I don't see Anthony until the subway home from school the next day. He wasn't in any of the classes I had with him, probably because his pride was flushed down the toilet along with his vomit last night.

I stand next to him, my hand holding his on the pole in front of us. I wish I had actually paid attention to Cobbwell when he was lecturing me the other day, so I would actually have some good advice for Anthony. Unlike Cobbwell, Tony prefers that we don't talk about it at all though.

Part of me wants to chew out Anthony. Because I waited for a call that never came, I missed Spider-man. The one night I'm not ready for him, he is out and about.

"Clara sucks," I offer. When Anthony looks up, it's the first time he acknowledges that I am standing next to him. "Her boyfriend sucks harder. You should just quit the robotics club. Join academic decathlon or something. Beat out Liz for it. Or Flash. Flash sucks, almost as much as Liz. She dumped Dantae, you know."

"You should join robotics club," Anthony tells me. "Claire said you were nice-"

"I'm surprised she even acknowledged that I existed," I roll my eyes.

"And Peter asked for your number," Anthony continues on, a bit of a smirk on his face. He wipes it away with the quick flick of a wrist. "I told him I'm not in the habit of giving out girl's numbers like they are my property and told him you told me as much after I gave Harry your number. He insisted that it wasn't anything like that, which I believe because I doubt that he would be interested in anyone like you."

"Because you think he is gay, or because he thinks I'm an ugly, or because I'm a bad girl?" I ask. "Dantae is convinced that he is gay. It's become another one of our bets, unfortunately."

I mention this just to piss off Anthony, a little bit. Anthony and Dantae have had their fair share of words over the years. Which I, you know, deserved, because my brother hates all the people that I like, and vice versa. The only exception is Damien, who both of us unite against. Anger is a good distraction for hurt, and Anthony needs it.

"Your brother is a dropout that will sleep with anything that moves," Anthony rolls his eyes at my response. "And you aren't ugly. Just, Peter is so straight edge that he'd make a half-decent razor. Like, I doubt that he has heard of alcohol outside of chemistry. So, you aren't his type."

Perhaps. Our conversation last night has left me even more intrigued, and I love the thrill of the chase. "Can I have Parker's number?"

"Sure," Anthony says. He gestures for me to give him my phone. Carefully straddling the pole on the subway, he programs Peter's number into my phone. He gives me the stink eye, and I simply ignore it. He can think whatever he wants, but I like to pretend that I've sworn off high school boys. Anthony is one of the only guys (read: people) that I've actually spent more than an hour with who isn't related to me. At least, in the last six months.

"Will we ever get home?" Anthony asks, as we make our transfer onto the next train. "I have so much chemistry to catch up on."

He missed one class, the class devoted to taking up a test which he aced, and suddenly his life has gone all topsy-turvey.

"Relax, you got 100%," I roll my eyes.

"Let me guess, so did you?" Anthony eyes me up. "And let me further posit that to reward yourself, you're not going to study for another test?"

"Why, you read me like a textbook." Thankfully, we get off at the first stop. I can't handle anymore of Anthony's pestering. Lately, it's been all about grades and my refusal to hear a whisper of science outside of Midtown's walls. Sooner or later, he's going to start accusing me of cheating.

Which, to be fair, I am absolutely doing.

"You don't read textbooks," he scoffs as we climb the stairs out of the subway. This is where we part ways.

"Good luck," I tell him at the top. I reach over, grabbing his hand under his black pea coat and squeezing it as hard as I can.

Anthony weakly returns the gesture.

I head home, climbing up the fire escape instead of using the stairs inside my building. The fire escape feels homier to me than the inside of my own home. I feel like I've made so many new memories on this black railing.

Also, this way I can avoid my snot-nosed brothers.

Once I'm inside my room, I pack up my coat. My ski mask and gloves go on the inside pockets, as does my pocketknife. The routine is, well, routine. After packing, I lie down on my bed and try my best to take a nap.

My phone vibrates, waking me up. There's a message from an unknown number. I open it up, trying my best not to squint at the bright light.

This is Darcy, right?

I read the message before that, sent from my phone, even though I never typed anything.

Hey Peter, I'd love to join robotics club.

You know, sometimes I forget that Anthony always gets his way. I should not have let him program in the number. How the heck am I supposed to backtrack out of this one? Sorry Peter, I actually think robotics are super lame and uninteresting. I'd rather be breaking into the offices of adulterers!

My phone buzzes again.

Did Anthony send that text?

Thank God.

I am about to fire back a message but decide against it. Now is not the time to be chatting up Peter. As grateful as I am that he woke me up from my five-hour "nap", I need to get going. It's already 9:00 PM. Thankfully, both my parents are working late so I didn't miss dinner. Then, I would really have my head in.

Since laundry day has passed, my black clothes are clean. Unfortunately, I have to wear my white running shoes because I've yet to buy any other pair. At least I can move easily in these.

I climb out the window, pulling my gloves out of my pocket and throwing them on to my hands. The mask I don't bother with yet, because it isn't ideal to wear a ski mask through the busy New York streets. Honestly, I can't really think of a better way to draw attention.

My best bet is to go back to areas where Spider-man is regularly spotted. So, I go back to where I broke into the office the other night. Sure, you're never supposed to return to the same spot twice when you are a criminal, but I'm feeling particularly reckless tonight. Granted, he hasn't been here any other night I've checked, but a lead is a lead.

As soon as I'm down the alley, the mask is on my face. Once I hoist myself up the fire escape, I struggle my way on top of the railing. My hands can barely reach the rooftop above me. I can hang from it for a second, before I begin to pull myself off the railing. With each night this only gets easier. That's probably why my volleyball serve has gotten impressive.

"Breaking in from the roof this time?" a voice calls out next to me.

I turn my head, noticing Spider-man next to me. That was way easier than I thought it would be.

"I stole a hard-drive full of videos of kids being abused from a creep whose wife hired me to break in." I tell him, looking him over. "Judgemental prick."

He cocks his head to the side. I can't get a good read on him with the mask on. My one little party trick has been stolen by him. Maybe on the move, his actions are sloppy and predictable. Now, it's like staring into a blank wall.

I try to imagine what he is thinking as he stares down at me.

"You're a vigilante?" He asks, circling me. His mask is cheaply made. The stitches are ripping apart at the crown of his head, presumably from the force with which he pulls it off. His goggles obscure his eyes, which bothers me the most. He is wearing a light leotard underneath a red vest. He's not some fancy super like Iron Man, or anything.

I pull myself up, making sure my hood still hides my hair from his view. Not all of it fits under my mask. Although he is wrong, I don't bother correcting him. I am, whether I want to be or not, basically a vigilante. At least my mask muffles the sound of my voice.

Unfortunately, his does the same.

"You caused me a great deal of pain, Spider-shit," I roll my eyes.

"Spider-shit, that's a new one," the man laughs. His voice is all distorted by the mask. I mean, his costume is barely any more professional than mine. I can't believe he is trying to claim superiority over my work. "Normally I get Spider-kid."

So, he is young. "You're what? 18?"

He pauses. I can't see behind his goggles, but I'm assuming that he is sizing me up. If he was older, he might have corrected me. Maybe he knows I'm trying to figure out who he actually is beneath the mask, and that's why he's being all secretive.

Fuck, I hate feeling like I'm blind.

"Why did you come here?" he asks. I expect anger but get none. Maybe its because he's new to the gig, or maybe its just because he is kind. If that's the case, it's doubtful that he's from New York.

I don't know what to tell him I came here to do. I feel kind of bad for lying until I force myself to remember that I've been out of work for a week, and I'll be out of work longer. Nothing is going to really convince him to stay and have a conversation with me.

"I just was curious about the other vigilante in this neck of the woods," I tell him. "I mean, it's kind of cool right?"

"Oh," he seems taken aback. In fact, he literally takes a step away from me. He scratches the back of his neck carefully. "I mean, you're right, it is kind of cool."

Totally young. No older than 23. His build is older, but I mean, that is typical of superheroes. Anywhere as young as 17, I guess. It's his voice that betrays him, not just the timbre of it but the speech patterns.

At least I have something to work with for now. If I could just get those goggles off, even if the mask stayed, I bet that I would have a chance.

"Anyway, duty calls," he gestures over his shoulder at the streets beneath us. "You know, I've got stuff to do."

"Yeah, right," I guess this means I'm going to have to come out some other night.

"Well, bye," he waves his hand, a nervous tick. Before I can say anything else, he jumps off the building, diving into the street below.

Great. I got nothing.