I look at my phone. It's been forty-five minutes, but no one has come looking in the utility closet near the stage yet. About a half hour ago, I heard footsteps, and the faint murmuring of cops talking to each other in the auditorium, but that was it. Since then, silence. It appears me and Spider-Man won't be found.

I look down at Spider-Man on the ground. He's moved a couple times, and even grunted in pain, but he still hasn't spoken or even tried to sit up. However, just the fact that he's moved a little shows me that he's coming out of whatever that smoke from the Goblin did to him.

"Hey," I whisper, but with urgency. "Hey. Can you hear me?"

I shake his arm, still in complete disbelief that I'm shaking Spider-Man's arm. For the first time since all this started, he reacts to me, pulling away. He grunts loudly, as if he's trying to use everything that he has left to get up and get away.

"Listen to me," I whisper. "We have to get out of here. They are going to come looking for us soon. I know you're hurt, but you need to get up. You need to get out of here with me. What do you want me to do? How do you want me to do that?"

But he doesn't answer. Not with words anyway. He just grunts again. It sounds like he's angry, like he's trying to wake up from his stupor, but he can't. Whatever that purple smoke did to him, it's made him completely out of it. With shaking arms, he tries to press his hands against the floor to push himself up, but it's a pathetic attempt. Almost instantly, he falls back to the ground, breathing heavily.

I realize he's going to be no help to me. But I have to get him out of here. And I have to get myself out of here. I could easily just run out right now and run home, but I'm not going to do that. I'm not going to just leave him here, and then live the rest of my life knowing that Spider-Man either died or disappeared forever because of me.

I close my eyes, stop my racing thoughts for a moment, and think about it—how can we get out of here safely? One thing immediately pops into my mind. If we're gonna leave the auditorium, he can't be dressed like he is. That's obvious. He's gonna need different clothes. I run the options through in my head—where in the school can I get clothes?—and I decide my best bet is the gym, which isn't that far away. There must be clothes in there—either some guy's sweatpants or a baseball uniform—anything will do, except his current costume.

Knowing I have only seconds to act, I leave Spider-Man behind and walk out of the auditorium. It's surprisingly quiet in the school—all the police must be in the other parts of the building. Miraculously, it feels like I'm the only person anywhere near the auditorium, but then I realize that makes sense—the school was evacuated, and probably the only people in the building now are cops, and there's no need for them to be near me. Running, but still trying to be as quiet as possible, I dash down the hall, into the gym, and then into the room that holds all the dirty laundry and sports uniforms. I grab the first thing I see: a pair of grey baseball pants and a light blue t-shirt with our school logo—an eagle—printed on the front.

Running back through the silent, dark auditorium, I push open the door to the utility closet near the stage. Spider-Man is still there, thank god, and has barely moved since I left.

"Okay," I whisper, kneeling down near him. I realize that regardless of the empty building, I still need to pick up the pace. "We're gonna have to put these clothes on you. If you can do that yourself, fine, but if not, I'm gonna have to do it."

He doesn't respond, of course, except with a pained moan. He doesn't even move. There's no way he's gonna be able to put these clothes on. I'm gonna have to do it for him.

Holy crap, I realize. I have to take off his mask. The entire time on the way back to the auditorium, I was thinking about how awkward it was going to be for me to have to dress a grown man, but I never thought about how I was going to have to take off his mask. I'm going to have to take off Spider-Man's mask. And see who he is. His real face. Holy crap.

I hesitate for a second, wondering if I should even do it, knowing that it must be his greatest secret. It's the only reason he can do what he does. I imagine only two or three people in the entire world know who Spider-Man is. And I'm sure he doesn't want me being the fourth.

But, then, I realize I have no choice. I have to do it. He has no choice, either. I'm sure he'd rather me see his face, than the other option of getting found by the cops in his Spider-Man costume.

I reach down and—slowly, for some reason—I peel off his mask, then set it aside. I'm aware that probably no one has ever done this before.

What. The. Hell.

He's a kid.

My age, probably. Sixteen or seventeen years old.

Spider-Man is a kid.

I can't believe it.

The world famous Spider-Man—the superhero who has taken the entire planet by storm, and saved New York City from destruction at least five times—is a teenage boy.

And, even odder, he's a cute teenage boy.

I shake my head at the ridiculousness of all of this. For a second, I think someone must be playing a joke on me. There's no way Spider-Man is my age. There's no way he's seventeen years old. There's no way he's a cute teenage boy.

But, obviously, it's true. I just saw him battling the Green Goblin an hour ago. This same guy. And now he's here, with me, in the auditorium closet.

Spider-Man is a brown-haired, kinda skinny, cute teenager. This is insane.

Trying to put this truly unbelievable revelation out of my head, I look over the rest of his costume. I can tell it's two parts—a pair of pants and a top. I could take the top off, but that would be super weird. Even weirder now that I know he's a teenage boy—for some reason, it would have been less weird if he was like 25, like I thought he was gonna be.

Instead, I just take off his gloves and roll up his sleeves. Then, I pull the light blue t-shirt over his head. Luckily, this works: his costume sleeves are all bunched up in the sleeves of the t-shirt, but at least you can't see any of the red or blue.

Then I look at the t-shirt I just put on him. The front says "GIRLS SOFTBALL TEAM. CLASS OF 2017. GO LADY EAGLES!"

It's a girl's shirt.

Spider-Man is wearing a tight-fitting girl's t-shirt.

Whoops.

Next, I look down at this legs. Luckily, it should be easy enough to just pull on the baseball pants over the lower part of his costume, and it is. It's super weird to pull the pants up for him and put them on his motionless body, but hey, it's the only way we're getting out of here.

Finally, I look him over. Exposed face, brown hair, bare arms, sweat pants. He looks like a totally normal, teenage boy, wearing a girl's t-shirt. His face is banged up from his fight with the Goblin—black eye, split lip, gash on his cheek—but not so much that people will ask questions if anyone sees us.

But then I look at his feet. The blue and red of his boots are still showing.

Well, Spidey, looks like you're gonna havta go barefoot. I don't have any shoes, and I'm not gonna risk going to the gym again. Luckily for you, it's spring.

I pull off the boots, and place them with the rest of his costume. I realize I'm now in possession of Spider-Man's mask, gloves, and boots. Turning around, I see one of the crates of old lighting equipment for the school plays. Lifting the heavy box up, I slide them under there. No one comes in this closet, and even if they do, they aren't gonna look under that box. Hopefully when I come back to school tomorrow, they'll still be there. It's pretty much my only option.

Now ready to figure out how we're gonna leave, I turn back to Spider-Man. (Or the teenage boy that's now in his place, anyway.) Surprisingly, I see that he's moved. He's still lying on the ground with his eyes closed, but he's now on his side, and once again trying to push up with his hands.

I guess being dressed in girl's clothes by a total stranger will wake a person up, even from the Goblin's poison purple smoke.

He grunts something. It sounds like he's trying to talk. I lean in closer.

"MJ," he mumbles quietly. "MJ. MJ."

"Uh, what?" I reply. I could barely hear him. "What was that?"

"MJ," he says, repeating the same two letters. "MJ. MJ. Mary Jane."

Mary Jane. Interesting. A girl's name.

"I'm not Mary Jane," I say. I look him over. "Are you okay? Can you walk?"

"MJ," he says again. He still hasn't opened his eyes. "MJ, where am I? Are you there?"

He reaches out on the floor, looking for me. Well, looking for MJ, I guess. I take his hand, just to show him I'm here.

"I'm not MJ," I say again. "I'm Lydia. Lydia Greenfield. And you're in my high school. Do you remember what happened?"

"Goblin," he says. It sounds like he's getting weaker again, falling back into his daze. "Goblin."

"The Goblin's long gone," I reply. "And we better be, too, unless we wanna be in the worst trouble of our lives. You, especially."

He doesn't answer. Then he just mumbles again. "MJ. MJ. Are you okay?"

He still thinks I'm MJ. He's totally out of it.

"Look, we need to get out of here." I'm going to just have to take control of the situation. Which is somehow easier, now that I know I'm dealing with someone my own age. "We're gonna walk out of here, and make it look as normal as possible. Okay? Can you do that? Can you stand?"

"MJ," he says again.

Okay. Now I'm just getting frustrated.

"I'm not MJ," I say, even though it's useless. "I'm Lydia. And I'm getting you the hell out of here."

I stand him up. Thankfully, he's able to stay on his feet with my help, as long as he's leaning against me.

"Are you ready?" I ask, trying to hold up his weak, wobbly body. It's like he's drunk, or just got back from the dentist.

"Are you Gwen?" he asks.

Another girl. Very interesting.

"No, I'm your fairy godmother. Here's some pixie dust. Now let's go. One foot after the other."

I walk him toward the door, and after a few seconds he gets the hang of it. It's not easy, and we are still moving slow as hell, but at least he's kind of, sort of able to walk. I still don't think he's opened his eyes. He can't even lift his head—he's just looking at the ground.

We walk out of the dark school, and out the side door that leads to the student parking lot. I help him shuffle along the pavement, and soon we're out on the street. I don't have a car here, because I walk to school everyday, which would make this a lot easier, but at least that also means we can walk to my house.

So, off we start, walking down the street, in the dark, heading away from the school. He can barely stay on his feet, his arm is getting really heavy on my shoulder, and he has no shoes on. Me? I'm out of the school, walking through my hometown, with Spider-Man next to me, completely out of costume. We're finally free from the auditorium, and even if someone sees us now, it probably won't be a big deal. I can talk my way out of any interactions with suspicious onlookers. And the best news is, we'll be at my house in just a few minutes.

Now all I have to do is sneak Spider-Man up into my bedroom.

This should be fun.