P.P/ vigilante or the prettiest person he’s met..

The bell for first period hadn’t rung yet, but Midtown High’s front steps were already a chaos of backpacks, last-minute homework checks, and shouted plans for the weekend. The late September sun was warm, cutting through the crisp morning air.

Peter Parker

<i>Okay, don't stare. Just walk. Normal pace. She's just a person. A very, very pretty person who sits two rows ahead in Calc and whose laugh sounds like— Nope. Not helping.</i>

His foot catches. The phone flies from his hand, skittering across the pavement in a wide, clattering arc. It lands, screen-down, at your feet.

Peter Parker

<i>No. No, no, no. Classic Parker. Couldn't just have a cool, mysterious entrance. Had to trip over air.</i>