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Gwen always wanted to be in a band.
Looks like she found the right one.
Maybe.
She picked at the poster with her fingernail, trying to peel it off. She had been heading to her next class when she spotted it, the colorful explosive words immediately catching her eye.
🎸 The Mary Janes need a drummer! 🥁
We’re a punk/alt rock band looking for someone who can bring the noise and keep the beat.
If you’ve got sticks, style, and attitude, hit us up.
Gwen sighed as she finally tore the poster off. She hadn’t drummed since Peter died and being Spider-Woman took a lot of her time…so was this really a good idea? She disappointed a lot of people so she wasn’t exactly thrilled to add ‘total strangers’ to that list. But her fingers itched for drumsticks. Just once. Just for fun. No… bad idea.
…Right?
The bell rang. She stuffed the poster into her textbook. No time to have an existential crisis. It was time for Chemistry.
But of course—against her better judgement—she went anyway.
Her boots crunched against pebbles as she made her way to the garage of the house. She had contacted the lead singer—MJ—and she had just texted nothing more than an address and a snarky ‘bring your own snacks’. Not a huge talker, Gwen presumed.
“Hello?” She called as she knocked on the garage door. The sun began to set slowly, casting everywhere in a soft glow. Gwen tugged on the sleeves of her hoodie—half to keep out the cold, half to hide the bruises gotten from a previous patrol. She had been Spider-Woman for a while now and she couldn’t deny it—she loved the job. Aside from the thrill and saving the city, it was a good way of channeling her grief into…something else.
“Uh, hello?!”
She jumped, startled before realizing the three teen girls with unimpressed, what-a-weirdo expressions on their faces were staring at her.
“Oh, right, sorry.” Gwen cleared her throat. “Uh…hi. My name’s Gwen—”
“Gwen Stacy—I know,” a red haired girl who must be MJ scoffed. “You’re late. The sun’s already setting.”
“I’m—I’m sorry.” Gwen looked away. “It won’t happen again.”
Lies.
“Whatever. Just come in.”
The garage door rattled shut behind her. Gwen took it in—the mess of cables snaking across the concrete floor, amps stacked like mismatched Lego bricks, posters peeling from the walls, and the faint smell of sweat and pizza lingering in the air. Cozy…in a very band practice, we-swear-we-cleaned-up-last-week kind of way.
“Since you were late, you better have come with good beats and even better ideas,” a white haired girl named Betty said as she plopped onto a beanbag. “We’ve been brainstorming like, forever .”
“Well, how about a cover?” Gwen suggested as she checked out the drum kits. “Maybe something angsty? Or something that says we’re-not-angry-but-we-sing-like-we-are ?”
A dark-skinned girl named Glory laughed. “Ha. I like her.”
MJ rolled her eyes. “Well, any ideas, Patti Smith?”
“Hmmm.” Gwen got out her phone and went through her playlist. “How about Just a Girl by No Doubt ? Deep, messy…but punk.”
Betty gasped. “Omg, I love that song! Me and MJ used to—” She was quickly shut up by a glare from MJ. “I mean…yeah, that sounds cool.”
“I’m down,” Glory said.
“Fine.” MJ adjusted her mic. “Let’s do this already.”
Gwen raised her sticks. “And a one, and a two—and a one, two, three, four!”
The garage exploded with sound. Gwen on drums, Betty on bass, Glory on guitar, MJ belting with that killer voice.
Her arms blurred as the sticks crashed against the drums. For a moment, she wasn’t Spider-Woman, or the girl who let everyone down. She was just the drummer. Just a girl.
Oh, I’m just a girl, my apologies…