The next day, you woke up late. You had been panicked all night long and mostly into the morning, paranoid about getting taken to jail because of that stupid backpack, leaving you to fall asleep just as the sun was rising.

You got up in a similar fashion as a zombie would climb out of its grave. Your legs, having either apparently gained thirty pounds or traded flesh for iron, felt like they were moving through Jell-O as you trudged across the carpet. Your arms were shaking (probably from all the panicking) and you had a hard time shuffling through your clothes to find an outfit for the day.

You threw your hair up in a messy bun, unable to give much thought about looks. Not like anyone noticed you throughout the day, anyway. You went to a small public high school at the end of the city. Most kids there were either failing by choice or there because their parents made them go. You never fit in.

After putting on a few sad touches of makeup (a bit of eyeshadow, a smudge of eyeliner, a touch of mascara on your eyelashes and a stroke across your eyebrows), you decided that you looked simply okay.

Okay for a girl that was probably Spider-Man's least favorite person on Earth.

"Great," you said to your reflection in the bathroom mirror after you brushed your teeth. "Now if you ever need saving, he is going to take one look at you and remember that you stole his backpack, and then he'll leave you for dead." You sighed tiredly and shook your head, leaving the bathroom.

Back in your bedroom, you grabbed your essentials to stuff in your backpack. Your phone, headphones, charger, lip gloss, keys, and the book you're currently reading-

And then you stopped.

Spider-Man's backpack sat in front of you. You sighed, feeling drained as you picked it up and looked at it.

The navy fabric looked relatively new. Poor guy. He probably had recently bought it.

You looked at your own backpack, dingy and stuffed with school supplies. You wouldn't use Spider-Man's, of course. That would be a new kind of low.

But if you just carried his backpack today, then you could find him and give it to him.

By the look you got of the guy, he was a teenager. Spider-Man went to high school too, right?

You unzipped the bag and peered inside. Grabbing the stack of papers and folders inside, you sat back on your bed and shuffled through them.

The top worksheet had a name written on top.

Peter Parker

Oh, great.

Why had you expected the paper to have Spider-Man written on the top? Why did you think his name was really that? And, oh my gosh, he probably worked really hard to keep his identity a secret, and you just found it out through his homework.

What could you do with a name, anyway? There wasn't a Leter Parker in your school. He went somewhere else, but where?

You continued to dig, feeling bad the whole time. You needed to find a permission slip or a planner or some kind that had that kind of information.

A pink slip of paper was a sudden pop of color in the midst of science homework.

You pulled it out. A detention slip. You looked at the date - it was issued yesterday and the detention was for today. Poor guy had never had the chance to get it signed; the parent or guardian's line was blank.

REASON FOR DETENTION: Skipping class for the third time this month. No reason and no excuse.

You snorted. Surprise, you thought, it's 'cause he's Spider-Man. Case closed.

At the top of the page, in bold print, was the name of the high school.

MIDTOWN SCHOOL OF SCIENCE AND TECHNOLOGY

Spider-Man wasn't only a crime fighting hero, but a genius as well.

You put everything back in the backpack and zipped it up. After slipping the straps on your shoulders, you took everything out of your backpack and organized it in your arms. It would be better to carry it all than to have to explain the point of having two backpacks.

School went by slow since you were thinking of different scenarios. You mostly relied on doodles on your folders, notebooks, and textbooks to calm your anxiety about the whole situtation.

If Spider-Man was understanding, maybe the whole backpack ordeal will be over fast.

Maybe he wouldn't be angry and wouldn't even dare enough to have an explanation, just be kind enough to forgive you and forget.

Or maybe he would be mad and just take it and leave.

Or he would yell at you for stealing, not believe anything you say because you're, you know, a thief, and hate you forever even if he would never see you again.

You were quickly getting a headache.

After school, you looked up Midtown High on Google maps and started a pretty long walk there. Maybe Spider-Man - Peter Parker - would still be at school.

When you got to the gate, you stopped. Students of all races, shapes, and sizes poured in and out of the rather big school. You felt a little nervous. You couldn't just go in there! And you didn't remember any specifics about the guy, just his brown hair and pale skin.

"Great," you muttered

You turned right back around and left, the backpack feeling heavier on your back.

You cut through the main part of town, right in the district where a bunch of family owned restaurants, cafes, and corner stores were. It was as busy as any area in New York would be during rush hour, and you were beyond tired.

You weren't paying as much attention as you should have been. One moment you were walking on the sidewalk and the next you were staggering backwards, halfway on the street, a man's cup of coffee splashing out of a Styrofoam cup and onto your shirt and all over the school books you still held.

You yelped and he screamed one single, loud curse word, quickly followed by a bunch of spit and a red faced, wide eyed glare.

"I-I'm sorry-" you began, pullimg at the end of your shirt to keep the boiling hot liquid from touching your skin.

"Watch where you're going, you stupid kid!" he boomed, veins nearly popping in his neck.

Great. The guy clearly had anger issues, and you clearly just triggered him to set off. He wasn't even the one wearing the coffee.

"Jeez!" he said, shaking his head. As he walked around you, he said several choice words you wouldn't even dream of saying.

You stood there, eyes wide as you watched him walk away, cheeks pink with embarrassment for being yelled at.

"Yowza," a new voice said. "That ain't no way to treat a lady." It was deep and wobbly sounding, like the owner of it was forcing an accent or tone that wasn't really his.

You looked around for the owner of the voice and saw none.

"Uh, I'm up here," it said.

Your head snapped up to an awning hanging off of a corner store. Your jaw dropped and your heart stopped and panic set in all at once as your hands immediately fumbled to take the backpack off-

"Hey, you look kinda familiar-" He stopped. "Hey! My backpack!" His accent was suddenly gone. "You stole it!"

"I-I didn't-" you began, shrugging it off your shoulders. It hung on the hook of your arm.

"Stealing is illegal, you know!" He hopped off the awning and landed a couple of feet in front of you.

"I know," you said, voice shaky, "and believe me, I wanted to give it back to you." You started to walk backwards as he walked closer.

Why? Why?

"I-I'm not a thief, sir, I swear-"

His eyes, you realized, were elsewhere. He stiffened and you heard the honking of several horns along with a chorus of screams.

"Whoa, look out!" he shouted, hand shooting outward, web sticking to the center of your shirt, right where the coffee stain was setting in. He yanked you towards him and wrapped one arm around you, the other shooting a web to the building across the street. He swung you over just as the speeding car slammed against the corner store where you were previously standing.

Your hands, suddenly empty, were gripping his suit. He dropped you on the other side of the street and pulled away, one hand on your side.

"You good?" he asked, breathless.

"U-Uh-" you choked a little, tears in your eyes and struggling to breathe. "Y-Yeah-"

"Okay," he breathed. "Stay here." He took of back towards the scene, turning back just to say, "Stay right there, I mean it!"

You watched him help the person out of the car. It was an old man that looked to be in shock. After getting him the curb, he began to help people out of the store.

You had every intention of staying put, all the way up until the car burst into flames, causing a new uproar of panic and a whole crowd of people to run in the opposite direction, taking you (and Spider-Man's backpack) with them.