It had been a great week as far as Peter was concerned. He'd done nothing but test the limits of his new powers, discovering not only that he was strong but also surprisingly resilient. He had slipped and fallen from one of the walkways, yet was surprised to find himself unhurt.
Taking a risk, he began jumping from greater heights, using a web rope to gain height until he was throwing himself off the walkways entirely. Sure, it hurt a bit, but no more than a bruise that disappeared the next day. He also made another discovery: unless he deliberately swan-dived, he always landed on his feet, even with his eyes closed.
With practice, his agility was steadily improving. For a few days, he did nothing but parkour around the walkways and beams of the warehouse, sending out web lines and leaping from beam to beam. However, it was becoming harder to stay unnoticed. On more than one occasion, the security guard lingered longer than just a quick inspection.
Peter checked the listings online and decided to buy the warehouse. It was within his budget, and, given its current condition, he figured negotiating a discount would be easy.
But the steely-eyed realtor looked at him like he was joking.
It took a call to his bank—one from his phone, one from her phone, and one from her office line—for her to believe he was serious. His age and the amount he was willing to spend set off alarm bells, making her think it was a prank or a scam.
Peter then had to endure endless legal explanations about insurance, forms he'd need, and all the associated costs. It was a long, boring afternoon, and he wondered how anyone could possibly sit through this just to pull a prank.
They haggled over the price. The original asking price would have taken all Peter's money, including the taxes he'd need to pay. Peter argued about the warehouse's condition and its history, and eventually managed to get the price lowered by seventy-five thousand dollars.
The paperwork would take two weeks to process, and he'd be able to collect the keys once it was finalised. He'd be responsible for the entire mess inside, as part of the deal involved waiving most of his rights to complain due to the price reduction.
After he left, the realtor secretly took a sip from a flask. She had not expected to sell what she'd called a "murder crack den" any time soon. Despite its prime location, it was riddled with issues, from faulty wiring to dodgy plumbing, making it almost unsellable.
Peter didn't care. He had plans, and they were starting to come together.
The only thing souring his good mood was the thought of returning to school. It was his final year—a big one—and graduating top of his class in everything except sports was a given.
Even Gwen had grudgingly admitted he'd outshone her in academics. But despite that, he still had one problem, and he caught a whiff of his problem's overpowering cologne before he came into view.
Peter was at his locker, grabbing books to take home for study, when he sensed someone come up behind him.
"Hey, Puker," Flash sneered, his lack of wit reflected in his unimaginative nickname.
"Oh, hey, Flush," Peter muttered, just loud enough for Flash to hear.
Flash scowled. "What'd you call me?" he growled.
"Flash. You know, what everyone's called you since Year One," Peter replied innocently.
Peter tried not to gag as Flash's expensive cologne masked a strange chemical smell. Flash might have denied using steroids, but Peter could smell it.
"Yeah, you better remember that," Flash said, putting a hand on Peter's shoulder.
Flash had already made sure no teachers were around before approaching Peter. He was ready to body-check him into a locker, but was surprised when Peter suddenly moved. Flash lost his footing and rammed headfirst into the locker door. He was sure Peter hadn't done anything, but it felt like someone had tripped him. Since Peter was the only one around, Flash didn't care if he'd done it or not—he'd pay either way.
Flash growled again and reached for Peter, only to find his wrist gripped in what felt like a vice.
Peter pulled him close, and for a moment, Flash thought he'd been slammed into the locker again as Peter body-checked him.
Falling backward, Peter skidded across the floor. As everyone turned to see what had happened, it looked as if Flash had hit Peter hard enough to send him flying.
"That's enough, Mr. Thompson," a voice called out. Miss Munroe, one of the temporary guidance teachers, had seen the altercation. She was aware of their history but couldn't interfere as much as she might want to.
She was on loan from another school, on a trial basis. There was a special institute in New York—Xavier's School for the Gifted—and several students were at Midtown High on placement. It was her job to ensure they were coping and to handle any problems.
As such, she had no real authority except over her students: two girls, Jean and Kitty, and two boys, Scott and Bobby.
On her first day, the vice principal had taken her aside and explained Flash's special treatment due to his father's donations to the school and football team. She knew she'd be out the door if she gave Flash any trouble.
Strangely, Flash looked confused by what had happened. He'd hit Peter, so why did it look like he was the one hurt?
Even Miss Munroe raised an eyebrow. She'd witnessed their altercations before, and Peter usually came out the loser. So what was different now?
As she looked him over, Peter blushed at her attention.
She was a tall African woman with a hint of an accent, dark chocolate skin, and long white hair, always perfectly wrapped in a business suit. She radiated authority, and even Flash knew better than to argue with her.
Gwen appeared and helped Peter to his feet. "Geez, Flash, give it a break, yeah?"
Gwen was one of the few people Flash knew not to mess with. Even though his dad was on Oscorp's board and they had more money than most of the school combined, it didn't pay to cross the law. But still, his wrist ached from where Peter had grabbed him, and his chest hurt from the body check.
Peter smiled at Gwen, catching a whiff of her perfume. It was new, sending a pleasant shiver down his spine.
Gwen was a little shorter than him, with her hair styled in a loose bob that framed her face. Her deep blonde hair looked like spun gold, even under the school's harsh lighting.
She preferred smart-casual attire—today, a pleated skirt, simple blue blouse, and white cardigan. Peter always thought she looked amazing, even if he was too nervous to tell her.
As they stood in the corridor, he heard it: Leave Peter alone, Flash. Go to homeroom.
Looking around, he saw the usual group of onlookers, including Flash's cronies, who were all on the same team, and the school's golden couple, Scott and Jean.
Jean started to move forward, but Scott grabbed her hand, and she stepped back, rubbing her arm. She'd once been his friend, but after Scott appeared, they drifted apart, a loss that still stung.
Miss Munroe noticed Jean's subtle shake of her head and sighed. "That is enough. The bell will ring soon. You should all make your way to class. Now!" she emphasized, and the crowd dispersed.
"Phff, whatever. Nice to hide behind a girl, Puker," Flash sneered before storming off.
"You, uh, don't mind that I saved you, huh?" Gwen asked Peter. Secretly, she liked him and wished they were dating, but her presence kept Flash off him.
"Why would I mind my friend being a badass?" Peter replied, making Gwen grin.
"Come on, let's get to class before—" he started, but the bell rang.
"Oh, got your stuff." She swung her bag around, pulling out his wallet and handing it to him. "Oscorp took the camera, though. Sorry. You got home okay?"
Peter laughed. "Yeah. I'll tell you about it in class."
In the study hall, Gwen, Felicia, Harry, and Peter shared a table.
"So, Pete, I heard my dad was an ass to you," Harry joked, and Peter grimaced and nodded. "Yeah, it's fine. Don't spend it all in one store, though, huh?"
Gwen gave Peter a look, but he shook his head. "I can't talk about it."
She frowned but shrugged.
"You got sick too?" Felicia asked, and he nodded.
"Wait, not just me?" he asked, surprised.
Felicia shrugged. "Yeah, but I didn't need to spend a week in bed like a little wimp." Gwen snorted, and Harry laughed.
Felicia wasn't the most gracious person socially, and her bluntness clashed with Peter's polite nature. As she leaned over him, he caught the same scent Gwen was wearing.
The slight sweetness tickled his nose, and while he hadn't thought of Felicia that way before, her proximity made it difficult to concentrate.
Felicia had grown up fast and, unlike many of the girls, had a fuller figure. Her long hair, almost silver in colour, cascaded down her back.
Leaning close to him, she whispered in his ear, and he tried not to stare. Her hair covered most of her front, but Peter still caught a full view.
"Look, Pete, whatever happened at Oscorp better not mess up my future. If you're sick or climbing walls or something, drop out of the club so we can get someone reliable."
Peter shook his head. "Felicia, I'm fine, no wall climbing needed. Just… get off my case, okay?"
Surprised by his tone, Felicia leaned back. "No need to be a jerk, Pete."
"I'm not. I just…" He rubbed his face. "Sorry. It's been stressful."
Felicia rolled her eyes and stood up. "Anyway, library time. Catch you later." She gave Gwen a small smile.
"Yeah, okay. Uh, wait, what perfume are you wearing? It's nice," Peter asked.
Felicia shook her head. "Lame, Pete. Lame."
As she left, Peter could only watch. "What did I say?" he wondered aloud.
Even Gwen leaned back, arms crossed, with a slightly annoyed look on her face.
Harry glanced between them and laughed. "Pete, we need to work on your timing," he said, only confusing Peter more.