POV: Peter
A teenager who looked like every average New Yorker around his age, he had messy brown hair, a bag slung around one shoulder, and a tired unfocused sort of posture. He was wearing a "Star Wars" t-shirt, and gray jeans. Headphones were slung around his neck.
This boy leans against his locker as he fiddles with his glasses, his name is Peter Parker the "resident nerd," as most called him or "Pinky Penis Parker" if you were Flash. Halfway through the lesson, his glasses had unbeknowst to him fallen down his nose some.
This annoyed him to no end, as Mr. Pere was strict on "distractions" and Peter cannot afford to get a bad grade in his history class.
Peter watches the packed hallway shuffle, and mingle to the next class he catches a couple conversations over hearing some girl drama which somewhat peaked his interest. Some guy apparently was dating his exes' sister, yeesh Thanksgiving is going to be fun for them this year.
Peter hears a couple shoes squeaking against the concrete floors.
Parker pulls out his phone from his right pocket.
His eyes slightly widen, but his face still shows indifference.
The article reads "PRESIDENT FISK, ATTEMPTED ASSASSINATION LAST NIGHT. INJURED EYE."
Peter finds himself scoffing slighty, not caring in the slightest only slightly suprised it happened so soon after the last.
Someone tries their go at killing Fisk at least thrice a year, maybe more. What does Peter care about that man's health? He's overstayed his welcome and is essentially a dictator in all but name.
Putting his phone back into his pocket, Peter begins his walk to his art class. A mounted television screen in the hallway plays a muted afternoon broadcast. Captain America stood beside President Fisk in front of an sea of American flags while some news anchor with a silly mustache talked about some company called Hammer Industries.
Rolling his eyes, the only thought which comes to mind is typical.
He is suddenly startled however as he feels a push against his shoulders he feels himself stumble a little forward in response to it.
"Move it, Penis Parker." A brash, arrogant voice tells him god he hates that voice.
The blond, jock, Euguene Thompson, though he hates that name and is instead referred to as Flash because of his football skill.
Euguene laughed loudly as he and a group Peter didn't know he was with disappeared deeper into the hallway.
Peter just watched them go for a moment.
Then adjusted his glasses again.
For some reason, they kept slipping today.
Peter rolls his eyes in annoyance, by the time he reached the art wing, the hallway began to die down. There wasn't a lot of people who took a art elective. Peter looks around the hallway, he sees the walls are covered in drawings of popular heros, most of them from the Seven Homelander prescedant among them.
He pushes open the classroom door quietly. There's the professor, and about six other students in the class.
Peter looks around at the people in the class, briefly recognizing a heavier kid with a green backpack he'd seen around the halls before, though Peter had never actually spoken to him. He was also sporting a red long sleeve, and dark blue jeans. He looked bored.
His eyes drift over to the girl sitting beside the kid with the green backpack, a short-haired brunette dressed in a teal button-up tucked neatly into a dark skirt, black tights covering her legs while she quietly sketched in the corner of her notebook instead of paying attention to the class around her.
He sees a empty seat next to her, and walks over to the empty chair. Peter places his backpack on the ground standing up straight leaning on the side.
The teacher had begun talking almost immediately after Peter sat down, something about perspective studies, though Peter found himself only half listening.
Not that it mattered much.
The next forty minutes blurred together into the scratching of pencils against paper, muted conversation, and the occasional sound of someone dropping supplies onto the floor.
Peter spent most of the class absentmindedly sketching the New York skyline from memory.
Old buildings buried beneath newer ones.
He feels a tap on his shoulder and his heart begins pounding, his throat becomes dry as he slowly turns to the smiling girl right next to him looking at him. Class seems to have ended, as the professor is no longer speaking.
"Hey, that's really good!" She says her finger pointing towards his art.
"Thannnks?" He feels his brain frying from the inside out.
Smooth Peter Parker. Smooth.
The girl smiles slightly regardless.
"I like drawing too, but seeing your stuff kinda makes me realize I'm not that good," she laughs softly.
Peter adjusts his glasses again instinctively.
"I guess."
I'm a fucking moron.
The girl doesn't seem bothered by the awkward response though. If anything she just smiles a little wider.
"I'm Betty, by the way."
Peter blinks once. His brain doesn't respond, he blinks again. Then again, as if he's restarting.
Right.
Normal people introduced themselves during conversations.
"Peter."
Excellent recovery!
Before either of them could say much else, the heavier kid beside her suddenly leans back in his chair slightly.
"Dude, your chyrsler building actually goes hard." Both knees jump up slightly hitting his desk up and the pain is evident in his expression.
He feels the pushback immediately.
God, that hurt.
The heavier kid snorts slightly covering his mouth in a attempt not to laugh.
"S-sorry dude, didn't mean to scare you."
Peter adjusts his glasses again immediately.
Why do they keep slipping?
"It's fine," Peter mutters quietly.
The kid waves slightly in greeting.
"I'm Ned."
Another pause.
SPEAK, MY BOI, SPEAK
"Peter."
Ned grins slightly.
"Yeah, you already said that to Betty."
Fantastic.