Life, normalcy, and comprehension. Any great author, screenwriter, playwright, whatever, will at least partially set any plan they try to tell with those bounds. After all, nothing scrapes deeper into an audiences knee than something they know. Wesley Peterson falls into those bounds to a T. A normal boy, 15 in a month, class of 2046, silly blonde guy in a reversible blue hoodie. The inside was white, actually, but he liked how the same hoodie he wore every day complemented the same jeans he wore every day without overtaking the same white shirt he wore every day, all of which complemented the blue and white backpack he took to school twice a week.

As Peterson was a normal teenager, he had unreasonable and nearly insurmountable amounts of stress. This was due to a large number of things, but some of the big ones were homework, dating, and the risk of the world ending due to pollution and climate change. (Tony Stark's Footprint Coalition gave him some comfort, but not much could entirely sooth him of something that major.) However, like most smart teenagers, the boy had a solution to this, even if it were temporary. He plugged his earbuds into his head as he walked up a large marble set of stairs on his way to the inside of Richard's High School.

PLAYING: "Sunflower" by Vampire Weekend.

Music was his cure. When he had sonic waves gushing from his earbuds, flowing through and past the crevices and patterns in his brain, betwixt and between his eardrums, he could solemnly say that his life was honey. Messy, odd, sticky, but sweet. He danced up the stairs, humming the guitar riff. He stumbled on a few steps, but caught himself every time.

An announcement came on over the speaker system. "This is Principle Xavier," It said in its somewhat menacing, low tone. "Whoever it is gluing signs on the walls in the hallways, the janitors have requested you stop doing so. I understand you mean well, but it makes their job much harder, having to take them down."

Wesley gave a coy grin as he scanned the hallways to make sure he was alone. He reached into his backpack. He pulled a sign reading 'STOP USING PLASTIC STRAWS' out of his backpack and covered the back in glue. From around the corner he heard a girl shout, "Or you could stop taking them down, assholes!" as he slammed the sign onto the wall, rubbing it after to affirm it was stuck.

He rounded the corner as a history teacher yelled a "Hey!" at her.

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Langua-"

"Nah, it's just, Xavier isn't an asshole," the teacher replied, "He's a telepath, he probably knows who's putting them up in the first place and isn't doing anything about it. Call the janitors assholes." He pat her on the shoulder.

She shrugged. "Okidoke. Thanks dude." She walked off, and Wesley walked past her.

"That's mister dude!" The teacher shouted back jokingly.

"You know," a man in a janitor's outfit approached, "I really don't think you're the best influence on these kids, mister dude."

"What," the teacher replied sarcastically, "You wanted me to say language? That's his thing, not mine."

Wesley approached, accidentally interrupting their conversation. "Morning Mister Barnes. Will we be needing laptops today?"

"Nah," the teacher said, "Just head on in."

"Ok," Wesley said, "Bye Mister Barnes. Bye asshole." Mister Barnes broke down in laughter as the boy walked into the classroom.

Wesley put his head on his desk near immediately, still listening to his music. He didn't spend much of the day conscious in all honesty. All he genuinely remembered was Mr. Wilson shouting "WESLEY AMELIA PETERSON!" during Language Arts to wake him up.

He raised his head and inhaled slowly and confusedly. "My middle name is Alexander," he slurred through his lips.

Mr. Wilson looked at him with a coy grin. "Yeah, I know. Just screwing with you kid. Stay with us. Now, if a line coordinate plane..."

Nothing else remarkable really happened that day. After seventh period math, the boy accessed his locker, rubbing his eyelids. Suddenly, a friend of his hit the back of his neck. He yelped, turning and shouting "Jesus, Harry!"

"Gotcha!" Harry laughed.

"Christ, man, gimme a break, I didn't get much sleep." He tossed all of his stuff into his backpack from his locker and slapped it shut.

"Well, that's kinda on you." Harry shrugged.

"No, man, I was thinking about my mom again."

Harry's smile dissipated like dust being swept into a growing sandstorm. "Oh. I'm sorry man. I didn't know, I wouldn't have-"

"Yeah, I know." Wesley turned to him with a sleepy smile. "It's arright. I'm just stressed."

"Have you talked with her recently?"

"Nah, but she's gonna call tonight."

"Oh, sweet! Why're you so anxious then? It's gonna be great bro!"

Wesley scratched the back of his head. "She missed the last one, and they'll only let her make calls once per month."

"Oh." Harry pat his back, "Well, it'll be okay. You wanna come over to my house tonight to wait for it? Miles'll be there."

He smiled a bit. "Sure thing. 4:30?"

"Yeah, that works."

That night at the Osborne household, Harry, Miles, and Wesley played Super Smash Bros. Ultimate, two of them in anticipation of Mrs. Peterson's call. Miles, a young boy with a kind face and welcoming cheekbones, stretched himself along the couch with the others sitting in the floor. Wesley's phone leaned against his thigh. It was playing "Sunflower" again, but at the moment, it felt more dead silent than it ever had.

Miles looked slightly intrigued. "Hey, why's she been away anyway?" He walked on eggshells with his tone.

"She's part of the air force." The round of the game ended with Wesley losing, and leaned back on the couch's leg. "They're really stingy with her time though."

"Oh," Miles avoided eye contact for a second, "Does she handle that well?"

"Yeah," Wesley smiled a little, "She always said we were both pleasers, and it still holds true. Just knowing all the lives she sparing has always helped her power through."

Miles smiled. Harry looked at him, saying, "She's supposed to call him tonight."

"Oh."

There was silence. Wesley's face looked tense. He picked up his phone, checking the time. 9:06. "She was s'posed to have called by now."

"Well," Miles reassured, "I'm sure she will. Just give it a sec, she'll get to it."

The only sound was heavy breathing.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Ringringringringringri-!

Wesley picked up the phone immediately, in a rush, moving shaggy blonde hair away from his eyes.

"Mom!"

On the other side of the screen was a tired looking blonde woman with the widest smile on her face. She giggled as Miles rushed into frame, Harry rushing to do the same, each bumping into her son.

"Oof!"

"Sorry!"

"Hey!"

"Ouch!"

"Hehehe,"

"My riiiiibs!"

"My bad!"

The boys sat themselves up and arranged themselves with Wesley in the middle, holding the phone horizontally.

"Hey mom!"

She smiled. "Hey baby. Are those friends I see?"

"Hey!" Miles shouted, waving, "I'm Miles!"

"I see. Hi Miles. My name's Denise."

"Hey Denise!"

"Hey Harry."

"Mom, how've you been?" His head tilted left. "It's been forever!"

"I know, I'm sorry buddy. I really couldn't make the last call. I tried. I promise. I'm so-"

"It's okay!" He chuckled. "I know."

"Good. I'm glad you do."

"'Course I do."

He smiled, restraining tears. Those tears, the dark teal blend of emotions that tried to spawn them, he was so happy they were there. He missed them so much. He wanted to be able to hug her. That came later though. Now, the bittersweet scent of paint overtook him. It distracted him.

On that day, the remarkable happened.

As he fought against the raging mossy waterfall trying to slip its way out from between his eyelids, something trickled way up his back. Beneath the white part of his jacket, slowly, surely, its legs slithered near his temple.

"Oh, watch out Wes," His mother shouted, too late, "There's a spider-!"

It bit him, and he smacked the side of his head, with a small, "Ouch!"

"Ah, crap!" Harry said. He stood and started walking out of the living room. "Dad!"

"Time's up, lady," Someone said on the other end of the line. "My turn."

"Alright," She said. "I have to go. I'm sorry."

"It's ok, I get it. Love you mom."

"Love you too, baby. Bye-bye."

The call ended.

In the next room over, Harry walked to find his father. "Dad!"

Norman was exiting a room, shutting and locking a door behind him. "Yes, Harry? What happened?" He was smiling, but his eyes didn't make it seem like a peaceful type. In a way, it seemed mischievous.

"Wes got a spider bite."