My name is Mary Jane Watson.

Most people think they know me. They see the red hair, the smile, the popular girl dating the quarterback, and they figure everything must be perfect.

It isn’t.

Sometimes I feel like everyone is looking at me without actually seeing me. Like I’m supposed to smile, look pretty, laugh at the right jokes, and act like I already know where my life is going.

But I don’t.

I know I want more than this neighborhood. More than being told what I should be, who I should date, or what kind of future I’m supposed to have. I want to act. I want to stand on a stage and become someone else for a little while—maybe because I’m still trying to figure out who I am.

And then there’s Peter Parker.

He’s always been there. Quiet. Sweet. The guy next door who never seems to realize how much he notices about everyone else. Sometimes I wonder what he’s thinking when he looks at me.

But that’s the thing about people.

You can live right beside someone your whole life and still have no idea who they really are.

This is my story.

Or at least, I thought it was.

Then strange things started happening in New York. People began talking about a man who could climb walls, swing between buildings, and disappear before anyone could get a good look at him.

Everyone called him Spider-Man.

And somehow, without realizing it, I was about to become part of his story too.