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Alright, let's do this one last time.
My name is Petra Parker, and two years ago I was bitten by a radioactive spider. And then, uh, a bunch of stuff happened- I made a ton of enemies as Spider-Man, and two best friends in the whole world, Ned and MJ, as Peter Parker- and then six months ago I discovered something about myself.
And ever since then, I've been the one and only… Spider-Girl.
"I think the name is stupid," MJ says.
My head whips from where my eyes had been glued to the cafeteria TV- the chyron reads Spider-Girl saves puppy from runaway train- to see MJ's face. She's sporting her classic pout/frown expression, and I feel that well of anxiety start to rise in me.
It's the same anxiety I keep having anytime someone speaks about Spider-Girl and her transition around me. Thankfully, so far, no one in my life has been openly transphobic about Spider-Girl to my face, but I keep bracing for it to happen. What if someone calls Spider-Girl a slur or something to me, and I can never come out as petra instead of peter without possibly having to cut them off?
What if that person was MJ?
"MJ, What?" Ned asks, not on the same level of anxiety, but instead just regarding MJ like he normally does- mostly confusion.
"She wasn't Spider-Boy before," MJ says. "She was Spider-Man. Now, she's a woman, and that's what she should be called! Spider-Woman. Just because she's now the 'fairer sex' doesn't mean she should have to make herself small and childlike, no matter what the patriarchy tells women to be."
I let out a deep breath of relief I hadn't realized I was holding.
MJ wasn't being transphobic. No, in fact, she was just being her normal badass feminist self, and apparently no-one was off limits for criticism, not even Spider-Girl. That was one of the things I admired about her, actually. She spoke the truth no mater who she was speaking to or about. She spoke her mind.
Here I am, an eighteen year old ball of messed up secrets, anxiety, and spider dna. I wish I could be like MJ so bad sometimes.
"I think the name is kinda cute," I say, because I really just can't shut my mouth sometimes. "Spider-Girl… y'know… cute."
I'm mumbling by the end of the sentence, because despite trying to speak my mind like MJ (and I do think the name Spider-Girl is cute) MJ started looking at me while I was disagreeing with her and I melted into a pile of please-like-me nerves.
MJ simply raises one eyebrow.
"Yeah, Spider-girl sounds cute," MJ agrees, and my heart soars, "But she crushes buildings in her spare time. Spider-Woman sounds professional, competent, and appropriately badass. It suits her better."
I couldn't think of anything to say after that. My head had a million thoughts stuffed into it, the loudest being did MJ really just say that I was badass? None of those thoughts, though, made it to the surface, as I was completely tongue tied, stunned into silence.
"I don't think it really matters," Flash shrugs his shoulders. "Spider-Girl, Spider-Woman, I don't care about her either way."
"Because she's… A woman?" I ask, stunned. "Your misogyny astounds me."
"Oh, come off the performative feminism, bro," Flash retorts. "Nobody at this table wants to hit it."
I eye the carabiner handing from his belt loop, the iced matcha he's sipping from, and the feminist literature he has clearly bookmarked, carefully manipulated as if to say look, I read. I read this. Look at me.
"Shut the fuck up, Flash," Ned and MJ say in unison.
The lunch bell rings, cutting through my laughter.
I think about MJ's compliments all day, If I'm honest. Professional, competent, badass, rings though my head over and over again in her voice, witch makes it hard for me to focus in Biology or Calculus. I can't believe she thinks that of me, of Spider-Woman. I don't feel that way, even in the suit.
I mean, in the suit, I do feel different, I guess. For one, I'm quip-er and funnier in the suit when nobody can see the cringe faces I make. More jokes land when you can only go off of the words someone says. Plus, because of how thick the mask is (and it has to be thick for the tech I McGiver-ed together in there) I have to raise my voice a lot so anyone can hear me, so when I get nervous and mumble nobody can tell.
I think the thing that makes me more confident and competent in the suit though, is just… existing without the constant buzzing feeling of being misgendered. Seriously, I had no idea that being a man made me so uncomfortable until I became a woman. It was like suddenly taking of ankle weights that you've been wearing your entire life and walking on air.
A word of advice from your friendly neighborhood Spider-Girl, (No, I like Spider-Woman better…) If you have even an inkling you might want to be a different gender than the one you are now, seriously try it out and give it a chance. You might find out that not every man wishes secretly that he could be a woman, lamenting being born the way you are. You might find that your best friend calling Spider-Girl a cutie is seriously gender affirming.
Well, not you, because you aren't a spiderling and you don't have a Ned to be weirdly wholesome about commenting you (but not really you). But you might find your own version of my story.
The point is, maybe it's time for me to come out of the closet in my personal life, because being called Peter by everyone I hold close is itchy and uncomfortable, like too-small pants after a growth spurt. I don't feel like it fits me anymore, and I love the name Petra.
And maybe, as Petra, I'll feel confident enough to speak my mind. Maybe I'll finally find it in myself to ask out MJ like Ned has been hyping me up for years to do. Maybe I'll be able to wear my hair down, feminine with just a little bit of a curl at the ends, not in a man-bun or a guy ponytail, without feeling like I'm trying to do something sneaky.
By the time I'm in the Daily Bugle building for my after-school internship check in, I've hyped myself up enough. I'm going to do it today! I'm going to come out! Time to rip the band-aid off.
"Parker!" Jameson calls from his office, at his normal decibel of making-me-go-deaf-by-twenty. I feel my heart rate spike as he does. Oh god, am I really going to do this?
I slip into J. Jonah Jameson's office, holding my camera bag in one hand and looping my ID over my head really quickly so he doesn't see me without it on. He's a stickler for these kinds of rules, as I have learned, and I'm one write-up away from loosing this internship.
"Tell me Parker, do you have any pictures of Spider-Girl?" Jameson asks, cutting right to (what he deems) the most important part of the conversation.
"I gave you a ton on Friday," I respond, "Was something wrong with that batch?"
"We've printed them!" Jameson barks. "I need new pictures of Spider-Girl and her menace vigilantism damaging this city!"
I fight the urge to roll my eyes at Jonah's over-exaggeration of my contributions to New York City's damage. Without me protecting New Yorkers, the city would be destroyed by the various c-tier super-villains that the Avengers ignore. Stepping down from being Spider-Woman would cause so much more damage than the few webs I leave around, okay?
But look. Taking photos of myself and selling them for money is my most consistent source of income. I'll take Jameson's rants for a little weekend money, and putting money back into my suit.
"Well, I haven't had a chance to mill around and see if she's out today," I respond, "But I'll head out right now and see what I can get."
The moment Jonah hears that I don't have anything for him, he disengages, looking down at the paper and putting a cigar in his mouth. I am a mean to an end, when it comes to him. The only thing he's interested in is Spidey pictures.
Maybe that makes what I'm about to say easier, because he doesn't really care about me. Worst comes to worst, I'll just quit. Rip off the band-aid.
"I, uh, think I need a new ID badge?" I say, trying to keep my braveness and boldness.
J Jonah Jameson raises an eyebrow, but he doesn't even look up from the paper he's reading.
"Why, Parker?" Jonah says, only half listening. "Break your old one?"
"No, I just don't think it's accurate anymore," I say, trying my hardest to keep all of my various emotions out of my voice. "It's just that my hair has grown out and changed… and I'm- uh- changing my name, possibly-"
"Parker."
My eyes snap up to look at him. He's looking up from the paper again, his face neutral. For a second, I can't read him, and it scares me.
"I don't give a crap if you're a man or a woman," J Jonah Jameson grumbles. "Just tell me what to call you, keep your Bugle ID up to date, and get me pictures of Spider-Girl. Okay?"
I exhale. Oh my god, hard part is over.
"It's Petra Parker," I tell him, and it's the first time I ever said it out loud in front of another person.
Jameson wrinkles his face in disgust, before simply saying, "I think I'll just keep calling you Parker."
And somehow, his disapproval of my new name makes me love it even more.
Telling MJ and Ned was both less nerve wracking (as I'd already come out, and I kinda knew what to expect) and more nerve wracking (because if either of them had a negative reaction to… me, I don't know what I'd do).
I came out to Ned first, over a Lego star wars set.
It was one we had already built before, but Ned had wanted to take it apart and make it better and more accurate. As always, I was so down because I'm just as nerdy as him. The task required my hands, and my brain, and it was just calming enough to get me to relax, enough to choke out my nervous words.
"I'm a girl," I blurted out, and Ned paused what he was doing to look over at me.
"Yeah?" He asks, "No way, seriously?"
"Yeah, yeah, uh," I stutter nervously. "I think Spider-Woman probably pushed me to realize who I am. And I'm not a dude."
It's not exactly the truth, but it's not a lie either. Yes, I realized that I wanted to be a woman superhero before I did the work to realize that I wanted to be a woman in general (don't laugh at me). But Spider-Woman isn't a separate person from me, no matter how much it feels like that, sometimes.
"Cool," Ned says. "I do have to warn you though, this means that if you come over to my house we're going to have to hang in the living room. Sorry, strict house rules, I'm not allowed to have girls in my room."
I feel as my face contorts into a genuine and uncontrollable smile. Why was I ever worried, I think chastising myself. It's Ned. Of course he's going to be chill.
Coming out to MJ was a lot more planned. Me, MJ, and Ned were sitting on a picnic blanket on the roof of my apartment under the guise of having a late lunch on Saturday. I had this whole speech and everything, and I was about half-way through rambling and messing it up before she holds up a hand and cuts me off.
"Are you trying to tell me that you're trans?" She asks, rasing and eyebrow.
"Uh," I say, heart thundering out of my chest. "…Yes?"
She smiles, trying to be reassuring, an odd sight on MJ.
"Thank you for telling me," She says, nodding. "I'm glad you can trust me and Ned with this."
I smile, tilting my head to the side a little as I get a good look at her reaction.
"…You don't seem surprised," I say, a little curious as to what's going on in her head.
She presses her lips together into a thin line, thinking for a second before she speaks.
"Okay, I'm not sure if this is rude or not," MJ prefaces, "But I kinda… called it, after that conversation we had last summer when you were drunk and spilling your guts out. I wanted to bring it up when you were sober, but then I figured that you'd get there eventually on your own, so I didn't push it."
I burry my head in my hands, groaning dramatically.
"Ohhhh, I forgot all about that!" I complain. "That's so embarrassing…" I mumble.
Ned bursts into laughter, and I try my best to hide in my baggy hoodie.
"Shut up, Ned," MJ tells him. "Sorry, Parker." She suddenly perks up. "Hey, are you going to get a new name?"
"Yeah," I smile, scratching the back of my neck and running my hands through my hair nervously. "It's Petra. Petra Parker."
"Huh," MJ says, watching the sky. "Feminine form of Peter. Means stone in Greek. It fits you."
My heart is going wild. Like, literally. I make a mental note to look back at my smartwatch to see what my top heart rate is, because surely it would be something crazy. Is she implying that I'm strong, and badass, just like she said about how Spider-Woman was competent? It fits you… She'd said.
"It's appropriately nerdy," MJ finishes her thought.
"Hey!" I protest, "You knew Petra means stone in Greek without even looking it up. It's not nerdy!"
"No," Ned says, "She's right, Petra, it's totally nerdy."
"Plus, Who said I'm not a nerd?" MJ teases. "Hey, let me know if anyone's an ass about the being a girl thing, okay? I'll kick their ass for you."
I feel flustered again as I imagine that, letting MJ protect me and stuff. I don't know why I'm thinking about that, but I am.
"Thanks," I squeak, and MJ moves on to setting up the movie we were going to watch on her laptop.
-x-
I'm currently having an identity crisis in the hygiene aisle of my local grocery store.
I know what you're thinking, okay? Spider-Woman, standing in the hygiene aisle, chewing on her nails and stressing over what razor to pick. It's absolutely ridiculous. I should be able to just… pick one. And yet, here I am, stuck, paralyzed by the choice.
God, why was this part so terrifying? I fight criminals trying to kill me literally every day. I web-sling at lethal speeds over the highest buildings in New York. I face death down with a brave face very very often, and yet the rows of dainty pink razors, all similar but different, puts me into a spiral.
MJ comes bounding up to me, breaking my chain of thought. She gently bats at the hand in my mouth.
"Stop doing that," She says, "I swear, it's your worst habit."
"Sorry," I say absentmindedly. My eyes are still scanning over the beauty products, unsure and unable to make a choice.
"I got those sour gummy worm things you like," MJ tells him. "And Ned said he has queso at the house, so I got some tortilla chips to share."
"Okay," I respond.
"So…" MJ gives me the side-eye, "Are we going to keep staring at the wall of razors or are we gonna check out?"
I blow out a breath. "Sorry," I tell her, "I know I need to get something but I don't know what to get."
She looks at the shelf for a second, before she reaches out and touches one of the packages. It's not one of the pink razors, but instead a blue one that has text in bold that says For Men on it.
"I usually get this one," MJ says.
"But," I crinkle my forehead, "It says-"
"That it's a boy razor?" She scoffs. "Yeah, I know. But girl razors are never sharp enough for my thick hair, and boy razors are way cheeper." She scoffs again, "Stupid pink tax."
I bite my lip, not responding for a second. MJ turns to me, and she must see the trepidation on my face, because she shifts so that everything she's holding is in one hand, placing her now-empty left hand on my shoulder.
"Petra," MJ says, "Shaving is not a boy thing or a girl thing. Shaving is a person thing, and we all do it. All this-" She gestures to the various blue and pink plastic, "-is stupid bullshit marketing. Just pick the razor that works best for your body, and ignore whatever the stupid package says. And we'll get you some nice girly shaving cream that smells like femineity and flowers to make the whole thing feel more like a majestic womanhood experience for you. Okay?"
God, she's so good to me.
"Okay," I repeat, smiling softly at her. I pick one of the razors off of the shelf.
"Plus," MJ adds, "Just because you're a woman doesn't mean you have to shave. I'm a woman and I barley shave. Hair is not inherently unhygienic, and anyone who tells you need to be clean shaven everywhere is a society-pilled fuck."
"I know, I know," I tell her. "I just want to feel pretty. To be pretty."
MJ shakes her head a little bit, like she always does when I've said something she thought was endearing but a little bit dumb.
"Petra, you're already pretty," She says, "You dork."
I blush, laughing a bit.
"…Thank you," I say, feeling a little bit bashful. "I think?"
MJ smiles at me. "Come on, I want to do your nails but I only have black at home. Let's go pick out some colors."
MJ takes my hand, and I actually feel like I could fly, no webs or anything. She tugs gently, and my feet follows hers instinctively. I don't know why, but I let out a little giggle and she grins. We round the corner to go to the next beauty aisle over and-
I feel it through my spider sense before I see them, but I do see them; robbers, two, possibly more of them. I tug on our entangled hands hard, and MJ's sneakers squeak as she backtracks. We both exchange glances, and she nods behind us- we're in the back of the store, and there's a small bathroom that nobody ever uses because it's kind of nasty.
But it's the perfect hiding spot for now.
I need to call someone. I have the Spider-Woman suit in my backpack, witch I'm wearing, but there's no way that I can get into the suit and mask without MJ seeing me, and there's no way she's going to let me go back out there without her.
I pull out my phone.
"Okay," I say, trying to tap down on my panic. "Don't panic, MJ, let's just call 9-1-1 and wait the robbers out-"
"Petra," MJ says.
I can't let her get hurt. I can't let her know my hero identity.
"It's going to be fine," I try to convince myself. "C'mon… no cell service…"
"Petra," MJ interrupts again, this time more urgently.
"It's going to be fine," I attempt to calm her, "We're going to be fine-"
"Petra!" MJ hisses, "Will you just put on the suit?!?"
That shocks me into silence. We look at each other in understanding for a second. Her big brown eyes don't hold any hatred or fear. Instead, she's looking at me like I hold all the answers. MJ is looking to me for answers.
She huffs, yanking my backpack off and opening the zipper. She unzips the secret pocket that I had so carefully sewed in the back of my backpack, behind my books and beat-up laptop. She pulls out the suit, shoving it into my hands.
"You knew?" I find myself asking, shocked.
MJ shoots me a look that says don't be stupid.
"Of course I know," MJ says, smirking and smug for having been so clever to have figured out my most important secret. "You're not very good at hiding things from me, Bug-Girl."
"Uh, excuse me," I say, taking the suit and starting to put it over the leggings I'm wearing. "It's Spider-Woman now, as I hear it makes me sound competent and badass."
I glance at her nervously as I grab at the hem of my hoodie. It's too bulky to go under the suit, and I have to take it off. I have a tank top on underneath, but I don't want to make her uncomfortable by undressing in front of her right now.
"You don't mind…?"
MJ turns around, giving me privacy as I strip out of the hoodie and pull the top half of my suit overtop of my blue cami, the one that has lace at the top and bottom with a little bow on the neckline. It makes me feel really fem and cute. I zip the back of my suit up, before realizing that I don't have anything to tie my hair up with.
"Um, MJ?" I ask, timidly. "Do you have a-"
She holds up a hand, already holding up a hair tie for me. It's red, and I know MJ only likes the black ones, so she must have kept one of mine on her wrists for me. I take it, tying my hair up, and she turns back around to see me.
"Wow," MJ says. "Sorry, it's just jarring to see you like this."
"Dressed up in my spider-freak get-up?" I say, a little self-deprecating.
"Confident," MJ says. "A hero."
I quickly pull my mask over my face to hide my blush and dopey expression. I can tell that she knows anyways, because her smile reachers all the way up to her eyes. I clear my throat, turning back to the door. I need to focus, I need a plan.
"Okay," I say, taking a deep breath. "I'm going to go out there and do my thing, and you're going to keep trying the NYPD so they can come cuff the criminals when I'm done. Good?"
"Yeah," MJ says, putting a hand on one of my shoulders. "And Petra?"
"Mhm?" I say, ready for any question she may have.
Instead, she surprises me by pressing a quick kiss to the outside of the mask.
"Go get 'em, Spider-Woman," MJ says, before she abruptly opens the door and shoves me into the middle of the store.
The robbers- four of them, all and all- go down quickly as I ride the high of MJ kissing me. It's like walking on a cloud, like following base instincts, taking them down and webbing them one by one, easy as breathing. Nothing could touch me, no, because right now, I am invincible.
The NYPD takes an additional eleven minutes to get to the scene after I web up the criminals, and I take those minutes to go around the store making sure that all the civilians that were accosted are okay. Everyone seems fine, more shaken up that someone had pointed a gun at them than physically hurt.
I check on MJ last.
"Are you alright, Ma'am?" I say, pretending as if I don't know her in a playful tone. "Hurt anywhere?"
"Shut up," MJ tells me at a low volume. "Spider-dork."
"Can you bring my stuff to Ned's?" I respond in a whisper. "And, uh, stall him for me while I wrap this up?"
"Yeah, I got you," She says, tucking my phone into her back pocket.
I don't know why, but that thrills me, my phone in her pockets. It feels so domestic.
"Bye, Spider-Woman," MJ announces, loud again. "Thank you for the save!"
She waves, ducking under the webs and leaving the grocery store. I watch her as she goes, and all I can manage to think is how lucky I am- to be here, to be doing this, to be anywhere with her.
The point is…
If I can wear the mask, a ball of anxiety and teenage snark, a trans spider-person, I believe that anybody can wear the mask. All you have to do is be brave enough to try- and that goes for scary real-life things, too, like coming out to your best friends or braving the beauty aisle without melting into a pile of mush.
Spider-Woman signing out!