Between school and health problems recently, this just kept getting pushed back. Sorry! (But also I was in the ER for a day so not THAT sorry... :P)
Web of Spider-Man
#8: Fatal Flaw Part 1
"Chaos Theory"
…
To say Peter and Al felt awkward would have been a criminal understatement.
The two teenaged nerds had been forcibly dragged by Harry from the boys' bathroom where they'd hidden away under the pretense they wanted to 'freshen up' after school. Both Peter and Al pulled away from Harry in order to avoid the further degradation of their reputation as they entered the student center where their three respective dates waited, albeit impatiently, on the bleachers. Upon spotting the boys, Jessica smiled. The other girls, however, looked far from excited.
"Wassup?" Al awkwardly greeted, pulling on the collar of his polo as if to ease the respiratory process.
Peter resisted the urge to glare at Al as the two stood across from their dates. In Peter's case, that meant Cindy Moon, the punk rock Chinese-American geek, who'd dyed red koolaid streaks onto her otherwise dark bangs since the last time he'd seen her. Al's date was Cindy's best friend and Midtown High's resident sophomore social justice warrior, Gertrude Yorkes, a chubby, purple-haired girl who sported lime green, thick-rimmed glasses.
"So, you all know each other, right?" Jess asked, sliding up onto her feet to run the show.
"Yeah," Peter and Gertrude replied, while Al offered a simple, "uh huh," and Cindy ended with the stinger, "Unfortunately."
Hence Harry's "you're not going to believe it." Cindy had been one of Peter's junior high crushes, and, at the time, the shy meganerd couldn't bring himself to talk to the girl. Instead, he had followed her around everywhere until Cindy finally ended his longtime adoration with a rather fiercely-phrased confrontation that included the word "stalker" more than once and took place in the quad, a far from private place. That had proven Peter's social downfall, and he hadn't recovered since.
"OK," Peter took a deep breath. Thankfully, he'd gained a lot of confidence in the last week in no small part because of his growing internet fame. "I'm just gonna address the elephant in the room. Cindy, you don't like me. I don't know who Jess told you would be your date, but—"
"She told me it would be you. I accepted under the pretense that 1) your days of creeping were over, and 2) you'd ask me out formally," Cindy stated, crossing her arms.
"Oh," Peter dumbly muttered.
"I can assure you Pete's not a creep, and he'll blow your mind with how amazing his invite's gonna be," Harry said.
"He's a really nice guy. You won't regret it," Jess added.
'No pressure,' Peter thought, his anxiety only growing.
Cindy locked eyes with Peter, who immediately looked at his feet. Shyly, he managed, "I promise all of that—I mean…" He managed to meet her gaze as he stated, "I won't screw this up."
"Great," Cindy simply replied, actually offering him a tiny pursed smile.
"As for Gert and Al," Jess put her hands on the quiet geeks' shoulders, "You two will totes make the cutest couple."
Al and Gert snickered simultaneously, glanced at one another, then looked away, blushing.
"OMG, I'm so excited," Gert sarcastically said.
"Like, same, though, LOL," Al replied with the same dry tone.
Yet again, they locked eyes, this time with a smile.
"Jess, you've got a talent," Harry beamed.
The brunette winked back at her boyfriend. "Don't I know it."
…
As the group of teens went their separate ways, Peter caught up with Harry and Jess before they reached his car to say, "Hey, guys, can we talk for a minute?"
"What's up?" Jess asked.
Peter glanced over at the nearby senior powerhouse couple—Randy Robertson and Liz Allan—who were making out on the hood of Liz's car. He whispered, "In private?"
Jess and Harry both noted his worry, and the brunette replied, "They're occupied. We're fine."
"Please," Peter begged.
Harry and Jess exchanged a look, then relented, leading Peter over to an empty space in the parking lot.
When he was convinced the coast was clear, Peter blurted, "I don't think this is a good idea."
Jess crossed her arms and cocked her head slightly as she said, "Do you like Cindy?"
Peter hesitated. "I guess. I mean, she's cute."
"Pete has a thing for punk girls," Harry interjected, to which his friend rolled his eyes.
"I just meant…Cindy and I, we're not, like, the dream team. Things are bound to go bad," Peter said.
Jessica sighed and argued, "I swear to God, you are such a wimp sometimes. You've both grown up since sixth grade—"
"Just not physically in Peter's case," Harry teased. Jessica smacked him, causing the OsCorp heir to laugh. "I'm just saying…"
"Cindy's known for being a bit of a…y'know," Peter didn't want to finish the thought.
"Bitch?" Jess did it for him. "You know why that is, don't you? She wouldn't hook up with this senior, Jordan Rickard, our freshman year, so he ruined her rep. Told the whole school she slept him, and was lying about it."
"Shit, I didn't realize…" Peter mumbled, as Harry's eyes widened with shock, only for Jessica to interrupt.
"She's really self-conscious, and she's got trust issues. That's why she acts the way she does around you. Let's be honest here, that's why she acts like you," Jessica said.
"Burn," Harry coughed out.
"Like both of you," Jess added, glaring at her boyfriend.
"Wow, yeah, I—I had no idea," Peter admitted.
"Make homecoming the best night of her life," Jess finished. "Don't be a dick."
…
"Don't be a dick," came a youthful—albeit commanding—voice through the conference call speaker. "Don't quarrel with me. The test results speak for themselves. I have extremely loyal subordinates on the inside of your branch, Smythe. People close to you. They all concur that the transgene initiative is an abject failure."
Disappointment, rage, and now paranoia flooded Spencer Smythe's mind as he sat alone in his darkened office, listening to the speaker, the CEO of Advanced Idea Mechanics. Because of his condescending tone and pretentious verbiage, Smythe could understand why many of the other branch executives had begun to refer to the CEO behind his back as the Scientist Supreme.
"Please, sir, fund the project for one more month. That's all we need. I assure you we're close to—"
"Ah ah ah. What did I just say?" the CEO replied. "I've already cut your funding. We are in a superhuman arms race, and we need results yesterday. Your branch appears positively enthused by the prospects of Phineas Mason's proposed exoskeleton. Follow that lead."
With a relenting sigh, Smythe agreed, "Yes, sir."
"And Smythe? The cuts extend well past your little pet project. You've hired far too many excess employees. Trim the fat," the CEO finished.
"…yes, sir." Smythe had to resist the urge to scream. He had to release dozens of hard-working individuals—people with families—because of his failure, his obsession.
The CEO's command potentially wasn't just his actual death sentence, but that of his reputation, as well.
"Is that all?" Smythe seethed.
"Yes. Ciao. Have a lovely afternoon. And don't disappoint me."
CLICK.
The CEO hung up after that foreboding declaration, leaving Smythe to rue his future alone…
…dying.
…
The following Friday, AIM's cuts came to fruition. Dozens of employees were called into Farley Stillwell's office so he could break the bad news. More than a few sad sacks broke down crying. Some threatened him. Most cursed the branch director.
That evening, after working a full shift, Max Dillon received the ominous text message, 'Please come to Dr. Stillwell's office.' He knew what that meant. He'd witnessed a number of his colleagues—his friends get sacked. Mustering all of his inner resolve, he swore to handle the situation with pride…what little he had left.
"I assume you know why you're here," Stillwell spoke the second after Max had planted himself in a seat.
"You want to see my pitch perfect Ben Grimm impression?" Max quipped, perhaps uncharacteristically given the circumstances.
Since discovering Tanya had cheated, he'd begun to undergo a change. He felt numb all the time. He tried to offset it with humor. It didn't help.
"I like you, Max. You know that," Stillwell offered with genuine sympathy. "There aren't many brothers in this building. You work hard…" He sighed, then added, "When you're here. In the wake of budget cuts, your recent absences have forced my hand."
Max's ears began to ring. He couldn't make out the rest of Stillwell's spiel. Eventually, the good-natured scientist dismissed him, and Max left the room with a halfhearted, "See you around."
He was surprised to find Ben Parker waiting for him outside Stillwell's office. The older man managed a weak smile. Max finally realized he, too, had been smiling. What the hell was wrong with him?
"You too, huh?" Max asked.
Ben shook his head. Max felt the numbness grow.
Ben tried to speak, but Max interrupted him, "Y'know, this wasn't the plan. I was on track to go to college, become an electrical engineer. Got a scholarship to ESU and everything. Then my mama got killed in an industrial 'accident.' Wasted my time suing the Wall Street thugs involved, but it went nowhere. All I got was a verbal thrashing and a letter from some asshole in admissions saying my scholarship had been revoked."
Max shrugged. "Just goes to show the system's rigged. If God exists, he sure as hell doesn't give a shit about us. The rich and powerful grow richer and more powerful while we—"
"I know some people around town who might be willing to give you a job," Ben offered. "It won't pay well, but, heck, at least it pays."
Max considered Ben's proposal, but ultimately shook his head. "Nah. I'm done getting played by this broke ass system."
With those words, Max left the building, ignoring Ben's calls. He swore the next time he'd step foot on the premises he'd be different man.
He just didn't realize how different.
…
That evening, Ben Parker returned home, feeling more down on his luck than ever. It turned out he and his nephew had something in common. Not that either of the proud Parkers would admit it, of course.
"Work was hell today. Dinner's whatever microwave meal you want to fix yourself," May explained after Ben sat down at the kitchen table.
"Uh huh," Ben solemnly replied.
May noticed his emotional state and sat down beside him. "What's wrong, hon?"
"Nothing. Just tired," Ben lied. He got up and headed toward the freezer. "Should get something in my stomach. That'll help."
May had known Ben long enough to read through his façade, but she didn't want to push the issue. He'd open up eventually when he was ready.
Peter trotted into the kitchen just seconds after Ben had popped his meal into the microwave. He'd come with a purpose beyond the obvious need to get rid of the rumbling in his gut.
"So, I was wondering. I know I'm grounded and all, but Homecoming's coming up early next month, and I'd really like to go this year," Peter said.
After some thought, May said, "Keep up the good behavior, and we'll make the dance an exception to your grounding."
"Thank you!" Peter pecked his aunt on the cheek, then skipped over to his uncle to hug him. "Love you guys."
"Love you too," Ben chuckled, his mood significantly improved.
He met his wife's gaze, and both of the older Parkers smiled that much wider for it. Family—Ben didn't know where he'd be without his. May had made him the luckiest man alive, and as grim as it was to admit it, his brother and sister-in-law's death had left him his greatest pride: Peter Parker. He loved the boy like he would his own son. Heck, Peter was his son.
Nothing would tear the Parkers apart, Ben silently swore. Not so long as he was around.
…
Peter didn't know what to do.
The time: 7:08 PM. The football game had started eight minutes ago. Harry was expecting him by halftime. Peter had promised to help him ask Jessica to Homecoming. More importantly, he had to ask Cindy to the dance, and there was no better time to do it, as much as the thought terrified Peter.
But his aunt and uncle. He'd promised them to stay home. To be good. If he snuck out and they caught him, he wouldn't just guarantee homecoming would be a no-go, but he'd worry them that much more. Peter knew his uncle liked to believe the teen couldn't read him, but that hadn't been true since he'd turned thirteen. Something was up with Ben. Something personal. Peter's rebellious behavior recently couldn't have made things easier on him.
Peter eyed the bulky work-in-progress that peaked out of his desk drawer. He'd spent his vlogless free time researching spider webs. Chemistry labs had proven an ideal time to experiment with (and occasionally steal) a concoction of his making—a sticky substance nearly identical to webbing. He'd made serious progress on a device that could shoot the 'webs,' but he still had a ways to go. Tonight he could focus on that-focus on Spider-Man-and stay in the good graces of his aunt and uncle. But he'd promised Harry…
As if timed, his phone went off right before Peter could sit down. It was Harry. He answered it.
"Hey, Pete, you're coming, right?" Harry asked.
"…"
"Come on. Do it for me. Do it for the babes," Harry begged.
"Promise not to use the word 'babes' ever again and I'll come."
Harry laughed, "Yeah, whatever, man. Just get your ass over here."
Peter knew what he had to do. He just didn't like it.
…
On the plus side, sneaking out meant Peter got to parkour to the subway station. He spent the ride to campus, however, twitching nervously. Was this even worth it? He was going to embarrass himself in front of half the school. Peter had talked to maybe two cheerleaders in his entire life, and he was supposed to interact with them?
"Don't stress don't stress don't stress," he muttered rapid fire.
He met the gaze of a man who was clearly uncomfortable in his presence. Peter forced a smile. The man looked away and left the train at the next stop.
'Smooth,' Peter glumly thought.
…
The instant Peter stepped foot on the bleachers, Harry spotted him and ran over.
"You ready?" the redhead asked, nervous.
"Oh yeah," Peter playfully replied. "You know me—anxiety-free."
"Great, because we've got thirty seconds till half time and the cheerleaders are expecting us," Harry said.
Peter had to resist the urge to exclaim, "What?" He hadn't checked the clock. Oh my God. Harry was right. There was 30 seconds left in the second quarter. He briefly made eye contact with Liz Allan, who was looking their way. She not-so-subtly motioned them over.
"Does Liz know my name?" Peter blurted.
Harry creased his brow. "What?"
"I mean, I haven't talked to her since, like, freshman year. And we're about to do a cheer together. Does she even know my name?" Peter wondered.
"Not the time to worry about your popularity, Pete," Harry grumbled, dragging him over to the student section.
"…set, HUT!"
The clock ticked down as Quarterback Randy Robertson hiked the ball. Sweat beaded down Peter's neck. 28 seconds left.
Jessica waved at the two boys. Peter weakly waved back. 22 seconds. The crowd seemed to groan in unison. Randy had been sacked. 18 seconds. The boys passed Al and Gert, who were both on their phones. Neither looked up. 12 seconds. Harry stepped up beside Jessica and cheered the Midtown Tigers on. Peter looked for a place to stand. There was a space between Cindy and Gwen Stacy. He reluctantly took it.
Gwen. Gwen-freaking-Stacy. Great. Just great. Peter felt like he was going to faint. 6 seconds. He could vaguely make out a ball soaring through the air. After a moment, the crowd erupted into cheers. Touchdown. In his delirious state, Peter wondered why they were talking about the moon landing.
Zero. The scoreboard screamed. At least, it sounded like a scream. Maybe it was Peter who was screaming. He nearly laughed. Why was it funny?
Half a minute—or was it an eternity—later, Peter could make out Harry standing in front of him, waving his hands.
"Earth to Peter," Harry called. "We have the thing, remember."
"The thing. Right," Peter followed his friend to the edge of the bleachers, and ignored the eyes on him.
Peter effortlessly hopped the rail, forgetting for a moment where he was and what he was about to do. Harry plopped down beside him, nearly tripping because of the force of the fall. Peter hadn't so much as stumbled.
"Wow, Parker. I'm impressed," Liz called, an amused grin planted on her cherry red lips. "Who knew you were an athlete?"
She knew his name. Holy shit, Liz Allan knew his name.
The next few minutes were a blur of movement and emotion. At some point during the cheesy cheer Harry had prepared, Liz and Glory Grant produced the signs he'd made. Peter kept up as they finished the cheer. He didn't stumble over his words even once. He matched Harry's choreography perfectly. The redhead ended it with a halfhearted gymnast's pike jump.
Jessica and Cindy were both grinning ear-to-ear. Someone—was that Gwen?—shouted for Peter to do a pike jump, too. She started a chant of his name. The crowd joined in. Holy crap topped with a double dip of oh-my-God. Harry and the cheerleaders chanted his name. Would he, could he, should he…?
Peter jumped.
When he landed, the crowd lost their freaking minds. He'd looked like a professional cheerleader. He'd looked like an Olympic athlete. His pike jump had been perfect. Peter had been perfect.
He nearly cried, but managed to hold back tears as Jess and Cindy hopped the fence to meet them. They both said, "yes," practically in unison. The crowd cheered even louder. Harry and Jessica kissed. Peter and Cindy just smiled at one another.
…
"So cute," Seymour O'Reilly muttered from the bleachers with his hands over his heart.
"The cutest," Gwen agreed.
Sitting nearby, hidden in the heart of the crowd, Al made gagging noises. Gert chuckled.
"Losers," she said.
"Preach," Al replied.
Neither looked up from their phones.
After returning to the bleachers, the quartet were very much the center of attention. Although Peter had since calmed down, he was still uncomfortable in the lime light, particularly with Gwen complimenting him. Thankfully, someone gave him an excuse to escape the thrall of his five minutes of fame.
"Hey, Peter, can we talk?" Ned Leeds asked, motioning away.
"For sure," Peter nodded, then turned to the others to say, "Be right back."
Peter followed the Crier's editor-in-chief below the bleachers. Once there, the senior began with, "First off, congrats. Didn't realize you and Cindy were a thing."
"We're not. I mean, uh, it's complicated," Peter stammered.
"Well, whatever it is, that's awesome, man. You kicked ass out there. You got hella killer moves for a geek," Ned teased.
"Thanks," Peter glanced away, embarrassed.
Ned paused for a moment before continuing, "Anyway, the reason I wanted to talk is—"
"I didn't make staff photographer," Peter blurted, recognizing the look of regret in Ned's eyes.
The upperclassman immediately responded, "You—no, you didn't, but we don't want you to be a freelancer either."
"Oh." Peter felt his heart sink in his chest.
"Shit, no, I don't mean—we want you on the Crier," Ned quickly clarified, realizing what he'd said, "I just meant we want you to come on as a photography assistant. To work with one of our staff photographers. You showed a lot of potential, and considering you're a junior we thought we could, I dunno, train you for next year. It wasn't my idea, actually, but—"
"I'm staffed," Peter muttered dumbly.
Ned frowned. "Sort of."
"Thank you," Peter beamed.
"Don't thank me. Thank Eddie Brock," Ned said, smiling. "He's actually the one who came up with the idea to bring you on as his assistant."
Peter's jaw dropped. "Wait…Eddie Brock. Like Daily-Bugle-freelancer Eddie Brock. IPA-winner Eddie Brock. The Eddie Brock."
"Yeah. He's been on staff since his freshman year," Ned agreed.
"No, I know. I just—wow. Wowzers." Peter felt an enormous grin come on.
Was he dreaming? Was today real? Had he actually impressed a crowd of his classmates, gotten a date to Homecoming, and become the assistant of Eddie-freaking-Brock on the same day?
This was it.
Peter had peaked.
…
Max slumped down in his lounger, a note that he was late on rent in one hand and a bottle of whiskey in the other. The sound of scurrying echoed from his bedroom. Tanya had broken up with him and was moving out. Surprisingly, when he'd told her the news about his job, she hadn't slapped him. She'd just outright said, "I'm leaving," and started to pack.
Yes, he'd begged her to stay. He hadn't cried, but he'd wanted to. It didn't matter. None of it did. By the time Max had turned on the TV, the door had slammed shut after Tanya.
Alone. He was alone. Jobless. On his way to a drunken stupor.
Max was on top of the world.
…
When Peter returned home, he discovered his window was locked. He hadn't remembered so much as shutting it. That didn't bode well.
Grunting in frustration, he crawled down to the alley below the apartment complex and walked around to the entrance. From there, he used his key to unlock the door and walked up the five flights of stairs to their apartment.
Of course, what else could possibly await him in the apartment but his aunt and uncle?
Peter didn't try to speak. He didn't try to protest. Of course his luck couldn't last, he realized.
"Homecoming?" May crossed her arms before dropping the bomb. "It's not happening."
keyblade master cole: Needless to say Max is a very troubled guy. His story is far from over. Sorry if that disappoints you.
Heart of the Demons: Glad the story's still on point! Thanks for the review!
boysa boysa: I'm trying to subvert typical Spidey fanfic expectations so you're gonna get a lot of twists like the IDs of the dates. Hope you enjoy 'em!
midjet156: As always, sorry to hear about your life, but I'm glad this story can be cathartic for you! :)
theygotT: I'm back! Thanks for your interest!