The lessons passed almost entirely unnoticed. My mind simply wasn't there. Two thoughts haunted me from the moment I'd walked through the door that morning.
The first was the rush of adrenaline—an intense, restless energy tied to the sense of imminent revenge. The second was the look on everyone's faces. Pity, mostly, in the sad tilt of eyebrows and half-smiles, but here and there I caught malice.
Sally Ervil's gaze stood out in particular, cold and gleeful. The short blonde cheerleader had that cruel little smirk she always wore when trouble hovered near me. A real piece of work, that one. But enough of her—where was I? Professor Foswell's dry voice cut through my drifting thoughts. "So, what are the ionic compounds in this lattice, anyone?"I blinked, dragging my mind back to the classroom.
"The charges are strictly positive in this formula, Professor," I said. For the first time all day, I actually participated in the lesson. His eyebrows lifted in pleasant surprise.
"That's right, Mr. Parker. I'm so glad you joined the discussion." He scribbled the formula onto the board, each chalk stroke crisp, deliberate.
Maybe it was strange, but I'd grown to love physics since I got here. And really, why not love something you understand so well? There's a certain satisfaction in untangling rules and forces, seeing how they fit together more predictably than people ever do.
Fifteen minutes later, the final class ended. That adrenaline I'd been nursing—alongside the anticipation—spiked higher, clawing at my ribcage until it was nearly unbearable.
"Pete, it's not too late to change your mind. Trust me, no one will judge you," Gwen said softly, her voice almost pleading. Beside her, Miles nodded in agreement without a word.
"Trust me, Gwen, I have everything under control," I replied, slinging my backpack over my shoulder. My tone was calm, but inside, every muscle was tightening in expectation. And so, our little group set off toward the abandoned warehouse. The urge to break into a run was strong, almost irresistible, but the steady pace of my friends—and the dozens of students making their way with us—kept me grounded. It looked more like a grim procession than anything else, part funeral march, part spectacle. I could feel the weight of their disbelief pressing against me. Nobody believed in Peter Parker, not really—not the way I knew myself.
The walk was uneventful, the streets stretching quiet and ordinary before us. Then, after slipping through the chained gates, we stepped into the shadowed interior of an old dockside warehouse. It was cavernous, dark in places where the roof had sagged and dust had gathered thick. And there, right in the center, stood Thompson with half the class behind him—his ever-loyal supporters forming a wall at his back.
"Look at that. Nerd Parker came to his own funeral," Eugene declared, his voice dripping mockery. I could see him trying to psych me out, leaning hard on bravado in the hopes the rest of the crowd would lap it up.
"Nice try, Thompson, but your bravado is useless in this situation. It's time to end this farce," I said, stepping forward into the center of the open space.
"I didn't understand a thing you mumbled, loser, but I agree with that last part," the football player shot back, following me to the middle.The crowd had us surrounded, bodies pressed shoulder to shoulder. The air was thick, electric, and I couldn't help thinking how much it resembled the ancient throngs in the Roman Colosseum—audiences baying for bread, circuses, and spilled blood.
Thompson's face was calm, unbothered. He stepped toward me deliberately, each stride a challenge. I lifted my hands to the sides in an open gesture, inviting him forward. He didn't take kindly to the taunt. I saw the flare in his eyes before he came at me like an enraged bull, eager to land a hit.
I'll give Flash credit—he's in decent shape. But to me, with my spider-like reflexes, he was moving in slow motion. Without a scrap of effort, I sidestepped his charge and let him stumble past. My palm landed lightly against the back of his head, a casual tap.
"Seriously, Eugene, you were more aggressive back in fifth grade," I said. Flash stared at me in shock, as did the rest of them, though the pause was brief. Almost instantly, the crowd's fever returned, chants and shouts spilling out with renewed vigor. Thompson's friends were loudest.
"Come on, Flash, give him a good beating!"
"It's Parker, what's wrong with you?!" Kang and Kenny yelled in near unison. Liz Allen's voice cut in, sharper than theirs.
"Flash, seriously, if you keep disgracing yourself like this, we're breaking up." I tilted my head at him, grinning faintly.
"Wow—fans, friends, and even a girlfriend. Been a while since you lost your status that fast, huh, 'Flash'?"
"Shut up!" he snapped, lunging again in frustration. His fists swung wildly, but I kept moving, dodging easily, watching him with mild disinterest. That's when I felt it—a flicker of danger close behind me.
"Pete, behind you!" Miles called sharply.
"Thanks, buddy, but I already knew." I sprang aside with speed, just as Kenny's massive bulk barreled past the space where I'd been standing.
Momentum is a tricky thing, especially when it's on your side. Kenny couldn't control his own, and the result was inevitable—he crashed straight into Flash.
"Yeah, you're doing great, man," I quipped to Thompson, a smirk tugging at my mouth. "By the way, thanks for the heads-up, Miles."I hadn't expected a fair, one-on-one fight, but still—next time, Thompson should pick someone who can back him up instead of clumsily getting in the way.
Thompson pushed Kenny into the crowd, his eyes locked on me. "What the hell? You never could fight back! What happened to you, Parker?"
"I'm just tired, Flash," I said evenly. "Tired of your taunts and your attitude. And nothing much has changed. Remember—just because someone doesn't flaunt their talents, doesn't mean they're helpless."
His lip curled. "It won't help you anyway!"Again he came at me—same move, third time—and that was when I decided to wrap this farce up for good.
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