By Friday, things were out of control.
Peter snapped his pencil in half without meaning to. Gwen shredded a notebook page just by leaning her hand on it. Cindy sneezed and shoved her desk six inches forward. Harry muttered at anyone who got too close, eyes shadowed, skin pale.
And me? My stomach was a black hole. I'd chewed through milk, bread, three energy bars, and was still starving. Sleep didn't exist. Every time I closed my eyes, my nerves buzzed like I'd stuck a fork in an outlet.
By Monday, I'd chewed through two sleeves of crackers in history class just to stay sane. People were staring.
And then there was the spider.
Locked in its jar, it twitched when I looked at it. Eight glittering eyes, watching. Waiting. Amused.
I slammed the drawer shut, muttering, "Not funny."
The truth was, it didn't feel like it was mocking me anymore. It felt like it was waiting.
But I swear I heard it laugh.
Camera pans to Deadpool sneaking around in a fake mustache disguise.
Okay, okay, okay. Don't panic. Jake's symptoms are totally normal Spider puberty! Hunger? ✔️ Sleepless nights? ✔️ Creepy pet spider watching you like it's running a reality show? ✔️ Yep, all checks out.
(Spotlights flare. Meta Police drones sweep in.)
Deadpool hisses: "Shhh! They're tracking me. The Meta cops don't want me spilling the beans—"
WHAM. A net drops over him. He thrashes.
"Hey! I've got rights! Fourth-wall rights!"
A mechanical voice drones: "Deadpool, you are charged with premature exposition. Cease commentary."
Deadpool snarls, gnawing on the net. "I'll never stop telling them it's Spider powers! Never!"
He's dragged offscreen, muffled curses fading into the distance.