A meeting I'd love to see. You can see this as the beginning of a great friendship or a love story, as you wish, because as for myself, I just want Rachel to be happy and alive. Thisis a one-shot but I have many request, I might write a whole fic.

Note: I translate from French myself, so sorry about the mistakes.

"So?"

Rachel had waited a few minutes, just enough time for Peter to pack his things. Now, she wanted an answer.

Earlier in the week, as a new student at Blackwell Academy, Peter had asked for her help to catch up September classes he had missed, and Rachel gladly accepted before realizing that the new one was smarter than most of the students. No, in fact, he was smarter than any other student.

Peter Parker was good at photography, was an accomplished scientist, and when he did not excel in a subject, he was good anyway. Everyone expected him to fail at least on the basketball court, but he had surprised the whole class, including the teacher, by scoring several baskets effortlessly.

In fact, it would not take much for Peter to help his classmates himself.

Rachel had finally concluded that his request maybe disguised a classic, but sometimes effective, attempt at flirtation: after all, it was an approach like any other. Yet, instead of being the teacher or the courting girl, Rachel just had the role of the observer, watching Peter while he was completing the exercises, without hearing any questions.

What was the point of learning in silence what was already known? Why lock yourself in an empty classroom instead of enjoying the end of the day?

So Rachel had the idea to play.

After he had stuck his notepad between two textbooks in his bag, Peter lifted his face to his classmate, noting how the tired sun's rays were sketching her silhouette.

The golden hour had the power to make the shadows immense without becoming terrifying, to transform the colors of fire into peaceful shades, to accentuate the mystery that enveloped Rachel, this girl full of life.

Peter quickly dismissed this painful thought.

His approach did disguised an intention, and unfortunately, it was not romantic: Peter was interested in Rachel not as Peter Parker, but as Spider-man.

"OK, explain your game."

Despite Peter's hardly convincing sigh, Rachel smiled radiantly.

When neither of them spoke, they could hear the students' discussions outside, and under the screams and laughter, if they gave enough attention, they could even hear the murmur of wind and water from the fountain where was perched Jeremiah Blackwell.

Behind her back, Rachel felt the melancholy heat of the end of the day. She did not notice the soft blaze colors that were unfolding on the horizon, yet she guessed them in the eyes of her classmate, in the hazel pupils that were at that moment as the same hue as honey.

"This is a game I learned in theater class. It's all about improvisation," she got up and went off to sit on the edge of one of the windows, "we've to spy on people from far away and imagine stories from what we see. The best would be to choose two people to engage in a dialogue."

"So we observe other students and we make them talk, huh? A preference for the register?"

"Comic or dramatic, I let you choose."

She suspected that he would understand the rules quickly, but it was about interpretation through an imagination influenced by feelings: it was a game that could say a lot about the player, even a smart one.

"I'm curious to see what you think, Peter. What a New Yorker can say about high school students in Arcadia Bay?"

A brief, guilty grin showed that the new student was sorry to be so distant. It had been three weeks since Peter Parker joined Blackwell and he stubbornly remained at the back of the stage even though he had attracted attention: his New York accent had invoked dreams of the great a city for those who had never walked down the Broadway's sidewalks, and for Rachel, this city dweller was an enigma. Why did this boy leave the big city to get lost on this little coast? Worse, for the Californian, this exile was as serious as crime.

"Then my participation is an honor?"

"May you satisfy my curiosity," joked Rachel, bowing.

As he laughed, Peter leaned on the edge too and watched the grassy ground where everything was so calm, so easy. Different groups of teenagers illustrated the many facets of youth: geeks who played a board game to escape the real world, footballers who drew in infinite energy, popular girls who composed their brilliant image, rebels who did not even hide to smoke, defying the simplest authority—

Peter Parker almost envied them for their common worries.

With a reflex, he rubbed his wrists that were too often clasped by his web-shooters.

The teenager would have liked time to be suspended, then the sun would never cross the horizon and that the problems of this school would resume to weed and unprotected sex.

With a heavy heart, Peter tried not to look at Rachel: although he was seeing her for real with her colorful face, he was haunted by the black and white portrait he had seen.

"You can choose anyone," said Rachel with a wave of her hand. "You won't hurt anyone, this game will stay between us, promised."

Concentrate on this game, Peter. Enjoy this quiet moment, they're so rare—

He studied several samples, moving from one individual to another, to finally stop on this girl with blond short hair, both elegant and cold. He did not know what her name was, and he was certain that this oversight would have been an affront to this diva.

With his finger, he pointed to the schoolgirl who, chin pretentiously erect, was chatting with a friend. After clearing his throat, Peter started:

"What will I do after high school? Invent sunproof makeup, I can't stand this sun anymore!"

"Oh my god, Victoria," Rachel exclaimed, agreeing with Taylor's surprised expression in the distance, "you're so smart! Waterproof is so overrated nowadays! I'll be your first client."

They tried to compose the continuation of the dialogue, watching the faces, the gestures, the movements. Their comedy sounded so good that it was hardly spoiled by some contradictions.

Suddenly Rachel laughed, pulling herself out of Taylor's role:

"I didn't know you had so much humor!"

"Because I didn't have a public worthy yet."

"Oh, my humble person is enough for your one-man show?"

"Absolutely. I've always loved mischievous audiences."

"Seduction by words is the only weapon that matters."

Haloed by the sunset that served as a projector, the two teenagers gave themselves great airs from their perch that became a secret scene. Both actors betrayed themselves with laughter and smiles, making their game adorably bad.

Now that they were discussing, Peter understood the Rachel Amber's popularity.

He first thought that it was her beauty that attracted people: the profile of the future model was well designed and, endowed with the calm that seemed untouchable, she had a smile that looked like the Mona Lisa's one who challenged anyone to impress her.

Now, he knew that her success exceeded the image: Rachel knew how to direct the conversations thanks to an always witty repartee. If she respected the silences, the timid ones, however, could become talkative in her presence as she was lively and friendly.

Some might have said she had too many dreams to accomplish, but Rachel had enough energy to make them all come true.

Peter hoped for her a promising future.

Stop thinking about it. Stop looking at her this way or she'll have doubts.

To silence his anguish, the unsuspected hero turned away to find another subject of inspiration. He then observed one of the skaters on the lawn who was tightening the screws on his board. For a moment, he wondered if he was also a student of Blackwell since he had never seen him in class.

After a few moments, Peter says:

"I wonder if there is enough room on my skateboard to engrave the full periodic table? Would people notice it?"

"The nerd who isn't at easy, good one! It works with Justin, too."

Rachel leaned in, visibly taken in the game.

She was really having fun with Peter and was even tempted to suggest that he join the theater class. What she had imagined to be shyness was only prudence.

Head bent to the side, Rachel looked at him with great attention.

Modest, Peter answered:

"Well, it's pretty classic actually, but thank you."

"That's true, but I've a weakness for stories where appearances are misleading."

A weakness for the mysteries, therefore.

In a reflex, Peter looked down, pretending to look for other topics to improvise a new dialogue. His research was interrupted by a rather surprising question:

"Peter, what would you say if you see Spider-man?"

He was so surprised he wondered if he had heard correctly.

"Spider-man?"

"Yes. Imagine: all of a sudden, Spider-man web swings to cross the campus, greeting students just below him. That would be a perfect subject, right? What would you invent?"

"Uh— Gotta go fast?"

They burst out laughing.

"But really, Rachel, I doubt that Spider-man goes through Blackwell one day. Everything's so calm here."

"Who knows? Even he might need rest."

She did not imagine how hurtful it could be for the spider-man to hear this: every time someone showed compassion, Peter Parker had to pretend to be indifferent and hide an moved pride.

"Spider-man has been seen in Oregon twice since the beginning of the month, after a long absence—"

"It may be another Spider-man."

"He had the same blue and red suit as the one from New York."

Oops.

The conversation was beginning to make him uneasy, especially because of Rachel's posture: her hands were on her hips and she was looking at him with her head tilted to the left, as if to watch his reactions.

She can't know.

Peter pulled out his phone, preparing the excuse of the late hour to leave Rachel and take refuge in the dormitory.

"If Spider-man was swinging in front of us," continued the student, "I would say he's in a hurry to go back to his lab."

"His laboratory? Why a laboratory?"

She shrugged.

"I don't know. I'm convinced that the one who hides under this mask is a scientist, a good scientist, and like any self-respecting good scientist, he has his own laboratory."

Peter was unable to decipher that cat's gaze that was scrutinizing him, that barely hemmed smile.

Would she remain so calm if he told her, right there, right now, that he was the man who hides under the costume covered with webs?

Or had she already guessed?

"It's funny," the plainclothes hero muttered, "you're one of the few people to imagine that Spider-man can have a life on the ground, far from fighting."

"There's a difference between a superhero and an everyday hero."

"The first one has super powers and not the other?"

"No, it's a matter of costume. Just like Spider-man and the one wearing the suit."

Peter nodded, looking distracted.

He could not contradict this logic when he had set himself the goal of protecting Rachel without his costume.

Peter kept his lips closed, calculating the years before that corridor would be wallpapered with "Missing Person" posters. Three years to understand what was going to happen to Rachel Amber. Three years in any universe, but not this one, he promised.

And to succeed, he should become a discreet hero, a everyday hero.