Chapter 2: Morning at Stan Lee

They'd been packing up the apartment since weeks before the wedding. Peter didn't know why they decided to start that early because they didn't even have all that much to pack. He probably could've condensed his entire bedroom—minus the furniture—into three or four boxes in an afternoon. So, he'd been living in a room devoid of personality for far too long now. Mr. Stark promised that his room at the new house would be way bigger, which he probably thought made Peter excited. In actuality, Peter didn't really care if his room was the size of a basketball court. He didn't take up much space, and this cozy little room had meant safety for him ever since his parents died.

He'd seen Mr. Stark's house once before, and while it was impressive, it was the kind of opulent that screamed "Everything was put here by a professional interior decorator and the actual owner of the house doesn't even know their own taste." There wasn't so much as a family photo on any of the walls, just expensive-looking artwork. Peter wouldn't be surprised if they were originals. Rich people liked to flaunt their wealth like that, and from what he'd seen so far, Mr. Stark was no different. Peter didn't think a place like this would ever feel like home, but he didn't have a choice. They moved in the day after the wedding, and Peter found he could barely look at either May or Mr. Stark knowing what probably transpired the night before.

Peter let Mr. Stark show him to his room, neither of them speaking a word. He couldn't tell if Mr. Stark knew that his "I'll think about it" from yesterday had actually been a "no" in disguise. Regardless, their dynamic felt even more strained than usual. The situation vaguely reminded Peter of Little Orphan Annie, although the mental association of Mr. Stark with a character called "Daddy Warbucks" made him nearly throw up in his mouth. Luckily, Peter had no one in his life equivalent to Miss Hannigan.

He unpacked the boxes of stuff from his old room into this new one. His clothes took up less than half the space in the dresser and closet. Back home, he used to keep most of his clothes on shelves and a rack against the wall without a door or a curtain to separate it from the rest of the room. It saved space they didn't have, but also gave the room a more cozy, lived-in feel. Even once he unpacked everything, this room didn't feel cozy in the least.

Not wanting to face Mr. Stark or Aunt May, he decided to double check the contents of his backpack and pick out his outfit for his first day of school tomorrow. May had initially wanted Peter to go to the public school in this district, but Mr. Stark insisted on paying for him to attend a private high school called Stan Lee. Peter didn't really care—either way it was a brand new school with brand new people, so he just let them sort it out amongst themselves. May didn't want to feel too much like a charity case, living in Mr. Stark's house and sending Peter to school with his money, and whatnot, but Mr. Stark eventually convinced her. Uncle Ben rarely ever convinced May to change her mind. Evidently Mr. Stark was more persuasive.

Peter always got cold in the classrooms at school back home. They never put the heating on quite hot enough in the wintertime, and in the summer time they blasted the AC so high it felt like winter indoors. He picked out a blue sweater to wear over a plaid button down and his most comfortable pair of jeans. As a kid, Peter used to pick out a special outfit for the first day of school. It usually consisted of his current favorite science pun T-shirt and the one pair of sneakers that still fit him. But for this first day of school, he didn't want to wear anything that might make him stand out. Because while it was a first day of school for him, it was just another Monday for everyone else.

A knock at the door. And May's voice. "Peter?"

"Come in."

She walked in and sat down at the foot of his bed. "It's really spacious in here," she remarked.

"Yeah."

May frowned her "I can tell something's wrong" frown. She patted the bed beside her. Peter flopped down with a sigh. "Talk to me, kiddo."

"Everything's so weird and different now."

"Everything?"

He nodded. "I miss when it was just the two of us."

She wrapped her arm around his shoulders and squeezed. "It's not all bad, is it? To have another person in our corner?"

Peter shrugged. He didn't particularly feel like Mr. Stark was in his corner, but he didn't want to say that about May's husband in front of her. "I'm glad he makes you happy," he settled on.

"I appreciate you saying that. And I think, if you give him a chance, he can make you happy too."

Peter wanted to believe her. But truthfully, since Uncle Ben died, nothing really made him happy anymore.

~0~

Stan Lee was smaller than his old school. A lot smaller. The building probably had less square footage than his elementary school, and Mr. Stark said that his grade only had about fifty kids in it. At Peter's old school, each grade was pushing five hundred kids, making it easy to disappear into the masses. Peter preferred disappearing into the masses. Everyone here definitely knew each other already, which meant they would all immediately clock him as a new kid.

Peter kept his gaze down as he walked into the building. If he didn't accidentally make eye contact with anyone, hopefully nobody would try to start a conversation with him. He'd already had a meeting with admin to get his locker combination—which he didn't need because he kept everything in his backpack, a necessary habit in a school where lockers were vandalized or robbed nearly every day—and class schedule. He pored over a map of the school and memorized the route he would take to and from every single class. Looking lost increased the odds someone would single him out. One of the only positives of the small size of the school: it didn't take long to memorize the map.

Almost everyone he passed in the halls was deeply engaged in conversation with at least one other person. Peter listened in as he passed within earshot of different groups of people, wondering if private school kids chatted about the same things as public school kids. The football team was doing well this season, thanks to some guy named Luke. A teacher named Mr. Ross had assigned a ridiculous amount of homework the previous week. Peter had him for history and hoped that not every week was like that. Two people had just broken up, apparently not for the first time. At least the drama was the same.

Peter didn't want to show up to homeroom early in case he took someone's seat, whether they were officially or unofficially assigned, so he stalled in the bathroom until one minute before the bell was due to ring. He slid into an empty desk at the back of Mr. Pym's classroom. The instant his backpack hit the floor, the bell rang. Peter was used to classrooms so full of people and noise that it felt like the walls were closing in. He counted only ten other students in the room, plus Mr. Pym.

Peter braced himself for the "We have a new student, please be nice," lecture, but it never came. Mr. Pym just glanced around the room, counting heads with a pen in his hand, and nodded. The person in the seat to Peter's right put his feet up on the desk and leaned back in his chair, bobbing his head to whatever music was playing in his earbuds. Most kids their age used wireless ones connected to their phone, but this guy's were plugged into…was that a Walkman? Peter had stopped finding those even in dumpsters years ago. He'd thought they were functionally extinct. In front of him sat a person with greasy black hair and a gold headband that made it look like they had little horns. They were engaged in deep discussion with two people at adjacent desks, something about an assignment due today in Mr. Slattery's class.

A short person with a pixie cut was sketching a guy in a football jersey two rows ahead. To his left, two people conversed in a language he thought sounded African in origin, but he wasn't sure. All the way in the back left corner of the classroom, he could see nothing but a curtain of blond hair sprawled across the desk. The person whom the hair belonged to was audibly snoring. "Sorry I'm late, Mr. Pym," a voice said. Peter looked up as another person entered the classroom. He wore red-tinted sunglasses and tapped a white cane in front of him as he navigated to his seat in the front row. He also sported a bleeding lip.

"Was it Frank again?" Pixie Cut asked.

"None of your business," the boy snapped.

Pixie Cut leaned back in their seat and crossed their arms. "It was Frank."

Football Jersey chuckled. "They don't call him Punisher for no reason."

"It's one thing to use your strength to play football, but using it to bully someone doesn't earn you a nickname," said the boy to Peter's left. Even speaking English, his voice maintained an African accent.

"Nobody asked you, T'Challa," Pixie Cut said shortly.

Peter took a deep breath to calm his nerves. These didn't sound like the sort of people he'd get along with. Hopefully, none of them decided to target him next. "Are you okay?" asked the girl to his left, also with an African accent.

He jumped in his seat.

She lowered her voice to an even quieter whisper. "Sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you."

"I'm fine."

"Don't listen to Sprite. They're only nasty to people they have personal beef with."

"Which is…?"

"Almost everyone, unfortunately. Just give them a wide berth and you'll be fine."

"Noted."

"I'm Shuri, by the way. Exchange student from Wakanda."

"Peter Parker," he reciprocated. Peter found that since May married Tony, he'd become extra protective of his last name. She hyphenated hers, but Peter's stayed the same.

"Nice to meet you, Peter Parker."

"You too."

"Do you need someone to show you around? Help you find your classes? I'd be happy to."

"No thanks. I know the layout of the school pretty well; I studied the map."

"Smart boy. What's your next class?"

"Chemistry. With Ms. Cho."

"Me too!" she held her hand out for a fist bump, which Peter shyly reciprocated. "Are you a STEM kid, or is it just to meet a requirement?"

"I like chemistry," he said sheepishly.

"I'm more of an engineering and design kinda girl, but chem's cool too. Want to walk together?"

"Sure."

"This is my brother, by the way." She pointed to the guy beside her. "T'Challa."

"Are you twins?"

She laughed. "No. My parents and I agreed that there was no use putting me in the grade appropriate for my age here. Back home, I had private tutors, and I'm a bit ahead of the average thirteen-year-old."

"You're thirteen?" That seemed so much younger than fifteen.

"Yes. And tenth grade is still easy for me. But I'm mostly here for the cultural immersion, not education."

"Okay." Peter didn't know whether to be impressed or terrified. Both were probably appropriate. He'd always been one of the smartest kids in his classes, but not that smart.

The morning announcements began, but Peter couldn't hear them over everyone still talking. Mr. Pym made no move to quiet them and make them pay attention. As they concluded, Peter prepared himself to stand for the pledge of allegiance, but it never came. He supposed a private school didn't have to do it if they didn't want to. Just another adjustment he'd have to make.

The bell rang, signaling them to leave for their first class. Peter walked through the halls with Shuri, listening as she pointed out the cleanest bathrooms, rooms that were usually empty after school for studying, and floor tiles that tended to be sticky. Along the way, a bunch of people waved or said hello to Shuri. The experience completely bewildered Peter. At his old school, people mostly kept to their cliques, and he'd been a member of none of them. People of all sorts all knew Shuri. So she was smart and popular, yet still took the time to talk to Peter. Crazy.

They entered Ms. Cho's classroom. Shuri waltzed right up to her and asked where Peter should sit. Ms. Cho welcomed him and pointed to an empty seat in the second row from the back. Peter worried that entering a new school part way through the year would set him at a serious disadvantage, but he quickly learned that he already possessed adequate background knowledge to understand today's lesson. Hopefully, he'd face a similar situation in his other classes. He had six of them: chemistry, English, art, history, math, and engineering. At such a small school, he hadn't had to fight for a spot in any of his desired electives, even months after the schedules were initially made.

After chemistry, he walked with Shuri to English, another class they shared. Along the way, they compared schedules, and he learned that they had every single class in common except for third period, when he went to art and she to economics. In addition to Shuri, two people followed him from chem to English. He was shocked to discover their class had only ten people in it. At his old school, he rarely sat in a classroom with fewer than thirty kids. Peter felt exposed.

One of the people from his chem class came up to him and introduced himself. "I'm Scott. It's nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too. I'm Peter."

"What brings you here in the middle of the school year?"

"I moved." It was a truthful enough explanation without revealing that his aunt-slash-legal-guardian got married and uprooted their little family of two to move in with him.

"Oh, okay. If you ever need anything, let me know. I'm sure you'll get used to this place in no time."

"Thanks."

Peter had to admit the people here welcomed him like nobody ever had before. He glanced around the classroom at the people he'd be discussing literature with for the next several months. The person with the horned headband from homeroom was back, along with Shuri's brother T'Challa and Sprite. Horns was talking to the same person from this morning, a blond guy dressed in khakis and a button-down. There were also two brand new faces: a white girl with long, curly red hair and a Latina girl. Their teacher, Mr. Woo, did announce Peter as a new kid, and he bit his lip as every face in the room turned to look at him.

"To help Peter integrate into the class, I'd like everyone to go around and share names and pronouns. I'm Mr. Woo, my pronouns are he/him."

Peter was quickly able to put names to faces. He was grateful to Mr. Woo for taking the time to do this, especially in a class that was bound to be more discussion-based than chemistry.

Horns' name was actually Loki. "I'm using he/him today, but it changes. I wear a blue or pink bracelet depending on how I feel."

"Natasha. She/her."

"I'm Ajak, I use she/her."

The girl also in his chem class was named Mantis. "She/it/they. Any of those is fine."

"I'm Mobius. He/him."

"Sprite. They/them."

Even the people he already knew also participated.

"Shuri. She/her."

"I'm T'Challa, I use he/him pronouns.

"Scott. He/him."

All eyes fell to Peter again, and he realized it was his turn. "Oh. I'm Peter, but you already knew that. I use he/him pronouns."

"Thank you everyone. Now Peter, you're in luck, because we just finished up our last book and will be starting on a new unit today. Has anyone read the Once and Future King?"

Only Loki raised his hand.

Mr. Woo segwayed into a discussion of Arthurian legend and the various adaptations of the Knights of the Round Table. Peter found he actually loved having such a small class size, because it gave everyone a chance to participate. Maybe switching schools wouldn't be so bad after all.