III. Confession
Mary Jane Watson. Hoo-boy… where do I even begin? Stop me if you've heard all this before, but she's the girl I've been in love with since before I even knew I liked girls. She moved in next door when I was, I think, six years old, so I've known her almost as long as I've known Eddie. Longer than we've known Harry, anyway. Aunt May likes to tell this silly story, that when I first laid eyes on MJ, I asked if she was angel. I know… ridiculous, right?
Ridiculous and adorable, if I do say so myself. Hey, give me a break, I was six.
The point is, there's never really been anyone else. Sure, Liz is cute and Gwen is all kinds of cool, but MJ… I'm seriously in love with her. Like, we're-only-sixteen-but-I'm-already-pretty-sure-she's-the-girl-I-want-to-marry in love. If only I could figure out how to tell her that without sounding pathetic. And desperate. And pathetically desperate.
Well, okay… maybe there is one other girl I'd consider going out with. You know, if she weren't a dirty rotten crook. I mean, I've only ever run into the Black Cat… what, three, maybe four times, tops? And I've already been to first base with her, which is further than I've ever gotten with pretty much anyone else, ever. Ah, but who am I kidding? She's a criminal, I'm a hero, we've both got masks and secret identities in the way. Like… like Batman and Catwoman.
What is it with female cat-burglars and skin-tight black leather, anyway?
Maybe, if I ever found out who she really was… no! No, no, no! Peter Parker, you are not going to go there. By the powers vested in me as the rational thoughts in your brain, I'm officially ruling it out. I love MJ. I just have to tell her the truth. Work up the courage and spill the beans.
Holy crap.
I have to tell MJ the truth… about everything.
• • •
The next day at school, all day long, Mary Jane didn't say a single word to Peter. She avoided him in the halls, avoided his gaze in class, and sat with Liz and the other cheerleaders at lunch. As for Pete, he was so fixated on trying to get MJ to talk to him again that he barely noticed whenever Harry or Gwen would try to strike up a conversation. He was content that day to ignore them and wallow in guilt. (But then, guilt was practically another one of Peter Parker's super-powers.)
Over the course of that torturous day, Peter slowly arrived at a decision. If he wanted MJ to trust him, he had to prove that he trusted her—that he trusted her more than anyone else in the world. He resolved that day to tell her the truth.
After school, instead of web-slinging home, he took the bus. Since they all lived on the same block in Forrest Hills, in Queens, Peter's stop was the same as MJ's (…and Flash Thompson's). It was the perfect excuse to get close to her for a span of time and get her to open up again.
Mary Jane sat next to Flash, while Peter sat in the seat across the aisle from theirs. Flash never let up in his attempts to flirt with MJ, but for her part, she was happy to ignore him the same as Peter.
"Come on, MJ, how many times do I have to say I'm sorry?" Peter pleaded.
No response.
"You know how J.J. is! I have to follow the news to keep my job. Look—" Here, Peter withdrew from his bag a copy of the morning edition of the Daily Bugle. The picture on the front page, as taken by ace photographer Peter Parker, showed none other than L. Thompson Lincoln being arrested, cuffed, and placed in a police car by Captain George Stacy, while Spider-Man stood by, watching, arms crossed. Jameson's headline ("Lincoln Arrested: Spider-Menace Convinces Police to Harass Beloved Philanthropist") left something to be desired, but the fact that Tombstone had been brought in for questioning felt like pure, sweet, undiluted justice to Peter. Every time something like this happened, even of Lincoln's lawyers got him off, it chipped away at his clean and upstanding public image.
Showing the paper to MJ, Peter continued, "That's Gwen's dad and Spider-Man arresting Tombstone. I had to be there. And I called! But you didn't pick up!"
Finally, MJ trained sad, disappointed eyes on Peter and spoke. "You called at nine. By then, I was already out."
Peter gaped. "You were… out?"
"Somehow, Harry predicted that you'd stand me up. So he offered to take me to Chez d'Or. I said yes."
"With Harry?"
"Mm-hm."
"Well, of course she'd rather go out with Osborn than you, Parker," cut in Flash. "He's got trust-fund money. He can afford the fancy French places."
MJ and Peter both turned and said, at the same time, "Shut up, Flash!"
Flash blinked in surprise. "Pfft, whatever." He had a football in hand, which he was casually tossing into the air and catching again. He went back to staring out the bus window as he did this.
"The point is," said Peter, "I get that you're mad at me. You have every right—"
"I'm not mad," said MJ. "I'm just not speaking to you."
"That seems like 'mad' to me."
MJ glowered at Peter and very poignantly said nothing.
"In fact, it seems like both 'mad' and 'not speaking to me' at the same time."
MJ rolled her eyes. "Ugh. What do you want, Peter?"
"I want things to be okay between us. I… I…" Here it is, Parker. Moment of truth. "I want you to come over so that I can explain what happened. There's… a whole lot that I have to tell you."
MJ paused for a long while, a blank look on her face, as if she were trying to decide. At last, after a full six minutes of quiet deliberation, she said, "Okay."
"Okay?" echoed Peter.
MJ nodded. "Okay."
"Okay," said Peter again, relief in his voice.
"Weirdos," muttered Flash.
• • •
Brakes squeaking, the school bus rolled to a stop in a quiet little neighborhood filled with rows of smallish, two-story houses. Peter and MJ went towards their houses; Flash disappeared around the corner. But instead of going home, MJ followed Pete up to the front steps of the Parker residence. Moments later, they were in the living room, where Aunt May sat on the sofa, watching the news. May Parker had a reputation in Peter's neighborhood for being the "cool" old lady on the block. She and the late Ben Parker were what you might call ex-hippies; and so May had quite the stock of entertaining stories from her wild times back in the 1960s. On top of that, she was hands-down the best cook in the neighborhood and made her living as a writer—everything from freelance articles and blog posts, to cook books and that one great American novel she hadn't quite finished yet.
"Mary Jane, how lovely to see you," said May. "Are you and Peter going to study?"
"Uh, yeah, for a little bit," said MJ. "Nice to see you too, Aunt May."
"Peter," said May, before the two teens could disappear upstairs, "I had wanted to ask you… I saw your pictures in this morning's paper—"
"Yeah, can you believe it?" said Peter excitedly. "The police—and Spider-Man—finally arrested Tombstone! He's, like, one of the biggest crime-lords in the city—"
"Yes," interrupted May, "And I'm very proud of you, Peter, for being brave enough to be a part of that. And for caring like you do. But actually, I was talking about the other pictures. That bank robbery, with those nasty super-villains. It's so dangerous—"
"I don't get close to the action," said Peter. "Don't worry, Aunt May. I have a great zoom-lens on my camera."
"But, are you sure you need to keep working for the Bugle at all?" asked May. "It takes up so much of your time, and you have a paid internship at the university—"
"It doesn't pay all that much," said Peter. "And honestly, we need the money from my photos. Just… I have to do my part to help out, okay?"
"Well… as long as it's not taking you away from studying. School—"
"Takes priority, I know, thanks, Aunt May," said Peter rapidly, even as he rushed MJ up the stairs to his bedroom.
"That bedroom door stays open, young man!" May called up the stairs. "No hanky-panky allowed in this house!"
• • •
"What was all that about?" asked MJ. She had politely stayed out of the way while Peter had debated with his aunt over his photography job.
"I guess Aunt May just really worries about me," said Peter.
Mary Jane sat down on Peter's bed and heaved a sigh. "She's right about one thing. That job of yours really gets in the way."
Peter sat down next to her and said, "Well, that's what I wanted to talk to you about." Lowering his voice to a whisper, he said, "You see, I wasn't really telling Aunt May… the whole truth. Sometimes I do get pretty close to… dangerous situations."
"So what does that have to do with you missing our date last night?" asked MJ, puzzled. "Peter, did something happen? Did you get hurt?"
"Shh!" said Peter. "Keep it down! Please, whisper, I don't want Aunt May to… just listen, okay?"
MJ fell silent and waited for Peter to explain.
Only, for a long while, Peter couldn't say anything. He seemed to be working up the nerve to begin.
"Okay…?" prompted MJ.
Peter took a deep breath. "Okay… here it goes. But… whew… hoo-boy, this is… kinda hard to…"
"Peter, just spit it out already!"
"Okay," said Peter with a definitive nod, "but first, you have to promise me—and I mean, really promise me—that what I'm about to say never leaves this room. Ever. You cannot tell anybody. Capisce?"
MJ crossed her arms. "I'm waiting."
Peter frowned. Another awkward minute passed before he finally opened his mouth: "I'm Spider-Man."
• • •
Downstairs in the living room, Aunt May heard Mary Jane burst into a fit a hysterical laughter. She rolled her eyes and turned up the volume on the television. "Teenagers…"
• • •
"Ssh!" said Peter again, trying desperately to calm MJ down. "I'm not joking!"
"Yes you are," giggled MJ between fits and breaths. "You goofball! This is the lamest—"
That was when Peter reached under his bed and pulled out one of his web-shooters. Firing a web-line up to the ceiling, he launched himself up and stuck there.
Mary Jane gasped and stared up at Peter, her brain suddenly unable to process what she was seeing.
Peter smiled, winked, and sprang from the ceiling to the wall to the floor, with all the deliberate grace and silence of a prowling cat. "I'm Spider-Man," he said again. "For real."
And so Mary Jane did the only thing that came to mind: she screamed.
"Quiet!" hissed Peter. "Aunt May will hear—"
Moments later, the sound of footsteps on the stairs proved Peter right. He quickly tugged his web-line off the ceiling, balled it up, and lobbed it into the waste-basket by his desk. He was able to spin around and grin dumbly, holding his arm with the web-shooter behind his back, just in time for Aunt May to appear in his bedroom doorway.
"What is going on up here?" asked May. She saw Peter standing in the middle of the room, smiling like a guilty idiot, and Mary Jane reclining on Peter's bed, looking positively shell-shocked about something. "You two had better not be canoodling up here—"
Peter and MJ spoke at the same time. "We're totally not—" "Do we look like we're 'canoodling'?" "He's all the way over there!" "How could we even?"
Aunt May glared suspiciously. "I don't see any books open."
"We were just talking," said Peter. "Honest."
"All right…" said May. "I'm going to go down to the kitchen and fix you kids some food. Don't get MJ pregnant while I'm gone," she added slyly.
Mary Jane covered her mouth to keep from bursting out laughing, while Peter's face turned beet red. "Gah—I can't believe that you—you just said that!"
"Hit the books," ordered Aunt May. Then she disappeared back downstairs.
As soon as May was gone, Mary Jane pulled Peter over to the bed and took his hands in hers. "Pete, this is—I mean, you're—this is huge! You're a freaking super-hero!"
"Whisper!" said Peter again. "Aunt May can't find out. Nobody else can ever find out!"
"But—"
"I'm really serious about this," said Peter, once again taking out that day's morning edition of the Bugle. He pointed at the picture of Tombstone's perp-walk on the front page and said, "I deal with crime-lords and super-villains. If someone like Tombstone or Doc Ock ever found out who I was, then you and Aunt May and anyone else that I care about—"
"Okay, okay," said Mary Jane softly. "I get it. Your secret keeps us safe. So it's safe with me."
"Thank you," said Peter with a heavy sigh.
"I have, like, a million questions!" said MJ. "What's it like to swing around on webs?"
"It's… pretty awesome, I have to admit," said Peter. "You know, I invented my web-shooters. They fire a strand of adhesive fluid—"
"You're such a nerd!" giggled MJ. "But I love that about you. Hey, how did you even get these powers? Are you a mutant?"
"No, it's a… long story," said Peter. "I'll tell you all about it sometime." After a pause, he asked, "So… does this mean I'm forgiven for missing our date?"
"Well…" said MJ, "since you were swinging around, being heroic, fighting bad guys and saving lives… I suppose I could let you make it up to me."
"How?"
"Take me web-swinging sometime."
"It's web-slinging," corrected Peter. "And… maybe. It's kind of dangerous."
"I trust you," said Mary Jane. By now, the two teenagers were leaning very close together on Peter's bed, their faces a mere inch or two apart.
"You do?"
"Mm-hm."
They were so close now. Peter realized that his first kiss with Mary Jane was finally, finally about to happen, after years of pining and chickening out—
"Ahem," said Aunt May, who now reappeared in the doorway with a plate of snacks and a couple of drinks on a tray. "No canoodling. Books, now."
Peter and MJ sighed, defeated, and said simultaneously, "Yes, Aunt May." Then they went for their backpacks.