"… considered a tragic hero, rather than a villain. Yes, he committed a terrible act, but this doesn't necessarily mean that he was a bad person, and we see that throughout the play. Can anyone give me an example of how Shakespeare presents him as a heroic figure?"

Michelle rolled her eyes at Amber Vaxley's enthusiastic hand waving from the front of the classroom, tuning out what she was sure would be a 100% accurate, but entirely unoriginal, answer. The girl did have a brain, but she used it for memorising formulas and quotes instead of actually composing an opinion of her own. And in Michelle's opinion, no guy who murdered his wife should be considered a hero. The boy a few seats across from her, however, was a different story.

Peter's eyelids were drooping, even as he tried to remain focussed on the lesson, and she hadn't missed the way his left hand kept travelling towards his ribcage, seemingly unconsciously, before he noticed what he was doing and dropped it back into his lap. She also hadn't missed the brief grimace that had crossed his face when his fingers trailed against the right side of his body. He was clearly injured – and she wasn't surprised, given the footage which had been on the news the previous night. A fire had started at a homeless shelter – suspected arson – and New York City's resident web-slinger had quickly shown up to assist with the rescue, launching himself into and out of upper storey windows to save those who were trapped by the blaze and unable to be reached by police and fire crews below. At one point Michelle, sitting white-knuckled before her family television, had witnessed the masked man be blown straight through a window and plunge towards the ground, only just managing to stop his descent with a well-placed web an instant before he would have hit the pavement. But despite the near miss, within seconds the vigilante was soaring back into the blaze to rescue the final occupants trapped inside. That, Michelle thought, was a real hero. Somebody who risked their own life to save others, no matter who they were, and never sought any recompense or even recognition. If Mr Robertson wanted them to study heroism, he'd be better off looking right in front of him than looking to a fictional character created over 400 years ago.

Not that anybody else seemed to have connected Peter's odd behaviour with the masked vigilante known as Spiderman. Nobody really paid that much attention to Peter Parker. Except Michelle, who noticed these things because she was a very observant person (not because she was stalking him).

She scrutinised Peter from behind her fringe, adding a few swift strokes to her sketch. He made a good attempt at hiding signs of injury or distress, but the pain was there, able to be read in the slight stiffness of his neck and shoulders, and the faint brackets around his mouth. Nevertheless, he made no complaints and, from what she had seen, never requested any help. It was incredibly rare to find such a selfless person, although if Michelle had had any friends to confide in, she may have expressed concern over his apparent lack of concern for his own welfare. One of these days, the idiot was going to get himself seriously injured or worse, and then where would they be?

Adding a final few touches to the sketch, Michelle scrawled a quick 'Meet me after class' in the bottom right corner before scrunching the paper into a ball and lobbing in towards Parker's desk. Mr Robertson did not turn from where he was scribbling notes on the board about Othello's true character, his motivations, and the 'tragic flaw' of his jealousy, but Peter startled as the projectile landed on top of his notes. He looked up, casting his eyes about the room until he met her cool gaze. She couldn't quite keep back her smirk as he blinked, surprised, before grasping the ball of paper and flattening it out on his desk. He swallowed, seeming a little apprehensive, as he read the brief note, before folding the sheet of paper and tucking it away between the pages of his exercise book.

"Michelle", Mr Robertson prompted, apparently only now noticing that she hadn't taken any notes for the entire class period. "What would you say about Iago's impact in stirring Othello's jealousy?"

Michelle sighed, regarding her teacher with a look of pure boredom. "Iago deliberately manipulated Othello by telling him to beware of jealousy, aka 'the green-eyed monster which doth mock', which was basically his way of bringing any latent jealousy Othello was feeling to the surface and making him suspicious of Desdemona and Cassio. But I still think that murdering your wife just 'cos you're jealous is domestic abuse, and Othello being described as a 'hero' is a massive reflection of what's wrong with the way women are treated in our society."

Mr Robertson looked sorry that he'd asked. "Right… well, that's certainly a good point…" he said weakly, looking over the class for a new volunteer. "Abe! How else did you think Iago manipulated Othello throughout the play?"

Michelle zoned out again, not particularly interested in hearing her classmate's opinions of Othello and Iago. She snuck another glance over at Peter, who had his head down and appeared focussed on his notes. It astonished her how someone who frequently swung around the city dressed head-to-toe in red and blue spandex could appear so inconspicuous. But then again, sometimes the best place to hide was in plain sight.

The harsh peal of the bell, signalling the end of the period, disrupted her thoughts. She stuffed her notebook and pencils into her bag and stood, emerging into the suddenly bustling hallway. Peter was a little slower to exit, but made his way over to her as soon as there was a break in the hordes of students passing by.

"Hey Michelle", he said, offering up a small smile. "How's everything going?"

She tilted her head to one side, regarding him quizzically for a moment before grabbing his arm and pulling him against the throng of students, towards the double doors at the end of the hall.

"Wait, what? Michelle!" Peter complained as he allowed her to pull him along after her (and she had no doubt that he was letting her do this – if the guy could stop a bus with his bare hands, he could easily get away from her).

"Outside, Parker", she said curtly, not looking back.

"We have class", he pointed out. She snorted, not slowing or stopping.

"You have a free period next and I have Ancient History. I don't think anything about that's going to change if I'm a few minutes late."

Peter grumbled something in a low voice but didn't make any further remarks. She steered him outside and quickly checked that there was nobody around before releasing him.

"Seriously, Michelle, what was so important you had to drag me out here?" Peter asked, a small crease appearing between his eyebrows. Michelle sighed.

"This thing will go a lot smoother if we clear something up first", she told him. "I know you're Spiderman."

And while Peter was still spluttering in shock, trying to make some excuse about how ridiculous that idea is, she continued; "I saw the footage from that fire last night. Looked like you got roughed up a bit. Are you okay?"

He gaped at her, temporarily lost for words.

"I, uh… I'm fine", he said, seeming not to notice as his left hand ghosts towards his ribcage once more. "Not that I was… I mean, I'm not… I'm really not Spiderman!" he insisted, and it's kind of endearing, really, how earnest he is trying to appear and how simple it is to see right through him.

"Sure you're not", Michelle agreed sarcastically. "My bad." He opened his mouth, looking as though he wanted to continue arguing, then closed it again, looking utterly exhausted.

"Relax, Parker", she said. "I just wanted to check that you're alright."

Peter looked stunned. "Y-you mean you're not – you're not going to tell anyone?" he asked, hopeful. She shrugged.

"Don't see why it's anyone's business, unless you decide to tell them", she replied casually.

Peter visibly sagged in relief, than winced as the movement put pressure on his injured ribs.

"You're hurt", she said, automatically moving towards him. He waved away her concerns, flashing a smile.

"It's nothing", he insisted. "A couple of cracked ribs, that's all. I've had worse."

Michelle usually prided herself on not showing a lot of emotion, but she couldn't help but grimace at the nonchalant manner with which Peter dismissed his injuries. This was somebody her age, a classmate, a friend, and he shouldn't have to deal with people trying to hurt or kill him on a regular basis. But Peter was smiling like it was no big deal, like he didn't risk his life every week to protect others, like it wasn't something worth worrying about.

"Michelle." She looked up to see he had moved closer to her, and was regarding her with a warm, genuine smile. "It's fine. I heal fast." His eyes twinkled as though he were laughing at some private joke. "But thank you. For, well… you know. I really do appreciate it."

She bit her lip, but managed to return his smile.

"Okay", she agreed quietly. "But if you're ever in any trouble – if there's something I can do to help…" He nodded, understanding her unspoken request. Taking on the role of Spiderman was a difficult and dangerous task, and there would certainly be times when he would struggle. But for now, it was enough to know that he wasn't alone.

…

Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed it