Gwen Stacy paced up and down her bedroom, glancing at her computer screen at each pass. After she saw no notifications of any kind, she turned around yet again, walking with purpose to the blank wall opposite her computer. Just before she would hit it, she would turn on her heal and strut back to the computer screen, where it would be blank yet again.

One might have thought she would have grown accustomed to the blankness of Google's webpage, so white and uniform except for the primary colors spelling out its name. Despite its loud colors, the lower right-hand corner attracted her eye as she strutted across her room. She was waiting for the email.

Ten times. Twenty times. Forty times. One hundred and sixty times. The passes would increase and the blankness would stay the same.

It was late March; she should have heard by now. Every one of her friends was hearing from their top choices, receiving both good and bad decisions. She needed to know her decision. Her future relied on the first few words of the first sentence of the letter. It would either say "we are pleased," or "we regret." This was no time for regrets. This was a time for excitement. She could feel it in her heart. But in that particular pace across her room, she felt her heart leap a beat.

Gwen Stacy was nervous.

Seventy passes, or three-hundred and two breaths, or eight-hundred thirty-nine heart beats later (it's all the same, and who's counting?), a small notification appeared in the lower-right hand corner, just where her eyes had been glaring from the previous pass. She inhaled a sharp breath and rushed to click on the link, sitting down in her chair after the button was pressed. The webpage could not load fast enough. She knew it was against her better judgment to click on the link again and again, but maybe the firmness of which she pressed the button or maybe the amount of times it would click would make it go faster.

The computer refused to listen, and instead the page paled and Windows told her the page was not responding.

"Respond, damn it!" she exclaimed so furiously that she threw the mouse down on its pad. She wasn't one for cursing, but she was not in the mood for patience.

"Gwen?" someone called outside her door. It was undoubtedly the voice of her mother. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she lied.

"Don't forget to pack whatever you need for babysitting tonight at the Bruckart's!"

Gwen glanced at the date on the start bar. An ordinary Thursday night, tonight she was supposed to babysit for the neighbors' daughter, who truly believed Earth revolved around her. She couldn't wait to get out of this house, away from the squalling child next door, away from the idiotic kids at her school. If only the internet had kept up with her and let her click the stupid notification, she might actually know whether she was getting out or not.

"Alright Mom," she said dutifully. She threw some necessaries into a tote and fetched a jacket out from her closet. Finally, when she dared to look at the computer once again, the screen had loaded her email. She tore through her room and planted herself on the chair, and quickly, but not forcefully, clicked on the new email.

It was from Empire State University, the college she had applied to. Her heart quickened when she read the subject: "Congratulations!"

Her eyes widened as she read the message: "We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted…" It was all she needed to see. She threw open the door to run straight into her mother, who was busy putting towels away into a closet. She dropped all of the neatly folded, clean towels onto the floor upon Gwen's sudden arrival.

"I was accepted!" she shrieked with ecstasy.

Her mother squealed and pulled her into a large hug, dropping the rest of the towels to the floor with their counterparts. "I'm so proud of you," she exclaimed and kissed her on her forehead. She whispered, "I know your father is too." It was spoken so softly she knew it was meant only for her, and maybe her father, if he happened to be listening.

Gwen shook her head. She had no time for tears, or questions that would never be answered. "I know, Mom," she said stubbornly. She ran down the steps of their expansive New York City apartment to where her brothers were watching television. She told them all the good news, and they offered their sincere congratulations, with a few snickers of "I wonder who will get her room once she leaves?"

Gwen made a face. "Very funny. But I don't care who has my room. I'll have my own house when I get to Empire State!"

Her mother told the boys to set the table for dinner while she and Gwen finished preparing it. Gwen claimed her usual seat by the window so she could gaze at the twinkling New York lights, wishing she could just jump into one of the lights and become a star, if only it were that simple. Once I get to Empire State, she thought, everyone will know my name.

She took a bite of the lasagna absentmindedly and focused on a light in their neighbor's house across the narrow street. She watched the people do the same thing as her: eat their dinner, talk with their family, and watch the television. The children would bicker over portion sizes and play with their macaroni while the parents would stare without end into the television. She watched their stupor as she sat in her own.

A shadow crossed the gap between her and the light, and once it was there, it was gone. She blinked.

Or had it just been a blink, and not a shadow?

No, it was most definitely a shadow. A flying shadow?

"Gwen!"

She turned around to face her mother at the other end of the table. She had been giving her this incredulous stare while her brothers giggled.

"Yes?"

"I called your name three times."

"Sorry."

Her mother shook her head. "I said, what did Empire State say?"

Gwen forked another bite of lasagna. "I only read the first sentence."

Her youngest brother smirked. "The next probably said 'psych!'" All of her brothers laughed, but her mother's voice cracked the whip.

"Boys!"

"Sorry," they said in unison.

"Did you read if you have been granted housing?"

She shook her head.

"Well after dinner, you'd best find out. Because it would be great if you had housing."

"Gee, thanks Mom, love you too."

"You know what I mean."

Gwen nodded and took another bite. Her mother talked nonchalantly about her day and the boys ranted to her about theirs. Once dinner was over, she thanked her for the meal, grabbed her things, and headed to the neighbors apartment to babysit the girl. She envied their apartment, as it was on the corner of the building, so it got more light, something Gwen could never get enough of under the cloudy skies of New York. There was a window next to their door that touched the floor and the ceiling. It was dark enough outside that she could see her own reflection in it, so she took the opportunity to smooth out her hair before knocking.

Gwen knocked on the door, and the girl's father answered. "Hey, Gwen. It looks like you've got some easy work today; Nina just wants to read this magazine."

"Magazine?"

"Yeah. She swears all the girls in her school read it. Looks like trash to me. But hey, what do I know?"

Gwen smiled, and he ushered her inside. The mother came rushing down the stairs, quickly fixing an earring. She nodded her thanks and took her husband by the hand. He thanked Gwen for babysitting and told her they'd be back around eleven. Gwen smiled and waved as they shut the door behind them.

"Nina?"

There was no response. It was so unlike this child that Gwen thought there must have been something wrong. Instead, as Gwen walked to the living room, she found the pre-teen lying on the chaise lounge reading a magazine, so completely engrossed that she didn't even look up.

"Hey, Nina. What are you reading?"

"Magazine," Nina muttered. "Can't you tell?"

Gwen shrugged. She glanced at the front cover: a picture of Spider-man, as per usual. He seemed to be everywhere lately. However, the subtitle was written in screaming yellow letters: "PHONY?"

"What's up with Spider-man?"

"He's doing some crap work, apparently. They say they're going to lock him up and find somebody better. And somebody already claims they're better."

"Who's that?"

"His name is Mark Peterson."

"Is he a superhero too?" She felt silly calling Spider-man a superhero, but it seemed like the only title that fit.

"Don't know. Reading."

"Right. Well let me know if he can shoot webs too." She turned on the television expecting to see the same news. Anything dealing with Spider-man used to be on the national news, but he started showing up so much that people who had never seen him got tired of him. Even Gwen got a little annoyed with him every once in a while. It was always: "Spider-man Hurt" or "Spider-man Wins" or "Spider-man This, That, and the Other Thing."

She never really cared about Spider-man news anymore. At first, she was enthralled with the idea of true heroes and saving the city from its nightly terrors. Then came the night terror of her father's life, and of all the lives Spider-man had been able to save, her father's had not been one of them. It was said that he tried. But he hadn't tried hard enough, in Gwen's opinion. And ever since then, sightings of Spider-man have been dwindling. Maybe he agreed with her.

The news was instead about a drive-by shooting that happened yesterday night, and a video of a dog teaching a puppy to go down the stairs for the first time which was adorable, but she was stopped midway through by the squeals of Nina.

"What's up?"

"He's shirtless…" she cooed. Gwen laughed as Nina rushed over to show her the picture. This Mark was alright, for sure, but something else interested her more.

"He's holding a public hearing tomorrow?"

Nina snatched back the magazine and continued reading. "I want to go," she decided. Gwen nodded. "Me too."

"Will you take me?"

"Sure."

Nina squealed again. "Maybe he will take off his shirt…" she fell backwards on the sofa, half-landing awkwardly with her legs sprawled uncomfortably on the floor, which made Gwen smile. Nina slid down the sofa until her hair was all ruffled, then jumped back up and ran to the chaise to continue reading in peace.

Eventually the grandfather clock in the foyer struck nine and a half beautiful tones, which meant it was time for Nina to sleep. She happily crawled into her bed, and Gwen tucked her in. Back downstairs, she noticed the magazine lying face down on the chaise. Sensing no harm would be done, she picked it up and begun reading.

"Spider-man's unlawful acts have put the city in more danger than it was before he showed up," the article read, "and someone must do something about it."

Gwen could never think of a time more peaceful without Spider-man, but she shrugged and continued to read. Everything she read criticized almost every move Spider-man made, and she almost felt sorry for the guy, or thing, or whatever he is. She glanced at the front cover again, taking in the man/spider in an obnoxiously colored suit. There couldn't be that much wrong with him.

"He doesn't rob the banks, he saves the banks," she pointed out to the magazine. Unsurprisingly, it didn't respond. She flipped to the next page, where Nina had squealed to see Mark Peterson's half-naked body. She granted he was nice-looking, but far too proud of himself. Reading his article only confirmed her theory.

In an interview with this man, he had said he was greater than Spider-man ever was and ever will be, which she thought was a little over-the-top. There didn't even seem to be that much real information on how great he was, only that it would be announced at his public hearing at Times Square. How he would ever manage that, she did not know. There were thousands of cars and pedestrians walking in every direction there, and big flashy lights would certainly take away from his presentation. She closed the magazine and placed it back on the chaise.

Knock, knock!

Gwen's neck whipped towards the sound. Quietly she walked to the door and peered through the peephole. She saw nothing.

Knock, knock! It was weaker this time, but still there.

She spun around, looking for the source. She peered out through the window and saw New York City below buzzing as usual twenty floors down, but nothing out of the ordinary.

Knock… She checked the peephole again, but saw nothing. Knock… Gwen opened the door.

Something that resembled a man was lying in a crumpled heap at the foot of the door. A chill came with it: the window was shattered and let in the wind of the night.

She kneeled next to him, looking for a pulse. "Are you alright?" she asked frantically.

The man moaned and looked at her, and she instantly recognized him as Peter Parker, Flash's punching bag at school. She was uneasy about bringing him into her neighbor's apartment, but the thought left as soon as she saw his injuries. There were deep gashes on his arms and torso, and abrasions everywhere else.

"Let me help you up, if you can. I'll wrap those wounds."

He stood up with lots of difficulty and managed to limp to their sofa, where he collapsed into unconsciousness. Gwen carefully and quietly ransacked their apartment looking for first aid. Finally she came upon a cabinet in their kitchen filled with wraps and antiseptic. She doused it on his face and arms, but was wary of his torso. It took some effort to remove his blood-stained shirt, but it was done and she was left staring at Peter Parker's exposed chest.

Get a grip, Gwen. Peter had two long, deep gashes across him. She dabbled with a little rubbing alcohol, but his unconsciousness was so deep his face remained peaceful. Once the wounds were clean, she wrapped them with the tape and threw his shirt in the wash. It was free of rips, she noticed. Had he not been wearing a shirt when he was attacked?

His hands were bloodied, but not in need of any healing. She did notice there was dirt and something the color of a peach underneath his nails.

Skin. He'd been in a fight, and clawed his way out of it.

She checked the time: it was ten thirty, which left her only a half hour to clean up. She made sure there were no bloodstains on the carpet or sofa, and called Nina's parents.

"There was an accident," she began after the uneasy greetings. "It seems someone tried to come in through the window outside your apartment, or was thrown through it, but either way he was attacked by something. He asked for help and I gave it to him. He's… sleeping on the sofa now." Gwen disliked the word "unconscious."

"So you found the first-aid?" Nina's father asked.

"Yeah."

"Good. I never thought you would have to use it. Have you called the police?"

The police? It had never occurred to Gwen to call the police on Peter. They weren't very much good anymore. Gwen winced. Nina's father must have noticed her silence as something else.

"No, it's fine. Don't worry about it, Gwen. I'll deal with it in the morning, or when he wakes. Alright?"

"Alright."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

He paused. "I'm sorry, Gwen."

Gwen sighed. She got it so often. She got all of their pity and apologies, and she was done with it. "It's fine."

"We're leaving now. We'll be home in about twenty minutes."

"Okay." She paused. "Thanks."

"No problem. See you in a few!"

"Bye," she murmured, and ended the conversation. She glanced over at Peter again, looking less dead than he was a few minutes ago, but still pretty deathly. She sat across him on a lounge chair, eyeing him suspiciously. He was never the kind of person to provoke a beating like this, and Flash wasn't the type of person to go for a kill. From all of the tutoring she gave him last year, she knew Flash would never have done this.

So what does do this? And where was Spider-man to save his life?