Part 1 - Kids (Prologue)
*Four Years Ago - 6th Grade*
“Peter!” I yell, tumbling down the hill. The world spins with laughter and dirt.
I land at the bottom, brushing the grime from my jeans. Above, Peter stands, his goofy grin splitting his face. He’s always been a little sunshine.
“You’re such a jerk!” I shout, scrambling to my feet. “Covered in dirt now!” I laugh, running back up the hill towards him, eager to initiate another playful collision.
Reaching the top, I playfully shove Peter’s shoulder. He exaggerates the impact, feigning pain. We lock eyes, and a shared laugh erupts. It’s a comfortable rhythm, a dance of childhood affection.
“It was really funny, Y/N! I couldn’t resist pushing you,” Peter says, stepping back slightly, anticipating my retaliatory shove.
“Just be glad I’m not mad at you, Parker, or you’d be in BIG trouble,” I retort, a playful threat hanging in the air.
Peter laughs again, glancing at his watch. “We should head back to my house. Aunt May will have a fit if we’re not home by six.”
We walk side-by-side, reminiscing about first grade. The memory of our frantic race to Peter’s house surfaces. I’d been leading, then tripped over a stick in the sidewalk.
“OW! Peter!” I recall, clutching my leg.
Peter had sprinted towards me, kneeling beside me.
“What happened?” he’d asked, concern etched on his face.
“I tripped over that stick. My leg really hurts!”
“Let me see if it’s bleeding,” he’d said, gently urging me to pull up my jeans. The scrape wasn’t deep, but the sting was intense.
“Here, let me help you up,” Peter offered, his arm supporting me as he slowly lifted me. He’d looped my arm around his neck, walking me back to his house.
Now, nearing Peter’s apartment, I recall Aunt May’s hair pulled back, indicating she was busy cooking dinner.
“Y/N, what happened?” she’d asked, her eyes landing on my knee.
“She tripped on the way back,” Peter explained, helping me onto the couch.
Aunt May and Peter had retrieved a first aid kit, tending to my leg with ice and bandages. I’d stayed for dinner, not leaving until eight o’clock.
“Ready to go, Y/N?” Peter asks now, opening the door.
“Yeah!” I turn to Aunt May. “Thank you so much for dinner and for fixing my knee.”
Peter and I walk down the street and get into the elevator. A wave of nausea washes over me. “Peter, we need to talk.”
“About what?” he asks, his voice laced with apprehension.
“I have something to tell you. And I need you to promise not to be mad.”
“Why would I ever be mad at you?” Peter asks, his nervousness palpable.
The elevator doors open. We step outside. I stop, turning to meet Peter’s gaze.
“I’m moving to Michigan.” The words catch in my throat, tears threatening to spill over.
“What?” He kicks his foot, a telltale sign of his frustration.
“My mom’s job is transferring us. I have no choice! I leave Monday.” Tears stream down my face, blurring my vision.
“So, we have two days left together?” Peter asks softly, his voice laced with sadness.
“I’m sorry. I have to go. But I’ll see you tomorrow.” I look away, unable to bear the weight of his gaze. I run, my leg aching with each stride. I couldn’t stay there, couldn’t face the guilt.
*Two days later*
The past two days with Peter were a blur of movies, malls, and restaurants. We crammed a lifetime of memories into two fleeting days. We promised to stay in touch, though we lacked the convenience of cell phones.
“Y/N! It’s time to go!” My mom calls from the car. “Say goodbye to Peter and Aunt May, then get in.”
I look at Peter, tears welling in his eyes. Matching tears burn mine. I turn to Aunt May, her face etched with sadness.
“Thank you for taking care of me when my mom and dad were going through their divorce. Thank you for being more of a mom to me than my mom actually is.” I hug her tightly, wiping my eyes as we pull apart.
“Just stay the kind, sweet, and amazing girl you are. Never change, Y/N.” She kisses me on the cheek.
Turning to Peter, I say, “Thank you for being my best friend for seven years. I wouldn’t have wanted to be best friends with anyone else.”
“Thank you for being my best friend when no one else would,” Peter replies, pulling me into a tight embrace.
“I’ll miss ya, Parker,” I whisper, tears streaming down my face.
“I’ll miss you too, Y/L/N.”
“Y/N! We have to go!” My mom shouts from the car.
“Goodbye!” I wave to Peter and Aunt May from the car window.
Off to Michigan.
*One month later*
Calling Peter had become a struggle. Homework piled up, and I found myself immersed in new friendships. I dial his number, hoping to break the silence.
“Hello?” His voice is small and strained.
“Hey, it’s Y/N.”
“Hey, Y/N, listen, I can’t really talk right now. I have a ton of homework.” He paused. “You understand, right?”
I hesitated, searching for a way to express my feelings without sounding needy.
“Yeah, of course!” I feel tears prick at my eyes. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Pete.”
I hang up the phone and lay back on my bed, drifting into sleep.
~
The calls became less frequent. Peter was always busy, and I thrived in my new social life. The name Peter Parker faded into a distant memory.