What is it like to study at Midtown High School?

Although midsummer is slipping away quietly, the last few cicadas are still so noisy. Of course, the cicadas still can't cover up the sound of ice cream trucks selling along the street...

There is only this sentence written on the composition I spread out.

After rushing back from the ruins that night, I don’t know if it was because I caught a cold at night, or because I didn’t sleep peacefully and kicked the quilt at night. Anyway, I caught a cold gorgeously, and I have always had a constitution that is not easy to catch colds, so when I fell ill, I would have a cold. Tendency to be bedridden.

Seeing me lying in bed in a daze, my mother quickly took my temperature: 104 degrees, which is considered a high fever.

Peter asked me for leave immediately, and I curled up in the quilt and listened to the greeting from teacher Karina through the mobile phone.

Although I don't like class very much, I still prefer sitting in the classroom and wandering instead of feeling weak and dizzy.

Mom and Peter both asked for leave that day, and at noon I was put on an intravenous drip by the doctor who was called.

Doctor: "Does your throat hurt?"

I hoarsely said: "A little bit."

"Ah-hmm, the tonsils are inflamed, I'm taking some anti-inflammatory medicine, and I'm infusing fluid for two days to see if it can reduce the fever."

Peter was listening, and quickly asked, "Doctor, is there anything he can't eat?"

"You can't eat anything that gets angry. Potato chips, chicken wings... Anyway, the lighter the better."

I just watched desperately as Peter moved all my snacks out to Sam and the others. Not only did my mother not stop me, but she also said something terrible: "Ellen, don't look at it, you are forbidden to eat snacks these days — including pudding."

I ate sick meals for two days with regret, but my cold showed no signs of getting better. When I woke up on the third morning, my throat was so sore that I could hardly speak.

The doctor who gave me the infusion asked me to open my mouth wide to check my throat, and my face was rather ugly: "The tonsils are suppurated, so I can only eat liquid food."

I coughed hard, gasped and bent over in pain, and finally only spit out a little thick phlegm.

Peter frowned: "Can't it be cut?"

The doctor shook his head: "No, his festering is very serious now. If you want to cut the festering part, you must scrape off the festering part. I'm afraid the patient won't be able to bear it."

As a result, I was prescribed levofloxacin and continued to receive infusions, which lasted for a week.

When I was sick, the Aegis aircraft carrier was repaired, and Sam and the others moved out. It seemed that they had to hold a farewell party, but I was sick in bed, and Peter was busy every day, so they took it quietly. My snacks are gone.

When they came to say good-bye I was completely speechless and could only grin feebly.

Being completely unable to speak, I looked at my throat with a mirror: the throat was red and swollen, and the esophagus was completely blocked by suppurative parts.This not only caused excruciating pain and coughing, but also made my eating problem-I couldn't even swallow liquid food, and I hadn't eaten for nearly a week.

Worryingly, Peter boiled milk and oatmeal to feed me. I managed to eat half a bowl, only to have a nausea and vomit it all out.Cranky Peter brought in another doctor—a quack who I now fully suspect—and he prescribed two more drugs, and started putting me on glucose.

I just lay in bed like this every day, waiting for Peter to feed me soup, with two or three bottles of potions hanging by the bedside, feeling weak and blank, feeling like a cancer patient.

What makes me most wronged is that when I seriously doubt that I will never eat good food again, other people can still eat pan-fried bacon and black pepper steak calmly.

Peter took the brunt of my resentment: "I want an egg tart."

Peter was ready to fight: "No, you are just getting better."

"I want to eat."

"Open your mouth!"

I opened my mouth subconsciously, Peter pinched my chin and looked at it, with a sad face: "The swelling hasn't gone away...you can't eat egg tarts, hot dogs or any other food."

I looked at Peter resentfully. After a long time, he finally calmed down and said, "I'll make you potato soup."

Potato bisque didn't save me from missing the veal steak, but Peter was uncharacteristically principled, confiscating the snacks I stashed in every corner, and bribed a few neighbor kids to keep any "banned food" out Around me - even the kitchen is cleaned every day!

I don't have the physical strength to get angry with Peter, and I know intellectually that this is the only way to get better as soon as possible.

Peter is a well-behaved nephew, he took over most of the responsibilities of taking care of me over my mother, and even laid the floor in my bedroom every day in case I needed it. You know, with a blocked throat, I can't help snoring every day when I fall asleep!

When they were able to speak a little more normally, Meera and Nick finally got Peter's permission to visit me.

I stared at the two people who came in empty-handed, until Nick spread his hands and shrugged: "Your brother took everything we brought and searched."

I lay back indifferently.

Nick smiled and sat down next to my bed: "Ellie, you have to be in a good mood, you must know that the period after childbirth is the most critical..."

I pinched Nick's small throat with all my strength. The thin chemical genius couldn't even beat me to a sick case, so I reached out and touched a napkin and shook it to express "raise the white flag" to surrender.

I let go of Nick and grumbled hoarsely, "I haven't eaten for a week."

Nick looked at my stomach: "Then your intestines are pretty clean now."

I snorted coldly: "Hehe, even my pee smells like medicine these days."

After we had a few rants about pooping with Nick, I finally noticed Meera standing aside silently.

Today she actually put on a goth girlish dress again, her curly hair was slightly tied up with a headband, revealing a clean and well-behaved little face, just like a beautiful doll.

I coughed: "hit-girl, why did you change your style again?"

Mela seemed to freeze for a moment, I patted the head of the bed to signal her to sit down, and Mela moved over slowly, still silent.

I patted her curly hair: "Hey, I'm a sick person, I can't talk too much." So should you speak first or should I take my time?

Meera's head lowered lower and lower, and finally she lay directly on the quilt beside me.

I was startled: "Hey, Nick, get her up, don't let Peter see it." Peter always seemed to think that I had dirty thoughts about Meera-even though I said [-] times that Meera didn't. It's to my taste.

Meera mumbled under the quilt, "I'm sorry."

uh-huh?I looked at the ostrich-shaped Mela, then at Nick who seemed to have nothing to do with me, and I reached out my hand to pull Mela up helplessly.

Good guy, I was so scared, Meera was still in tears: "Alan, if I hadn't insisted on pulling you out, you wouldn't be so sick."

Uh, actually, I never thought about this illness on Meera...I didn't expect the little girl to be quite sensitive.

Meera lowered her head and began to grab my bed sheet again: "Dad...he scolded me, and on the night Peter sent me back, he said that I was as childish as a duck who has never seen the world..."

Who did the duck provoke?I was embarrassed by Doctor Strange's rhetoric.

"In short," Meera took a deep breath, "I'm sorry Alan, I'm too willful."

What can I say?I can only rub Mela's head: "I accept your apology, anyway - chuuniji is to teenagers what ice cream is to summer." In other words, I really want to eat ice cream, it can't be better The season for eating ice cream is coming to an end.

Meera couldn't help laughing, her complexion finally got better, and then it darkened again: "Anyway, I can't even master my own abilities, let alone meddling with superheroes."

I froze for a moment, and then remembered that she probably cared about the fact that she didn't accurately judge the position of the jumper that night-in fact, she was not a mistake, but no one would think that there was a half-dead Deadpool there.

I lowered my eyelids, not going to tell them about Deadpool.

For a while, no one spoke in the room, only the intermittent chirping of cicadas and the sound of ice cream being sold across the street.

I couldn't help poking Meera: "Hey, do you want to give you a chance to make it up to me?"

"What?" Meera asked blankly.

"Did you hear that? Go and smuggle me an ice cream, I want vanilla..."

"Alan Parker!" Before I could finish my sentence, Peter appeared at the door with a face as upright as a drug-sniffer dog.

We formed a three-faced innocent formation in an instant, Peter shook his head helplessly at us, and then said, "Ellen, Gwen and Mary Jane are here to see you."

I looked at Peter and raised my eyebrows—it's fine if Mary Jane came to see me, what happened to Gwen?

But Peter didn't respond to me, he just stepped aside and let the two girls in.

The red-haired Yujie was still so rational and wise. She first laughed at my "weakness and sickness", then kindly asked the names of Meera and Nick, and then began to recall my childhood to them.

"Oh my God, you guys definitely don't know how nasty this kid was when he was a child—he pretended to be Peter and wrote a love letter to me when he was less than ten years old. The problem is that I can't recognize the words written by his feet! As a result, Peter Afraid that I would beat him up, I admitted it in front of Aunt Mei and my mother, but everyone laughed at me and Peter as a couple!"

Mary Jane spoke with high spirits, Meera and Nick were dumbfounded, and I lay in bed feeling ashamed.

Gwen, who was listening silently and couldn't get in the way, smiled slightly, and suddenly whispered to Peter: "It sounds like you are a good brother."

Peter blushed and hesitated.

I just saw this scene while lying on the bed, and suddenly understood why Gwen, a senior who had no connection with me at all, appeared here—Nimma, this is basing Peter’s luck on my illness!

【Small Theater: Peter's Lucky Love】

When Peter and Alan were children, there were several families of girls living near their home.

Allen was particularly fond of these girls, and he often sought opportunities to be close to them in order to express his affection.

For example, in a supermarket.

Mei: "Hey, this is your Lily, the little girl is so cute!"

Lily's mother: "Where there is, there is."

Allen rushed forward, hugged, and kissed her face.

Lily: "...Wow, hooligan!"

Lily's mother led Lily away with embarrassment.

For example, visiting during the holidays.

May: "Merry Christmas! I made a little snack for you to try."

Neighbor: "Haha, thank you so much."

Allen: "I also prepared a gift for Luna."

Luna opened the box and saw that it was full of photos of her secretly taken by Allen, full of ugly faces: "...Wow, pervert!"

In this way, the number of girls near Parker's house gradually decreased.

Later, Mary Jane moved here, and Allen wrote a love letter to Mary Jane without changing his mind, but signed it as Peter Parker after learning the lesson.

Mary Jane recognized it as a matter of course, and confronted the two Parker brothers.

Peter didn't hesitate to take the blame for Ellen, and it happened to be heard by May and Mary Jane's mother, so for many years, Peter and Mary Jane were considered a couple.

Mary Jane told this story to several people later, and it caused a good laugh, until Harry Osborn asked curiously: "Then why didn't you just say that it was Ellen who wrote the love letter instead of Peter?" Woolen cloth?"

why?Mary Jane couldn't tell either.

Perhaps, at least in this way, there can be some ambiguous memories.