it doesn't matter, "it's okay. I don't mind talking about it."
We walk closely in silence for a minute. Despite the question I had just asked and how it had caused a moment of tension, the silence was comfortable. The ambiance was relaxing to be in, the kind someone would actually enjoy to be with.
He breaks the silence, "so what about you?"
"What about me?" I repeat.
"You've been to this school, you're not new and yet I have never encountered you. We haven't even shared one class at all. So who are you?" he asks.
"Well, my name is Raven Garcia. I get out of bed, go to school, eat, read and then go back to sleep," I finish but then add, "I like to cause mischief every once in a while."
He smirks, "and that is why you're stuck with me."
"What a shame," I say and he mocks being hurt.
"If you're comfortable, what about your family?" he goes off into a rant, "I don't want to pressure you into doing anything and it isn't good, especially as your student adviser if I force you to succumb to peer pressure and- oh my gosh, I'm rambling now." He blushes again by my humiliating him and runs a hair through his soft, curly hair.
His venting brings a smile to my face and my jaw begins to ache. But this then falls into a frown, "my family is my family, I guess. Nothing more."
He releases a breath. "Well, what a story," he laughs in shock. A shadow falls across his face as he understands I don't feel comfortable, "I'm sorry."
"What are you sorry for?" I ask, pulling out my Chemistry book.
He smiles from ear to ear, "for asking."
I slam my locker shut, "don't steal my lines, Peter Parker."
"I'll find more to steal, I guarantee it," he states matter-of-factly, "I will make it my mission to steal all of your lines by the end of the year."
My brow furrows, "I don't have any lines for you to steal."
"I don't have any lines for you to steal," he mocks in a high-pitched girly squeal, "I'll write that one down somewhere."
This makes me laugh sincerely and that's when a thought crosses my brain.
Maybe high school won't be so bad after all.