CHAPTER 9
MEMORIES

DESPITE HER ARGUMENT with Sabrina last night, Sloane woke up in a better mood than the day before. Her mother's words had not been a comfort at all – what a shocker – but Sloane wouldn't let Sabrina's harshness kill her optimism. She, Sloane Bernstein, had managed to somehow track down New York's favorite masked vigilante – or at least, at one point he was their favorite. Nevertheless, she had gotten Spider-Man to agree to help her, and that called for celebration.

Sitting on her bed cross-legged, Sloane closed the ancient phone book in front of her and typed the phone number into a new text message. She hoped this worked and it wasn't some old man on the other end trying to get her to send feet pictures. It had already happened once before.

SLOANE BERNSTEIN: Hey, it's Sloane! I hope me finding your phone number doesn't come off as creepy. Although, now that I've said that, I feel like it comes off as creepy 😶

She placed her phone on the bed, biting the end of her fingernail. The sun was starting to set on a day spent researching, and the bright glare was beginning to hurt her eyes. Just as she was about to pull down the shade, her phone vibrated. She immediately picked up her phone and opened the notification.

PETER PARKER: Hey, Sloane. Surprisingly, this is the first time I've gotten a text from a random number that I haven't found to be creepy. Can I ask how you found my number???

SLOANE BERNSTEIN: There's this thing called a phone book

PETER PARKER: THOSE STILL EXIST??

SLOANE BERNSTEIN: When you're living with old people at the moment, you can find just about anything. Even something as ancient as a phone book

PETER PARKER: How do I know this isn't actually an old man texting me?

Damn, she thought, great minds think alike. Sloane opened her camera then and snapped a photo of herself doing a thumbs-up before sending it to him. He replied a second later.

PETER PARKER: Thank you for indulging me. You can never be too sure these days

SLOANE BERNSTEIN: No problem. But I actually didn't go through the trouble of finding your number to talk about phone books. I wanted to let you know my meeting with Spider-Man went great! He's going to help me!!!!!

For some reason, it took a solid five minutes for Peter to respond to that. He was probably just busy. Eventually, her phone vibrated again.

PETER PARKER: That's awesome!

SLOANE BERNSTEIN: I really want to thank you in person! You down to meet for a drink tonight? It's on me!

PETER PARKER: I can't say no to a free beer. Meet me at Joe's on 48th Ave at 8 🍻

SLOANE BERNSTEIN: See you then, partner

And she had planned on meeting him then, but somehow, Little Miss Always-On-Time ran late. After she put her phone down, she laid down for a quick cat nap, which turned into an hour and a half nap, and she woke up at seven-thirty feeling more groggy than ever. Sloane practically jumped from the bed and pulled her pillow-flattened hair into a high ponytail before slipping on her boots. She plucked her phone from its charger, dropped it in her bag, and sprinted out the door. Her mother was just placing a casserole on the table as she passed. "I guess you're not staying for dinner?" Sabrina called, her voice distant as Sloane punched the button on the elevator.

"Meeting up with an old friend! Bye!" Sloane exclaimed, jumping into the elevator and hoping it would move faster.

Like most nights in the city, it took almost fifteen minutes to hail a cab, and then there was traffic, which turned a five-minute ride into a twenty-minute ride. Sloane finally arrived at Joe's around eight-twenty. Peter was already sitting at the near-empty bar, being handed a Bud Light by the bartender. Sloane's wet boots squeaked against the floor as she approached, ripping off her coat and saying, "I'm so sorry for being late. I don't know what happened –"

"Relax," Peter chuckled, taking a gulp of his beer. "I just got here."

Sloane narrowed her eyes while hanging her coat on her chair. "Are you lying?" She asked, hopping up on the seat.

"If I was lying, you'd know."

"Trust me," she said, placing her bag in her lap, "I wouldn't. I can read people well, but I'm also a little oblivious at times."

He ignored her comment, swallowing hard, before flagging over the bartender. "Another Bud Light for the lady?"

"Trying to get me away from Smirnoff? Bud Light is a cheap beer, you know."

The bartender placed a bottle in front of her as Peter said, "There's a big difference in cheap beer versus cheap liquor."

"Yeah, there is. Cheap liquor tastes better."

Peter snorted, and it brought a small smile to Sloane's lips as she took a sip. "So," she began, mouth lingering against the edge of the bottle, "thank you for all the help. I know this is a little weird since we still don't know each other that well, but I appreciate everything you've done. I wouldn't have done what you did for a stranger."

"Don't worry about it." He waved off her statement with his hand. "Consider us friends then."

"Friends," she grinned, and then rested the bottle in her hands on the bartop. "Maybe we should've asked Spider-Man to come out with us too."

"He ..." Peter paused. "He would not do anything like that."

Sloane shrugged, brushing it off. "Makes sense. I got the feeling that the guy has anxiety issues. He denies it though." She sighed and met his eyes. "Anyways –" She raised her bottle in the air. "– To friendship."

Peter smiled awkwardly and clinked his bottle against hers. "To friendship."

They both took a big swallow, and Sloane fought the urge to gag at the dry taste. She never quite understood how she could down something as revolting as vodka, but cheap beer was where she drew the line. In her defense, liquor didn't make her feel bloated like beer did. She was going to feel her stomach churn tonight.

Peter stretched out his arms, looking at his half-empty Bud Light, and then chuckled to himself. Sloane leaned forward and rested the side of her face against her fist. "What's funny?"

"It's stupid."

"Oh, c'mon, Peter." She hit his arm, not expecting the hard bicep underneath his green sweatshirt. "We're not in high school anymore."

"Coincidentally, it has to do with just that." His eyes finally flicked to hers. For a moment, she was paralyzed by his brown gaze. "I was just thinking about the first time I talked to you."

Her brow furrowed. "We talked in high school?"

He nodded. "Quite a few times."

She looked away for a moment. Where the fuck did all her memories go? Could alcohol poisoning really cut that deep? Surely, those forgotten memories should've resurfaced by now. Unless drugs were involved in the past, which didn't make any sense. Sloane never wanted to do drugs, besides a joint or two every now and then, even her drunkest state. She was firm on that.

So why couldn't she remember most of high school?

"Sorry," she finally said, turning back to him, "I wish I could say I remember, but I ..." She huffed, and their eyes connected. "When did we talk for the first time?"

Peter went silent, reviewing the memories, and then laughed. "Well, it was at one of your friend's rooftop parties ..."

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Julia's parties on the Magna rooftop were where you wanted to be seen in high school. Her parents owned the Magna restaurant, so she could have parties on the roof whenever she wanted. She would usually send out a text the morning of, requesting people to bring alcohol, folding chairs, whatever else they pleased, and by nine PM, the rooftop would be swarmed with students, even some from other schools.

It was almost ten o'clock on a Friday night. The roof was bustling with teenagers, and Julia was in the middle of all of them, dancing with every boy in sight to make Flash jealous. They liked to tempt each other from time to time. Sloane, on the other hand, was sitting comfortably on the old, torn-up sofa in the corner of the party. Before Julia started having her parties, she and Sloane had found this couch near a dumpster. They convinced Flash to haul it up to the roof of the Magna, thinking that it would make the perfect hang-out spot. And they were right. Despite the ratty look of the couch, and also the love seat they'd found by the same dumpster two weeks after, this was the perfect seat for Julia's parties. It was comfortable and gave Sloane the perfect view to people watch. Sometimes it would attract horny teenagers that would start making out next to her, but if she ignored them, it was all good.

Sloane kicked her feet up on the dusty coffee table in front of her – another dumpster find – and tilted the bottle of Jose Cuervo to her mouth. The party had only started an hour ago, and she was already tipsy. She felt the burn slide down her throat like liquid fire, but she didn't show her pain. She had gotten good with not gagging on the hard liquor. Unlike most people, she could down this shit without a lime or lemon.

Teenagers were still walking through the door, but Sloane noticed one person in particular stand by the rooftop door. It was that skinny boy that Flash liked to tease, the boy who got all the swirlies. He was constantly being shoved out of the way by other teenagers trying to get through the door, so he moved to the side, scanning the roof with crooked glasses. Sloane's brow knitted together when she saw that he was wearing a suit. His dark brown hair looked like it hadn't been brushed. His dress shirt was disheveled and his tie was undone, but she wouldn't judge. It was cold on this rooftop and Julia insisted they both wear shorts. Sloane was freezing, even with the tights under her shorts, but she wasn't going to start complaining.

She looked away and found Julia walking away from a boy who still wanted to dance with her. She inspected her speaker and adjusted the wire before turning on a different song. It was one of Kesha's hits and the crowd of high school students went wild. Sloane was caught in a daze of people watching, her vision going hazy from the tequila, until she heard Flash yelling in front of her. She blinked quickly and realized Flash and his goons were standing by the love seat as Suit Boy backed himself into the corner of the sofa, stumbling into the cushions.

"What do you think you're doing here, Parker?" Flash's knuckles cracked. "I should pound you for this –"

Suit Boy put out a hand. "Flash, please, I –"

"Hey, F-Flash," Sloane slurred, sitting up on the edge of the cushion. She placed an arm out as a shield for the boy beside her. "Can you just, like, l-leave the guy alone f-for one day? He's f-f-fine."

Flash stared down at her incredulously, and after a moment, shook his head. "You're a fucking drunk, Sloane," he seethed, snatching the tequila right out of her hands. "I'm taking this." He gestured for his friends to follow and took a large gulp of her alcohol while walking away.

Sloane held back a mountain of expletives on her tongue. She wanted to call him a cuck, she wanted to tell him to have fun watching his girlfriend flirt with other boys, she wanted to tell him of the time Julia cheated on him with that Harry Osborn guy, just to spite Sloane, who she knew liked him. Sloane wanted to shout a variety of things at that imbecile, but she kept her mouth shut and sat back with a groan. "Fucker," she whispered under her breath.

"Hey, um –" Suit Boy leaned into the ratty cushions. "Thanks for saying that."

"Flash-sh is an asshole," Sloane replied, and then burped. Reaching into her back pocket, she pulled out a nip of strawberry-flavored Smirnoff and took the tiniest of sips, wanting to savor it. "Who are you, anyway?"

He played with the ends of his sleeves. "Peter Parker. We have physics and math together."

"I'm f-failing both of those, I think. Maybe not physics. I like physics." She tipped her head back on the pillow and smiled drunkenly. "I'm S-Sloane Bernstein."

"I know," he smiled. In the dim shine of the Christmas lights decorating the roof, Sloane could see a hint of red on his cheeks.

She leaned towards him and whispered, "What are you doing here in a s-s-suit, Peter Parker?"

He looked down, and Sloane noticed, even with her blurry vision, that his hands were shaking. She reached over without hesitation and grabbed his left hand, smoothing his scraped knuckles with her thumb. She smiled at him reassuringly.

"I was – um ..." His mouth wobbled, but he was able to hold back his tears. "I was just at my uncle's funeral. He died last week."

"I'm sorry," she breathed, refusing to let go of his hand. He didn't want her to. "W-Were you guys close?"

Peter feigned a laugh and wiped the corner of his eye. "He was basically a father to me."

Sloane looked down at their conjoined hands, and then blinked, trying to adjust her eyes. She swallowed, trying to retain the steadiness of her voice. "L-Losing a guardian," she whispered, not meeting Peter's eyes, "is one of the hardest t-things a child can ... ever go through."

She looked up at him and noticed the tears pricking at both of his brown eyes. "My dad died last year. I get it. I don't t-t-think I'm ever gonna be over it, but I have to pretend to so I don't upset my mom or my f-friends. Don't let anyone tell you how long you gotta grieve. Pain ... is temporary, but it leaves a scar."

"Thank you," he said when she squeezed his hand. "I'm sorry about your dad."

Sloane didn't know what to say to that. She never knew how to respond to someone's apology for her dad's demise. It made her feel clammy and awkward. Instead, she noticed a couple put down their Bud Lights on the coffee table as they went to go dance, and Sloane picked up the freshly-opened cans. She handed one to Peter and asked, "You ever drank alcohol, Peter?"

"No," he replied, sniffing the can, "is it good?"

"Better than g-good." She knocked her can into his. "Let me teach you how to drink away the pain."

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"Wow," Sloane said, blinking rapidly, "I don't even remember that."

Peter chuckled and leaned back in his bar stool. "I hardly remember anything either. That was my first hangover ever, and I couldn't believe that you –" He tilted his bottle in her direction. "– Took the time to talk to me at that party. It was mind-blowing."

"I was a cheerleader in high school, Peter." She finished the last of her beer. "Not the Queen of England."

"You were somebody," Peter said, looking away, "and I was nobody."

"That's not true. You ..." Her voice trailed off, realizing she couldn't recall that many memories of Peter in high school, besides the times Flash stuck his head in a toilet. She bit down on her bottom lip and amended, "I mean, look at you now. You're smart. You're Spider-Man's best friend. His guy in the chair, if I'm remembering correctly. You're probably way more successful than most of the people we grew up with. That's got to count for something."

He laughed softly. "Yeah, I guess."

Sloane looked down at her phone, realizing how long she spent here. The last thing she wanted was to find her mother still up and have one of their late-night arguments again. Hopefully, it was late enough that she was already fast asleep. Not to mention, she still had a murderer running around these parts. Sloane hopped off the barstool and said, "It's late. I should go."

"Oh, let me –" Peter pulled out his wallet.

But Sloane was faster than him. She yanked a twenty-dollar bill from the bottom of her purse, slapped it on the countertop, and added, "Like I said, it's on me."

Peter bowed his head in thanks before taking a folded piece of paper from his pocket. His brow furrowed, but then he realized what it was for. Sloane was halfway to the door of the grimy bar when Peter called out, "Sloane!"

She stopped in place, turning to him as he caught up to her. He stuck his hand out with the scrap of paper. "At least, let me help you out with this."

Sloane arched a brow and took the paper between two fingers. "I already have your number, Peter. The almighty phone book, remember?"

"Oh, that isn't my number," he corrected. "It's Spider-Man's."

She quickly opened the paper and found a number she didn't recognize scratched on with black Sharpie. It didn't have the usual area code for Queens. "Oh, shit."

"He – um – wanted me to give to you," Peter said, rubbing the back of his neck. "You know, for when you need to contact him about meeting up and stuff."

"Right, yeah," she replied, stuffing the paper into her purse, "meeting up. That thing." Despite how out of shape he probably was, Sloane definitely didn't think about how the guy's whole getup was somewhat attractive during their first meeting. She needed to stay focused if their partnership was going to work.

Well, it was more like, he was going to find the answers for her and she was just along for the ride. Something like that.

"Thanks, Peter," she finally said, giving him a little wave as the bell over the door rang above her head. "See you around."

Peter gave her a soft grin, and only once he saw her get into a cab did he finally leave the bar.

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Thankfully, Sloane didn't have to worry about having another nightly argument with her mother when she returned home. Sabrina was already fast asleep with Frank, and two whiskey sour glasses were waiting in the sink to be washed. Sloane retired to her room for the night and fought the urge to look in the crack of Everett's room, curious to see if he was home. She refrained though, as difficult as it was. She wanted to stop thinking about her step-brother in a negative light, no matter how strange he was.

After kicking off her jeans and crewneck, Sloane slid on a big t-shirt and cuddled beneath the covers of her bed. But she couldn't fall asleep, of course. Even though her body begged for it. Sloane opened her eyes and stared at the crumpled-up piece of scrap paper on her nightstand. She already had the number memorized, as if it was tattooed on her brain. Should I text him? She asked herself, biting her cuticle.

No, she told herself sternly. You have nothing to talk to him about. That number is for professional use only. Christ.

To alleviate her curiosity, Sloane picked up her phone and began to scroll through old videos and pictures of Spider-Man that were posted on Instagram. She hadn't looked on this app in quite some time, and the change in layout threw her for a loop. But she kept scrolling and scrolling, and soon enough she was watching videos from 2013 that were taken on an iPhone 5, judging from the shit quality. This guy had really been around for that long. And back then, he was so much more lively and willing to help every civilian around him. It was a complete contrast to the sulking guy she met on the roof, riddled with anxiety from head to toe. Sloane could empathize with him, though. That was simply what it was like becoming an adult.

Somehow, after an hour and a half of scrolling, she'd reached the end of the search. Sloane's eyes began to get droopy, but she still continued to look down the Instagram Explore page until her finger felt like it was going numb. She was just about to close the app and shut off her phone when she saw a small picture of a familiar face.

Everett.

Sloane sat up and clicked on the picture, which opened up to a larger image of Everett at the skatepark, posing with his board. One of his friends stood behind him, throwing up a peace sign and ruining his shot. Everett's face was withdrawn, yet entirely purposeful. She was surprised Frank had never made him a child model. It seemed like the kind of thing Frank would do.

Again, her curiosity got the better of her. Sloane clicked on Everett's profile and began to slowly look through his feed. She bit the edge of her fingernail out of nerves. But what the hell was she so anxious about? What did she expect to find? There was nothing. He was just a teenage rich kid who liked posting pictures of him and his friends, and cool skateboarding tricks –

Sloane halted her scrolling immediately upon seeing one photo in particular. It was a shot of Everett in a dark alley, holding his skateboard in one hand and had his other arm around a brunette girl on his left. On his right, another girl stood with bright red hair, beaming at the camera. Whoever took it had the flash turned on, causing all their eyes to turn red. Sloane zoomed in on the picture with her fingers, and then softly gasped.

Those girls were Isabella Woods and Hayden York. The Jawbreaker's victims.

That had to be a coincidence, right? The girls were his age; he had to have seen them once or twice with friends. But as Sloane continued to scroll farther down, she saw more pictures of Hayden, and then of Isabella, and tons of them together with Everett's friends.

"Did you know the two girls?" She had asked him a week ago. "The ones that died? They were around your age."

Everett had glanced at her and so gracefully replied, "No."

There was no way that was the truth. Isabella and Hayden had fully been a part of his friend group, judging by these pictures. Everett had lied, and for what reason? Why hadn't her mother said this before? Why did it seem like everyone was part of this big secret that she couldn't be clued in on?

If there was one thing Sloane now knew for sure, it was that her step-brother couldn't be as innocent as Sabrina claimed he was. He was in on something, and she was going to find out exactly what it was.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: oooooooo everett is a big fat liar 🤥 also I love writing the flashback scenes!!! showing peter and sloane in high school being soft is sooooo 🥺🥺 the gif above is who I've casted as their younger selves! aka maude apatow and corey fogelmanis. I know I could've just used andrew again for young!peter but I wanted to be ✨different✨

anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed!