Peter wasn't in the best mood as he made his way to school the following day.
Aunt May had told him she'd found a lawyer. Nelson and Murdock had agreed to handle the case free of charge. However, she had also cautioned him that school might be tough for a while.
The lawyer had done some investigating. By reviewing public records, they uncovered a number of discrepancies within the school.
Several students had been moved to other schools, and even more had been kicked off the football team. Once they started looking closely, even Flash's academic records seemed questionable.
If something was going on, Peter could easily get caught up in it and be unfairly penalized.
That wasn't the only thing on his mind. As he neared the school gates and spotted Flash waiting there, it was obvious Flash wasn't in a good mood either.
"You and me, Parker," Flash said. "After school, I'm gonna fucking kill you." He gestured to two other boys, and they walked away with him.
The look on Flash's face and the disdain in his voice left Peter with a bitter taste in his mouth and a knot of anger in his stomach.
Kill me? Yeah, give it a shot, you jerk.
As he made his way to homeroom, Peter didn't even get to the door before Vice-Principal Valentine intercepted him.
The man was impeccably dressed in a sharp, well-fitted dark blue suit—much nicer than what most of the other teachers wore. Rumors had it he worked a second job somewhere.
"Peter, I received several disturbing reports yesterday. I've also spoken with Miss Munroe. Please come with me."
Peter followed the short, balding man to his office on the main campus. As they walked, Peter could smell the cigarette smoke clinging to Valentine, irritating his nose. Beneath it, though, was another odor, something chemical.
Mr. Valentine gestured for him to take a seat, and Peter sat down, placing his bag beside him.
"Do you know why you're here?" Peter shook his head. "Then let me explain." He reached into his desk, pulling out a folder and a phone.
"Yesterday, I received complaints that you assaulted Mr. Thompson in the hallway. Shortly after, this appeared in my inbox."
He lifted his phone, showing the screen to Peter.
A short video played of Peter kneeling in front of Flash and punching him. It was footage from the incident the day before, and Peter watched himself as he then turned on the other two boys.
Peter was taken aback. Flash had set him up; he hadn't even noticed the third person filming.
"No," Peter said, shaking his head. "That's not what happened."
Mr. Valentine sighed. "Regardless, unless you have witnesses, Mr. Thompson and three other students, including the one who recorded this, claim you attacked them." He opened the file. "And in the corridor, you were reportedly seen shoving Mr. Thompson near your locker."
"He pushed me, and everyone saw it. Ask Miss Munroe," Peter argued.
"Miss Munroe is not part of the school's faculty and is on retainer for another school. Her statement wouldn't be admissible to the board."
Mr. Valentine removed his glasses and laid them on the desk.
"Mr. Parker, I have here a document I'm prepared to sign, stating that, due to recent behavior, you are considered unsuitable for Midtown High. The fight in the hallway and the one off school grounds are already grounds enough. Factoring in your behavior on the school trip makes suspension warranted."
Peter slumped back in his seat. "But none of that's true," he protested, shaking his head in disbelief.
"We have students who corroborated Mr. Thompson's account. We have a report from Oscorp indicating you were suddenly ill, likely from food poisoning. Instead of reporting it, you went home, even though Ms. Stacy vouched for you."
Valentine put his glasses back on. "I'm afraid, Peter, I have no choice but to suspend you and make it a permanent note in your record."
"But—!" Peter began, but Mr. Valentine shot him a glare over his glasses.
"There are no 'buts,' Mr. Parker. Unless you can disprove what I just said, my hands are tied."
Peter leaned back and shook his head.
"All right. I'll have a letter drafted for your guardian. You are now suspended for two weeks. If I find it necessary, there may be further administrative consequences." Sliding the folder back into his desk, he looked at Peter. "You may leave now."
Defeated and angry, Peter grabbed his bag and left silently.
Outside the school gates, his phone was buzzing, but he wasn't in the mood to answer.
Slipping his backpack on, he tightened the straps and began to jog. Before long, he picked up the pace, heading to the warehouse.
He needed to vent, to cry, to shout, to scream, and to curse at the injustice of it all.
Midtown High was in Brooklyn, and the warehouse district was further south in Sunset Park.
With his enhanced abilities, the run now took him five minutes. He didn't know how fast he was going, but it helped dissipate the anger boiling in his chest.
As he approached the warehouse, he saw the sign had been updated. Now, a bright red "SOLD" sticker was plastered on it, and he managed a slight smile.
Once inside, he stood in the center of the warehouse. He tossed his bag into the clean office and took a deep breath.
"AHHHHH!" he screamed into the empty space. "AHHHHHHH!" he let it all out.
We should hurt him, a voice whispered, but he shook his head.
No. I have to be better than that. Yet the simmering rage in his chest, although quieter, still burned.
He saw the broken pallets and old counters and snarled.
Leaping forward, he struck one with his elbow, and it cracked down the middle. He stepped back, then kicked the top half completely off. As it spun in the air, he leaped and kicked it across the warehouse, where it shattered against the back wall.
When he landed, he kicked out again, sending another piece flying. As it soared away, he shot a web, snagged it, and pulled it back into his fist. He punched it, smashing it to bits, covering himself and the floor in splinters and scraps of cheap fiberboard. He growled, ignoring the mess.
He kicked the other side as well, sending it upward. Jumping to grab it, he slammed it down over his knee, snapping it in two.
Breathing heavily, he looked at the mess he'd made.
Wood chips and broken pieces littered the floor. As he exhaled, his phone buzzed again, and he sighed.
Venting wasn't healthy. Letting his rage take over was the wrong way to handle things, even if it made him feel better for a moment.
He collapsed onto the floor, indifferent to the splinters poking into him. He grabbed his bag, took out his phone, and looked through the messages he'd received.
Pete, we heard. It's all over school. I'm in the library.
Pete? Where are you?
Pete, come on, please?
Pete?
All were from Gwen, and he quickly typed a reply.
Sorry, got really mad. Had to calm down. Please don't be mad. But yeah, they suspended me for the thing yesterday and Oscorp. Sorry.
Peter. The school called. I'm at work. Go home and call Mr. Murdock. This is bullshit, and you know it. Love, May.
Hey, Pete, Gwen's pretty pissed. Better call her, or you'll be hanging off a bridge when she finds you, ass.
The last one was from Felicia, and he chuckled, snorting at her usual charm.
His phone buzzed again.
It was a sad face emoji. Take care of yourself, Pete. Flash is already bragging about it. Guess it was his fault, yeah? Fel is pretty mad.
Oh crap, Peter thought. Felicia was on the math team, and Gwen had once been a member, but her real focus was the judo club—and she really hated Flash. "Gwen, please don't let Felicia get into trouble over this, okay? I'm fine. Really, it'll be alright."
"Aww, Pete, already cheating on me? You bad, bad boy. I'll tell Fel her honey bunny is all worried about her."
He chuckled and rolled his eyes.
"Yeah, I should be back in a couple of weeks. I don't want to miss my chance to ask her to prom. If she's suspended too, though, we might have to skip."
Gwen loved teasing him about anything she could. She was a grade-A genius with a grade-A sense of humor. But this time, there was a long pause.
"That's fine, I guess. I'm sure she'd be happy."
Peter snickered; Gwen enjoyed poking fun at everyone else but wasn't great at handling it herself.
"Gwen, Felicia would only be my second choice. You know who my first is, and I guess I'll ask her when I get back, okay?"
Another pause followed, and Peter pictured Gwen blushing. Since it was just about time for the first break, he guessed Felicia was probably sitting right next to her.
His phone buzzed, but this time it was from Felicia.
"Gwen died, so yeah, pick me up at askwjelkj."
Peter laughed. Gwen must have grabbed Felicia's phone and sent the jumbled message by mistake.
"Just ignore her. You could ask her right now, and she'd say yes."
He was about to text her back when Harry's message popped up.
"Hey, Pete. Sorry to hear about the suspension. Dad will be mad, but when isn't he? Let's hang out this weekend and blow off some steam, alright?"
"Thanks, Harry, that'd be awesome. Just give me some time; Aunt May is on the warpath, and I need to talk to her first."
"Sure thing, Peter. Talk later."
Returning to Gwen's message, he typed,
"Not sure I should. If you're a zombie, you might just be after me for my braaaains." He added a zombie emoji.
Then Felicia messaged him again.
"Gwen's after you for your diasklmaf."
And, surprisingly, Harry messaged him again.
"Hey, Pete. I don't know what you're saying to Gwen and Felicia, but they just got called to the principal's office for goofing around in the library. So, uh, maybe take it easy, alright?"
Peter laughed. He knew Gwen could be loud when she wanted to be, and if she pushed Felicia's buttons enough, Felicia wouldn't hold back, even if it was against her best friend. He was about to reply to Harry when his phone rang.
He checked the screen—"Unknown Number" with a New York area code. He looked at it for a moment and then picked up.
"Hello?"
"Hi. Is this Peter Parker? Your aunt asked me to give you a call. It's Matt, Matt Murdock."
The lawyer, Peter thought.
"Uh, is this about school?"
"Yes, Peter," Matt responded with a hint of humor. "This is definitely about school. I know you're not there now. Any chance you could come by the office? A deposition would be helpful."
"Uh, where's your office again?"
"It's in Brooklyn. If you need a taxi, we can cover the fare."
Peter overheard someone mutter in the background,
"Ask him about payment."
"Is that alright?" Matt continued, ignoring the other person.
"Uh, yeah. I can be there in... Sure, I'll head over soon."
"See you then," Matt said before hanging up.
Peter would have to look up the office, and after checking the map, he saw it was in Hell's Kitchen—a bit of a trek.
Plotting the route from where he was, he figured it was about nine miles. Tilting his head, he calculated that if he ran at a good speed, he could make it in half an hour, faster than the bus.
He grabbed his bag and brushed off the splinters. Looking around the warehouse, he sighed at the mess he'd created. Cleaning it up would have to wait.
He would definitely need to tidy up later. Wood splinters, paint chips, and debris covered the floor and walls.
The remains of the kitchen counter were scattered across the floor.
What a waste of a piece—it may have been dirty, but he could have cleaned and resurfaced it. A laminate cover was cheap, while a new kitchen unit could cost fifty or sixty bucks.
I've got to get it together, Peter thought with a snort. Money doesn't grow on trees.
He zipped up his jacket, tightened his backpack straps, and glanced out at the cold, grey day.
At least it's not raining, he thought, just as the first few drops began to fall on his face.
Dammit