Once Bit, Deep Smit

Chapter One

For the remainder of the period, despite the grief that weighed her down with a weariness that infected every her inch, Gwen was conscious only of Peter's eyes on the back of her neck. She all but physically pressed herself back towards him, imagining she felt the warmth of his breath, anticipating the moment that he would whisper to her or reach out for her, but it never came. She watched the clock tick interminably towards the jarring of the bell and had already placed her right foot into the aisle and inclined her right shoulder over which, while the other students clattered to their feet, she slowly turned her head, smiling somewhat coyly. An empty desk.

She whirled round in time to see the back of a sneaker as a boy who may have been Peter disappeared through the classroom door into the corridor beyond. Had he heard sirens? A familiar anxiety seemed to pull at the flesh around her shoulder blades. Dr Connors was behind bars, but what else might Peter have to pit himself against? For weeks now she had fretted for him when he was out of her sight and when he was in her sight she had had to feel him turn to watch her walk past, his head almost reverentially bowed, his eyes full of longing. If Peter were to let her in, she would have to learn to cope with knowing details. Her father all over again.

But if he hadn't heard sirens, she didn't much like the alternative. He'd let his guard down. He'd made a mistake that he'd instantly regretted and had bolted in an attempt to salvage his integrity, to keep this mysterious promise that he'd made to Captain Stacey as he died. As much as she ached for Peter, she also ached to hear about her father's last moments and she harboured real anger at him for insisting on holding even those moments inside his silence.

The school day wore on. As with every day since that awful day the hot tears were right behind her eyes and at lunch she took refuge behind her locker door for a minute to let them fall. She had no experience of this. Gwen had always looked down on girls who cried at school. She assumed that they only wept over trivial slights or no date for the dance. Peter had kept his hood up over his face and his head ducked low as he had wept for his Uncle Ben, and the darkness of her locker served that same purpose now.

"Wanna get out of here?" Peter stood right next to her, closer than he had been since he threw her out the window of the hallway, only just around the corner from where they now stood. Gwen pressed her hands to her face to stem the tears and wiped them away, steadily meeting his eyes. He uncertainly bit his lower lip, his brow furrowed with concern. His eyes spoke of his yearning for her in ways she could never imagine him articulating.

She looked down at his empty hands. "Where's your board?"

Peter cast a glance down at his hands as if equally surprised to find them empty. "Err, it's in my locker."

"Wanna go skating?" For the first time in weeks, Peter's face split into the broad grin she loved. She couldn't help but grin back.

He looked at her appraisingly. "You gonna skate dressed like that?"

She looked down at her knee-high boots, kilt and cardigan. "Yeah, I guess not. Come to my window in half an hour?"

Peter looked puzzled. "You got a board?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure I can find one."

Peter smiled broadly again. "Mysterious."

Gwen wiped her face again, grabbed her bag and slapped her locker closed. "See you soon."

Peter watched her walk away with a bemused smile. Before she disappeared from view, she looked over her shoulder to smile at him still standing there, just as she had after his first attempt to ask her out. So much had changed in their lives since then but he still found himself almost skipping down the hall.