CHAPTER TWENTY ONE;
we're going to Prague?

"WE'RE GOING TO PRAGUE!" MR. HARRINGTON VOCALIZES LOUDLY, CUTTING THROUGH THE CROWD OF STUDENTS.

Outside the lobby, the entire class of Junior year stands outside, suitcases by their sides. The sun is scorching amidst the peak of summer and no amount of shade can wipe the sweat from everyone's brows. Everyone is visibly not in a good mood, considering they woke up two hours early at a startling seven a.m. and were hauled outside the hotel for an important "announcement."

Mr. Dell swore it was something life-changingly exciting and it would row the entire vacation back to the right stream — again, wrong choice of words, but what did you expect? Teachers weren't paid to handle monster-causing catastrophic events.

At Mr. Harrington's announcement, the entire class fizzle out into a perplexed jumble of conversation; they range from 'what?'s' to 'why?'s'.

"What happened to busing to Bassano del Grappa?" Amala questions, looking around.

"Not happening anymore." Mr. Harrington exclaims. "Tour company called; they upgraded us. You should've heard me; I really gave them hell!" He finishes off, hat slightly falling to his forehead before he adjusts it.

"All I heard was crying." Deadpans Mr. Dell.

In front of them, a sleek black bus is parked. Outside, a male with long tied up hair and a leather jacket stands besides the door, holding a sign that says: Midtown High.

Several 'ooh's' and mutters of praise come from some of the students. Glances of awe are also exchanged but Amala and Akira share a suspicious nod.

Something isn't right, Amala's gut churns.

Besides them, Ned and Peter give each other a look that radiates dread and denial. Peter's hands drop to his sides in what Amala assumes is defeat. He glances to his right and looks at her — his gaze burns with a myriad of unidentifiable things.

Amala has a blinding urge to walk to him and slip her arm around his torso, to walk up there and slot herself besides him and just talk. About their stay in Venice, about the change of plans, about Prague!

But she looks away. Rejection still tastes bitter on her tongue.

"You okay?" Akira nudges her.

"Hm?" She shakes her head. "No, yeah. I'm fine. 'Kinda confused about this, to be honest."

Akira purses her lips. "Yeah, me too. It doesn't make sense."

Amala simply hums and watches her classmates walk towards the onyx bus, chattering excitedly amongst themselves as they leave their luggage outside.

Against her will, the raven's eyes dart back to Peter. For a moment, she just watches him mumble something to Ned and frown. Then, his eyes snap to the man in the leather jacket and his entire face transforms. What was once apprehension and confusion turns into a contortion of déjà vu. It looks like... it looks like they know each other.

Something akin to anxiety makes itself present in Amala's heart and it's once steady pattern reverberates uncontrollably. There's something there, in the way they looked at each other, like Peter's unhappy to see the man.

Something isn't right, her brain repeats. Something isn't right.

Suddenly, a hand taps her shoulder and she yelps in surprise.

"Sorry!" Sam Martin apologizes, his hand retracting. "I was calling your name but you seemed out of it."

Her eyes widen and, somehow, her mood sours even more. No matter, she swallows that poisonous lump in her throat and offers her most genuine smile. "Sorry," she mumbles. "'Just... taking it all in, I guess?"

Sam laughs sympathetically. "Yeah, I get that. A lot has happened since we got here. Especially for you."

Amala nods with a grin. "Oh, yeah. Tell me about it."

Pocketing his hands into his jeans, Sam rolls onto the balls of his feet. His face flushes into a soft strawberry shade and he opens his mouth to say something, before closing it again.

"Are you... okay?" Amala queries.

"Me? Oh, yeah. No, I'm - I'm fine." He brushes off, huffing. "Actually, I was just wondering - and you can say no, of course. No pressure!" He stumbles, squinting his eyes shut. "But, I know that we didn't leave on the best foot after the party. I know I said sorry but I still feel bad and — to be honest — I didn't want to end it there. It was just an emergency I couldn't get out of and —"

"Hey," Amala shakes her head, pressing her hand to his bicep and rubbing politely. "It's okay. You don't have to explain yourself. I get it, emergencies are more important than a simple party."

Under her touch, Sam flushes a darker strawberry shade and inhales sharply.

Amala knows she shouldn't. She knows she shouldn't indulge Sam in anything beyond platonic feelings. She knows she should nip it at the bud, shut him down, and stop it before it gets out of control. It's not fair to him and it would be dishonest of her — that's not who she is. But her heart pumps an ugly color of verdant green and her stomach still sits in that puddle of rejection. This isn't who she wants to be but she wants to show Peter what he lost — wants to show him who he lost.

Good people can do bad things, her brain echos. It's okay to be bad sometimes.

She swallows.

"Everything good, Sam? You're kinda pink." She laughs, making sure to look at him.

He coughs. "No, yeah. I'm - I'm fine."

"So... what did you want to tell me?"

"Oh, yeah!" He says like he forgot. "I was - um - wondering if you wanted to sit with me? I'd like to make it up since we never really got to hang out after the party."

Amala's heart rate speeds up for all the wrong reasons. "Yeah, Sure!"

Sam's eyes widen. "A-awesome! After you?"

She laughs at his chivalry and steps onto the bus, suitcase left at the base of the stairs.

Quiet nerves flicker across her body. The thought of entering any vehicle still makes her a little anxious. It's not particularly debilitating, it's just a steady spike in her heartbeat and breathing. They run at a beat ahead and her mind fuzzily swarms with negative scenarios — hospital beds and the like.

Her mental damages were insignificant in respect to the trauma her body endured.

The entire right side of the car had been fully crushed by the other vehicle. It looked like it had been scorched — all the metal melted and corroded within itself, save for Spider-man's two hand prints. Not even twenty minutes later, state police and an ambulance had found an unresponsive mother in the driver seat and her daughter on the sidewalk, passed out and gripping a light pole. As a result, no one payed attention to the emotional side effects either party faced. They simple patched their wounds and sewed their cuts shut and that was the end of it.

She sighs, shooing it all away. She's okay now and it won't happen again.

Sam follows her shortly and they settle into a booth just behind Akira and Ned. He looks at her and gives a smile and Amala returns it with reluctance.

He's not Peter, her mind implores.

She silences her head immediately.

But he's not him, it echos again.

I know, she thinks. I know.

"I'm just saying: pineapple is good on pizza!"

"No the fuck it's not! You have to be insane to think so." Amala looks at him while she's speaking.

Sam laughs. "Oh, Insane? I don't know. Sounds pretty normal to me."

Amala barks out a laugh. "Sweet and salty do not go well together. Ninety nine percent of the time, they don't! That's just the honest truth."

"Okay, Amala. Okay." Sam nudges her with his shoulder, faux surrender in his tone.

Amala laughs quietly, looking beyond her seat to see why they've stopped.

For the past six hours, the entire class had sat themselves on a bus and enjoyed mountainous views as they drove to Prague. They were still recovering from the surprise of the entire detour for the first couple of hours. However, once it had officially set in, they wasted no time in defiling the entire bus with their antics.

Sam had physically fought the speaker off of Flash, claiming that he'd jump out the moving vehicle if Thompson was in charge of music. Of course, the boy in question relented but after the entire class nearly rioted, he conceded — not without sending a scornful gaze towards Sam, who simple winked at him.

After that, it was smooth driving. Loud, decent music flowed through the car as people hummed and sang along, some even dancing out of their seats.

Morning bled into the afternoon where they made their first bathroom stop. Now, it's about midday and they're driving through a narrow road carved into a mountain. If you simply looked out the window, you would see where the road would end and where the cliff would start. It's covered in lush greenery you'd never even dream of seeing back in New York — it's such a bright color that Amala just stares in awe.

They steer away from the mountain-road, taking a sharp turn and driving on what seems to be just expanses of land separated by concrete. The greenery follows, though it's appeal fades, and a couple moments later they're nearing a couple buildings huddle around each other.

The vehicle comes to a slow stop, parking in front of one of the building compounds.

"Thank God we're stopping again." Amala sighs. "I swear I can't feel my bones."

Sam chuckles. "You and me both."

Ahead, the door hisses in opening and students start to jostle out hastily.

"Petrol and toilet," the driver calls to the students as he stands by the door. "Ten minutes."

Amala walks out of the bus, thankful for some solid, unmoving ground. Being cooped in a little bus for the past six hours was agonizing for her back and muscles — she had her health problem and a fresh accident to thank.

She stands outside, pulling her hands to her head and stretching.

Sam, Ned and several other students head to the bathroom while Akira comes to stand besides her.

"So," starts Akira, wrapping her headphone cords between her fingers. "How's it going with Sam?"

Amala purses her lip and thinks. "Fine." She simply says.

Next to her, Akira pulls a frown onto her face. "'Fine?' That's it?"

All the raven does is nod. She has nothing more to say.

To be frank, it's not that Sam is unenjoyable or annoying, it's just... there's nothing there. There's really nothing between them — not on her end at least. No matter how much she tried to pry into him, to deconstruct his brain for any bit of chemistry she could hold on to, it was to no avail. There was simply no interest between them. Just large, hollow space.

"He's not Peter."

Turning towards her best friend, Amala regards Akira with a look of confusion. "What?"

"It's just 'fine' because he's not Peter." Akira says thoughtfully. "Right?"

She worries her bottom lip between her teeth. "Yeah." She mumbles quietly.

As if on cue, Peter walks out of the bus, backpack slung on his left shoulder.

He barely makes out onto the concrete before a hand stops him; the driver's hand.

Alarm bells ring across Amala's conscience.

She nudges Akira with her right hand, not even sparing a glance at her.

"Ow- why are you nudging me?" Complains Akira. "Mala, what the fuck? Can you not- oh."

Now fully alert, both girls watch the exchange play out.

The driver stops Peter in his tracks, giving him a single, cold stare. He points in a nearing direction but Amala doesn't dare take her eyes away from him. Peter stares off to wherever he pointed before hesitantly looking back at the driver. The man is as still as a stone and the lack of reaction drives Peter away from him and towards whatever it is he gestured to.

Her line of sight follows the boy until he finally disappears into the building on the left.

Amala's heart sinks.

"What was that?" Akira whispers besides her.

Turning to face her, Amala shakes her head. "I'm - I don't know."

"It's always the quiet guys." Her best friend remarks, now looking back at her. "'Most suspicious thing on earth can happen and you bet it's their fault."

Amala ponders what just happened, her mind guzzling down information. "Yeah."

She feels dizzy. Too much has happened today.

"I honestly can't do this today." Amala runs a hand to the crease between her brows, suddenly feeling her mind tire. "I'm going back in the bus."

She doesn't even wait for an answer. She just stomps back onto the metal steps and into the vehicle. She quickly finds her seat and almost throws herself on it — the race in her brain never wavering.

People are filtering out of the buildings and are making their way back to the bus. The ten minutes is over, she guesses.

She looks away and opts to staring at the slate colored leather of the seat in front of her.

Seriously, what was that? Maybe she's overreacting. Maybe it's all in her head. Maybe it is normal for a high-schooler to know the driver of a vehicle rented out for a surprise trip across the country.

Amala presses her head to the cool window, closing her eyes. She wishes she could shut the world out — just for a moment — and pick apart every suspicious moment in her life. Just to put her paranoia to rest.

So many weird things have happened lately: meeting Spider-man, the car crash, the water monster, the card in Peter's pocket, Prague, this. It's a jumbled mess in her head and coherency is nowhere to be seen. When was the last time she had a normal day?

Her mind wanders back to Peter — as always. First the floral shop card, then yesterday, and now the driver. What's gotten into him? His behavior is abnormal for his character. It's as though the Peter she knew — the Peter she trusted — was swapped out for a dupe.

It's a little disheartening, too. Just when she was starting to think she formed a solid friendship, just when she was starting to think she really liked him, the switch flipped.

She frowns.

"Amala, you okay?"

The voice startles her and she lets out a quiet yelp. "Oh, you scared me!" She laughs nervously, trying to hide her emotions.

Sam blushes. "Sorry, I seem to keep doing that. Um - are you okay, though?"

Amala straightens her posture. "Me? Yeah. Yeah, 'course. Just tired." She smiles.

All he does is grin and slide into the seat next to her.

Peter walks into the bus and plops himself next to his backpack, his face flushed.

Against her better judgment, Amala passes yet another suspicious glance towards him that lingers for just a moment too long. She's about to scold herself and turn away but stops as she watches Sam turn towards Peter. Trying her best to seem as uninterested as possible, she busies herself with her phone, swiping through her home pages and playing with the brightness of her screen.

Through the corner of her eyes, she watches Sam pass a look akin to pride and mischief. He traces his phone between his fingers and palms. Peter's eyes widen and dread turns his face dark before he quickly slumps back into his seat.

Amala pretends not the see it.

Sam turns back around, seemingly unfazed, and playfully nudges her shoulder. He takes out a set of earbuds and extends one of the chords to her.

Her hand stutters but after a beat, she takes it with a simple smile.

"(what i wish just one person would say to me)" by LANY starts to play through the earbuds as the final students enter the bus and take their seats.

Amala looks towards the window and sighs.

I just want one normal day. Is it too much to ask for?

Daylight leaks into the soft waters of evening light. Golden hour hits its peak, its rays caressing the trees. Shrubbery and concrete blurs in the mix of it all as the bus continues it's journey forward.

Amala hasn't spoken a word since their last stop. With an earbud in her ear, and the other with Sam, she'd spent the past couple of hours staring off into the expanse beyond the window.

She had nothing to say to him, as sad as it sounds. Even if she did, she probably would've stayed silent. Suddenly, it was as if her entire mood had soured and what should have been a car-ride filled with excitement, turned mellow.

Amala knows it's not Sam's fault. She knows he's done nothing but treat her with the utmost kindness. Still, she can't bare the sight of him. It makes her stomach double over.

Confusion, hurt and guilt swirl in the midst of her stomach and it all comes back to one person.

It all comes back to Peter.

Confusion is the raging storm in her chest — that constant bump, bump, bump that speeds up with every breath. The card — God, the card — and the driver are the rain and thunder of her internal tempest. Hurt is the boat that rocks side by side along the crashing waves. It's the disconnected trust, the humiliation, that fucking door. It's the sail tethered to the beam, now ripped to shreds. Guilt is the anchor that seals her fate, that shackles her to the sea-bed. Spite is such an ugly feeling but it fuels the puddle of gasoline in her chest, sparking it to life every time he regards her from afar.

The trees are so beautiful here, she thinks absentmindedly. They serve as a soothing back drop to the chaos in her mind, allowing each thought to run rampant.

She sighs. She doesn't want to think of this anymore.

New thoughts, her mind breaths in. New thoughts, her mind breaths out.

The sun is so pretty, can I see the stars once it's dark?, i love this song, purple flowers, lavenders?, a bird, I think we have a couple hours left, what a pretty house, blue walls, red roof, Spider-man, no, no, no, I can't wait to get to the hotel and sleep, oh my god I love this song too, when's the last time I-

Out of nowhere, the bus violently swerves to the left, knocking her head against the window in the process.

She yelps in surprise, immediately pressing her hand against the point of impact.

Her head throbs, so much so, she doesn't realize that the car doesn't stop.

Sam rams into her, fully squishing her into the window with the force of his body.

Pain shoots out of her already healing body as he steadies himself. He rubs at his shoulder. "What the fuck - are you okay? I'm really sorry!"

"It's fine. What - what the fuck just happened?" She mumbles, her nerves — and head — on fire.

"I don't -" Sam starts but doesn't get to finish as the car continues moving in a rogue direction, wheels screeching on the asphalt.

It's acceleration doesn't still and Amala watches with glassy eyes as the edge of the road gets closer, and closer.

Around her, people are screaming, taking notice of where the bus is headed.

She thinks she hears Akira yell a myriad of curses from somewhere behind her.

Sounds blur. Her visions skews. Time stands still.

There's a zap in her brain and her thoughts are unintelligible. What the fuck is happening? What is going on?

There's an immediate feeling of dread that slaps her in the face as déjà vu claims her conscience. Memories of flashing lights blurred by tears and passing out on the road creep into her mind; her anxiety spikes.

It's as though she's reliving a nightmare, replaying the sequence of that night step by step. Unexpected impact, pain, why won't the car stop moving? Am I going to die? Fuck, it's happening again.

It all comes back to her in one glob of black matter. Her eyes water and there's a quiver to her hands as she tries to back away from the window, her back hitting Sam. He grabs her into an arm-lock across her chest and Amala is left to wonder if he's done so to protect her or to shield himself.

At the last moment, just when she thinks they're done for, the car jerks to the right, altering its course. Whether she gasps in relief or sobs doesn't matter — there are tears down her cheeks, anyways.

Time resumes. The clock goes haywire. Her senses burst back into her system.

Shrill screams of panic bounce across the bus. Items fall against the floor and roll around.

"Peter!" Mr. Harrington yells, his eyes almost bulging. "Plant that fanny in that seat and buckle up right now!"

Amala jerks upwards and catches sight of Peter. Why the fuck is he standing up?

Perhaps what is the most absurd thing she has ever heard, Peter — with all his enthusiasm — exclaims: "Look at the baby mountain goats!"

If her jaw could open any further, it would fall off of her face.

The worry dissipates from Mr. Harrington's face in an instant. "Baby mountain goats?" He questions.

It's like a switch has been pulled. One moment, the entire bus is screaming for dear life, believing their fate has aligned with a brutal drive off a cliff. The next, they're pressed against the opposite window, mouths open in wonder to stare at goats. Goats!

Amala is reeling. They almost died for crying out loud!

She slumps back into her seat, disbelief making her knees weak. This trip couldn't get crazier. Is it too late to go back home? How could this be happening again? More importantly, how could the class be so nonchalant about it? Did they witness the same thing?

She gazes above her seat, a scornful look on her face as she regards her peers.

I fucking hate it here, her internal monologue says.

Wait... not everyone is there.

Almost every student is toppled over each other, eager to see the "baby mountain goats" but someone is missing.

Amala's heart plummets right into the floor. Why is it always Peter?

She quickly jerks her head towards the front of the bus, eyes searching what seems to be an empty expanse. Her eyes dart from left to right; nothing. Then they go up and down and that's when she sees it.

A pair of shoes are suspended in the air for just a millisecond before an entire figure drops onto the bus floor, closing the sun-roof in a loud clang.

She truly, truly cannot handle this anymore.

Peter steadies himself, gasping. His hair is a ruffled mess and his flannel is wrinkled. He tucks something between both of his sleeves and straightens a pair of glasses she hasn't seen before.

He analyzes something beyond the back window and Amala follows his line of sight. Scraps of white-colored metal scatter across the floor, smoke coming out of them. One scrap in particular, seems to be tethered to something white and stringy.

Could it be- no. No it can't be, she thinks to herself.

She turns back around, giving herself whiplash.

A figure suddenly obstructs her view as Mr. Dell returns to his seat.

"We didn't see any mountain goats." Mr. Harrington whines pathetically.

Peter takes a sharp inhale. "You missed them!"

Amala is seconds away from clawing her eyes out.

Everyone else returns to their seats, slightly disheartened while Amala's eyes remain wide open in pure disbelief.

She's shaking like a leaf. Her entire body is raging within itself; her head throbs, her hands quiver, and her mind refuses to slow down.

The card, the voice behind the door that wasn't Ned, the driver, right now... Amala's mind makes a mental scan of everything.

The same card as Spider-man, someone who wasn't Ned behind a door at twelve a.m., knowing the driver, jumping out of a moving bus...

She gasps.

"Hey, what's up? Are you okay?" Sam says from besides her, now back in his seat.

Amala just nods her head and lets out a shocking laugh. "Yeah, processing." What a stupid thing to ask.

She drowns out whatever he says next.

There's no way. There is absolutely no fucking way that her theory is true. It's absurd! It's unrealistic and it's just a result of her paranoia. But it makes sense... it adds up. But no, that's impossible. This is all some insane coincidence. Yeah, that's what it is.

There's no way Peter Parker is Spider-man.

— END OF CHAPTER 21 —

[ NOTE ]
hello ^_^ sorry
i posted this a bit
late. it's a bit over
4K words and i had
to edit it a lot !!

anyways. hope you
enjoyed this one <3

votes + any comments
are really appreciated <3

have a great day everyone!

pearl <3