Annabelle tapped her short fingernails against the college desk and stared out the window; awaiting the arrival of their literacy professor. She had always disliked mornings, it was too responsible a time, with the daylight demanding that it be 'faced' and with the sun already up and in charge of the world, with little hope of anyone usurping or challenging its authority. She spotted someone slumping out of their home nearby; a shot of light attacked the face of the poor waking human being, as yet another slave limped wounded into the light-occupied territory.
What irritated her most of all about these mornings were the people that actually enjoyed them. There were at least ten of them in her class right now that were in horribly good temper, as if they had been up for three hours and already conquered France or something.
Annabelle pouted and tried to direct her eyes away from the sun. Instead, she grabbed a permanent marker from her pencil case (she was the only one in college that still seemed to have one) and started drawing on her hand. She drew a dog, a halo-wearing heart, then she simply settled for colouring her nails with the marker. By the time the teacher had shown up, Annabelle had run out of room on her hand and moved further up.
The thick black ink clashed with her skin, covering the small red dots that littered her arm. These flawed spots were a little thing that the doctors liked to call 'Keratosis Pilaris', or Annabelle's preferred term, 'Chicken skin'. Don't worry, this didn't mean that she was turning into a chicken...though that would certainly suit the terribly ridiculous nature of this story. In all honesty, Annabelle didn't know much about it; only that it was a fairly common skin condition that caused tiny little red spots that kind of resembled goosebumps. Only, they were permanently dotting her skin like dozens of tightly-knit constellations.
As a kid it had bothered her. She constantly wore jackets just to hide it from people...then she realised that no one cared. She realised that she didn't care either. Actually, the redness kind of resembled a very minor sunburn, and she always thought that sunburns were kind of pretty...was that weird?
There was a loud bang that echoed through the room like a gunshot. All eyes in the classroom turned towards the door where Peter Parker was clumsily staggering in. He mumbled about a dozen apologies before tripping into an empty chair, making yet another piercing thud.
The professor rolled his eyes before continuing with the lesson. This time Annabelle actually started paying attention. "As I was saying, we'll be moving onto poetry next week. As a starting point, I want all of you to bring in your favourite poem or one that you believe was influential at the time it was written. If you don't have one, find one."
Annabelle's heart sang. She had always loved poetry, perhaps in a similar way that she adored literature (though she preferred books written before the 19th century). Her mind sorted through hundreds of files, analysing each folder in search of an appropriate poem. Should she choose The New Colossus by Emma Lazarus? Or maybe Daffodils by William Wordsworth? She Walks in Beauty by Lord Byron was certainly on the list, but as was almost everything that Edgar Allen Poe had written, after all, he was her absolute favourite.
As the lesson dragged on, Annabelle's mind was transfixed on the assignment. She simply couldn't decide between the plethora of poems already swirling in her mind. By the time class was dismissed she still hadn't pinned one down.
Annabelle packed up her pencil case and workbook then swung the bag over her shoulder. She followed the small marks on the ground on her way to the exit, but soon those small dents and scratches were obscured by a pair of untied shoes. She glanced up and found the nervous figure of Peter Parker.
Oh no.
Annabelle didn't really want to speak with him today...or any day after watching him ditch his sweet aunt in a life-threatening situation. That awkward charm that he used to possess, the very thing that had first drawn her to him, now only reminded her of his true nature - that he was the kind of person that would leave his family to die.
"H-Hey..." Peter mumbled lowly, and his voice cracked anxiously. He looked like he was finding the courage to say what he had planned, but the words ran away from him. Instead, his eyes fell to the ink on her arm and the many flushed dots that decorated it. He'd never noticed it before, but he found himself making a mental note of how it made her arms look like they were blushing. He knew someone in high school with the same thing, and it had sparked a whole night's worth of interest in skin conditions for the young Peter. "Keratosis Pilaris?"
Annabelle furrowed her brow but nodded regardless. She didn't quite understand why he had stopped her just to talk about her skin.
"You know what causes that, right?" Peter started. He always went on long and unnecessary tangents when he was nervous, but this time he was practically ready to collapse under the anxious tremble burrowing into his body. "It develops when the skin produces too much of a protein called keratin, which can block hair follicles and cause bumps."
Annabelle frowned. "Uh...okay...cool, I guess."
She tried to step around him but Peter blocked her path yet again. He gulped and stuttered "I-I'm sorry. That's totally not what I meant to talk to you about."
Annabelle folded her arms over her chest and analysed the tired boy. "Then what else did you want to talk about?"
"The...football game?" Peter said, almost as if he were asking if he was allowed to mention it. "I passed that essay, thanks to you, but I want to clear the air."
"I'm glad you passed, I really am, but I've already said my piece."
"I know you did, but I...well, there's a perfectly reasonable explanation as to why I left." Peter replies almost desperately. He didn't want her opinion of him to remain so tainted. He wanted to be friends...at the very least.
"Yeah, you already told me. You remembered that you had homework." Annabelle huffed and somehow managed to swerve around him. She could tell that he wanted to say something else and that he was likely hiding something...but it didn't really matter. In the end, they were almost strangers. Peter was allowed to have his secrets, Annabelle certainly had hers, but that didn't change the fact that she had seen an incredibly selfish side of him and that she didn't wish to associate herself with it.
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Annabelle's day had been hijacked by Peter Parker. First he had cornered her in class, then his friend Mary Jane Watson had somehow found her Facebook profile and asked her to attend a little party that Peter's aunt was throwing for his birthday. Belle had no idea why they had invited her, but she may have actually said yes a couple days ago...not now though. She had rejected the invite almost a little too quickly...she hoped that Mary Jane didn't take offence to it.
At the moment, Annabelle was snacking on black liquorice. Yes, it had a definitive flavour that a lot of people hated...but Belle loved it. She had been eating it ever since she was a kid. She swore that she was born with a stick of liquorice in her hand. It was the only way to describe her strange love for it.
As she entered her place of employment, Burgatori, she took a seat near the window and slumped into the seat. She was almost half an hour early but she enjoyed being early; it gave her a chance to prepare for the work day ahead. She had just grabbed one of the napkins, placed carefully on the table, and started folding it into an aeroplane when someone suddenly sat on the opposite end of the table.
Annabelle glanced up to meet the stare of a stranger. His eyes were green but not the kind of shade that's easy to describe. It was almost like they were both green and yellow at the same time, with blue creeping in around the edges as if it were trying to take over. He blinked and the beauty was momentarily covered by the shield of his eyelashes; naturally long and soft looking - feminine compared to the rest of his well structured and sharp features.
"Can I...help you?" Annabelle murmured with a mouth full of liquorice. It had coloured both her mouth and teeth a strange shade.
"I hope so." The man straightened his overly-expensive jacket and smiled. "Are you Annabelle Lee?"
Belle tilted her head to the side oddly. "Who's asking?"
His grin never wavered as he offered her his hand. "Harry Osborn."
Much to Harry's confusion, Annabelle didn't shake his hand...she stared at it. She stared at it for so long that it was starting to get weird. Then, before Harry could retract his hand, Belle slapped it; it resulted in a strange, sideways high-five. "Osborn, as in Oscorp?"
"Yeah it was my father's company." Harry answered with a slight twinge of sorrow at having to mention his father. "Well, I guess it's mine now."
Annabelle's expression twisted into something akin to empathy, but she quickly decided that Harry Osborn wasn't the type of man to want anyone feeling sorry for him. She forced herself to hide the sorrow and asked "And is there any reason you're sitting here? If you want some liquorice, I've already eaten most of it..."
"That disgusting stuff?" Harry scoffed. "No, I'm here by the request of Mary Jane."
"Peter's friend?"
Hardy nodded. "She said you were strangely adamant about not attending Peter's birthday."
"And you two are strangely adamant about me going." Annabelle observed, taking another bite of liquorice that temporarily coloured her teeth black.
Harry tried not to say anything about it. "We thought it'd be nice to have some of his college friends there, but he's only ever mentioned you."
Well, that was certainly sweet...but Belle still didn't know how to feel about Peter. "I'm sorry, but I'm really not comfortable going."
"Because of the whole 'ditching his aunt' thing?"
Annabelle shouldn't have been surprised that he knew...after all, he seemed pretty close with Peter and Mary Jane. "Yeah...that."
"What makes you think that he wasn't going to get help?" Harry asked, somehow managing to cross his legs under the table in a masculine fashion. "Peter's a lot of things; clumsy, clueless, and a general flake, but he's no coward...at least when it comes to his aunt."
"I really wish I could believe that, but I saw him leave her behind."
Harry finally threw a copy of The Daily Bugle onto the table. The noise immediately caught Belle's attention and forced her gaze towards the cover. It showed a picture of Spider-Man with a donut in his hand. The title read 'Spider-Man: The Donut Thief'.
Noticing the confused expression on Annabelle's face, Harry decided to be a bit more direct. "Look in the corner."
She did as recommended and saw the words 'Photographer: Peter Parker'. This certainly came as a shock, if nothing else. She didn't know that Peter was skilled enough to get such a clear picture of the web-slinger. "How did he even get that close?"
Harry's eyes were full of fury as they stared at the picture. Each flare of hatred that arose, he'd quickly force back down again; it made his throat burn like it was being engulfed by red hot flames. It didn't matter, at least not now. He was doing this for Peter. His best friend. His own hatred for Spider-Man would have to be postponed. "He knows Spider-Man. That's how he gets the photos. Spidey always ends up where Peter is; they talk. Spidey saves people, Pete gets a pay check. It's a mutually beneficial arrangement."
It was painfully obvious that Harry Osborn was fighting the urge to call Spider-Man an array of colourful insults.
"You're saying Peter...called that Spider-guy for help with Will o' the Wisp?"
Harry smiled. "I wasn't there, so I'm not saying anything. What does it look like to you?"
The air around them thinned, only barely, but it was enough for Annabelle to feel the effect to her oxygen supply. Spider-Man had appeared pretty soon after Peter left...maybe he really was trying to get help. Guilt cling to Belle's stomach like a vice. "If that's true then I owe Pete an apology..."
Harry, with a somewhat smug look of victory on his face, stood up and shoved his hands into the pockets of his designer pants. "The party starts at 7, be there at 6. Pete will probably be late but it's meant to be a surprise so we'll just have to bare with it."
Annabelle nodded and Harry made a rather elegant exit. By 'elegant' Belle meant that he didn't trip over anything on his way...that's where her standard was. She tripped over everything from the ground to her own feet at least four times a day.
She really needed to work on that.
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