Of Skateboards and Surnames

Peter Parker was awkward. He was also tall, lanky, and painfully shy. A lot of adults viewed him as the average punk. Was it because of his skateboard? Probably. He didn't understand why skaters such as himself were labeled as punks. It was just like a smaller, more portable bike with four wheels that you stood on. Okay, so it was nothing like a bike aside from the fact that it was a method of transportation. People also seemed to view him as nerdy and stupid (since when did "nerd" and "stupid" fit in the same sentence?), though he was in fact at the top of his class. Why did people think he was stupid? Was it because of the skateboard?

Probably.

At first glance, you wouldn't think he was anything special. You probably wouldn't think anything of him at second glance, nor third, nor however many times you had the privilege to encounter Peter Parker. He was average, so incredibly average with his brown shaggy hair and permanent slouch, but if you looked—really looked, mind you—you would see that he was attractive. He was, though no one really acknowledged it due to his status in the High School Food Chain.

At the top, of course, was Eugene "Flash" Thompson. He had this immense hatred for his given name and preferred to be known as Flash, to which everyone happily obliged. Do you know where the nickname came from? No? Well neither did anyone else. He was a stereotype jock; good at every sport, devilishly handsome, a bully, to an extent. Then there were his Lackeys. His right-hand man was Derek Carter. He was a jerk and also a jock. He was Midtown High's kicker for the football team. Then there was the joker and also the track-star, Alec Merrimen. He was the heart-throb, the top contestant for That-Guy-Everyone-Wants-To-Date. He was pretty judgmental, though, and Flash could bend him to his every will without a single protest. Kind of a push-over. By himself, he was alright, but when you mixed him in with the other two, he was just the same.

Now, Peter fit nowhere. You wouldn't even call him an outcast because that implies some sort of acknowledgement. An outcast was someone you could look at and say "Look how different he is! Look how he doesn't fit in!" and that wasn't Peter in the slightest. Peter was invisible. He was the kind of person where you would start to forget his face only moments after you turned away, the kind of person where you would realize he was in your class only when you saw the yearbook pictures. He didn't necessarily want to be seen, either. He preferred it this way. There was one person who could recognize him from twenty or so yards away and by the back of his head at that.

Flash.

"Hey, Parker!"

Peter let out the smallest of sighs and proceeded to ignore the egotistical, hormonal teen and decided to focus on opening his locker like it was the most interesting activity in the entire world.

"Parker, I'm talking to you!"

Peter flinched and clenched his jaw, desperately trying (and failing miserably) to tune out the jock. He heard the teen storm up to him just before he was shoved against his locker.

"You listen to me when I'm talking to you, Parker!"

"Yessir," Peter muttered sarcastically.

"What was that?" Flash growled.

"Nothing." Peter replied, louder this time.

Have I ever told you that I absolutely hate peas? They're really gross. Not only are they disgusting, but they have quite an inconvenient shape. I mean, you try to scoop them up, but they just roll off your spoon every time.

Also, the texture. The outside is alright, but then you bite down and the whole thing just explodes into this mushy, atrocious mess. Then you have to somehow swallow this thing and not gag so your Aunt doesn't feel insulted that you don't like the dinner because she hasn't made anything remotely good for the past week because she was trying out all these new recipes on Pinterest. I really hate that app, too.

It's full of useless information and DIY (apparently this means do-it-yourself? I honestly think some person that doesn't matter made up a random acronym that we have no need for) projects that never—no matter how many times you try—look like the picture. It's also full of unappetizing recipes that are made to give food poisoning to all the unfortunate families who fall victim to the evil rein of Pinterest and its addicting, time-wasting ways.

I always end up ranting in these things don't I?

Whatever.

You probably don't care about anything I'm saying right now. You probably just looked at the username and skipped right over it because I bore you all to death. Well guess what? I don't really care. This is about the only place I can talk (type?) this much without stuttering or making a fool of myself.

Which I am most likely doing right now.

Damn.

I just can't win, can I?

English was the same as always. Peter sat in the back of the classroom, being shunned by the world while the teacher, Mrs. Ritter, droned on and on about internal text structures and whatnot. He knew this already, so he took to inspecting his camera.

Photography had always been a hobby of his. He had always loved taking pictures of things and while he wasn't the best he like to think he was decent at the least. He wouldn't even go so far as to call himself "artsy" or whatever those creative people labeled themselves as. He just liked taking pictures at interesting angles and of abstract things, or even people. He just liked taking pictures of things, period. He had never been interested in any other forms of art, though he occasionally doodled on notes—not that they were good or anything (because they most definitely weren't). The thing about photography was that you could just stop for a few seconds to take a picture and continue on your way. You don't have to labor on for hours to construct some great sculpture out of nothing and bits of random crap an art teacher dumped on your desk or maybe stuff you just found, nor do you need to sit still for god knows how long because moving would cause you to ruin the painting or drawing you had been working on for days or whatever the hell people do that requires you them to sit still for long periods of time. Photography was quick and easy, and things that were quick and easy that Peter enjoyed let him relax, if only for a moment. He tuned back in at the end of class to catch the words "essay" and "ten pages".

Just what he needs.

School that day was uneventful and just as drab and boring and tedious as school had always been for Peter Parker. Not to mention tiring. It took a lot of effort avoiding Flash as much as Peter did. He was successful, though. Well, as successful as he was everyday in the art of avoiding that certain person who enjoyed making you're his life a living hell and went to great lengths to do so. But that was how all bullies were, so it wasn't necessarily unusual for Flash to act that way. Peter didn't really blame him all that much (He actually blamed him quite a bit, but it was less than he should've been blamed for).

Peter skidded to a halt on his skateboard, stepping on the end so that it would pop up into his hand. He was in front of his house in Queens, where he lived with his Aunt May and Uncle Ben. They served as parents because Peter's had left when he was young. He tucked his board under his arm and sighed, trudging up to the front door.

"I'm home!" He announced rather loudly.

"Oh, Peter! Just in time! Get in here and cut these for the salad."

He let himself groan quietly. He hated salad.

"If I make it, do I have to eat it?" He asked, setting his backpack and skateboard down and proceeding into the kitchen where Aunt May was making dinner. "What else are we having? Or are we becoming vegans, or something and only eating green vegetables for dinner?"

Aunt May scoffed at him and handed him a knife, pointing at the cutting table with a cucumber laying horizontally across it.

"First of all, Peter, we are not 'becoming vegans'. Secondly, yes you have to eat the salad even if you made it because whether you made it or not has nothing to do with the fact that you are a growing boy and you need green vegetables. And we are also having pork chops and scalloped potatoes."

He liked scalloped potatoes. He liked them quite a lot.

Aunt May stopped stirring…whatever the hell it was that she was stirring…to face him.

"Is that up to your standards, your highness?"

Peter grinned at her, a laugh bubbling up his throat. "Definitely. Your services are greatly appreciated."

He barely finished the sentence before his Aunt starting laughing, thus releasing his which he was holding back.

"Did I miss something?"

Peter turned around, slightly winded before responding to Uncle Ben's question. "Not much."

He heard a muttered "Seems like it," before his father-figure plopped down at the table and picked up a newspaper.

"Oh, Ben. So Carrie and her husband got back together."

"Oh really?" Uncle Ben replied, the tone of his voice implying only polite interest.

"Really. I don't think it's going to work, though. They have the same personality and that doesn't work. It never does. How many times do I have to tell this woman that he's not worth it?" Aunt May said, dipping the pork chops into whatever she had been stirring beforehand.

Peter wasn't really interested in hearing the rest of the conversation so he set the knife down.

"Peter, where are you going?" Aunt May asked.

"Have a ten-page essay to write. Just wanted to get a head start."

Well, part of it was true.

Some people ask why I always talk about the unfortunate things in my life. Why indeed? You see, the good things that happen in the Amazing Life of Peter Parker aren't funny. I talk about the bad things because it seems to amuse you all, or else why would you follow me?

Ha. I got you there. I knew you thought I was funny.

Well, the point of this post is people making out in front of your locker. Weird topic? I know. This occurs often in The Amazing Life of Peter Parker because my locker happens to be where a certain shameless couple like to graphically "suck faces" right on my locker, which then prevents me from getting into my locker which then causes me to be tardy. I hate being tardy because everyone stares at you when you walk into the classroom like your some kind of alien or mutant or a person with some kind of deformity. Which I am none of the above. Also, displaying acts of love in front of the loveless is considered a crime.

Which then brings me to another topic.

My relationship status.

I would say that it's complicated, but only I seem to think so. In reality, I'm single. And I know all of you just want to throw yourselves at me right now, but you must attempt to restrain yourselves because as you have read in older posts, I keep mentioning a "she". Many of you have asked who "she" is and I'll tell you right now that "she" is not my girlfriend or even friend. I don't even talk to her. Actually, I don't talk to much of anyone.

I know you may be saying "What a loner."

To which I would reply "…"

Yes, I would say nothing because I have no reply to that. All I could do is to politely inform you that I'm not a loner and hope that you believe me. To which some of you may not and continue to label me as a loner. But whatever.

Think what you want.

A/N: So What did you guys think? First TASM fic. Yes, I got the blog idea from Curing Nullibicity by definitiveCaptchalogue. I give them all the credit, but i just think it is a great way to portray Peter's thoughts and feelings and it just adds to his personality. I am planning to recap the entire movie, so bear with me :)

Discalimer: Why do we even have to do these? Welp, I don't own Spiderman, nor do I own Pinterest or any other referaces that were made. Yada yada yada. Thanks for making me feel like I haven't accomplished anything in life, whoever-makes-us-write-disclaimer.

So I write fanfiction. Yes. I have absolutely no life.