Rolling over on his side, Peter craned his neck to look at the clock, wiping the sleep crusted above his eyelashes. As the blurred numbers came into clear view, his bloodshot eyes suddenly widened at the time.

It was already 9:30!

"Aw no!" He shot out of bed, not realizing he had gotten himself tangled in the sheets. "Get off!" He yelled at the inanimate bedsheets as they twisted around his legs. After several seconds of kicking and struggling, Peter finally managed to unwrap himself from the blue cotton.

Throwing on a pair of jeans and a shirt that was a size too small, Peter slipped into his shoes, too much of in a hurry to notice they were completely different styles.

"May!" He called out as he zipped up his backpack. "Are you still here?"

When he heard no answer, he peered his head into the hallway and saw that the apartment was empty. May must have been called into work, which explained why she didn't come wake him. But that didn't explain why his alarm didn't.

Snatching his phone off the nightstand, Peter unlocked it to check. To his horror and utter dismay, it turned out he hadn't set his alarm like he previously thought.

With a sigh, he stuck his phone in his front pocket before running out the door towards the station.

**

While on the subway, Peter kept glancing at his phone, seeing the time was quickly approaching 10:00. He frowned and clung closer to the metal pole, tapping his foot against the floor loudly. It was then as he glanced down did he notice one foot wearing a sneaker and the other a dress shoe.

Peter immediately looked away, hoping no one else noticed as well. But the people glancing between him and his feet told him otherwise.

He could only offer them a nervous smile in return.

After what seemed to be like hours, the subway finally arrived at his stop. But as it slowed down, it came to a rough halt and jerked Peter forward into an old man seated in front of him.

"Hey! Watch it, kid!" The man shoved him off with his cane.

"I–I'm so, so sorry, sir!" As much as Peter would have liked to stay and see if the man was okay, the doors were already beginning to close. Turning his body to the side, Peter was barely able to squeeze through the doors and hop onto the platform.

Running like he had never run before, Peter darted through the swarms of commuters, having to push through some of them.

"I'm sorry!" he cried as he continued towards the exit.

Even once he was on the sidewalk, Peter did not stop to catch his breath. He just kept sprinting like he was an Olympic runner, and maybe if someone had been timing him, he could have qualified.

When he in came within view of the campus, Peter came to an abrupt halt at the realization that he wouldn't be in the same classroom as yesterday. Heck, he might not even be in the same building.

Whipping out his phone again, he scrolled his gallery frantically for his schedule. "Warren Weaver Hall," he read. "Okay, I think I know where that's at."

Ready to take off, Peter spun around on his heel, immediately colliding into Felicia and falling over her. They both fell to the grass with a groan.

"Well, good morning to you too." Her eyes gleamed into his. Their noses were practically touching.

Seeing the awkward position he was in, he quickly recoiled back from her. "I'm sorry! I totally didn't mean to do that! Are–Are you okay?"

She laughed, taking the hand he had extended to her. "Yeah! I'm fine, Peter!"

Peter ran his hand over his face. "This is so embarrassing."

Felicia brushed the front of her black dress off. "Peter, it's fine. Really. Why were you in such a rush anyway? Late for class?" She grinned.

"Yeah, actually. Um, do you know where the Warren Weaver Hall is?"

"It's that way." She pointed with her red fingernail. "It's that building with the windows sticking out."

He looked behind him, seeing it was in the opposite direction he had been headed in. "Oh." He also saw that it was one of the furthest buildings on campus. "Well, thank you, Felicia!" He waved to her before taking off. "See you tomorrow!"

By the time Peter reached the classroom, he was out of breath and very sweaty. Glancing down at the front of his shirt, he nearly groaned upon realizing he had put his shirt on backward.

Whatever.

He flung the door open, and the entire class, including the professor, turned to look at him.

"Sorry," he whispered as he started making his way towards an empty seat, which just so happened to be in the front row. "Please, resume your lecture."

"Anyway," the professor continued. "The theories you should be able to understand after this semester include the function theory..."

Peter could feel the professor's stern eyes on him as he took his seat. Trying to be as quiet as possible, he unzipped his backpack and rummaged through it for his notebook and pen. He glanced up, seeing the professor was still looking at him.

Pulling out the notebook, Peter placed it on the tiny desk before going back for his pen. But when he tried to pull his hand back, he found that his hand would not let go of the notebook. He grimaced, trying to shake it off his fingers without bringing attention to himself. Using his other hand, he wrapped it around his wrist and tried to yank it free.

The girl seated next to him shifted her eyes to the side. Peter gave her a tight smile, still trying to shake the notebook off.

"Are you having convulsions?" she asked.

"Mmm-mmm." He shook his head, growing more frantic by the second.

With one last tug, he pried his hand off the notebook, sending it flying into the air behind him. Peter could only shut his eyes as he heard it smack someone, wanting so badly to sink into his chair.

He leaned into the girl beside him. "Hey, um, can I borrow some paper?"

**

"MJ!" Peter rushed towards her with his food in hand. "Hey, I–"

His dress shoe caught on the grass and he tumbled to the ground, spilling his drink all over himself.

"Peter?" MJ stood up from the picnic table she had been sitting at. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. Don't get up. I'm fine." He rose back to his feet, clutching his paper bag.

MJ's eyes trailed over his shirt and down to his feet. "Why do you look like a three-year-old who tried to dress himself?"

Peter let out a nervous chuckle. "It's been a rough day, to say the least."

She took a bite out of her sandwich. "Why? What's going on?"

"Well." He scratched the back of his neck. "I've been having a lot of embarrassing things happen to me."

MJ shrugged. "Oh, well that's not unusual. That's just kinda a 'you' thing."

"Yeah, I know. But this is way more than usual!" He unwrapped his own sandwich. "It's like some sort of bad luck!" Peter's eyes widened at the phrase. "That's it! I'm having bad luck because of that mirror I broke!"

MJ scoffed, taking another bite. "That's just superstitious nonsense."

"Yeah, but what else could it be? The cat burglar told me I'd have seven years of bad luck–"

"Cat burglar?" she interrupted. "What cat burglar?"

"Well, I don't know her made-up name, but I found her at the Met yesterday doing- well doing what cat burglars do," he explained. "She even gave me this!" Peter pulled his collar down, exposing the four-clawed scratch.

"She did that?!" MJ's jaw dropped. "Peter, that looks bad."

"I know," he sighed. "And it looks just as red as yesterday."

"I think you should go find her."

"I wouldn't even know where to begin." He bit into his sandwich. "I have no idea who she is even with the type of hair she has. Do you know how many girls have that same platinum blonde hair?" He gestured to the students around him.

"Huh." MJ glanced around. "I never noticed that before."

"I blame that medieval dragon show." Peter shook his head as he chewed.

"But that's not what I meant." She turned back to face him. "She's a burglar, right? So just go to someplace she'd hit and wait for her there."

Peter considered this before breaking into a bright smile. "You know, that's a great idea, MJ!"

MJ gave him a smug grin. "I know."

**

When he arrived home, Peter found that his key was not in its usual place. He dug through his pockets, only finding his phone in there. Thinking he might have placed it in his backpack, he shook it off and searched through every zipper.

"Of course," he muttered when he came out empty-handed. With a frown, Peter stormed out of the apartment complex and into the alley behind it. Counting the stories up in his head, his eyes landed on where his window was-or at least-should be.

Glancing around to make sure no one was watching, Peter began to scale the wall. The wind whipped his curls around and the sudden thought of falling crossed his mind. He would have never thought such a dark before, but after today, anything was possible.

In a matter of seconds, he made it to the thirteenth floor. But before he opened the window, he peeked into the room, ensuring it was his. The last thing he needed was to break into a stranger's room.

Careful not to fall like last night, Peter somehow managed to keep his balance and get into his room safely. After shutting the window, he decided to call Ned, wanting to hear his best friend's voice after the terrible day.

With the phone pressed against his ear, Peter waited for Ned to pick up, listening to each ring with anticipation. But after the fifth ring, he knew Ned wasn't going to answer. Biting his lip, Peter hung up the call before it went to voicemail. He knew Ned was probably busy, but that didn't stop his heart from sinking.

Heaving a tired sigh, Peter threw himself over his bed. Not two seconds later, the legs gave way and the bed collapsed from under him.

Trying his best not to scream, he stood up from his slumped mattress and started changing into his costume.