The American high school system operates on a roaming credit-based schedule. You don't get a homeroom where you sit all day; you move from classroom to classroom, navigating a sea of puberty and locker slams. Midtown High School required five core classes and two electives per semester. The bell rang at 8:20 AM and cut you loose at 3:00 PM.
Peter's first day as a freshman was aggressively underwhelming.
There was a massive assembly in the gymnasium, a standardized placement test, and a frantic scramble to get a printed schedule. The afternoon was dedicated to the club fair and the student council arguing over Homecoming themes—none of which mattered to the freshmen.
The only genuinely surprising moment came during the opening assembly. Norman Osborn gave the keynote speech.
It was bizarre for the billionaire CEO of Oscorp to speak at a public high school, even a STEM-focused one like Midtown. The reason, however, was an open secret: his son had just enrolled.
"I thought you were a science nerd," Gwen whispered to Peter as the assembly let out. "You almost fell asleep during Osborn's speech."
"Osborn is a genius businessman, but he hasn't been a hands-on engineer in a decade," Peter deflected. "Hey, does this school actually have its own broadcast channel?"
Peter was trying to change the subject. He wanted to care about Norman Osborn, but honestly, the man terrified him. Peter had zero connection to Harry Osborn, but the spider that fundamentally altered Peter's DNA was an Oscorp specimen.
And who could guarantee Norman Osborn hadn't already taken a dive off the deep end and become the Green Goblin?
The only mildly comforting thought was that the Norman Osborn in this universe didn't look like a guy who threw pumpkin bombs. Yet.
Peter stared blankly at a CRT monitor mounted in the hallway. Two seniors were stiffly reading from a teleprompter for the Midtown High Evening News. It looked like a hostage video, but with better lighting.
"Voting for this year's Homecoming theme is now live," the anchor droned. "Please visit the student portal..."
Gwen watched the screen for a moment, a bright, excited look in her eye. She was ready to dive headfirst into the high school experience.
Peter just wanted to leave. It was 3:00 PM. It was time for Spider-Man to clock in.
"Oh my god," Gwen gasped, pointing at a flyer on the wall. "Midtown has a rock band! I am absolutely trying out for drums."
"Captain Stacy is going to have an aneurysm if he finds out you dropped ballet to hit things with sticks," Peter noted, turning the dial on his new locker.
Gwen leaned against the metal lockers next to him, raising an eyebrow. "If you breathe a word of this to my dad, Parker, you're a dead man."
"My lips are sealed." Peter threw his hands up in surrender. He grabbed his backpack, shoved his textbooks inside, and slammed the locker shut.
Gwen blinked. "Wait. You're leaving? Already?"
"Uh... yeah?"
"Peter, it's the first day of high school! You aren't going to walk the halls? Check out the club fair?"
"I don't know, maybe?"
"What if they have a robotics team? Or a comic book club? Or an actual, funded chemistry lab?"
Peter paused. He adjusted the strap of his backpack. "Okay, fine. You've convinced me. Let's go experience the magic of high school."
Did Peter actually want to join a club? Not particularly. But Gwen's comment that morning about Spider-Man's shoes matching his own had rattled him. If Peter spent the next four years immediately vanishing the second the final bell rang, showing zero interest in extracurriculars, people were going to notice. Gwen was too smart. She'd put it together.
The best way to protect Spider-Man's identity was to make Peter Parker as aggressively normal as possible. A normal nerd joined the robotics club.
Plus, joining a sanctioned STEM club might look good on an eventual Stark Industries or Oscorp internship application, which would give him access to state-of-the-art fabricators to upgrade his suit. Time management was going to be brutal, but his mutated metabolism meant he only needed four hours of sleep a night anyway.
"Why did you instantly assume I'd be good at drums?" Gwen asked as they walked down the crowded hallway.
"Just a feeling," Peter lied smoothly. He couldn't exactly tell her that in a parallel universe, she was the drummer for a band called The Mary Janes.
"So, what are you joining?" Gwen asked.
"Academic Decathlon, probably," Peter said. "Looks good on a college app. Student council sounds like a nightmare. I'd rather find a corner where I can code in peace or play D&D."
Gwen sighed. "You're such a homebody."
"I like reading, tinkering, and board games," Peter shrugged. "I'm not an athlete. I'll just stick to Uncle Ben's garage workouts."
They turned the corner toward the gymnasium. Before they reached the club fair tables, a sickeningly familiar laugh echoed down the hall.
A massive, thick-necked kid in a varsity jacket had another freshman pinned against a row of lockers.
Peter stopped. He let out a long, exhausted sigh.
"I cannot believe this is an actual trope," Peter muttered. "The stereotypical meathead bullying the nerd by the lockers. It's like we live in a bad teen movie." He glanced at Gwen. "I thought you'd be running over there to break it up."
"I was about to," Gwen said, her jaw setting. "But last time I did that, I had to carry you to the nurse's office."
"That was middle school, Gwen. I'm built different now."
Peter walked toward the commotion. A crowd of students had already formed a loose circle, watching. Peter hated it. Why did this school system idolize the aggressive idiots and punish the smart kids?
The kid being pinned was a scrawny Asian boy Peter didn't recognize. But Peter recognized the bully instantly.
Carl King.
Carl had been Peter's personal tormentor for three solid years in middle school.
Peter stepped into the circle. Before he could say anything, another kid beat him to it. A tall, handsome boy with messy brown hair and a leather jacket stepped right up to Carl.
"Hey, man," the new kid said, his voice calm but firm. "I don't know who you think you are, but if you don't back off right now, you're going to have a problem."
Carl cracked his knuckles, looming over the new kid. He was already pushing five-foot-ten as a freshman. "You're the one with the problem, pretty boy."
"Hey, Carl!"
Peter's voice cut through the tension. He walked forward, completely relaxed, a friendly smile on his face.
"Look, Carl, we're in high school now," Peter said casually. "How about we start fresh? You stop shoving people into lockers, and maybe we can actually be friends. What do you say?"
Peter extended his right hand.
Carl scoffed. He dropped the scrawny kid and stepped toward Peter. He reached out and grabbed Peter's hand, intending to crush the smaller boy's fingers in a dominance display.
"You aren't going to think we're friends when I make you beg, Par—AGHH!"
Carl convulsed, his knees buckling as a sharp, localized electric shock ripped through his palm.
"It's a localized taser-patch, Carl," Peter said quietly, his grip on Carl's hand like a steel vise. "It only triggers under aggressive pressure. If you'd just shaken my hand normally, you'd be fine."
"Screw you!" Carl roared. He violently ripped his hand away and swung a massive left hook right at Peter's face.
Peter didn't even blink. He casually raised his left hand and caught the punch dead in his palm. The impact echoed in the hallway, but Peter didn't budge an inch.
Carl let out another agonizing yelp as the second taser-patch discharged into his knuckles.
"Did nobody hear me explain how the pressure sensors work?" Peter asked the crowd, looking genuinely exasperated.
"Uh, isn't the taser a little much?" the handsome kid in the leather jacket asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I've known Carl for three years," Peter smiled at him. "He can take it."
Carl staggered back, his hands completely numb. Rage overtook whatever brain cells he had left. He lowered his shoulder and charged like a bull.
"I'm gonna kill you!"
"Pro tip, Carl: telegraphing your attacks is a bad habit," Peter sighed.
Peter pivoted smoothly on his heel. As Carl lunged past him, Peter grabbed Carl's wrist, used the bigger boy's momentum against him, and cleanly swept his ankle. Carl hit the linoleum floor with a heavy, humiliating thud.
Carl groaned, trying to push himself up. He looked up to see Peter crouching beside him. Peter extended his hand again, the metal contacts of his homemade palm-tasers glinting in the fluorescent light.
"Like I said," Peter smiled down at him. "If you stop bullying people, we can be friends. Deal?"
Carl stared at the hand. "Screw you," he whispered, his voice trembling.
He slapped Peter's hand away, scrambled to his feet, and shoved his way through the crowd, practically sprinting down the hall.
The circle of students stood in stunned silence.
"Well, I thought it was a fair offer," Peter shrugged, turning his back on the crowd. He walked over to the kid who had been pinned to the lockers. The boy was rubbing his shoulder, looking shaken.
The handsome kid in the leather jacket walked over as well, looking at Peter with a newfound respect. "That was insane, man. You completely dropped him."
"We went to the same middle school," Peter said smoothly. "I spent three years figuring out how to deal with him."
Peter looked at the handsome kid. He had sharp features, expensive clothes, and carried himself with a casual, inherited confidence.
"Peter Parker. Freshman."
"Harry Lyman," the kid said, taking Peter's hand. "Also a freshman."
Harry shook his hand. He blinked, looking down at their palms. "Oh. I didn't get shocked."
"I told you, it only triggers if you try to crush my hand," Peter smirked. He turned to the kid Carl had been bullying. "You okay, man?"
"Yeah... yeah, thanks," the kid said, adjusting his glasses. "I'm Amadeus. Amadeus Cho."
"Nice to meet you, I'm Peter Parker."