CHAPTER 11
MISSING THE POINT

BRIGHT AND EARLY that Saturday morning, Sloane received a text from Peter to meet him at his work so they could examine the paint can. And honestly, that was the last thing she wanted to do. Sloane wanted to veg out in bed, drink the last of her Grey Goose, maybe give Bobby a call. Anything but doing research for this article.

For a crime reporter, she was getting real tired of looking at autopsy reports over and over again, looking for a hidden clue. Not to mention, she had her suspicions that her new step-brother was involved in this – someway, somehow. The last thing she needed to dwell on was that she was living under the same roof as a criminal.

Alas, Sloane wasn't in Queens for a vacation. She had a job to do. So she hauled her ass out of bed at seven AM and took a long, hot shower to wake herself up. The whole bathroom was steaming as she stood under the showerhead, allowing the boiling hot water to wash away the oil coating her face. The steam was so hefty that she had to turn on the fan. For all she knew, she could've used all the hot water in the building. But this was an expensive complex – they never lost water. Sloane was used to that happening in her cheap building back home.

After blow-drying her hair, she tugged on a comfy pair of thermal leggings and a chunky, orange-brown turtleneck with some thick boot socks. In her ears, she plucked her favorite gold hoops into the pierced holes. She pulled her hair back into a low ponytail, applied a thick coat of mascara to her lashes, and finished it off with some tinted gel to her sparse brow hairs. When she opened the door, a fresh wave of steam wafted towards the person waiting outside: Everett.

His tired eyes viewed up at her, all clean and put together, and his lip curled in disgust. "Could you take any longer?" He scoffed.

"I could've," she quipped, heading back to her room to collect her things.

She looked back, catching the glare Everett sent her before slamming the door to the bathroom. It was the same one he gave her that morning of the first vandalism. She couldn't help but think of it all over again. BEWARE THE JAWBREAKER. Swallowing hard, Sloane slinked back into her room and pulled on a pair of slip-resistant boots and her parka. She was out the door just as her mother was waking up.

Sloane made sure to stop by the City Brew to get them two coffees before hailing a cab. It was a quick twenty-minute drive to Manhattan, and soon enough, the taxi was pulling up beside Horizon Labs. She remembered reading about his position here on his devoid Facebook profile. The building was huge – even taller than the Rosewell – and the entrance was made of thick glass with the words, HORIZON, engraved near the top. She was pretty sure she could see this building from the deck at her mother's penthouse.

Peter had said he told the security guard at the door to let her in. Once she walked through the glass doors, she found the guard lazily scrolling through his phone and not paying any attention to her. Strange, she thought to herself. She would've thought a place like this to have more in-depth security measures, but it was a Saturday. The building was completely empty. Sloane wondered what it looked like on a weekday.

Just when she leaned over to ask the guard the direction she needed to go, she heard a voice say behind her, "Sloane! Over here!"

She turned to see bright-eyed Peter Parker heading her way, wearing a fresh plaid button-up and cargo pants underneath his white lab coat. Sloane bit the inside of her cheek. She had to admit: the whole scientist getup was a good look on him.

Wait, did she really think that? Or was there still some sleep in her eyes?

She blinked a few times and glanced at him again, admiring his sheepish grin, the way he hung his glasses on the collar of his shirt, as he approached her. Nope. It wasn't the sleep in her eyes. There was something about the whole look that was ... cute. She smiled tightly.

"I thought it was Saturday," she said when he stopped a few feet from her. He lifted a brow, not understanding. She pointed to his jacket. "You look like you're dressed for a Monday morning."

"Oh," he chuckled. "This place makes me feel cool and important, so I try to look the part whenever I'm here."

Sloane nodded and handed him a coffee. "This one's for you. It's the full one. I already downed all of mine."

"You didn't have to –"

"I insist." She wiggled the cup in front of him. "Take it."

He was reluctant, but Peter took it anyway. A blush crept up to his cheeks as he replied, "Thanks. Follow me this way. My lab area is on the first floor." He gestured with his head to go down the corridor to the left.

The hall was decorated with quotes from famous scientists, all engraved into the glass walls. Every single lab was dark and empty, so Sloane couldn't see much. But from what she could make out, this place was filled with the most advanced technology, things she had never seen before. She looked around in awe. "I can't believe you work here," she said, adding a soft laugh at the end. "This place is insane, Peter."

"It's alright." He shrugged.

She shot him a narrow-eyed look, and he chuckled. "It is pretty cool. I also take pictures on the side for local newspapers. When they want me." He pulled the handle to a glass door on the right, allowing her inside first. "This is my lab."

"You take pictures?" She asked, a grin spreading on her lips when he followed behind her. "That's cool. My dad liked photography too."

Peter scratched the back of his neck, avoiding eye contact. Sloane scanned the brightly lit room, noting that every single machine had a warning on it that said, FOR PROFESSIONAL USE ONLY. They had eye scanners, garment analyzers, even machines that studied specific materials. Peter told her through text that his lab division helped the police a lot with scanning evidence, and that these machines could trace fingerprints all the way back to six months ago. Horizon Labs was crafting machines that most of the world could never dream of, things you had only seen in movies.

They approached one specific machine that was already lit up. It looked like a bread box, except it was made of white PVC and the light inside was neon green. Horizon Labs was branded on the back. Sloane inspected it before pointing at Peter. "You got the can?"

"Yeah, yeah," he grabbed his old briefcase next to the machine and pulled on a paper of rubber gloves. The case was definitely old, but the leather material gave it a pristine look. The initials, R.P., were stitched above the gold lock.

Peter reached inside and pulled out the beat-up can. "I started running a few tests last night when I –" He paused, pondering his words. Their eyes met and Sloane arched a brow. "– When I received the empty can. I went to a spot near my building that was recently vandalized and was able to scrape some dried paint."

Sloane angled her head to the side. "What for?"

"This machine right here –" He said, placing his palms on top of the surface. "– Is a Horizon original. It's been my go-to for evidence scanning since I arrived here. It's made specifically to scan objects, and when something is placed in it, the machine can tell you the material of the object, where it was made, and who has touched it. Amongst other things, of course." He smiled bashfully. "Last night, I scanned the dried spray paint I collected and it was a solid match to the remnants of paint still on the nozzle of this can. But I wanted you here for when we did the fingerprint scan, just so you could see first-hand."

"So you're saying this thing can't just tell me if the can belongs to my step-brother or not?"

"I mean, that kind of technology isn't really invented yet. Forensics hasn't gone that far. Just –" He sighed and placed the can inside the bread box-looking contraption. "You'll get the answers you're looking for."

With a sigh, Sloane grabbed a stool from a nearby table and plopped herself on top of it. Peter ignited the machine as she plucked her half-full flask from her purse and took a big swig. The Grey Goose burned just as much as the scolding hot coffee she had an hour ago. When she looked up, her eyes met Peter's, and she held out the metal flask to him. "Might as well enjoy ourselves while we wait."

Peter glanced at the coffee she bought him, and then back to the flask. He shrugged before walking over and taking the flask. He took the smallest of sips, deciphering the taste, and said, "Not as cheap."

"I treated myself to Grey Goose when I arrived." She beamed. "I'm glad it meets your standards."

He snorted and took a bigger gulp.

Sloane laid her long arms on top of her knees and pulled her sleeves over her knuckles. "I'm guessing Spider-Man visited you last night after our meeting to tell you everything."

Peter suddenly choked on the vodka spilling down his throat, but managed to swallow before it all dribbled out. Sloane's brow shot up at his reaction, and he covered his mouth with the back of his hand while mumbling, "Mm-hmm. Yup." He wiped the few droplets that made their way down his chin and handed the flask back.

She hesitated, gauging his expression, and then continued, "So ... you're basically involved in this too now. I mean, you did say you were Spider-Man's guy in the chair. Why don't us three ever just work together? He should also be here right now."

Peter looked at the machine and awkwardly surveyed the small monitor connected to it. The screen read, Scan in progress. 34% done. Refusing to meet her eyes, he replied, "I feel like you're missing the point of a secret identity."

"Maybe." She viewed down at her sleeve and played with a loose thread on her sweater. "Have you ever seen him without the mask?"

Still not looking at her. "Uh ... no?"

Sloane lifted her head and knitted her brow together. "Has he shown his face to anybody?"

"I don't know, Sloane. I don't know." He faced her then with a curious expression. "Why so many questions?"

It was her turn to look anywhere but him. Sloane glanced off and feigned a laugh. Don't let on that you may have a teensy, weensy, little crush on an anonymous vigilante in a mask, she told herself. Don't be that weirdo. Stay sane, Sloane.

She eventually shrugged. "I'm a crime reporter. I have to know everything."

He stared at her for a moment longer, still uncertain, but then chuckled softly, shaking his head.

He can't know. He couldn't have figured that out. Sloane tilted her head and asked, "What?"

"No," he sighed, "it's nothing."

"It's clearly not."

"You're gonna think I'm a loser –"

"We seriously have to stop this song and dance. Besides, if anyone's the loser, it's me getting drunk at nine AM." She dangled the flask in her hands before taking a swig. "Out with it, Parker."

"You just ..." He smiled. "I just remembered you saying something similar to me in high school. About knowing everything about everyone. It was what stuck out about you back then."

Sloane was taken aback. "I did?"

━━━━━━

It was a late Sunday morning in 2011. Peter had gone to Aunt May's favorite organic market in Middle Village to get the eggs and flour she liked. She promised to make cookies today, and he wasn't going to pass that up. If he was going to be studying the rest of the afternoon, he might as well enjoy it.

Peter adjusted the paper bag of goods under his arm and continued walking. He was only a block away from the line between Middle Village and Forest Hills, and he was already getting tired. He had built up some muscle after puberty, but somehow, even his long legs tired after a while. Maybe he should've gotten a cab home. The sun was bright this morning, but there was still some snow on the ground from a recent storm.

He watched a car pull into a parking spot across the street, right in front of a powder blue triple-decker. The wood on the porch was rotting and the paint was peeling, but the garden on the front lawn was beautiful and well-maintained. It was a complete contrast to the house itself. Peter couldn't help but watch as a middle-aged woman with creases around her eyes and cornsilk-colored hair stepped out of the Sedan with a sigh. She opened her back door and hauled a smaller body out of the backseat. The other person had long golden-brown hair pulled into a loose messed-up bun, strands falling out as she almost stumbled on the sidewalk. The older woman caught her though, and Peter wondered if he should intervene.

"Stop it!" shouted the stumbling girl. "I can get up on my own."

She had a slight lisp to her voice, as if she was fighting the urge to slur her words. Peter noticed the way she held a hand in front of her eyes and groaned the longer she stood outside. She was obviously very hungover.

"You never let me take care of you," the older woman chided. "You need to get all the toxins out of your system. That's the only way you'll feel better, Sloane."

As Peter began to cross the street, his ears picked up on the name and he finally recognized the profile of the girl's face. Sloane Bernstein looked like a wreck. Mascara dotted underneath her eyes and her Midtown High crewneck had dried vomit on the front. She was struggling to stay upright, so she grabbed the light post beside her to keep her steady.

"I don't need your help, Mom."

"Yes, you do, Sloane."

"No. I can get upstairs my –"

Her eyes were on Peter then. Sloane Bernstein was looking at him and realized he had been watching her. Peter cursed under his breath and tried hiding his face behind his paper bag. He continued to walk the opposite way from her and hoped she wouldn't remember this by Monday morning.

But he wasn't able to get away fast enough. He felt a tap on his shoulder, and he halted in place before slowly looking over his shoulder. Sloane gave him a lazy smile. For someone who could barely stand straight right now, she caught up to him quickly.

"Sorry for using you as a distraction. But I had to find a reason to get away from my mother for a few minutes." She wagged a finger in his direction when he turned to fully face her. "You're Peter Parker."

"Um ..." He awkwardly held the paper bag against his chest. "Yeah, that's me."

She adjusted the hand over her eyes and squinted from the bright sunlight. "We have a couple of classes together." Her head angled to the side, and she grinned. "Are you free to tutor me in math? You've got to be a genius. I heard Mr. Ardent say that you have the highest grade in class."

Peter blinked, not believing his own ears. There was no way he heard that correctly. "Wait, um –" He shook his head. "What?"

"We're in the same math class, right? My hangover is bad, but I do remember you sitting near the left in the back."

"Sorry, I just ..." He laughed uneasily, scratching the back of his head. "I didn't know you knew who I was."

Sloane rolled her eyes. "We met at the rooftop party a few weeks ago, remember?" She lightly hit his arm. "Unfortunately, I know who everyone is. So will you do it?"

"I don't know." He rubbed his arm, right where she touched it. "I'm kinda busy. I have to start looking into colleges and –"

"How about, if you tutor me ..." She tapped her chin. "I'll get Flash and his pack of mutts off your back. He'll never bother you again."

Peter raised a brow. "You can do that?"

"Pa-lease, Parker," she smirked, "I know everything and can make anyone do anything. Flash won't be a problem."

Peter exhaled softly, and she started giving him a pouted lip. Even with dark circles and day-old makeup smudged all around her eyes, she was still one of the prettiest girls he'd ever seen. How could he possibly say no to that?

━━━━━━

"I don't even remember you tutoring me back then," Sloane said after he finished. She scratched the top of her head, trying to search through the hazy memories of high school, but came up with nothing. Maybe she needed to go to a doctor. "You sure?"

Peter nodded. "Pretty positive." He viewed back at the machine, refusing to meet her grey irises. "It – uh – had felt good to be remembered like that. By you."

Sloane eyed him suspiciously, a teasing smirk at the corners of her lips. "And now?"

He shrugged casually, but when he finally looked at her again, he was smiling. Goofy grin and all. "I guess," he feigned a sigh, "it still feels good."

Peter was so easy to admire, she realized. He had such a boyish charm and dark eyes that made her insides feel like they were melting. But his slight stubble added a rugged look to the mix, and now her stomach was not only melting, but felt warmer than the sun too.

She opened her mouth, ready to say something she hadn't thought over first –

The machine beeped loudly.

"It's done," he said, already turning to the screen in front of him. Sloane immediately got up from her chair and followed him.

She had no idea where to look on the bright monitor, but Peter seemed to understand it all. The text was so small that she could hardly see the words. Peter unhooked his glasses from where they sat on his collar and squinted.

"Can is made out of aluminum and plastic, obviously." He touched the screen and scrolled through the information. "It was manufactured in the U.S. And ... well, of course, a lot of people have touched it. Do you want me to ready every –"

Sloane interrupted, "Just tell me if Everett is on that list."

"Well, um –" He continued scrolling to the bottom and stopped. Sloane leaned closer to him, their cheeks almost grazing, and she saw exactly what she feared.

In big, bold blue letters was the name, Everett Roy Harper.

Peter quickly tapped on the name, which brought up a computerized picture of the can that showcased every single fingerprint related to the name in question. The can was covered. Sloane's grip on the flask inside her pocket became tight, and she tried swallowing down the terror lodged in her throat.

"Sloane," Peter's breath hitched, "your step-brother's fingerprints are all over this can."

AUTHOR'S NOTE: teen sloane and peter gifs make me so 💘💘💘💘 ugh they're so cute 🥺 hope you guys enjoyed this chapter!!! I didn't expect to update this week actually because I didn't get like. ANY writing done last week, but I had this prewritten so I figure why the heck not. just warning u guys now: get ready for somethin somethin next chapter 👀 it's gonna be DELISH LMAO