I can feel my cheeks burning as he glares at me. I glance away uncomfortably from his face and gaze at the ground, much disgusted at my bad luck. Out of all the houses, it just had to be Peter Parker's. Good, old Peter Parker. I groan internally. My thoughts ring with sarcasm.

"Well?" He demands, crossing his arms.

"Well what?"

"You haven't answered my question, Michelle Jones."

I sigh. This is going to be hard. And for a split second, I consider running for it. But knowing Peter, it wouldn't be so easy.

"So, I...uh...I was going through your bin because..." I rack my brain for an excuse. "I dropped something in it the other day when I was going past the house." It's lame, I know, but what else could I say?

Peter arches an eyebrow, unconvinced. "You dropped something in it?"

"Yes." I say, looking right into his eyes, something that seems to make him uncomfortable as he awkwardly looks away. "But, I'll go now." I walk past him quickly, ready to start sprinting the second I step out of the gate.

"Hang on."

I wince and turn, forcing a smile onto my face. "Yes?"

"What did you drop in my bin? Didn't you just come back for it?" He glances down at my bare feet. "And where are your shoes?"

"My shoes..." I ponder for another excuse.

"Yeah...?"

"I came back to get my shoes! Yeah, I dropped my shoes in your bin." I say after a brilliant quick thinking.

"MJ," He sighs and I flinch at the name no one has called me in so long. "You don't have to lie."

I shrug. "But I'm not."

"Yes, you are." I've forgotten how irritably stubborn Peter is. "Why would you drop your shoes in the bin and why would you take them off in the first place? It's winter, not summer."

"I...I got hot, so I took them off and I had a wrapper in my hand that I needed to throw away and-" I stammer out an unbelievable story that I wouldn't believe,myself.

"Stop making up stories, MJ. Something's wrong and I can see that by just looking at the state of you. So tell me the real reason." His face softens. "Please."

Embarrassed and having nothing to say, I tell him coldly, "Why should I tell you, Peter Parker?"

He flushes and mumbles as he scowls at the ground, "because you're on my property."

I ignore this and strut out through the gateway, my head held high. I can feel his eyes on the back of my head.

"Where do you live?" He shouts.

I don't answer and walk on as if I have no clue on what he just said.

***

Since day one of our first meeting in freshman year of high school, Peter and I had an intense dislike for each other. It wasn't hate at the very least, though. But of course we tended to sneer at each other's presence during the times when we were assigned to a project together. That probably explains my unintentional loathe towards Mr Elliot. I can't explain why I didn't like Peter at first sight, but I suppose it was due to his undeserved popularity and his unnatural smugness.

It was as if he was a completely different person at home and was only acting the way he was for attention. For admiration.

And the thing about Peter is that he is rich. Crazy rich. I don't need to doubt that from all the flaunting he did at school with his flashy, red Ferrari and his black amex card. And after seeing his home, a mansion, I can't even at least pretend that he's poor like me to make me feel better.

I sigh when I reach my stop, in front of the bakery, shoeless. By now, my toes are so numb that it's actually beginning to get difficult to walk properly. Sitting on my blanket, I feel a sudden pang in my heart. Worry. Anxiety. How am I going to live without shoes? How am I going to get through the rest of this winter when my clothes are more ragged and torn than last year? And worst of all, what if Peter sees me here? Homeless and hungry? Then I wonder why I haven't come across Peter until today. His house isn't even that far from where I live. He probably does his shopping in the stores around me, and it isn't exactly too difficult to spot a homeless girl shivering on the ground...

Then again, he possibly has servants and butlers to shop and cook everything for him. To clean and take care of that whole great, big house...ugh.

"Hello, dear." I'm interrupted mid-thought and look up to see the kind lady who gave me those three buns this morning smiling down at me.

"Hi, ma'am." Her hands are empty of food and money. What could possibly be the reason she's here, standing in front of me?

"Well, dear, I've noticed how long you're staying here. It seems you don't have a home?"

I nod reluctantly, and she continues. "It's very cold today. Not the weather for someone like you to be outside. And, dear, I was thinking how you should come with me to my home? It will be much more...uh... hospitable there."

I lift an eyebrow. "Really?"

The good woman laughs. "Truly. I'll give you a room, and a meal, and some..er..clothes."

My heart warms at the thought. "Thank you." I say gratefully. "So much."

"It's nothing, dear. Now if you'll come with me..."

I scramble onto my feet and hurry hastily after her. My feet slide and titters on the frozen ground.

She must be rich, I think as we walk through the lane of the big houses, the same path I walked through this morning.

"I live with my husband and my son. He's very nice, and will be a good friend to you." The woman says as we stumble on.

"And Mrs...Mrs..." I realize that I don't know her name.

"Call me Isabelle."

"Right. Isabelle." I distinctly remember the disapproving looking lady who'd been with her earlier calling her 'Isabelle'. "So how old is he?" I ask. "Your son, I mean."

"Twenty two. Around your age?"

"Same age." I reply firmly.

"Now, I hope you two will be good friends." Isabelle says, turning and entering the entryway of a white gate. A very familiar white gate. I look up, my heart thumping with anticipation and dread. A huge, grey two story. I don't believe it. I can't believe it.

"I'm home! Come meet the girl!" Isabelle calls.

"Oh dear god." I murmur, trying not to show my panic.

"Hang on. I forgot to ask you for your name. What is it, dearie?"

But I'm staring at the boy who has just opened the door with a welcoming grin. A grin that disappears instantly when he sees me.

"MJ?" Says Peter Parker.