ELEVEN | AND SO IT BEGINS AGAIN

GIRLHOOD MEANT SO MANY THINGS TO MANY DIFFERENT PEOPLE ALL AROUND THE WORLD. It was a concept vague enough that everyone just smiled and contemplated on past memories when it was thrown into conversation. What was integral to girlhood in someone else's perspective might not have even happened in someone else's definition. A fragment of the definition that was mutually agreed upon, however, is girlhood feels like home. It feels like a warm embrace of high-pitched laughter and not worrying about the woes of the world. Girlhood is a thick blanket of nostalgia that we look back on and wish we never left.

Sleepovers in Marinette's childhood bedroom is how she imagined girlhood. Her pink walls—a colour she'd picked out when she could barely walk—acting as a backdrop to the formation of core memories. It's filled with nameless pop music playing in the background, fuzzy pyjamas covering her body and movies her friends would talk over because the actions of the protagonist just didn't make sense. Girlhood is her cheeks aching from not being able to wipe the grin away all night. These were the stories she would tell her future grandchildren when they asked about her youth.

It was the brink of Sophomore year—the beginning of the end of girlhood.

A deep purple coloured binder that had been coated in sequins, diamantés and glitter sat open at the centre of the circle they sat in, sprawled out on Marinette's white shag carpet. A pile of brightly coloured glitter gel pens laid beside it while the trio giggled as they stared down at the task at hand.

Forgotten in the background was Marinette's beat up laptop, where a monologue declaring Edward Cullen a vampire poured out the water damaged speakers, sounding static (fun fact: dropping computers in deep puddles would cause damage, as much as random people on Quora would try to convince you otherwise). His pained voice made Alya roll her eyes, reaching over Michelle to close the lid so they could focus without interruption. Marinette pouted, complaining that she was watching that.

"Okay," the box-dyed red-head asserted, sitting up straight and inviting her friends to pay attention to what she was saying. "Sophomore year is pivotal in our high school careers—we need to set out strict goals to make it count," she insisted, tossing a colourful gel pen to each girl. Being uncoordinated out of costume, the pen smacked Marinette square across the face.

Michelle couldn't help but scoff at how dramatic Alya was making this out to be. "Strict goals? Do we get decapitated if we fail?" She deadpanned, drawing a squiggle on her knee to make sure the pens actually worked (you could never be sure with cheap stationary).

Alya rolled her eyes at the curly-haired pessimist. "If I say yes will that motivate you?" She sassed back, quirking an eyebrow at her.

"Quite the opposite," Michelle remarked, tapping her pen against her devilish smirk. "But it's the thought that counts, I guess."

"Marinette? What're your goals?" Alya asked as Michelle bent down to write her first task on the glorified to-do-list.

So, the thing is, there was a really obvious goal to Marinette—the only issue was she couldn't say it out loud. (Well, technically she could but it would probably cause a lot of issues). Her friends were not privy to the double-life she lived and with Alya's growing obsession with unmasking her alter ego's identity only doubling in strength over the break. . . today wasn't the day to confess. So, instead of the obvious answer being: defeat Hawkmoth (for good), she said, "win at Nationals, duh," instead.

"Write that down," Alya urged Michelle who, being a bit of an artist, had the neatest handwriting of the group. "But. . . you don't have any solo goals?" Alya pried, studying her friend intently.

"Um. . ." Again, she couldn't exactly disclose her solo goal. "Beat out Peter Parker for top marks?" She settled on, knowing her friends had been waiting for this to come up at some point because hey, she wasn't lying—this was most certainly her second most important goal. Flashes of her future—clad in cap and gown as they announced her as the classes valedictorian while Peter Parker ran off the stage in a mess of tears and snot (a girl could only dream).

That answer seemed to satisfy Alya's thirst for blood as she ordered Michelle to write that one down, too. "Well, one of my goals is to completely transform the school news from second-hand embarrassment to something people want to tune into every morning," she told them, not once faltering in self confidence (she'd revealed earlier in the night that she'd watched a lot of TED Talks about manifestation on her flight back from her grandparents ranch).

"So, Betty got back to you about joining?" Marinette asked, laying on her stomach and resting her head in her palms. She remembered texting Alya about this topic a few weeks back.

"Yep and she liked my segment idea: Super-Watch," the girl boasted, looking over Michelle's shoulder intently as she wrote out the goals in swirly glittery handwriting.

Titling her head to the side, Marinette raised a questioning thin eyebrow as she twisted her fingers through her loose pigtails. She stared across the circle at Alya. "What's that gonna be about?"

She should've been able to predict the answer, in hindsight. "Super hero sightings, duh," Alya scoffed, pulling out her phone and holding the camera up to pose for a photo with a flirtatious looking pout.

Michelle snorted, taking her attention of the page long enough to send a knowing look her friends way. "Is Nino off work now?"

"Yeah. . ." She replied, the implications of her friends words flying over her head at first before she looked up with a frown. "We're just friends." Alya sent a playful kick her friends way, almost causing the girl to accidentally draw a line across the whole page.

Marinette sighed, rolling onto her back. "I wish Adrien and I were friends," she huffed, staring up at the beams that held her ceiling together. Her room was once the attic but with a lot of work (and a lot of love), her parents had transformed it into a pretty loft. She even had a small balcony that overlooked the city. Oftentimes after patrol she'd sit there and just watch the twinkling lights of traffic in the distance, decompressing from whatever stressful situation she'd just been in.

"Add it to the list," Alya muttered.

Alarmed, the girl rolled back over. "No, no, no—! That's not necessary— You'll jinx it—!" She squealed, trying to knock the pen out of Michelle's hands.

"Positive affirmations, Mari," Alya cut in, waving a disapproving finger at her. "If you're feeling extra lucky, we could write go to Homecoming with Adrien."

Marinette nearly choked on her own tongue at the deranged thought. Soon enough her mind was flooding with the mental images of Adrien Agreste clad in a fancy, perfectly tailored suit for her. She imagined him walking up to her front door, holding out a corsage for her and smiling elegantly for the millions of photos her Mom would insist on taking. Suddenly the pressure of his hands could be felt against her waist as they slow danced to that one song from the movies. . . God, her skin had started to feel like it was melting—

She'd been so enraptured in her daydream that she'd not even noticed the conversation had transitioned away from Adrien. "—and are you gonna join any other extra-curricular's. . . ?"

Marinette had to do a double take to realise the question had been directed at her. "Um. . . I'm not sure yet," she admitted, blinking away her fantasies as reality came flooding back.

In a perfect world Marinette Dupain-Cheng would've dedicated herself to every single extra-curricular possible—as many as possible to make her college transcript stand out. Her timetable would've been Hermione Granger in The Prisoner of Azkaban level deranged. Instead, her fingers rested on her enchanted earrings and she let out a quiet sigh. As long as there was crime to fight, she couldn't spread herself too thinly.

FOR MOST AVERAGE COMMUTERS, THE JOURNEY ON THE SUBWAY WAS TRANQUIL TIME OF RELAXATION BEFORE THE DAY UNLOADED ON THEM. In the cramped metal box, people filled every empty space with various pass-times. There was always the odd business man, who had a laptop balancing on his lap as he expertly polished off a presentation he was due to give that morning. In the darker corners hid teenagers from lower socioeconomic schools—giggling amongst themselves as they passed around a new flavour of Juul. Mothers stood by the exits as they clutched their rowdy children that tried their hardest to break free.

New York, New York; the city that didn't sleep—the only place on Earth where it was unusual for there to not be a passed-out homeless person stinking up the carriage. Everyone here had somewhere else they were supposed to be, there wasn't time to "love thy neighbour" (or in this examples case—check they're still breathing, at the very least).

Peter Parker, clad in a cheap zip-up hoodie he'd inherited as a hand-me-down from his now deceased uncle, stood amongst the chaos. His headphones—the cheap off-brand variety—were turned right up and he stared intently down at his phone screen, scrolling through the messages that never seemed to garner a response. He huffed at the little tick beside them that indicated they'd definitely been sent. . . Just, no one had bothered to even open them (yet).

The loud-speaker announcing his stop managed to bleed over the music filling his ear drums, making the boy stuff his battered device in his back pocket. He adjusted the straps of his corduroy backpack as he stepped onto the platform, sighing as the morning sun beamed down on him. In the horizon stood Midtown Science and Technology—unchanged from how he'd left it at the end of Freshman year. Once again the school building was buzzing with life; its students, new and old, pouring out of every orifice.

With a spring in his step that was most likely going to disappear by second period, he bounded down the dilapidated footpath. He passes the sports field, observing that the football team had wasted absolutely no time in picking things back up (not that Midtown ever went far in any of the competitions, this was a science school after all—the football team had a high ratio of scrawny nerds playing in pivotal positions because numbers were so low).

To be fair, he should have looked both ways before he tried to dart across the drop-off bay. The shock of a loud horn and tyres screeching made him knock one of his headphones loose and he looked up at none other than Flash Thompson. His summer had been so peaceful without having to listen to his obnoxious voice.

Perched in front of the fancy leather steering wheel of an expensive looking convertible, Flash grinned at him through the windscreen. His patronising smirk had not become any less punchable over the break, unfortunately. "What's up, Penis Parker?"

"Twenty bucks if you actually hit him," came a voice Peter had missed even less: Harry Osborn. From the passenger seat of the shiny car, the rich man's son pointed his middle finger in Peter's direction and he couldn't help but roll his eyes at the crude gesture—seriously?

Looking away for a second—wearing an indignant look, Flash says, "no way, this cars way too expensive to wreck over someone like him."

From the backseat, Chloe Bourgeois groaned in annoyance. The blonde girl was sporting a very dark spray-tan to go with her brand new (and just as bleached) hair extensions. "He's that scrawny, there won't even be a dent—" Okay, so it wasn't entirely good to be back. Some things weren't ever going to change.

Shaking his head, Peter scurried off of the road and pushed open the school doors as he shoved his headphones into his back pocket. The weathered doors groaned under the force he put on them as he stepped through. A wave of shrill voices excited to see their friends and body odour hit him like a truck as he took in the busy hallway. His heightened senses made everything sharper—the slam of a locker door, the smell of a banana rotting at the bottom of someone's book bag.

Overheard, a TV hung on the wall. Peter watched intently as the school news broadcast began—although the production was usually terrible, Peter always found it entertaining to watch.

"Rise and shine, Midtown Science and Technology," blonde haired Betty Brant sat up straight beside her co-star, her colourless hair a perfect contrast against their blue set. She shuffled her notes nervously before saying her line. Her eyes squinted, sending an annoyed look at whoever stood behind the camera as they continued to adjust the angle profusely.

Beside her sat curly haired Jason Ionello, looking bored. "Students, don't forget about your Homecoming tickets. . . Do you have a dare for Homecoming?" He peered at Betty in the corner of his eye, awaiting her response nervously.

"Thanks. Jason but I already have a date," she mumbled, letting out an awkward cough.

"Okay," Jason muttered as the camera zoomed in on his crestfallen face.

"Yeah. . ." Betty stared awkwardly ahead, trying to get the attention of whoever was operating the camera.

Peter heard a faint 'oh' before the screen changed—with one of the stock PowerPoint transitions. Alya Cessaire was now on the screen, smiling awkwardly as she waited for her cue to start talking. "Thanks Betty and Jason," she said in a robotic voice. The ginger was standing in front of a green screen and Peter's jaw went slack when he realised her shirt was the exact same shade. "Now its time for your daily dose of Super-Watch," she enthused, waving her hands as the background changed into a low resolution image of Ladybug (which clipped with her top). "Here are your latest Ladybug sightings—"

"Damn it. You, in my office right now." Peter's attention was ripped away as he turned to see Principal Morita directing Max Kante towards his office. The dark-skinned boy had been pulled up for flying his blue robot, Markov indoors.

Shaking his head in bemusement, the teen made a beeline for his locker—still in the same hall as last year. As he bent inside, placing his new binders inside, he felt light pressure on his shoulder.

His best friend—since as long as he could remember—Ned Leeds, sporting a fresh hair cut, balanced a Lego Mini-figure on his friends shoulder as he imitated Emperor Palpatine. "Join me, and together. . . We'll build my new Lego Death Star. . ."

"What—?" Peter spun around to stare at his friend, excited that the set had finally come.

Nino Lahiffe, who had been standing beside Ned, threw an excited arm around his friend. (Yes, he was still trying to make bulky headphones around the neck a fashion trend.) "Yeah, it came in the mail today! I saw the box, it's huge."

"No way, that's awesome. How many pieces?" Peter enthused, ignoring the judgemental stares of the cheerleaders a few lockers down. They were irrelevant when their friend group had been counting down this delivery for months.

"Three thousand, eight hundred and three," Ned said proudly, holding his chin up high. All the over-time shifts he'd taken on in order to afford it had finally felt worth it.

"That's insane," Adrien Agreste marvelled, also sporting a fresh back-to-school haircut. Unlike Ned and Nino, who Peter had visited at work sporadically all summer, Peter hadn't seen much of Adrien since the last school year had let out. Sure, his face had adorned magazines and billboards across the city but Adrien had been shackled to a busy schedule that took him across oceans all summer. (He'd barely even had time to play online video games with them!)

"We're all still on to build it tomorrow night, right?" Ned asked the group, looking around at his friends.

Nino sighed, leaning against one of the closed lockers. "Man, I wish. I'm working every single night this week—they're making me pick up your slack," he grumbled, alluding to Ned's sudden. . . Departure from their shared job during the final week of summer vacation (it had been a big topic of contention in the groupchat).

Pouting, Ned looked to his blonde friend. "Ugh. Adrien?"

"I have piano and Mandarin Tuesday nights, sorry," he informed Ned, scratching the back of his neck. It was the first day back and Adrien already felt like a neglectful friend.

"Peter, you're unemployed," the Filipino boy huffed, sending a hopeful look his way.

Closing his locker, Peter offered his friend a regretful look. "I've got the Stark—"

Rolling his eyes, Ned finished of his sentence for him—it had been the same excuse all summer. "Mm-hmm. Stark Internship. Always got that internship."

"Yeah, well. . . Hopefully soon it'll lead to a real job with them," Peter explained as they began traversing down the busy hallway, dodging lost Freshman (thankful that wasn't them anymore).

Nino sighed wistfully at the thought of his best friend being co-workers with some of the people that they studied in their various science classes. "That would be so sweet. We'd all have cool jobs. . . Well, except for Ned but we'll find you something, buddy," he joked, knocking elbow into Ned's ribs.

"I took the fall for your screw up—!" Ned huffed, throwing his hands in the air.

"You can't prove that—!" Nino retorted.

Peter and Adrien exchanged looks, glad some things never changed. While Nino and Ned loved to bicker, it was all love (mostly). They both had big personalities and sometimes they'd clash but Peter hadn't known them to stay annoyed at each other for longer than half a day.

"Anyways, Peter. I'll knock out the basic bones of the Death Star at my place. And then I'll come by afterwards. . ." The sound of Ned's voice faded away as Peter's attention turned elsewhere—more specifically towards the girl rounding into the hallway, with her two friends flanking her.

If this were a movie, doves and fireworks would be exploding behind her as she walked (for dramatic effect).

Over the warmer three months, Peter Parker had become a frequent visitor of Tom & Sabine Boulangerie Patisserie. It'd started off with Aunt May mentioning she craved baked goods and sending him off to retrieve her phone order from the store. He'd honestly forgotten it was her family's business until he'd bounded through the front door and seen her working the till.

And thus started a weekly routine of Peter Parker trying to catch glimpses of Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Even on days when May wasn't even feeling like baked goods, he'd still stop by in hopes that she'd be there. Sometimes she would be at the counter like the first time and other times he'd look past her dad to see the girl sat at the back. She'd normally be sat behind a pastel pink sewing machine, eyebrows furrowed as she tried to align her stitches perfectly. He oftentimes had the urge to call out and ask her what she was making. But he didn't, obviously. He just liked to admire the way her face was etched with deep concentration.

Yes, if it wasn't already painfully apparent, Peter Parker had developed the slightest of crushes on Marinette Dupain-Cheng. It hadn't been intentional (that's for sure). In fact, he wasn't exactly sure how it had happened—especially when she didn't once acknowledge him after the first visit to the store.

Maybe it had been her finally accepting his follow request on Instagram (he'd only had to resend it about six times—there was some glitch that kept cancelling it). He had caught himself staring at her selfies an ungodly amount of times before he'd even realised how he felt. At first he'd blamed it on her just being a good photographer, he liked the angles and poses she experimented with.

But then he found himself thinking about her during the quiet moments on his patrol and that's when he knew he was done for.

(Only Peter Parker would develop a crush on a girl that, for all intents and purposes, couldn't stand him.)

He watched as her pupils widened when she looked up, her gaze going right through him and landing on the blonde boy beside him. There was a violent gurgle in his stomach as he watched the girl trip over her own feet, almost landing face-first on the tiled floor if it wasn't for Alya steadying her. Even from where he stood, he could hear her awkward laugh echo against the walls.

He sighed. "Yeah. . . That'd be great, Ned," Peter mumbled, not knowing what he'd even agreed to. He didn't get a second to ponder on it before the school bell rang out overhead.

🕷️ KARLA YAPS !

welcome to act two !!!! can't believe we are finally here, omg.

i know this was lowkey really uneventful & this chapter was actually almost triple the length but i decided to split things up / shuffle up the order of events for the sake of pacing & not aggressively info-dumping on you guys. because the timeline of homecoming is crazy—almost all the big events happen within like a week which just... does not work with what i wanna do, so we're extending the timeline a fair bit & spreading things out a lot more. (which just means you guys get more content, lol)

anyways, that's enough yapping from me—i wanna hear from you!!! lmk if you liked this <3 please don't be afraid to spam, i thrive on comments :)))