ALIAS ? Peter Parker?

01. Highway to Hell

The back door of the metal death trap swings open and a sparkly bag flies in followed by a Jackie. "Good morning."

"Mornin'."

"Morning."

Trees and buildings zoom across my vision as I press my head against the cold window. The car fills with low playing songs by lil' whatever and his need to 'get dat ass', as Alex drives down the perfectly smooth road that snakes around the house and the occasional tapping of Jackie's fingernails hitting her latest model of an iPhone breaking through. I press my head back on to the seat regretting my decision of not dropping out and becoming another lovely statistic of the Foster Care System.

"Did you hear about Kim?" Jackie's voice snaps me out of my thoughts.

"From math class?" I question, turning around to face her, causing the pain stemming from my waist to shoot up to my left ear, a result of yesterday's endeavor involving two burglars and a crowbar. Voltage, no offense, got her ass-whooped.

"Who?" Alex questions as we near the godforsaken building. Alex is not a loner per se, he's just a little anti-social. This results in him being blissfully unaware of anyone he isn't forced to talk to, luckily for Kim, she falls under this category. He has a few friends from the decathlon, well one friend, Michelle. They mostly just read next to each other while mocking the stupidity of other people, which is a pretty solid friendship for him, since he avoids most people like the plague.

"That's the one," Jackie ignores him as she continues, resulting in him mumbling something about purposely getting t-boned on the left side. "she got robbed by the guy that's been on the news, oh fuck, what's his name? It's like a plant, una flor. "

"The Rose Robber?" The name tickles my lips as it falls into the air.

The Rose Robber has been scribbled across every second page of the newspaper, but the theory is that soon they will be splashed around town as they continue to escalate. The first reported case was about three months ago, a mid-class family's house was broken into and took jewelry, and a great deal of cash was stolen, with only a red rose left as a calling card for evidence. The Rose Robber continued under their inaccurate name for the past few months, their not high profile enough for the police to be breaking their backs trying to catch them, but just high enough for people to know their name and be considered a badass.

"That's the one, they robbed Kim's whole family yesterday. Had it all over her story." Jackie continues leaning in between our seats as she reports what she hears from the school grapevine. "World's going to shit."

We pull into the imprisonment for the intelligent, or more commonly known as Midtown High, filled with geeks, dicks, and hormones. Its blue sign screams at us along with its advanced S.T.E.M. reputation. Swarms of kids with thin arms and heavy textbooks push through the doors. None of them seem quite eager, but anxiety riddles over half the school like the plague, driving every kid to their next class. Though the school was built by nerds for nerds and meant for the only unit of ranking to be your brain, the school still contains some of those lovely high school hierarchies.

"The world's been in shit," Alex says as he parks the poor piece of scrap metal on the clean parking lot, with a few dozen foreign cars, "we just get to post about it now."

"Super edgy Alex, get it off of Tumblr?" Jackie says as we unbuckle our seat belts. I jump out, pulling my bag, that has more safety pins than its original thread, with me.

"You know me so well." Alex scoffs as Jackie prances away, her debate team liked to meet early every Tuesday morning. Pulling his messenger bag over his head, and his face turning stoic as he faces the facility, even though he is amongst the smartest in school.

Shoes scraping against the pavement with reluctance, we walk to the education hellscape that is Mid-Town High. Several dozens of students enter the building, a dozen or so leer near the entrance, the light smell of smoke permeates the air reminding us once again, even though it's better than most New York high schools it's still not the blissfully sweet haven that our flyers make it out to be.

Don't get me wrong, I am thankful for being here, and am truly in debt to whatever rich person wanted to get a tax right-off by donating to the school, thus allowing some "less-fortunate" students (like me) to get in.

"Ready for another stunning day of learning." He asks with a borderline terrifying smile, his impression of the math teacher Dr. Flores.

Still sleep deprived from a petty theft and an essay, I yawned then smiled. "Aren't I always?"

***

"Fu-" Pressing my teeth into my lip, I muffle the rest of the word as I wrap the beige material around my bicep. Stinging radiates up my arm reminding me it is too tight. Hand curled into a fist, I punch the lumpy material of the twin size mattress under me. It's one of the few things in my room, aside from a desk and a nightstand. Theoretically, the lack of furniture should have made the room less of a mess. Theoretically.

Mounds of clothes and homework were scattered over every surface. An unexpected consequence of living in one place too long. Prior to this, I always kept everything packed, messily packed, but packed. Of course, Ms. Li didn't care as long as I wasn't getting pregnant. Living with her is a lot more simple than my previous homes(if that's what you could call them), she didn't bother me and I returned the favor. Which made sneaking out to shock a whole lot simpler.

Steading my breathing, I adjust the bandage, withholding any signs of discomfort to teeth grinds and lip bites. Even with the attempt to hide the feeling, the over headlamp flickers at the release of pain. At least it didn't explode like last time. Bulbs bursting and short-circuiting were becoming a little less than uncommon for me. A side-effect of my electric abilities.

With the completion of my half-way decent medical attention, I shove the duffle with my shitty costume into the slot under my bed. From a distance and most angles, it looked invisible as it attached to the bottom of the mattress rather than the floor. It hangs next to another bag, one that holds runaway bare essentials and a few token items, but if anyone asks it's an emergency pack.

Tired from the mugger today, who was a stab first, ask questions later type of guy. I press shuffle on my playlist and lay on the bed. The lyrics came out of my mouth softly, that's how Alex describes my singing. Soft. Good for a lullaby, bad for karaoke.

Though the task is relaxing, a bit of worry pinches in my head, and not from the incomplete math worksheet on my desk. Not worry perhaps, just a dreadful realization. With every bruise that went on my skin and slash down my arm, it's become more obvious. I'm not trained to be a vigilante, and one day it's going to bite me in the ass.