THERE are a lot of thoughts that run through your mind when your head's shoved into a toilet. Like, a lot.
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First, yeah, it's absolutely disgusting.
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Second, it's unsanitary—I mean, no amount of mutant spider powers can make this less gross.
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And third, it's just plain wrong. But as the water floods my nose and mouth, the only thing I can really think about is how I'm going to explain to Mr. Baldwin why I'm late to his class for the third time this week. And again, how this is Flash Thompson's fault.
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Flash yanks my head back, his laugh echoing in the empty bathroom. "Parker, you some kinda fish or something? 'Cause you're starting to look way too at home down there, man." His cronies laugh behind him, like it's the funniest thing they've ever seen.
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"Yeah, Flash," I mumble, shaking water out of my hair. "You know me—just can't get enough of the school plumbing experience."
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Before I can catch my breath, Flash forces my head back into the toilet. The water rushes in again, cold and foul, and I'm really starting to wonder if this counts as my cardio for the day.
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I really hope I'm not missing anything important in class.
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After what feels like an eternity of dunking my head like some kind of cruel carnival game, Flash finally decides he's had enough. He lets go of me but not before whipping out his phone, capturing the moment I'm still dripping wet and gasping for air.
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"Hey, Charlie? Think they'll let me put this one in the yearbook?" Flash grins, proudly showing off the picture.
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Charlie glances at the photo, then at me, his face scrunching up as if he's debating it. "I don't know, man. He looks so pathetic, it's starting to make me feel bad." He smirks before pulling out his own phone, aiming it at me. "C'mon, Parker. Give us a smile this time."
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Flash stands behind him, motioning for me to play along with that smug look I've seen too many times. If I don't, I know I'm in for it later. So, I smile. Not one of my best, but it'll do. Charlie snaps the picture, and both of them laugh like they've just won the comedy jackpot before they saunter out, leaving me alone in the bathroom.
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I could've put their heads in that toilet. That thought lingers as I dry off.
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If I weren't, you know, trying to live by that "great responsibility" thing, they'd be the ones swimming right now. But, nope—this is how Peter Parker handles it. Spider-Man gets to be the hero. Peter Parker gets dunked like a teabag.
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After fixing myself up as much as possible, I head to my last class. The moment I step through the door, all eyes are on me, as if they can smell the chlorine-like stench from across the room.
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"Mr. Parker," Mr. Baldwin's voice cuts through the room. "How nice of you to finally join us."
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A few giggles from the back. Gwen shoots me a sympathetic smile from across the room. Isn't that nice?
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"Sorry, I was... kinda held up," I mutter, scratching the back of my head. More like clogged up.
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"Of course you were," Mr. Baldwin says, clearly unimpressed, gesturing to my seat. I slink over, the weight of Flash's bathroom assault still clinging to me like the dampness in my hair.
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I take my seat, trying to focus on anything but the embarrassment still simmering in my gut. A light tap on my shoulder pulls me out of my misery. It's Liz, handing me a crumpled note.
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I carefully unfold it to read:
Hey Pete, is everything okay? - Gwen.
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I glance back at her, and she's giving me this look—one I can only describe as pity. It stings.
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I grab a pen and quickly scribble:
Yeah, I'm okay, Gwen. Thanks for asking. - Pete.
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After making sure Mr. Baldwin's distracted, I pass the note back to Liz, who hands it off to Gwen.
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A few minutes later, something hits the back of my head. I turn around, startled, only to see Gwen stifling a laugh. She gestures toward the note on the floor, and I pick it up.
Mr. Octavius's presentation is tonight at the gym. You wanna go? - Gwen.
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Is she asking me to hang out? I start overthinking it, my brain racing. That karaoke night... well, that was more of a "Hey, let's trap Peter in a weird situation with Harry" thing. This feels different.
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I hurriedly scribble:
Are your other friends not able to go? - Pete.
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Seconds later, her reply comes back:
They are. Flash, Liz, Charlie, and Sally. Even Harry. - Gwen.
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I freeze for a second. Harry. We haven't spoken since that Friday... and it's been more than a week now. He's ignoring my texts, avoiding me in the hallways, like I don't even exist. Can't really blame him. I haven't exactly been the best friend lately.
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I write back:
Sure, I'd love to go. - Pete.
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Wait. Love? Is that too much? She'll get it, right? I pass the note to Liz, but before I can hand it over—
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"Mr. Parker!" Mr. Baldwin's voice slices through the room, freezing me in place. He strides over and snatches the crumpled note from my hand.
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He reads it aloud with exaggerated slowness. "Passing notes in class isn't going to help you pass the quarter, Mr. Parker. I suggest you plan fewer dates and more tutoring sessions."
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Cue the laughter. Half the class erupts, and I feel my face heat up like a furnace. I shrink into my seat, embarrassed beyond belief.
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"Y-Yes, sir," I mutter, resisting the urge to disappear under my desk. At least he didn't drag Gwen into it. One of us should make it through this day without getting dunked in water—or humiliation.
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~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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The rest of class drags on, feeling painfully normal, until the final bell finally rings. Mr. Baldwin reminds us that this Thursday is the semester final, a looming specter I've been studying for like my life depends on it, but I still feel like I might crash and burn.
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"Mr. Parker," Mr. Baldwin calls, catching me off guard. "What gave General Leonidas the advantage in battle?"
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"Uh... his awesome... name?" I stammer, hoping for some kind of miracle.
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"The semester final is this week, Mr. Parker. No bell can save you from that," he replies, turning his attention back to his computer like I'm just another passing thought.
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I sling my bag over my shoulder, mumbling a quick, "yes, sir," and head for the door when I feel a tap on my shoulder. It's Gwen.
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"It was his environment," she says, a glint of enthusiasm in her eyes. "General Leonidas used his environment to his advantage. His enemies couldn't escape."
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"You must feel like I'm wasting your time. All this tutoring and I'm probably still going to fail," I admit, half-serious.
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She playfully punches my shoulder. "What did you say, Pete? Once you get the formula down, everything else will start to click. It's just about cracking that first layer. Sound about right? I mean thanks to you I feel like I learned way more than I ever have with Mr. Harrington."
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Her smile is infectious, and I can't help but blush a little. "Reall—"
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"Puny Parker! Puny Puny Parker!"
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I grimace, because it seems like Flash has a sixth sense for the worst possible moments to show up.
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He strolls up, flanked by Liz, Charlie, and Sally, a triumphant grin plastered on his face.
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"Why do you keep hanging around, Gwen? Dude, don't you see you're bothering her?" Flash remarks, but Gwen shoots him a stern look.
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"I'm the one who came up to him, Flash. And why are you being so rude right now? Peter never did anything to you," she fires back, and I feel a strange rush of gratitude.
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"Sorry, Gwen. That's just how me and Peter joke. Isn't that right, Peter?" He grabs my neck in a playful hold and gives me a noogie. "Right, Parker?"
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"Y-Yeah, Gwen. Don't worry. It's just how we... joke," I manage to say, trying to maintain some dignity while Flash is practically choking me.
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"Peter's got a wicked sense of humor, and we just love hanging out with him," Charlie adds, joining in on the fun and lifting my feet off the ground as Flash still has me in a grip.
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"Petey's got a sense of humor?" Liz chuckles, giving me an exaggerated look. "Since when? The guy always looks so stressed. No offense."
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None taken?
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"Guys, let him down," Gwen insists, her voice firm as she senses my discomfort. "And don't be so rough. I don't think Peter really likes those kinds of jokes."
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No, Gwen. I really don't.
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Flash releases me with a grin, "Nah, don't worry. Parker's an animal." He elbows me playfully, but it's just a bit too hard.
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"Peter, are you coming with us tonight to the show?" Gwen asks, her warm smile returning. "Thanks to Mr. Baldwin, I never got to hear your answer."
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"Y-Yeah, I'd lo—I wouldn't mind," I say sheepishly, wishing I sounded cooler than I feel.
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"What? Gwen? Why would you invite him? Isn't this supposed to be a... friends-only kind of thing?" Sally chimes in, giving me a look that could melt steel.
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"Well, technically, it's a school thing. So, everyone's invited," Gwen shoots back, looking at me with another encouraging smile. "But it's up to him if he sits with us or not."
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Yes. Yes. And yes.
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"Yea—"
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"Aw, but Parker can't tonight," Flash interrupts, cutting me off. "He's got that thing, don't you, Parker?"
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I stare at him, brow furrowed. "Huh?"
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"You know. That, thing," he says, shooting me a look that's far too familiar.
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"I, uh... yeah, that thing. Sorry, Gwen, I'd like to go but... I can't," I mumble, feeling the weight of my secret identity hang over me like a cloud.
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Gwen's smile falters, but she recovers quickly. "That's alright, Pete. But if you change your mind," she says, pulling out her pen and opening my notebook to write something down. "Just text me."
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I catch a glimpse of what she's written—her number. My cheeks flush, and I pray to God nobody notices. "Oh... Uh... yeah!" Too eager. "Yeah... I will, thanks."
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"See you around, Pete." She gives me a final, dazzling smile before she's swept away by her friends. Flash, of course, can't resist slapping the notebook out of my hands and flipping me off as he hurries to catch up with them.
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But I barely even register it. All I can think about is her number.
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"That was... something," Felicia says, striding toward me as she casts a quick glance at the retreating figures of Gwen and her friends. "So, did you finally ask that chick out or what?"
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"Huh?!" My cheeks burn with embarrassment. "What are you talking about? Gwen? She's just a friend—more like an acquaintance these days, really. But no! No, I didn't ask her out. And I'm definitely not planning on it."
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Felicia raises an eyebrow, a sly smirk playing on her lips. "You really are terrible at keeping secrets, you know. It's a wonder nobody else has figured out your little side job."
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I roll my eyes, the familiar irritation bubbling up. "Yeah, okay. Did you need something? You haven't spoken to me since last week when... you know." I gesture vaguely, reminding her of the chaos that unfolded.
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"Yeah, sorry about that," she says, her voice dropping slightly. "I've been busy dealing with the aftermath of all that. Those kids—the ones I helped get out of there—don't really have anywhere else to go. They've all been holed up, and I've been trying to help them out as much as I can, but without that... job... I've been struggling myself." There's a hint of vulnerability in her voice that I hadn't expected.
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I pause, the gears in my mind turning. "Hey, I know! Why don't you come work for my Aunt at her place? Like, for real this time. She'll be back sometime this week. I'll talk to her, and I'm sure she wouldn't mind setting you up with a job. I know she could use the extra hands."
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Felicia narrows her eyes, skepticism etched on her face. "What would I know about working in a restaurant? I can't cook or anything."
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I smile, trying to lighten the mood. "There are plenty of other things you can do. It's not all about cooking, you know."
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She crosses her arms, her tone defensive. "What, so you want me to be some kind of waitress? Or wash your dishes?"
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"Look, I mean, a job's a job. Especially one that doesn't involve stealing from people," I say, pushing open the door to the outside, where the late afternoon sun bathes everything in a warm glow. She follows me, and I can feel the tension between us lingering.
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"Why would you do that for me?" she asks, her brow furrowing. "I mean, you already helped me with that other thing. We're supposed to be even now."
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I hesitate, searching for the right words. "What's so complicated about it? I see that you need help, and I know a way I can provide it. It's simple."
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"And you just expect me to believe that you get nothing out of it, Parker? What do you really want?" Her accusation stings, and I can feel my frustration rising.
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"Believe what you want," I reply, forcing my voice to stay steady. "I'm just offering you a way to make money. It doesn't have to be a big thing."
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Before she can respond, the doors swing open beside us, and my heart sinks as I spot Harry stepping out of the gates. He looks at us for a moment, and a knot forms in my stomach.
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"Harry, wait," I call, reaching for his arm, but surprisingly, he doesn't pull away. I can feel the weight of our past mistakes hovering in the air between us.
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"What, Peter?" His voice is flat, but there's something in his eyes—hurt, confusion.
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"I... I just want to talk," I tell him, desperately hoping that this time we can finally put our friendship back on track. "Please."
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Felicia scoffs, breaking the tension. "Let's finish this talk another time, Parker." She heads off, leaving me alone with Harry, and I watch her go, feeling a mix of relief and regret.
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"Okay, man. Go ahead," Harry says, his tone softening just a fraction, but his posture is still guarded.
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So I take a breath and dive in, pouring out everything. I explain what happened that night—the truth about Felicia and how it was never what it seemed. I stress that there will never be anything between us, that she only needed to talk to me about my Aunt's restaurant, which might actually be the case going forward. I also apologize for not coming to see him after what happened with Mac Gargan.
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As I speak, I watch Harry's expression—his face is a mask, but I know him well enough to see the subtle shifts. The tension in his shoulders, the way he clenches his jaw. I feel the familiar guilt creeping in, knotting my stomach tighter. This is my fault; it always comes back to me. I was supposed to be there for him, to have his back, and yet here we are, standing on the edge of a chasm, the distance between us feeling insurmountable.
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The silence stretches between us, heavy and thick, and I can't tell if he's processing what I've said or just shutting me out completely. Finally, he breaks the silence, his voice steady but low. "I get it, man. I knew you'd never do anything like that, but still, you've been acting so off lately. Maybe I've been pretending not to notice for a while now—the bruises you think nobody sees, the constant disappearing acts, all the excuses. I guess it just finally got to me."
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I look down, shame creeping in like a shadow. "I—I'm sorry, Harry. I really am. I know I've been a little... off lately. But no matter what, I'm your friend." I want to promise him that I'll change, that everything can go back to the way it was before—before Spider-Man, before Uncle Ben. "I love you, man. I... I don't want to lose my best friend."
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Harry lets out a deep sigh, a sound filled with understanding and a hint of frustration. Then he pulls me into a hug, the warmth of his embrace breaking through the walls I've built. "You make it really hard to stay annoyed at you, man. I love you too, dude. You're like a brother to me." He pulls back, looking me in the eye. "You always have been."
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A smile breaks through my worry, even though I can still feel that lingering distance between us—a chasm filled with unspoken words and unresolved feelings. But at least we've crossed a bridge today, and I'm grateful for that. "I feel the same way. Always will."
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As we stand there, the moment is punctuated by the sound of a long limousine pulling up to the side of the school. Harry glances over, his expression shifting slightly. "That's my ride," he says, and for a second, I see the reluctance in his eyes, the hesitance of someone caught between two worlds.
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He looks back at me, as if considering something. "Would you maybe want to... come over and hang out for a bit?" His words hang in the air, a lifeline thrown into the turbulent waters of our friendship. The weight of my responsibility as Spider-Man hits me, but it's only for a moment. Because as important as Spider-Man's work is, so is being there for the people that I want to protect, to share these small moments of connection amid the chaos.
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"Yeah, man. Let's do it."
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As we start to walk toward the limo, I can't help but feel a flicker of hope. Maybe this is what I need—a chance to reconnect, to step away from the burdens of the mask and just be Peter for a while. For too long, I've let the weight of my dual life overshadow the friendships that matter most.
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~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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As we step into Harry's sprawling mansion, the familiar scent of leather and polish envelops me like a warm blanket. I haven't been here in ages, but it feels oddly comforting, like slipping into a favorite old hoodie. "Home sweet home," Harry quips, leading me through the grand foyer adorned with family portraits that seem to watch us with a mix of pride and scrutiny.
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"So, what's on the menu for tonight?" I ask, trying to shake off the remnants of the tense conversation we just had.
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"Eddie's Pizza," he replies with a mischievous grin, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "Pineapple Pepperoni, extra cheese."
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I laugh, shaking my head. "You really do have the worst taste in pizza, Harry."
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He nudges me playfully. "Hey, it's the best pizza. Besides, it's our pizza."
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With a quick phone call, Harry places the order, and we sprawl on the massive sectional couch in his game room. The walls are lined with shelves crammed full of video games and movie memorabilia—everything from classic consoles to the latest releases. We pull out the latest online game and boot it up, diving headfirst into a world where nothing matters but pixelated scores and epic victories.
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As we battle it out on-screen, laughter erupts between us. "You're going down again, Parker. All these years and you still can't admit who's the best." Harry taunts, his voice rising in a mock-serious tone as his avatar performs a ridiculous dance move after scoring a hit.
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"Give me a break I haven't played in forever, besides this newer version is totally different than the last one we played." I shoot back, already plotting my next move. "I think it's time I pull out the classic Parker special."
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He groans dramatically. "Oh, please. Besides the terrible name that move is as effective as your social skills."
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Before I can retort, the doorbell rings, and I jump up to answer it. As I open the door, the aroma of hot pizza wafts in, and I grin, clutching the warm box like it's a trophy. "Victory is ours!" I declare, triumphantly presenting our feast.
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We dig in, the cheesy goodness eliciting satisfied murmurs. Between mouthfuls of pizza, we reminisce about our childhood antics—those lazy summer afternoons spent riding bikes or plotting elaborate pranks on unsuspecting teachers. Each story is a thread, weaving us closer together, reinforcing the bond we share through the years.
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"You mean you never had a crush on her? Not once, Pete? Come on, be for real." Harry says, taking a bite of his Pizza.
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"Mary Jane was your thing man, not mine. Besides I always..." I trail off and Harry grins at me.
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"Yeah, yeah. Gwen Stacy." He says rolling his eyes. "And it'll never happen as long as you're too much of a chicken."
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I blush. "It's not even like that, man. She's totally out of my league, always has been, and now she hangs with a different kind of group I can't even get anywhere near her."
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"So what? Mary Jane was out of my league, and I kissed her." He says with a proud grin on his face.
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"Yeah, and you made sure everyone in the third grade never forgot it." I say, chuckling at him. "You wanna hop on the game for round two?"
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"You mean you wanna get your ass kicked around again?" He says playfully.
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As we settle into another round of gaming, the atmosphere shifts when Harry's father, Norman Osborn, enters the room. The door swings open, and Norman steps in, a sharp contrast to the warmth of our laughter. He carries an air of authority that fills the space instantly, his tailored suit a stark reminder of the world of business and power he represents. I can feel the tension crackling in the air, and my stomach tightens.
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"Peter, good to see you," Norman says, his voice smooth but edged with an undertone of scrutiny. His eyes dart between Harry and me, assessing, calculating. "I didn't know you'd be here tonight."
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"Yeah, just hanging out," I reply, trying to sound casual but feeling like I'm under a microscope.
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"It's been a while since I've last seen you here my boy, I figured you'd move on to things that were better suited to your time. I'm sorry if Harry's taken you away from any other responsibilities you might've had for the evening." Norman continues, his gaze intensifying, I can practically feel Harry frown. "You've always struck me as a bright boy with a promising future. Any thoughts on what you might want to pursue after school?"
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I fidget slightly, caught off guard by the question. "Uh, I don't know yet. Just trying to get through my classes right now."
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"Understandable," he replies, nodding thoughtfully. "But you have great potential. I've heard many great things about what you've been up to from Harry. You should consider something ambitious—perhaps engineering or science?"
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I can feel Harry's discomfort increasing beside me, the weight of his father's expectations palpable in the room. "I think he just wants to get through finals first," Harry interjects, his voice tight.
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Norman's gaze sharpens, focusing on Harry. "Yes, well, let's hope he doesn't have too many distractions." The edge in his voice makes the air feel thicker, and I can sense the unspoken tension between them.
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We return to our game, but the discomfort lingers like an unwelcome guest. Norman clears his throat, shifting the conversation. "By the way, I'll be attending Dr. Octavius's presentation at you boys school tonight."
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"Wait, you're going to the presentation?" Harry asks, surprise flickering in his eyes.
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"Yes, I am the one funding his little project after all," Norman replies, eyeing both of us with an intensity that feels unnerving. "And I thought it might be a good idea for you two to come along. It's always beneficial to stay informed, and it could be a valuable experience."
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"Uh, sure. Sounds great." I reply, forcing a smile while internally bracing myself. The idea of attending an event with Norman Osborn makes me uneasy, especially given the intensity of his focus on Harry and the strange vibe between them.
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Harry glances at me, the corners of his mouth twitching in what I hope is a smile, but the tension in his shoulders remains. "Yeah, we'd love to," he says, his tone clipped.
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