Work Text:
Peter is taking apart and putting back together his mechanical pencil, even though he’s already memorized all the components. Lead, barrel, spring, other bullcrap he hasn’t bothered to infer the name of yet. Maybe he should ask Karen about mechanical pencils while on patrol.
Safe to say Peter is evidently bored out of his mind and barely paying attention. So he’s not doing so hot mentally as well as physically.
Did I forget to mention he’s also sporting a gnarly bruise on his side? Oh so thankfully given to him by the Lizard just earlier this morning. Who’s the Lizard? Good question! He’ll get to that. Someday. Not during school that’s for sure.
A lesson well learned. “Care to share with the class what you’re working on that’s more important than the essay due tomorrow Peter?” Whatever, just another reason to hate English class.
Roger Harrington, the AP science teacher. The one who’s lesson Peter was expertly tuning out. Which isn’t at the fault of either of them. School has always been painfully boring to Peter, and Mr. Harrington is actually one of his favorite teachers. Today has just been particularly torturous.
Anywho, Mr. Harrington’s heartbeat suddenly started speeding up fast, like at an alarming rate. Suddenly forgetting about his stationary dilemma, Peter looks up to figure out what’s up with the guy.
Getting a good look at Mr. Harrington’s face, and I mean a real good look, with the enhanced sight and all. He can tell that the teacher looks nervous and… excited?
Decidedly looking away from his face, past his polo shirt and locking onto his sweaty hands. Peter finds the object, or rather objects, of interest.
It’s like a sip of water in the Sahara desert. Bless you Mr. Harrington.
Mr. Harrington can’t seem to decide on white knuckling or gingerly caressing the stack of pristine white papers in his hands. What context do these papers come with that’s so thirst quenching? They’re most likely field trip forms.
Now, one might think that due to past negative experiences with field trips, Peter might be less invigorated about the prospect. But, as stated earlier, school is akin to a sensory deprivation chamber with how void of excitement it is.
So Peter would rather have a slightly traumatic field trip than an extremely traumatizingly boring average school day. Overdramatic much? Maybe a little, but the point stands.
“Alright students, we have about ten minutes left in class. I have some extremely exciting news to share with you all!” Mr Harrington exclaims in an over-enthused way. He seems particularly happy about this one.
I’m starting to get a bad feeling about this…
The students snap to attention. You don’t need to be Spider-Man to tell that something’s different about Mr. Harrington. The Academic Decathlon members of the bunch, Cindy, Abe, Betty, Charles, and Flash, look queasy. Everybody else is glowing with anticipation, though not as much as the teacher.
“We’ve been granted the chance to visit Stark Industries!”
A moment of silence. The class erupts into cheers and a cacophony of energetic speaking. Even the Decathlon members look excited, even more so than the others. It’s Stark Industries, nothing disastrous could possibly happen there, right?
Stark Industries, Stark Industries, Stark… Mr. Harrington’s final words reverberate through Peter’s head like a ping-pong ball. A ping-pong ball would be more pleasant. Of all places to go to.
Fuck you Mr. Harrington.
Peter would rather go to Oscorp again and get bitten by a radioactive chicken than step foot in the Stark Industries building with his classmates. Chicken-Man, Chicken-Man, does whatever the chicken can. There’s enough avian themed heroes as it is.
He’s shook out of his despair triggered stupor by his closest friend and confidant, Ned Leeds. “Dude, this is insane! We’re going to Stark Industries. You can finally prove you’re actually an intern! We can shove it in Flash’s..” Peter turns his head towards his friend, “oh, uh, are you good?”
Somehow, Peter manages to croak out a, “I’m so fucked,” before he slams his forehead on the desk. Perhaps if he does it hard enough, he’ll forget all about this experience and live in blissful peace for the rest of his sad, pathetic life.
While Peter’s staring at the hardwood of his desk, Mr. Harrington performs the feat of getting the high-schoolers to quiet down. “Now, this is a rare opportunity, and we only got it because our class has managed to garner the highest grade average in the state. Feel free to pat yourselves on the backs for that.”
“I know that this is exciting, but don’t cause trouble before the field trip. If so, you will get those privileges revoked.” A murmur ripples through the class.
Mr. Harrington’s serious face is suddenly gone with the wind, and he somehow manages to look happier than before. “Now come up and get your forms!”
The students stampede over to their teacher as if he’s holding the golden tickets to Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory. Peter lifts his head up. Privileges.. revoked? There’s still hope in this world after all.
Ned stammers, “C’mon, we should get our forms right?” A wicked smile curves upon Peter’s face. “Uh.. dude?”