Chapter Five: In Which Peter Attends A Party
The backbeat thrummed through Peter's skeleton, jarring every extremity. He bounced his leg restlessly and wiped his hands on his jeans, craning his neck to search the crowd once again for any familiar faces. The plastic cup in his hand was moist with condensation and down to its very last dregs, and Peter was starting to feel a bit queasy. At the back of his tongue was a bitter alcoholic aftertaste that no amount of swallowing could get rid of.
"You look lost."
A girl had sidled up to him unnoticed; she smiled disarmingly up at him now. Another stranger in a sea of strangers, but so far the only person who had acknowledged his presence. Peter smiled uncomfortably back at her. "I'm not, I'm not lost," he laughed, rubbing the back of his head. Whoever she was, she didn't go to his school. There was no one quite like her around where he lived.
Her hair was cropped short and curled around her ears, and she wore a Streetlight Manifesto t-shirt with the sleeves cut off and a neckline that dipped. Her jeans were a size too big and held up by a thick leather belt; on her slender wrist was a heavy silver watch. Long, darkly lovely eyelashes framed narrow brown eyes.
"I'm Diana," she said.
"Pete," he reciprocated.
"I guess you're not much of a party person either, huh? Or is it the music?" She played absently with her earring as she spoke, and Peter watched the tiny silver hoop flash against her amber skin in fascination. There was something endearing about the anxious way her fingers, with their chipped blue paint, rolled the ring through her skin again and again.
"Both, I guess," he said. "I don't really know why I came here. Everyone here hates me." He mentally smacked himself for that last comment, but it made the corners of her lips twitch up a little. She pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered him one, but he shook his head.
"Suit yourself. Boy, it's hot in here."
"Yeah." Peter wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, and then hastily wiped the back of his hand on the seat of his pants. "Do you, um, want to go outside?" His heartbeat quickened at the proposition, but she took it casually and nodded.
Out on Drew's stoop, it was a good ten degrees cooler, and the sweat on Peter's skin dried instantly. He shivered a little as he and Diana sat down on the steps with their knees just barely touching through a couple of thread's worth of fabric. "My light's out," she said sadly as she flicked her lighter until her thumb was raw, and came up with only sparks.
"Here, let me." Peter pulled a book of matches out of his pocket, and she turned her face to close to his. He struck a match, and they both cupped their hands around the cigarette as he brought the flame between them. It flickered across their skin in eddies and swirls, and she sucked in a deep breath, the embers at the end of her cigarette glowing. The flame went out, and Peter dropped the match on the ground as Diana turned her head to the side and exhaled a perfect smoke ring.
"So, you go to school with Drew?" she asked.
"Yeah. You don't, though. I mean, I don't recognize you. Do you?"
"Nah," she said. "I go to church with that asshole; can you believe it?"
The idea was undeniably funny.
Their conversation wandered then, from bands that they liked to concerts they had attended, to skate tricks and somehow briefly to sex, and then to people they both knew. Diana was in the middle of a sentence when the door burst open and a group of teenagers practically fell out, shrieking and laughing. One girl tripped right over Diana, kicking her in the head, and stumbled away across the street without stopping to look back. Diana scowled and rubbed the back of her skull. "That girl is in my AP English class," she said. "I hate her."
"Do you like anyone?" Peter asked curiously.
Her eyes widened a fraction. "Oh, sure I do. I guess I must come off as pretty misanthropic, huh? It's just that I don't like anyone here. I don't even know why I came." Looking suddenly very self-conscious, she checked her watch and said, "Wow, it's nearly midnight. I may look lawless, but I've got curfew, you know."
"Oh, yeah!" Peter smacked his forehead and jumped to his feet. "Yeah, me too. Um, do you want to... I could..." Then a familiar noise filled the air between them, and Peter winced as he recognized the Doctor Who theme song. "Sorry, 'scuse me for a second." He pulled his phone out of his pocket. "Yes, Dad?"
"Peter?" Tony's voice crackled through the receiver. "I'd just like you to know that it is 11:58, and our agreed curfew was midnight. I expect you to be inside Stark Tower in two minutes."
"I'm not going to be there in two minutes."
"Then I suggest you set the thrusters to one hundred percent, so as to minimize the consequences of your tardiness."
There was a brief scuffle on the other end of the line, and then Steve said, "Peter, are you drunk? You can tell us if you are. We'll come and get you."
"No!" Diana snickered at his tone. "No, I'm fine. I'm leaving now. I was just-" he lowered his voice. "I was going to, you know, maybe walk this girl home. 'Cause it's late, you know."
"A girl?" Steve sounded suddenly interested, and then shifted gears to pride. "I raised you right."
Tony grabbed the phone again. "A girl? What's her name? Are you bringing her over?"
"Sorry, can't hear you! See you soon!" Peter hung up and turned back to Diana. "Sorry about that. Um..." He rubbed the back of his neck and kicked at a crushed soda can. "Do you want me to walk home?" When she looked hesitant, he quickly added, "I think my dad would kill me if I let you go home alone this late at night."
"Well, I guess if it means saving your life..." she lifted one shoulder in a delicate shrug. "I live in the East Village. This way."
"Yeah, I know where the East Village is, thanks."
"Jeez, okay." They fell into step beside one another, hands shoved into pockets. After a moment, Diana said, "I feel like we've exhausted all possible conversation topics for people who have just met."
"Yeah," Peter agreed.
"Do you want to hear my favorite song?" She pulled out her phone and handed him one ear bud. "Even if you don't like it, it'll alleviate some of the awkwardness."
They walked with their shoulders bumping, tethered to one another by the headphones. "Is this the band on your shirt?" Peter asked, and she grinned and nodded.
"See this scar?" She pointed to a dark stripe on the bridge of her nose. "I got this at one of their shows last year. Someone threw a Red Bull can at my face. There was blood everywhere."
"Head wounds bleed a lot," he said. Diana nodded in sage agreement.
Despite the late hour, the East Village was still in full swing. Golden streetlight bounced off of cheap plastic jewelry and specks of glitter; studs shone dully on every conceivable article of clothing for sale. An androgynous fellow with a magenta comb-over strode by in leather hot pants and combat boots, stainless steel poking out of every bit of cartilage. Peter watched him pass with round eyes.
"My house is just down the street," Diana said, stopping beneath a traffic light. She clasped her hands in front of her and looked down at her sneakers. "So, um, goodnight, I guess. Thanks for walking me home."
"Oh, yeah, no problem." Peter sucked in a breath. "Could I- can I have- no, never mind." He shook his head. "Sorry, um..."
"Can I have your number?" she blurted out, and he smiled bemusedly and pulled a sharpie out of his back pocket. He'd never tell, but he always kept a marker on him in the rare case of exactly this scenario. Finally, it was paying off.
He scribbled his digits on the smooth palm of her hand, and she did the same to him. "Goodnight," he said, staring at the swell and curve of her lips.
"Goodnight," she agreed, ducking her head, and then turned and ran up the street. He watch her go for a moment, and then turned and skipped away down the street, smiling to himself.