ALIAS ? Peter Parker?

01. Highway to Hell

"At least I don't take photos." That little shit. I open my shit-brown eyes to see the smug look on his thin lips. It was one time, and it was totally worth it. Hands down the best photo of him I ever took of him ever, his mouth was open and he looked like he was seven levels of unconscious, and that glorious photo is his contact photo. Which is leagues better the one he took of me, where I look like I'm a product of years of incest catching up all at once.

"I'm not the standard."

"Thank god, for that." I want to kick him, and his stupid face, but then I wouldn't have a ride, and last time I rode the bus, a guy kept on "accidentally" touching my ass the whole ride. "Why are you so tired, anyway?"

"School shit." I lie, curling into more of a ball. The whole "vigilante" thing I've been one for less than a month is the most exhausting thing ever. "We should burn it."

"What?" He laughs, glancing at me.

"The school, like Jackie says." I mummer recalling the infamous phase of my other friend.

"Yeah, okay, little Ms. Arson."

"Shut up." I glare at him with my half-open eyes.

He would make a solid guy in the chair, he's smart, snarky, and really lazy. Guy in the chair material. Of course, I've never seen him hack into a pentagon or something, but I wouldn't be surprised if he could. That would be cool to have your friends on a team together, fighting crime, kicking ass, the whole shebang.

I slip out of my fantasy just in time to see the big houses of New York, disgusting. Jackie Gutierrez's neighborhood is beautiful, houses with complex designs and evenly cut grass cover the sides of the curving roads. Large shiny cars fill their driveways, all at least worth eight times as much as the light blue rust on wheels Alex is sporting.

"Jesus, just show us your bank account ," Alex grumbles as we pass a house with six shiny sports cars sitting in its driveway, each shined and waxed to blind passing helicopters. I nod at his remark, glaring at the people in their sweater vests, as one does when one is bitter and poor. How dare they be financially stable.

We pull up to Gutierrez's modern white house. Two stories of shiny money. Glass windows, and complex black detailing, accent the white walls, sharp squares and rectangles make up the shape of the house. Their large yard is covered with grass that looks like it was painted there. Only four vehicles sit in their driveway, a BMW, some foreign red sports car, an eco-friendly mini-car(that if a dog sneezed on it would tip over), and, my personal favorite, a shiny black motorcycle. I know absolutely nothing about the technicalities of motorcycle brands, or whatever, but I do know that the motorcycle belongs to the very attractive Reyna Gutierrez, and that's enough for me.

"Morning losers." A voice pierces through the peaceful cloak around the neighborhood, and you could almost hear PTA moms choke on their ice coffees. The owner of the voice was none other than Jackie Gutierrez, dressed in her usual silver boots, and leather jacket, she had on fitted designer jeans, with bright purple lace shirt, just you know casual everyday wear.

"Hurry up," Alex calls out honking, he doesn't like to be in this neighborhood long, which is understandable, it's so stuffy and rich.

"Calm your tits." She dismisses, strutting down her driveway with a pride I envy. Her head is held high, and her tan skin almost glows with perfection and highlighter, and her dark eyes, decorated with black eyeliner, glinting with mischief. Jackie has a certain quality about her that makes her seem like she's about to kiss you or kill you at any given moment.

"Fucking hell," Alex grumbles impatiently, his head on the peeling steering wheel. He and Jackie have a love-hate relationship. It makes sense since they are polar opposites. Jackie is bold and bright with adventure, while Alex is cool and even with books. They butt heads a lot, but they despise the government all the same.