Midtown High — Fourth Period, Calculus

Peter stared at the board, only half-paying attention to the numbers scrawled across it. His pencil twirled between his fingers anxiously as the teacher droned on about derivatives. But it wasn’t the quiz that had his palms sweating.

It was the girl now sitting beside him.

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Tony Stark’s daughter.

The girl that haunted the fringes of his world like a ghost made of sarcasm and late-night Oreos.

She was quiet. Focused. Untouchable.

Peter had always been aware of her— the way someone’s aware of thunder in the distance. Present, charged, impossible to ignore.

She wasn’t loud like Tony. She wasn’t flashy like her name could’ve allowed her to be. Instead, she was quiet— watchful. Like she carried her own storm behind her eyes, but had learned how to smile just enough to keep people from asking questions.

They knew of each other. They'd passed each other in the kitchen at the Tower at 2 a.m., both pretending not to be startled. She'd seen him covered in dirt and bruises. He'd seen her roll her eyes at nearly everything her dad said. They were familiar strangers - orbiting in the same universe but never colliding.

Until now.

And Peter?

He noticed everything. Especially her.

“Alright, pair up for the quiz,” the teacher had said. “Two brains are better than one, assuming you both use them.”

Peter hadn’t moved. Neither had she. So, naturally, fate decided to seat them together.

Now they were inches apart, shoulder to shoulder, the air thick with a kind of energy Peter couldn’t explain. It wasn’t nerves exactly—it was curiosity. Tension. Like there was a thread between them neither of them wanted to pull, but it was definitely there.