Hi all! Thanks for hanging with me during my week off. I didn't get as much rest or writing done as I wanted, but that's kind of the story of my life these days.
As a reminder, I originally started this story because I wanted a version of The Karate Kid but with Peter and Tony. The next few chapters link back to that plotline, including some familiar characters.
(Also, fair warning – next week leaves off on a doozy of a cliffhanger. I'm not at all sorry, but thought you should be ready.)
The song for this chapter is "Welcome to the Fire" by Willyecho.
Enjoy!
Chapter 6: The Bigger They Are
"Got everything?" May asked.
Peter nodded, holding the new backpack to his chest. "I'll be fine. I even have my phone."
"Good." She looked across at him from behind the wheel. "You use that if you have to. I've already talked to your homeroom teacher and the assistant principal, but if your breathing acts up or anything, you just call. I can come get you any time."
"Don't worry, Aunt May." Peter knew she would anyway, though. He hadn't started a new school since he moved in with her and Uncle Ben years ago, and that was very different. The Forest Hills elementary school had been a welcoming building that looked like an old library. The huge square monolith that was the Astoria middle school loomed over the block as four stories of solid stone and dark windows.
And, Peter knew, by seventh grade, people would already have friends — and enemies — and being the new kid was going to be tough.
He'd already spent all night dreaming about being pinned and helpless like what had happened to Uncle Ben, except it was a desk in an unfamiliar classroom and the whole school was watching him. He'd woken shaking and sweating, like he usually from dreams that reminded him about Uncle Ben, with a sick taste in his mouth. Even after a shower and breakfast, the familiar weight of a backpack full of books and binders felt constrictive today.
But he smiled at May and pushed away all the rest of it; it wasn't her fault and she shouldn't have to worry about it. "Love you," he offered, leaning in for a quick hug. "Thanks for the ride."
"Any time, kiddo," she said. And she was really trying not to look too concerned, and Peter appreciated it. "Have a great first day!"
He stepped out of the car and made his way up the big central stairs. He didn't look back, and he didn't look around at any other students. For now, he needed to pretend that he belonged, and hopefully somebody would believe it.
Past the metal detectors, Peter followed the signs. He knew his new homeroom was on the second floor by its number, so he focused on moving forward. He was a little early, which meant there were fewer people in the halls; those who were present were finding their lockers and getting themselves situated. The stairwells were quiet, the stairs oddly short so he felt like he was tiptoeing up them. One floor up and to the left he found the correct door.
"Uh, hi?"
"Good morning. You must be Peter. I'm Mister Thompson" A dark-skinned man with an extremely round face was arranging a pile of books. "Welcome to Astoria. I've got your locker assignment right here if you want me to show you where it is."
"Thanks."
Peter followed Mister Thompson back into the hall and around the corner to one plain metal locker like every other in the building.
The teacher held out a slip of paper. "Here's the combination. Don't lose that or there's a fine to reset it."
"I won't. Thanks." Peter opened it — he remembered when Betty's locker upon switching to fifth grade hadn't been checked the previous year and had what remained of an apple molding in the bottom, so he was reasonably apprehensive — but the locker was clean and plain. Peter immediately opened his backpack to unload some of his stuff.
"You're pretty quiet," Mister Thompson said, reminding Peter he was still there. "Don't feel like you can't speak up if you need something, especially being new this year. I'm here for you if you have any questions or concerns, okay?"
"Yes, sir." Peter swallowed, hating that he was small and new to the school and had no friends and no idea where anything was or how to get along. "I appreciate that."
"I've seen your transcripts, of course. At the end of the week, there will be signups for the clubs. We don't have a lot that's up your alley, but there's a robotics club if you're interested. They're pretty good. One of the eighth grade math teachers runs it. Let me know if you want me to introduce you."
"Oh." That made Peter smile, thinking of the things he was building with Mister Carbonell. "Yeah, that might be good. Thanks."
"All right. Well, the bell will ring soon, so you probably don't have a whole lot of time to look around. Not a good start to be late on the first day." But he winked to make it clear he was joking.
Peter nodded and returned his attention to sorting his belongings into his locker. The halls were filling around him, and he continued his staring straight ahead so as not to draw any attention to himself. But he couldn't linger out here forever, so he squared his shoulders and returned to homeroom, unconsciously lifting his shoulders the way he had seen Mister Carbonell do after the Pirates ringtone sounded sometimes.
Peter was able to choose a seat in the back to one side, which was obviously the best place to sit in an unknown situation so he could see everything. If he were starting seventh grade in Forest Hills, he and Ned would already be swapping notes and dodging Flash Thompson, and probably peeking through the science textbook for the year to see what they would be doing. But without someone to talk to, Peter opted to sit still, just fidgeting and waiting for the bell.
He did watch his new classmates file in, though. The other kids matched the general demographics of the neighborhood in composition as well as how they dressed, but there weren't any faces he recognized right away. Still, he felt okay about it. Peter had never really had a lot of friends in the first place, and he wasn't entirely sure how to talk to people who weren't Ned or even Flash.
Then the bell rang and Peter had to focus on the day before him. Mister Thompson called the roll and Peter tried to commit at least some names to memory. He waved when he was introduced as a new student to the neighborhood, and he was more relieved than he would ever admit to find out he was one of four new kids in their class alone. Those kids he did remember — Estrella, Nkosi, and someone whose name was Elizabetta but who went by E-Bit. Mister Thompson handed out schedules and reviewed where most of the classrooms could be found and offered to assign buddies for the new kids if they wanted them.
To a person, they declined.
Then the pledge of allegiance and daily announcements came over the PA, and that was normal and comforting. Apparently it didn't matter where you went to public school in Queens — you still had to stand and talk to the flag, there was no skateboarding on school property, and no sports equipment was to be removed from the gym by any student for any purpose ever. By the time they got to the "lunch trays will remain in the lunchroom" bit, Peter was relaxing even more.
After that, the day progressed in a blur. Peter followed his schedule from room to room, meeting teachers for math, English, science, health, computing (later in the year it would become art), social studies (that was Mister Thompson), and Spanish. Band would happen twice a week and gym was the other three days. Peter spent his first band period playing his clarinet for the band teacher to get assigned a seat, but the rest of his placements had been decided by his grades from Forest Hills.
The day ended after both seeming like it had lasted forever and had barely started, and Peter was just glad to grab his stuff and leave. He had some homework, though not much for the first day. It was a Tuesday, but because of school he knew he wouldn't be seeing Ned today, and that was really what hurt. He should be already sharing ideas with Ned about assignments and making up new codewords for teachers and laughing about the one stall in the second-floor restroom that looked like a repository for every phone number ever scrawled on a bathroom wall. The school itself was fine, but it was empty in a way school hadn't been before and Peter didn't like it.
Backpack securely on, Peter found his way out the side door and started to head for home. The school was easily within walking distance of the apartment even if it wasn't in a part of the neighborhood he'd explored much, and after being shut up all day with so many strangers, Peter found himself looking forward to the walk.
"Hey, kid."
He almost tripped over his feet in surprise, feeling the familiar, iron-strong grip catch his shoulder before he could fall.
"Mister Carbonell?" Peter blinked at the man leaning against the wall of the office building next door to the middle school. "What are you doing here?"
"What's it look like?" he replied. "Picking you up from school. First day, very important. Wanted to make sure they didn't start burning out your brain cells with stuff for lesser beings."
Peter laughed and felt his shoulders falling for the first time all day; he hadn't even noticed he'd been carrying them high with tension. "You didn't tell me you were coming to get me."
"Figured it would be an okay surprise. Also, May is waiting for you at home and she's going to try to cook something, so if that goes like usual I wanted to be on hand before she sets off the smoke detectors again."
Peter laughed. "Don't let her hear you say that. She keeps watching those cooking shows and trying every complicated thing they do. The more complicated, the better. She says she learns by doing and that the best way to do something is to aim high."
"Peter, your aunt can screw up grilled cheese. I really think she should aim lower." He patted Peter on the shoulder. "Come on. The sooner we get you home, the less likely she burns down the building when we're not looking. Tell me about your classes."
And Peter stopped having to keep his head down and try to fit in, and he let himself talk the way he would to Ned, and it helped ease the cold in his chest. By the time they reached the apartment building, he was bouncing on his feet and laughing with Mister Carbonell about the first quiz in science class which, of course, would be on the periodic table.
Maybe it would be okay here after all.
-==OOO==-
It was Friday afternoon, and Peter's last class was about to let out.
"Remember," Miss Mullins said, "if you are interested in signing up for any of the clubs or activities outside of school hours, there will be tables set up in the gym. Bring your signed permission slips in on Monday."
Peter had looked through the handout he'd received on Tuesday more than once, but there was really one activity that appealed to him enough to be worth the time — the robotics club Mister Thompson had told him about on the first day. Chess club wasn't Peter's thing even though he could play, he wasn't interested in sports or drama, and all the media clubs were about filmmaking rather than film-watching. If there had been a Star Wars club, he'd have been all over it, but no such luck.
At the last bell, Peter grabbed all his stuff and headed to the gym. He already loathed gym class as much as he ever had, if not more. At least in Forest Hills, Ned had been equally unathletic and the two of them had formed an alliance of awful-sports-ness that kept them amused. And the gym teacher was largely sympathetic to Peter's chronic asthma and didn't really push him beyond what he was comfortable doing. Coach Stone, on the other hand, had already vowed to have Peter running the mile by the end of the year, and he was, by far, the shortest and slowest kid in his class including the girls.
Honestly, he was just waiting for the locker room bullying to start. He knew it was inevitable.
However, that was gym, and while the club sign-up was in the gym, it wasn't like the room itself could intimidate him. So Peter suppressed his sour impression of the area and instead joined the crowd pushing and shoving down the narrow hallway. He didn't know if there were limited spots in the robotics club the way there were in some others, but he didn't intend to be left out due to being too slow.
Folding tables had been set up around the gym with a couple of signs at various places, and crowds of both kids and teachers at each. Peter knew that every club in school had at least one faculty advisor, which, in the case of robotics, was definitely a good idea. He'd already been saved from a hundred mistakes in the workshop by Mister Carbonell; Peter didn't want to think about what he or others might do unsupervised.
Finding the robotics club in the crowd was no issue — they were the ones with a drone sitting on the table. Peter guessed it came from a kit, but it was still pretty cool, so he made his way over.
"Hi," he said, looking up at the teacher; whatever kids were in the club were nowhere to be seen. "Um, I was hoping to sign up?"
The teacher at the table wasn't one Peter knew; Mister Thompson had said he was an eighth grade teacher. The man looked down at Peter and raised an eyebrow.
"Name?"
"Peter Parker, sir."
That sign of respect earned him a slightly approving nod. "I'm Doctor Kreese-Silver. Nice to meet you, Parker. What grade are you in?"
"Seventh."
"Hmm. Everyone else is a year older than you and we do some pretty advanced work. Are you sure you'd be able to keep up?"
Peter lifted his chin. "Yes, sir."
Doctor Kreese-Silver nodded. "Very well. Here's the form for your parents to fill out. The club meets Mondays after school and some Saturday afternoons especially around the exhibition. Have you heard about it?"
Peter shook his head.
"The school puts on a science exhibition in which any student with a C or better in their science class can participate. There are prizes awarded by grade as well as by subject matter. The robotics club members may opt to compete against one another or in teams. Most years, one or several members of the club win the overall school prize."
Peter thought of his own prizes from Forest Hills science fairs and grinned. "That sounds awesome, Doctor Kreese-Silver."
"Hmm, I like your attitude, Parker. I'll expect you to have that form ready for me on Monday and I'll see you in my classroom right after last bell. We'll do a practical with you to make sure you aren't too far behind and then we'll start our builds for the term."
Peter nodded. "Thank you for letting me join your club. I'm really looking forward to it!"
Form in hand, Peter retreated out of the gym. He liked how the robotics club form had a font that looked blocky and mechanical, and the border down one side was kind of like a row of microchips. He stopped outside the doors by one of the hard metal benches to put the form in his backpack when he felt a hand on his shoulder.
"Hey, it's that princess kid!"
Cold dropped into Peter's stomach as he looked up. Arrayed around him were the kids from the grocery store earlier in the summer, the ones who had shoved him into the shelf and gotten him hurt and in trouble. Peter shrank back instinctively.
"Whatcha doing, princess?" the lead one asked, grabbing for the sheet in his hands.
Peter tried to hold onto the form, but someone elbowed him and he dropped it in surprise.
"Yeah, you don't need this," the kid said after a glance at it. "Robotics is our club and we don't need anybody like you in it."
Peter grit his teeth, took a breath, and looked up into the kid's eyes. "The teacher said it was okay."
"Well, it's our club and we say it isn't." The kid ripped the form up in front of Peter's face and threw the pieces at him. "Go join something stupid. We don't want you."
Peter's heart was hammering in his ears. He barely heard the laughter from the group, nor felt their rough shoves as they pushed past him. He focused on his breathing, on keeping it even. He also didn't want to look up to see what other students had seen the confrontation and might be laughing at him or looking on with pity. None of that would help.
When he finally felt like he wasn't going to have his voice crack or risk tears, he grabbed his backpack and went back into the gym. The kids were there, but it looked like they had gone over to hang out with some people gathered around another club's sign-up. Moving quickly, he kept himself hidden in the crowd and returned to the robotics table.
"Parker?" Doctor Kreese-Silver was clearly surprised. "Change your mind?"
"No, sir. I, um, I dropped my form on my way out and it got trampled. Can I have another one?"
The teacher sighed. "Not a great start, Parker. You have to be reliable in this club. We use a lot of expensive equipment. Don't make this a habit." But he handed over the form.
"I won't. Thank you." And Peter practically ran out the door before his tormentors could spot him.
He had the whole walk back home to think.
I know Aunt May would want to know, but I don't want her to worry. And it's not like she can really help it if there are mean kids in the club. Besides, they probably won't be that bad when the teacher is there.
I don't want to tell her about it. She worries too much about me already.
I could tell Mister Carbonell.
But he got so mad when I got hurt at the grocery store. I don't want him to be upset, either. And since he's not Aunt May, he can't actually do anything with the school.
Something inside whispered, He would want to know. He cares.
Peter shook his head.
I'm twelve years old now. Aunt May is working all the time to take care of us. Mister Carbonell gives me too much of his time already. I don't want to make trouble for either of them after what they've done for me. I can handle this on my own.
But he knew from long experience with Flash Thompson that some bullies don't go away easily. So he made himself a promise.
I'll prove myself to Doctor Kreese-Silver and he'll make sure the club is fine. That's what teachers do. And if it isn't fine, I can take it. Probably. And if I can't, if they really make me cry, then I'll know I need actual help and I'll tell Mister Carbonell. He'll know what to do.
He felt good about that plan. A plan and a backup plan. Mister Carbonell was always telling him about building redundancy into every system. Now he had some of his own, and he wouldn't have to worry about freaking out Aunt May.
It was going to be fine.
Besides, I've definitely been through worse.
That made him feel, maybe wrongly, a little bit better.
Heroes do harder stuff than this. Iron Man fought so many bad guys even when he was probably tired or scared or hurt. If I want to be a hero, I have to fight, too.
The determination held him up the rest of the way home.
-==OOO==-
By the time Peter finished school the following Monday, his anxiety had crawled back into his gut. Even a Saturday full of tinkering with Mister Carbonell and Sunday afternoon at Ned's house hadn't quite knocked out the memory of the four older kids who warned him off the robotics club. But Aunt May had signed the permission slip, and Peter was getting interested in the bot he and Mister Carbonell had designed, and he wasn't about to back down without at least giving it a try.
Peter's handout about the club had given Doctor Kreese-Silver's room as one on the top floor of the building, so he hurried there right after the last bell, hoping to arrive in time to catch the teacher before the others arrived. The eighth graders had most of their classes up here, and somehow they all seemed so much taller than him, but he fought through the crowd anyway.
At the classroom door, he hesitated. Ultimately, he decided knocking was stupid and entered.
The room was half classroom and half workshop, with desks and chairs clustered at one end near the blackboard to leave room for tables with parts and equipment on the other side. The tables looked old and bore burns and other assorted marks, but the desk in the center of the room under the windows was pristine, a huge wooden behemoth that immediately made Peter feel small.
"Yes?"
Peter realized Doctor Kreese-Silver was staring at him from behind that desk.
"I'm, uh, Peter Parker. I brought you a signed form to join the club?" He stepped in slowly. "Am I here too early?"
"Not at all." The teacher gestured for him to come forward. "We usually give students about ten minutes after class to gather their things and such before we begin."
Peter perched his backpack on the nearest student desk and pulled the form from his binder — he had kept it hidden all day just in case. Handing it over felt like relief and victory, but it also solidified the nerves in his stomach.
"Everything appears to be in order," Doctor Kreese-Silver said. "Now, since we have some time, I'd like to check your basic knowledge. It wouldn't be fair to the others to have you slow down their work if you had constant questions."
Peter swallowed, pushing down a sense of annoyance. How was anybody supposed to join a new club if they had to know everything first? Didn't that just lead to excluding people rather than teaching them? But he kept his mouth shut. He needed this teacher on his side.
Without warning, Doctor Kreese-Silver began firing questions at Peter, from describing the difference between AC and DC to picking a particular tool out of the box. The questions were complex, and Peter might have been even more uncomfortable except that, in his head, he heard the questions being asked in Mister Carbonell's voice. And since he was used to being drilled this way in the workshop while Mister Carbonell leaned over a washing machine motor or the remains of a coffee maker, he found himself relaxing into the answers.
Peter didn't get everything right, of course, but he knew he had answered well by the end.
"I must say," Doctor Kreese-Silver said, nodding, "I expected much less. Well done."
"Thank you, sir."
"Now, the others should be arriving any minute. Why don't you go take a look at a few of the completed robotics projects from previous years on the far shelf? But don't touch anything. Those are the legacies of my prior students and I expect you to respect them."
Peter just nodded and wandered over. He really only had time to examine the first two before there was a bang at the door.
"Hey, Doc!"
Peter kept his flinch to himself at the familiar voice.
"Good afternoon, Mister Lawrence. I see you have your team with you already?"
Peter turned to see the kid who was the instigator of everything grin, the other three flanking him. "Yep. The unstoppable four are here to kick butt two years in a row."
"Hmm. Perhaps you will become the unstoppable five." Doctor Kreese-Silver gestured in Peter's direction. "We have a new member."
The four kids spun and their faces all switched as though a bomb had dropped. Peter made himself take a deep breath and approached. He pretended he couldn't see the angry looks.
"Hi. I'm Peter. Um, Peter Parker."
"I know he's not in your year," Doctor Kreese-Silver said, "but he has a good grasp of the basics and I don't think he'll be too hard to catch up. Besides, this is your last year. I'd rather not go into next year with no previous students."
Peter expected the others to say something, but they didn't. Instead, they shuffled to desks and sat down — and if they positioned themselves away from Peter, well, he noticed. He moved to his own and sat as well.
"As most of you know," Doctor Kreese-Silver said, rising from his place and taking up a lecturing pose, "this club has the honor of winning at least some prizes in every science exhibition since I began it upon joining the faculty. Last spring, we won both the seventh grade overall prize and the school prize. This year, I expect no less. In fact," he raised an eyebrow, "with the addition of Mister Parker, it is possible we could take the seventh year prize as well as your eighth and the school. I want to see that happen, gentlemen."
Peter blinked. His confusion must have shown on his face, because the teacher gestured to him.
"You have a question?"
"Um, just...aren't there any other students in the club, sir?"
"Unfortunately, the vast majority of the student population is unable to uphold my standards for participation. Most often, membership in this club is by invitation of standing members only."
"But...you were at the club thing on Friday," Peter pointed out.
"All clubs are open to any student at the school," and he said it as if reading from a page, "but the faculty advisor may refuse any student they do not feel is a good fit for the program or whose studies could suffer from neglect."
"Oh."
"Don't fret, Mister Parker. I'm glad you have joined us. It always puts me in a difficult position when the club has only one small group all from the same grade — it takes at least a year to get students caught up to where I expect them to be, and that means a lost year of progress. I expect you to bridge the gap between the current eighth graders and yourself so that, next year, you can help me hand-select a few of your younger peers to join us."
This sounded complicated, the way Aunt May complained about politics in the hospital sometimes, so Peter just nodded.
"First, I believe you four ought to introduce yourselves to Mister Parker. You will be working closely together for the next year, after all."
The lead bully looked at him and then smiled in a way that made Peter's neck feel cold.
"We've already kind of met. I'm Johnny Lawrence. I've been in this club since sixth grade and I run the projects like deciding who does what."
Peter could feel the threat in that. He swallowed.
Next to him, the one who had actually started all the shoving gave a grin of pure malice.
"Dutch O'Dell. Nice to meet you officially, princess."
Doctor Kreese-Silver cleared his throat. "Mister O'Dell. I cannot allow you to make a joke like that in my presence. Gender-based humor is on the list of behaviors the school associates with bullying."
Oh, good, Peter thought. That just means they'll find some other way to insult me.
"I'll think of something else," Dutch said.
"See that you do."
"I'm Fred Fernandez," said the third. "Wiring expert. I've got my own kit. Touch it and die."
"Mister Fernandez…"
"Yeah, fine. It's just a joke. But don't touch my stuff."
"I'm Bobby Brown." The last one didn't meet Peter's eyes. "Nice to meet you."
"Good." Doctor Kreese-Silver looked down at all five of them. "Now, we must decide how to proceed for the year. Previously, the four of you were a single team. You work well together, but that would leave Mister Parker on his own. Should we approach the competition differently this year? Perhaps, as I said, a team of five?"
"Honestly, Doc," Johnny said, "wouldn't it be better for Parker over there to learn the ropes by himself? If he's relying on us, he'll be screwed when he is on his own next year."
"Yeah," Fred said, "we've got a good thing going, and he's got to start from the bottom."
Peter felt stubbornness and something contrary rise in him. It was the kind of rebellion that he associated with Han Solo or Tony Stark more than himself, but in that moment, he let it fly.
"Doctor Kreese-Silver?" he offered, "I'm okay working on my own if that's what everybody wants. Then I can learn at my own pace, and we can compete against each other, too."
"Four against one isn't very sporting, Mister Parker," the teacher said, even if he didn't sound terribly concerned about it, "but I believe in allowing my students to make their own choices. If you're sure, I won't object."
Peter looked at the four eighth graders who were a bit surprised, and nodded. "If they're fine with it, so am I."
"Oh, it's on, Parker," Dutch said. "If you want a competition, you'll get one."
"Then let's review the rules for competing groups in the club," Doctor Kreese-Silver said. "I expect you four to demonstrate good sportsmanship, especially considering your advantages. And, Mister Parker, this is a decision you have to live with, so there will be no complaining later that your situation is unfair. You made this choice on your own."
"Don't worry, sir."
"Good. And, above all, remember that, even as you compete against one another, this robotics club is still one club. I will not tolerate less than excellence from any of you, no matter what. Mister Parker, the pressure will be on for you to show that you belong here. Our reputation is of great value to me, and you will all add to it or you will leave my club. Is that understood?"
"Yes, sir."
"All right. I have the rules here for how we divide up the space and resources. We'll spend the rest of today doing so. Next Monday, I want to hear your ideas about what you intend to build for the competition. March will be here before you know it, and you all have a lot of work to do."
Peter ignored the expressions from the other four while Doctor Kreese-Silver dug in his desk for the list of rules. Honestly, he thought he might be better off not working with them for more reasons than the obvious. At least he'd have an excuse to keep his distance.
But he was starting to think that this was not going to be fun.
Heroes stick it out, Peter told himself. Heroes don't back down. Heroes find a way to win no matter how many people think they can't. Heroes don't give up because it's scary.
I can do this. I'm going to do this.
Besides, and he felt a smile tugging at his expression, I'm not alone after all. I bet none of these guys have Mister Carbonell to help them out on weekends.
