Author's Note: This is a sequel to my earlier story, "Parental Rights." You don't have to read "Parental Rights" to read this story, but some things in this story will make more sense if you've read the first one.

The story takes place in an alternate timeline, after season 3 of Daredevil but outside the timeline of the Spider-man movies with Tom Holland. It takes place before those movies, not long after Peter acquires his powers and becomes Spider-man, and before he meets Tony Stark.

I have taken a few liberties with the character of MJ. She isn't as stand-offish as she was at the beginning of the Tom Holland movies. This is because I wanted her to participate fully in the events of this story.

I have moved Midtown School of Science and Technology, aka Midtown Tech, from Queens to Manhattan. Midtown is a neighborhood in Manhattan, not Queens, and the story works better with the high school nearer to Hell's Kitchen. Peter still lives in Queens.

Chapter 1 – The First Day of School

"I'm worried about Tyler," Sister Maggie blurted out as soon as Matt answered her call.

"What's the problem?" Matt asked, puzzled. "He was fine when I saw him on Sunday, after Mass."

"It's school," Maggie replied.

"School? I thought he was doing great in school."

"He is. That's the problem."

"Would you please stop talking in riddles and just tell me what's going on?"

"He's only a freshman, but Tyler is way ahead of the other students, even some of his teachers, especially in math and science," Maggie explained.

OK, that finally made sense. Tyler's mother, who had worked (unwillingly) for Wilson Fisk, was a genius with computers, and Tyler had inherited her aptitude for math and science.

"It's too easy for him," Maggie continued. "He's bored. He needs to be challenged."

"What do his teachers say?"

"They're the ones who told me. They want to help, but they're stretched too thin," Maggie said. "In most of his classes, they've got 35 other kids. They don't have time to give extra attention to any of them. Tyler needs someone who can, like a tutor."

"Tutors are expensive," Matt pointed out. "Besides, that doesn't solve the problem of him being bored in class."

"You're right, it doesn't," Maggie agreed. "But what else can we do?"

Matt considered this for a moment, then said, "I have an idea."

Three Months Later

Before classes began on the first day of school at Midtown School of Science and Technology, Peter Parker was standing in front of his locker, catching up with his best friend, Ned Leeds. Not that much catching-up was needed; the two had seen each other almost every day over the summer. But now, talking to his friend, Peter realized that Ned had changed since the end of school last spring. During the summer he'd shot up almost two inches. And he'd let his dark hair grow out, so that it now flopped over his forehead. Maybe he was starting to look like the man he'd eventually become.

Peter tuned out what Ned was saying and scanned the hallway until he spotted the one person he was looking for: Michelle Jones-Watson or "MJ," as she preferred to be called. She, too, had changed since the end of the last school year. Her dark, curly hair was longer, and her light brown skin was smooth, unmarked by the acne that plagued so many of their classmates. Peter couldn't help noticing that she'd also filled out . . . in certain places. He wondered if she'd changed in other ways from the girl he knew last year, who wasn't interested in being friends with him – or anyone. He watched her approach until Ned elbowed him. "Hey, catch this," Ned said.

The buzz of back-to-school conversations faded to almost nothing, replaced by the sound of . . . something – or maybe two somethings – tapping on the floor. Peter turned to look at whatever it was that had caught Ned's attention. Two people, a dark-haired man in a business suit and a boy about Peter's age, were approaching. The tapping sound came from the long white canes they were carrying. Their dark glasses confirmed what Peter had already figured out: they were blind. "Holy shit," he murmured under his breath. Peter had never gone to school with a blind kid or even met a blind person. This should be interesting.

One of his classmates had other ideas. Up the hall, closer to the blind man and boy, Eugene "Flash" Thompson was holding court with his crew. When he saw them approaching, he took his backpack out of his locker and slid it across the floor, directly in their path. Peter was about to call out a warning when the blind man whispered something to the boy and deftly side-stepped the obstacle. The boy followed him. Flash just stood there with his mouth open. Peter smothered a laugh.

"How'd he do that?" Ned whispered.

Peter shrugged. "Beats me."

As the blind man and boy approached, the hairs on the back of Peter's neck stood up, and he felt the prickling sensation that warned him of danger, ever since he was bitten by a radioactive spider. He scanned his surroundings, but he didn't notice anything out of the ordinary. Just the usual dangers of the first day of school.

The blind man and boy came to a stop in front of a locker two down from Peter's. The boy reached out and ran his fingertips over the raised dots below the locker's number. He nodded. "This is it, 683," he said. He punched a series of numbers on the locker's keypad and opened it.

The man flipped open the crystal on his watch and felt its face, then frowned. "I'm due in court. You got this?"

"Yeah," the boy replied, "I got this. See you later."

The man said, "See you later," then turned and walked away down the hall, swinging and tapping his cane in front of him.

Peter watched, fascinated, as the boy shrugged out of his backpack, opened it, and began placing books carefully in his locker, running his fingertips over them before he did so. The volumes didn't look like any books Peter had ever seen before, spiral bound and larger than the usual textbooks. He realized they must be in braille. What was that like, he wondered, reading with your hands instead of your eyes? He had so many questions. But first he needed to introduce himself. He couldn't just let the guy stand there, all alone in front of his locker. But how to do it? How did you get the attention of a blind person without startling them?

Before Peter could come up with the answers to these questions, MJ brushed past him, whispering, "Don't stare, it's rude," as she passed by. She approached the new boy, stopping a few steps away from him. "Hey," she said. He turned toward her. "You're new, aren't you?" she asked. He nodded warily. "Welcome to Midtown Tech," she said, "I'm Michelle, Michelle Jones-Watson, but you can call me MJ."

"Tyler Shelby," the boy replied, holding out his hand.

MJ shook it. "Nice to meet you, Tyler."

Peter and Ned came up behind her. Ned was the first to speak. "Ned Leeds," he said. "Good to meet you, dude."

Tyler held out his hand in Ned's general direction."Same here."

After Ned shook Tyler's hand, Peter repeated the process, introducing himself and shaking Tyler's hand. With that ritual completed, Peter said, "So, you're new here. A freshman?"

Tyler shook his head. "No, sophomore. I transferred."

"Us, too," Ned told him. "Sophomores, I mean. Not transfers. We went here last year."

"Why did he transfer?" Peter asked himself, wondering if Tyler had problems at his last school. Before he could ask that question, the bell rang, signaling five minutes to the start of first period. Instead, he said, "We should get to class. D'you know where you're going?"

Tyler nodded and said, "Yeah. Sophomore Chemistry, first period."

"Me, too," Peter said. "Do you need me to . . . uh, to . . . ?"

Before he could finish, Tyler said, "I got it. I have a map." He pulled a piece of stiff paper out of his pocket. "And one of the assistant principals gave Matt and me a walk-through a couple of days ago, so I know where my classes are."

"Cool," Ned said. "Matt, he's your dad?"

Tyler smiled – a little sadly, it seemed to Peter – and shook his head. "No. He's a friend – and my lawyer when I need one."

"Oh, right. I heard him saying something about court."

"You have your own lawyer?" MJ asked, wide-eyed. Peter gave her a sharp look. She hadn't taken her eyes off Tyler since he first appeared. She had a lot of nerve, telling him not to stare. He gave the blind boy a closer look. Tyler was a couple of inches taller than him, with dark blond hair that fell over his forehead. A few faint freckles were scattered across his nose and cheeks. He had taken off his dark glasses and shoved them in his backpack, revealing blue-green eyes. His eyes didn't look weird, exactly, but Peter could tell he wasn't actually looking at anything. An "Iron Fist" T-shirt was tucked in his jeans. Peter hated to admit it, but the guy looked kinda buff, like he worked out. Was that even possible for a blind kid?

Peter was still trying to figure that out when Ned interrupted his musings. "We should get going. Being late on the first day, not a good look."

"Lead on," Tyler said.

"Do you want me to, uh, to lead you?" MJ asked.

"Sure," Tyler replied, giving her a big smile.

Peter looked at Ned and rolled his eyes. MJ ignored him.

"What do I do?" MJ asked.

"Just let me grab hold of your arm, and we're good to go."

MJ moved to stand next to Tyler. "Like this?"

He took hold of her upper arm. "Perfect," he told her.

They headed down the hall, in the direction of the chemistry classroom. Peter and Ned followed.

When the four stopped outside the classroom, Tyler turned to MJ and asked, "You've been a sighted guide before?"

"What's . . . oh, is that what it's called, being a sighted guide?"

Tyler nodded.

"No, I've never done it before."

"Coulda fooled me," Tyler told her, "you're a natural."

MJ's cheeks turned bright red. She beamed at Tyler. Peter rolled his eyes again, harder than before, if that was possible.

They made their way into the classroom, finding seats near the front, but not in the front row. The teacher, Mr. Robertson, was already there, seated behind his desk, studying some paperwork. Tall and lanky, with dark hair and eyes, he looked more like a basketball player than a scientist. But he knew his stuff, as Peter had found out in his class last year. He had a Ph.D. in organic chemistry but preferred to be called "Mr. Robertson" instead of "Dr." He looked tanned after the summer break, but Peter thought he saw some new lines on his face that weren't there last year. He wondered what the teacher had been doing over the summer. He shrugged; it was none of his business, he supposed.

Tyler sat between MJ and Peter, then reached into his backpack and pulled out one of his oversized books and an electronic device Peter had never seen before.

"What's that?" he asked.

"This?" Tyler asked, gesturing toward the device.

Peter nodded. Then, realizing Tyler couldn't see his nod, he said, "Yeah."

"It's an electronic note-taker."

Ned stood up to look over Peter's shoulder, then chimed in. "Cool. How does it work?"

Before Tyler could answer him, Flash called out from across the room, "Hey, Stevie, Stevie Wonder! This isn't special ed. You sure you're in the right place?"

Peter groaned. "He's an asshole. Ignore him," he told Tyler. Tyler nodded.

At the front of the classroom, Mr. Robertson got to his feet. "Eugene Thompson," he said sternly from behind his desk. "You think you're some kind of comedian?"

"Uh, no, no, sir," Flash stammered. "I was just trying to help," he added with a smirk.

Mr. Robertson shot a disgusted look at Flash, then addressed the whole class. "This is Sophomore Chemistry. If that's not what you signed up for, raise your hand." When no hands went up, he continued, "For those of you who don't know me, you can call me 'Mr. Robertson.' I'll be teaching this class, but whether you learn anything is up to you. Before we get started, I want to make one thing perfectly clear – to Mr. Thompson and the rest of you. There is zero tolerance for ableism in this classroom and at this school. If any of you think you're comedians like Mr. Thompson, I strongly advise against it – unless you enjoy detention. Any questions?"

Apparently there were none. Peter sneaked a quick glance around the classroom. His fellow students sat silently, most of them looking down, apparently fascinated by whatever was on the desk in front of them. The only exception was Flash, who was leaning back with his arms crossed, still smirking.

After a couple of beats, Mr. Robertson said, "All right. Let's get started, then. We've got a lot to cover this semester. Open your books to page 8."

# # # #

As the last students from his sixth-period class filed out of the room at the end of the day, Dan Robertson leaned back in his chair, his hands laced together behind his head. The ancient chair creaked in protest. He let out his breath all at once. It was always a relief to have the first day of school behind him. Dealing with new kids, establishing his authority – the first day was always stressful. And there was that ugly incident in first period, Thompson taunting the blind kid. He wasn't surprised; he remembered Thompson from last year, and apparently he hadn't grown up any over the summer. Robertson hoped he'd put a stop to the harassment before it began in earnest. If not, he wouldn't hesitate to carry out his threat of disciplinary action. There might be a cost, however. Thompson's father was a very wealthy man, and parents like him could insulate their offspring from the consequences of their actions – and make life miserable for those who tried to discipline them. Oh, well, he thought, he'd deal with that if he had to.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small spiral notebook. It was his most valuable possession, the record of the research he was doing on his own time. He'd probably be in deep shit if the administration found out about it, but it was worth the risk. A teacher's salary only went so far in New York City, and he was still paying off the student loans he'd taken out to get his doctorate. The organization sponsoring his research paid well, and their checks always cleared. Now he was close to a breakthrough; he could feel it.

# # # #

The school day seemed to fly by. Walking out of sixth-period Spanish with Peter, Tyler realized he hadn't been checking his watch every five minutes or stifling yawns. All. Day. Long. In short, he hadn't been bored. And it looked like he might be making some new friends. Or not. A sneering, nasal voice brought him back to reality.

"Hey, Stevie Wonder! You sure you want to hang out with Puny Parker and his pals? Anyone can see they're a bunch of losers. Oh. Right. You can't." Flash gave a nasty laugh. Several of his crew joined in as they walked away.

No one stopped them. Tyler guessed Flash had waited until no teachers were around. He gripped his cane tighter and ground his teeth.

"Ignore him," said Peter, repeating his advice from that morning.

Tyler nodded. "That was the same guy, right? From Chemistry this morning?"

"Yeah."

"And the one who tried to trip up Matt and me?"

"Yeah," Peter replied again."But how'd you know about that?"

"Not me, Matt," Tyler said. "He told me. He just . . . he just knows stuff like that."

"How?"

Tyler shrugged. "No clue. When I ask him, he just laughs and says he has really good hearing."

"Makes sense, I guess," Peter said.

"Personally, I think he has some kind of bat-radar or . . . or something." This wasn't the first time Matt knew something he shouldn't have been able to know. Tyler had spent enough time at the offices of Nelson & Murdock, Attorneys at Law, and Page Investigations, to know this kind of thing happened all the time. Matt's law partner, Foggy Nelson, and Karen Page, the p.i. who worked with them, always acted like it was nothing out of the ordinary. And when Tyler asked them how Matt did it, all he got was, "How what happened?" or "I don't know." But he was pretty sure they did know.

When they reached the school's front entrance, a familiar voice called out, "Tyler! Over here!" Sister Maggie. Great. He'd never hear the end of it, a nun picking him up from school.

"Who's that?" Peter asked.

"Sister Maggie."

"She's picking you up?"

Tyler nodded.

"Um, maybe I shouldn't ask," Peter began.

"Please, don't," Tyler begged him silently.

But Peter did ask. "Why's a nun picking you up from school?"

"She's from . . . from where I live."

"Where's that?"

"St. Agnes. The orphanage," he said reluctantly.

Peter didn't say anything right away. But Tyler knew what he was going to say before he said it. "You're an orphan?" Tyler nodded. "That sucks, dude," Peter said.

Shit. He knew what was coming next. He didn't need or want Peter's pity. So much for having friends at his new school. But he had to say something. "Yeah, it kinda does."

"Looks like we have something in common," Peter told him. "I'm an orphan, too." Wait, what? Peter must've seen the surprised look on Tyler's face, because he continued, "Both my parents died when I was little, so I live with my aunt."

Oh. "Mine died in a car crash, when I was 11," Tyler said. Peter didn't need to know that it was his adoptive father, Tom Shelby, who perished in the crash along with his mom. As far as Tyler was concerned, Tom Shelby was his real father. Travis Wright, his biological father, had been convicted of second degree murder for causing the crash and was serving a long prison sentence. Tyler returned his letters unopened. And he wasn't planning on visiting him anytime soon – or ever.

"Tyler!" Maggie called again. Tyler imagined her checking her watch and tapping her foot impatiently.

"I gotta go," he told Peter. "You don't keep Sister Maggie waiting. See you tomorrow."

"Yeah, see you tomorrow."

Peter watched thoughtfully as Tyler and the diminutive nun walked away. He was pondering what Tyler had said about his friend Matt and his really good hearing. He wondered what his own hearing would pick up if he couldn't see. Or maybe the blind man really did have some kind of bat-radar.