Chapter Four: In Which Peter Gets Into A Fight
The second hand ticked by agonizingly slowly, and Peter's eyelids drooped lower with every tick. His physics teacher's voice was better than Ambien, and he found himself stuck in the unpleasant cycle of nodding off to sleep, a second of some dream, only to have his head fall forward and jerk awake, dazed and disoriented. Finally, he gave in and rested his chin on his folded arms, succumbing to sleep.
A sharp elbow to the ribs scattered the remnants of his dream, and Peter flinched away instinctively. Controlling the reflex to attack, he smiled dopily at Harry Osborn and said, "What'd you do that for?"
"Pay attention," Harry hissed back. "I need to pass this class."
Peter rolled his eyes. "Gee, that'd be a miracle of epic proportions," he said, earning himself a hard punch to the shoulder.
"Listen, there's a party at Drew Larson's house tonight." Harry stared straight ahead at the blackboard with glazed eyes and spoke out of the corner of his mouth. "Do you want to come?"
"Me?" Peter sat straight up in his seat.
At the front of the classroom, Mr. Hernandez sighed in irritation and said, "Parker, since you have so much to say, why don't you explain string theory to the class? I'm sure your classmates would take it much better coming from you. Unless, of course-"
"I'd love to, sir," Peter interrupted cheekily. "String theory is the idea that everything in the universe- matter, dark matter and anti-matter- are made up of tiny, oscillating subatomic particles, which would be the strings here referred to. It really gets quite complicated, but string theory would explain and bring together all natural forces, such as gravity and electromagnetism."
Someone snickered at the front of the class, and Mr. Hernandez flushed angrily. "A crude and oversimplified explanation, but technically correct. Did everyone catch that?"
"Hey, Parker!" Flash shouted as the students shoved and jostled one another in their race to exit the classroom. "Your mother's so fat, her g-string could bring together all natural forces."
Low blow, picking on a guy's dead mom, thought Peter, but instead he said, "You spent the entire class period thinking of that one, didn't you, Flash? I won't even ruin your day. You can keep that one. Recycle it, even." A hard shove caught him in the small of the back, and he whipped around to glare at Flash, who looked shocked that Peter hadn't just curled up in a ball and called uncle. Without warning, he ran at Flash and rammed him in the stomach, knocking them both to the floor. Flash reared back and slammed his forehead into Peter's eye and simultaneously kneed him in the gut. The smaller boy was knocked back onto his knees, tiny bluebirds and stars making rings around his head, but he sprung to his feet before his opponent and kicked Flash hard in the ribs before he could get up.
"Want some more, Thompson?" he asked, backing up a couple of paces. "Come and get it." The rest of the students had gathered around, jeering and goading. Peter spread his arms wide, and then slapped his chest and quirked a challenging eyebrow. If Flash backed down now, he'd as well as be cutting off his own manhood.
With a wordless snarl, Flash got to his feet advanced on him, his meaty hands balled into fists. "You're going to regret this, Parker. You can still run home to your mommy if you want." He paused a moment, as though he really expected Peter to run, and then swung.
Instead of dodging, Peter caught the blow on his forearm and twisted Flash's arm in its socket so that his palm was pinned against his back. Flash grunted in pain, and a sense of savage pleasure thrilled through Peter as he wrenched Flash's arm a little tighter, bringing him up onto his tiptoes.
"What the hell are you doing?"
Mary Jane stood in the doorway of the physics classroom, staring at the debacle with snapping eyes. Peter looked over at her, and then back at Flash. His eyes widened, and he let go of Flash's arm and stepped back, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans. Ducking his head, he escaped down the hall to his locker with Mary Jane's horrified glare burning holes in the back of his sweater.