The next morning, I woke up before my alarm. No grogginess. No dragging myself out of bed. Just—awake.
And wired.
My muscles thrummed with energy, like I'd downed three energy drinks on an empty stomach. I stretched, nearly tearing my bedsheet. My heart pounded too fast, too strong.
"Okay… what the hell."
In the mirror, my reflection looked sharper. Hair shinier. Skin clearer. Eyes brighter—like turquoise threaded with something metallic.
For one insane second, I thought: Spider bite.
Except I hadn't been bitten. I caught that spider. I locked it up. Still, the thought gnawed at me.
At night, every time I tossed in bed, I'd hear the faint scrape of its legs against the glass. Always moving. Always watching.
And weirdest of all—it never looked at me. When it froze, its eyes glittered past me. Toward someone else.
I stumbled into the kitchen, downed a carton of milk like water, then half a loaf of bread. My stomach growled, unsatisfied.
By the time I got to school, I was jittery. Everything felt too much. Conversations carried from the far end of the hall. Someone's perfume lingered like it had been sprayed in my face. The board up front looked so crisp it could've been a high-definition TV.
And at night? Sleep laughed in my face. Every time I shut my eyes, my body jerked awake like it was too wired to rest.
It was like my whole system was being rewritten, and I was the last one to get the memo.
Cut to me at a chalkboard labeled "Spider Puberty 101."
Symptoms:
Hunger that could empty a fridge? ✔️ Eyes glowing like you're auditioning for an anime? ✔️ Insomnia so bad you start naming your ceiling cracks? ✔️
Yep, textbook Spider transformation. Except… (leans closer) we already know it's not. But Jake doesn't. And you don't. Or at least, you didn't until I ruined the surprise. Whoops.