The morning sun streamed through the thin curtains of Peter Parker's room, lighting up the clutter of comic books, science magazines, and half-finished model kits scattered across his desk. A soft knock on the door pulled him out of his half-sleep.
"Peter, honey, you'll be late if you don't get moving," Aunt May's gentle voice called from the hallway.
Peter groaned, rubbing his eyes beneath his glasses. The alarm clock blinked angrily at him, a relentless reminder of the start of another school day.
"Coming, Aunt May!" he shouted, scrambling out of bed. His foot caught on the corner of a blanket, and he nearly toppled over before catching himself on the desk.
In the kitchen, the smell of eggs and toast greeted him. Uncle Ben sat at the table, sipping coffee and reading the paper. He glanced up with a warm smile as Peter stumbled in, nearly knocking over a chair.
"Morning, champ. You've got bedhead," Ben said, chuckling.
Peter ran a hand through his messy brown hair, muttering, "Yeah, yeah, I'll fix it."
"Sit down and eat first," May said, setting a plate in front of him. "You're a growing boy."
"Growing into what, a giraffe?" Ben teased, earning a playful glare from Peter.
As they ate, the three chatted about nothing in particular—Uncle Ben complaining about a squeaky hinge he needed to fix, Aunt May reminding Peter about an upcoming science project, and Peter nervously thinking about the day ahead at Midtown High.
The drive to school was short but felt longer with Uncle Ben's usual pep talks.
"Remember, Peter," Ben said, keeping one hand on the wheel, "it's not about how many times you get knocked down; it's about how you get back up."
Peter rolled his eyes but smiled. "Got it, Uncle Ben."
As the old car pulled up to the school, Peter spotted familiar faces in the courtyard. Gwen Stacy stood near the steps, her blonde hair catching the morning light as she waved him over. Next to her was Harry Osborn, leaning against the railing with his usual confident smirk.
"Have a great day, kid," Ben said, giving Peter a pat on the shoulder before he got out.
"Hey, Pete!" Gwen called, her voice cutting through the chatter of students.
"Morning," Peter said, adjusting his backpack and jogging over. The backpack slipped off one shoulder, and he fumbled awkwardly with the strap before it slid into place.
Harry gave him a mock salute. "Ready for another day of academic torture?"
Peter shrugged. "As ready as I'll ever be."
The three exchanged casual banter about classes and teachers. Gwen teased Peter about his messy handwriting, and Harry recounted a ridiculous story about one of their gym teachers trying to climb the rope and failing spectacularly.
But then Peter's attention shifted, his breath catching for just a moment. Liz Allan was standing by the lockers, laughing with her friends. Her dark hair fell perfectly over her shoulders, and her smile was bright enough to make Peter forget where he was.
"Go talk to her," Harry said, nudging him with an elbow.
"What? No, I—" Peter stammered, already turning red.
"You'll never know unless you try," Gwen added with a mischievous grin.
Peter adjusted his backpack again, his palms growing clammy. He took a deep breath and stepped forward.
Okay, Peter, you can do this. Just walk up to her, say hi, and don't do anything stupid. It's just a normal conversation. Normal people do this all the time. Normal people… who don't trip over their own feet.
A sharp foot stuck out in his path, and before Peter could react, he was flat on the ground. His glasses skidded a few feet away, and the sound of laughter filled the air.
"Watch where you're walking, Parker," Flash Thompson sneered, towering over him with his arms crossed. His cronies stood behind him, snickering.
Peter scrambled to grab his glasses, his face burning with humiliation. "I wasn't—"
"You weren't watching, obviously," Flash interrupted, giving him a light shove as he stood up.
"Back off, Flash," Harry said, stepping forward.
"What are you gonna do about it, Osborn?" Flash replied, his grin widening.
Peter's fists clenched at his sides, his heart pounding. He wanted to step in, to tell Flash to leave Harry alone. But the memory of every time Flash had shoved him into lockers or tripped him in the halls played on repeat in his head. What could he do? What if Flash turned on him?
He stayed rooted to the spot, shame tightening his chest.
Before Peter could make up his mind, Flash shoved Harry, sending him stumbling back into a nearby bench. Gwen rushed to Harry's side while Flash's friends roared with laughter.
The bell rang, cutting through the tension like a knife. Flash threw one last glare over his shoulder as he and his crew walked off.
"You okay?" Gwen asked, helping Harry to his feet.
"Yeah," Harry muttered, brushing himself off.
Peter avoided their gazes, adjusting his glasses and picking up his fallen notebook. He felt the weight of his failure as the three of them headed inside.
It was just another day for Peter Parker.