Lying Heart
Peter has never felt more out of place at school. Vacation was only a week and a half but he feels as if he hasn't been here forever, as if he has grown several years since the last time he opened this locker. It takes him a little while to even remember the combination, and once he does he can't remember which books he is supposed to grab—it's a whole different schedule to memorize, a new semester with completely different subjects and teachers, something that Peter would usually pay more attention to, but for obvious reasons his mind was elsewhere.
Gwen passes him in the hallway and waves, unwittingly defining how their school relationship would be: open and friendly. People take notice, only because the buzz hasn't quite died down about the fight between Peter and Richard. Fortunately Peter doesn't cross paths with him on that first day, or worse, him and Gwen together.
His first track is his college-track biology course, one of the few classes that carried over a semester with all the same people, so Peter is surprised when a face he doesn't recognize sits next to him. He doesn't look up from his scribbling except to say hello, and the other boy doesn't seem too eager to talk, either. Only when the teacher announces that she is sick of assigning lab partners and that they are permanently paired up with whoever they're sitting next to at the present do the two of them bother to speak again.
"You're Peter," says the boy, once he gets a good look at his face.
Peter frowns. "I thought—sorry, I don't think I know you, I thought you were new."
"I am," he says, "I'm Fisher."
"Oh. Well, uh, nice to meet you … Fisher," Peter says somewhat hesitantly, because Fisher is still looking at him as if he expects that Peter knows who he is.
"You don't remember me," Fisher says, with a half-smirk.
Peter shakes his head. "Should I?"
"I'm the guy who hauled that lug off you on New Year's Eve before he knocked all your teeth out."
"Oh," says Peter, his face reddening at the memory. He had almost completely forgotten about the third boy who intervened and had, most likely, spared him a lot of dental bills. "Yikes. I guess I should thank you."
Fisher shrugs. "He was pretty drunk, it wasn't very hard to knock him off balance."
Peter tries to smile for the other boy's benefit. "Well." He clears his throat, trying to think of a more acceptable topic, the kind that doesn't make him want to look over his shoulder to make sure Richard isn't listening. "You are new, though, right?"
"Yeah. Mid-year transfer. I'm a junior."
"Oh. Nice. Welcome to Midtown Science," Peter says lamely, and by then the teacher is explaining the first lab of the semester so the conversation dies down. They find that they work well together, better than Peter has with any of his less-than-motivated lab partners in the past. By the end of the track Peter finds that they are enthusiastically engaged in a conversation about some movie that came out awhile back, and he thinks this is nice, nice and normal. When he thinks about it he hasn't had a real friend in awhile.
"You board?" Fisher asks when Peter picks up his backpack.
"Huh? Oh. Yeah, just back and forth from the subway. I live in Queens."
"Brooklyn," Fisher offers. "I know some pretty awesome places to ride, if you're interested."
"Yeah, yeah, sure," Peter agrees.
They set a loose time up to meet the next day. He wonders when he tells Aunt May he's going out skateboarding with a friend if she will believe him in the slightest.
"Congratulations," says Mr. Carter, beaming at Peter as he enters the photography classroom.
Peter stands there, his eyes narrowing in confusion. It's far too soon for any news on his applications, so he figures Mr. Carter is joking about something, but he can't even begin to imagine what.
"The internship," Mr. Carter clarifies for him, ushering him toward his desk. "You got it."
"Internship?"
"At the Daily Bugle," Mr. Carter reminds him. "I sent in that picture you took of Spiderman, remember?"
"Oh," says Peter, and suddenly it all comes rushing back. He honestly hasn't thought of that internship since the day Mr. Carter asked for permission to submit him for it. And as honored as he is that Mr. Carter went to all this trouble for him, as pleased as he is that someone liked his picture enough to want to work with him, he can't think of a single good use for this internship, especially if he is wasting daylight hours he could be using to make money at a part-time job.
When he looks up, Mr. Carter is full-on grinning with excitement. "Jonah Jameson himself requested you. That picture of Spiderman really won him over."
Peter feels his palms start to sweat. "It did?" he asks.
"Yeah, it did. I'm sure it's because nobody's ever seen anything like it. I mean, how lucky, I can't even imagine how you got a shot that perfect," says Mr. Carter, seeming genuinely impressed and perplexed. He points a finger at Peter. "You gotta get yourself ready, I'm sure he'll want more where that came from."
Peter laughs nervously. Getting the pictures really isn't a problem. Explaining them is a whole different story.
"Look," he starts, but Mr. Carter doesn't seem to hear him.
"He wants you to start day, as soon as you get off school."
"Today?" Peter asks, a bit stunned. "Okay. Wow, um. I'll see what I … I mean, yeah, today's fine," he says, because he really doesn't have anything better to do until night falls.
"Perfect. Good luck on your first day," says Mr. Carter, and then the bell rings and Peter has to find his seat. He couldn't say what happened on the first day of photography that semester, because all he is thinking about is the thousand and one ways this could go wrong. Either he pretends he can't get another shot and ruins his credibility and loses Mr. Carter's respect, or he gets another shot and has to deal with demands for more, which will eventually require some sort of logical explanation besides Peter Parker, ambulance chaser and Spiderman stalker extraordinaire.
By the time he finishes his last track he decides he isn't going to worry about it. He has nothing to lose by going to their offices today, and even if they hate him, it's not like he wanted this internship anyway.
Pregnant with Spiderman's baby!
Peter gapes at the headline, at a picture of a woman he has most certainly never seen in his seventeen years of life. He only meant to pick up the Daily Bugle to get some idea of what he was about to be walking into—he didn't expect to see page after page about Spiderman's secret lovechild and his supposed repeated sex scandals. Besides the fact that almost a hundred percent of the women claiming to have had intimate nights with him could be charged with statutory if the claims were true, he can't believe anyone would print this garbage or believe any of these crazy looking women.
"Such a shame, isn't it?" says the vendor of the news stand, a girl in her mid-twenties with a bunch of piercings. "Guy gets a little bit of fame and thinks he can sling those webs all over the place, you know what I mean?"
"No," Peter stammers, feeling an uncomfortable, embarrassed heat crawl up his neck. "No, Spiderman wouldn't—he wouldn't do this."
"Aw, sweetie," she says. "What are ya, fifteen?"
Peter scowls.
"Probably too late to return your Spiderman lunchbox, huh."
Peter throws the newspaper down back on the stand. "Never mind," he says.
"Hey," she calls after him, "You crumpled half the pages, kid, you gotta buy it now—"
Peter ignores her, near stomping the next few blocks toward the Daily Bugle's offices. He has never really looked at the papers, has never really cared much for the articles about Spiderman, and now he's wondering if he should have paid more attention. How many other crazy rumors are people spreading about him? When did Spiderman go from being a vigilante to a B-list celebrity? The worst part is, he can't even defend himself. He's not stupid enough to talk to the press, he knows his voice sounds young and would give him away in an instant. And he would like to think he's above the media storm.
The way his fists are curled at his sides say otherwise.
By the time he reaches the Daily Bugle office he has calmed down somewhat. It was probably just a one-time thing, something meant to sell papers on a slow week. Now that he's here, though, maybe he'll have a chance to see some legitimate journalism.
Peter is directed toward a door with the nameplate J. Jonah Jameson. He knocks.
"What do you want?" asks a coarse voice.
"Uh," Peter stammers, not quite sure whether or not he should open the door.
"Well? Who the hell is it?"
Peter cracks the door open a bit. "Peter Parker, sir. I'm here for the, uh—the internship?"
"I can't hear a damn word you're saying. Has anyone ever told you you sound like a mamsy-pamsy? Get in here and talk like a man."
Peter walks in, trying his best not to look as irritated as he feels. "I'm here for the internship," he says loudly.
"Jesus, no need to yell." Jameson takes a long puff of his cigar and pulls out a photo—the one that Peter took of himself as Spiderman a few months ago. He scrutinizes it for a moment. "It's a horrible picture, really, it's obviously a fake." He abruptly thrusts another piece of paper at Peter. "Sign here so I can release it."
Peter holds up the document, not yet reading it. "It isn't a fake," he says defensively. He looks over the form. It's some sort of permissions, acknowledging that once he signs he has no control over where, how, or when the photo is released, essentially signing off all ownership to it so that it becomes the sole property of the Daily Bugle.
"Would you hurry up? I don't have all day."
"I'm not signing this," says Peter.
Jameson's eyebrows shift in a way that Peter can only describe as violent. "What do you mean you're not signing it?"
"Look, is this really an internship or do you just want to use this photo to plaster a bunch of lies about Spiderman?" Peter asks, already sick of being pushed around by this guy at this internship he didn't even want.
"A bunch of lies?" Jameson says incredulously. "That man is a menace and the public deserves to know the truth."
"I disagree," says Peter.
Jameson considers him for a moment. "Well it's gonna cost you this internship."
"That's just fine," says Peter, collecting his things and handing Jameson back the form. Only when his hand touches the knob does Jameson speak again.
"I'll give you fifty bucks for it."
This gives Peter pause. "What?"
"Fine. Seventy-five. You're just a kid, what more could you want?"
Peter's thoughts are suddenly racing. This has potential. Seventy-five bucks could buy him half of a used textbook, granted he gets into a college. He knows that this is all kinds of wrong, that he is practically selling himself, but really, what's the harm? It's not like Spiderman is asking for money for his services. Peter just happens to be profiting from them.
Jameson has mistaken his silence as a bargaining tactic. "A hundred. But that is my final offer, you grubby little thief."
Peter rounds on him. "Two hundred."
"That's ridiculous, absolutely not—"
"Two hundred or I'm selling it to the Globe."
Jameson's eyes narrow. "Two hundred it is."
Okay. Okay. I know I didn't update last night. But guys, my pretend singing career was keeping me really busy all weekend, and I try really hard to stay a few chapters ahead of what I'm posting and was getting dangerously close to catching up with myself, so I just needed a day to sit on it. Anyway. Sorry for the disappointment. Hopefully the fact that I used the word "mamsy-pamsy" in a fanfiction just now will make up for it (I have decided, at some point, to incorporate the word "rubbernecking" somewhere-I will MAKE IT WORK, it's just such a funny word. Maybe I'll just insert it in the middle of a really dramatic scene just to completely wreck the moment. We'll see.)