Chapter 2 – Detention

Two Months Later

Peter Parker woke up with a jolt. He reached for his phone to check the time and turn off the alarm, but it was silent, its screen dark. A glance at his desk told him why: the phone wasn't plugged in to the charger. He forgot to set the alarm and put the phone on the charger last night – or early this morning – when he returned from helping his neighbors in Queens as their "friendly neighborhood Spider-man." The last thing he remembered before waking up was falling onto his bed, exhausted and half-clothed.

He tiptoed out of his room, desperate not to wake his Aunt May, who was sleeping – soundly, he hoped – after working a swing shift yesterday. The clock on the kitchen wall delivered the bad news: 7:50 a.m. "No, no, no, no, no," he whispered. He was going to be late, for the third time this week. He was so screwed.

He splashed water on his face, brushed his teeth, threw on some (more or less) clean clothes, grabbed his backpack, and was out the door in seven minutes. As he ran down the stairs, he calculated how late he was going to be. First period started at 8:05 a.m. Getting to midtown Manhattan by subway took at least a half hour. And that was the fastest way. Maybe he could . . . . He shook his head. No. Web-slinging across the 59th Street Bridge in broad daylight was not a smart move. Better to be late and take his medicine.

Peter opened the classroom door a crack and peeked in. He was in luck: Mr. Robertson was writing on the board, with his back to the class. He opened the door all the way and started to tiptoe into the room. He had taken three steps when the teacher turned around and said, "Mr. Parker. How nice of you to join us."

With a mumbled, "Sorry," Peter made his way to his seat.

"I'll see you for detention this afternoon," Mr. Robertson said. "Report to this classroom after last period."

"Yes, sir."

The school day seemed to go more quickly than usual. Wondering what punishment Mr. Robertson had in store for him, Peter steeled himself to return to the chemistry classroom/lab at the end of the day.

"Hang in there, dude," Tyler encouraged him as they went their separate ways.

"Yeah, how bad can it be?" Ned added.

MJ just gave him a little smile as she walked away with the other two boys. Peter watched them, wishing he was going with them instead of heading to detention. As they caught up to Flash and a couple of his hangers-on, Tyler suddenly swung his cane wide. Flash tripped over it and almost went down. "Fuck you," he swore, shaking a fist in Tyler's direction.

"Sorry, man, didn't see you," Tyler said over his shoulder as he walked away, leaving Flash fuming in his wake.

Peter smothered a laugh, then reluctantly turned his steps toward the chemistry classroom. When he got there, he took a deep breath before opening the door. Mr. Robertson was seated at his desk, apparently studying something he held in his hand. When he heard the door open, he raised his head and, seeing Peter enter, quickly slipped the object into his breast pocket. The action felt furtive, as if he was hiding something. Peter only got a glimpse of it, but it looked like a small notebook.

"There you are, right on time for a change. As you can see," the teacher said, gesturing at the lab glassware set out on the tables, "you have your work cut out for you."

Peter groaned but got to work, washing and drying the glass beakers, flasks, and test tubes. He knew they had to be spotless. As he worked, he glanced up at Mr. Robertson from time to time. The teacher was checking his watch and muttering under his breath. Peter couldn't hear what he was saying, but he seemed anxious for the hour to be up. Peter could relate to that.

When Peter had been working for almost an hour, Mr Robertson looked up from his laptop. "I hope you aren't going to make a habit of being tardy," he said.

"I won't," Peter assured him.

"With midterms coming up, you really can't afford to miss any more class time."

"I understand."

The teacher reached into a folder on his desk and drew out several sheets of paper. "This is a summary of what we covered this morning," he said, holding them out to Peter.

Peter took the papers from him. "Thank you," he said. "And I'll be on time from now on, I promise."

"I'll hold you to it," Mr. Robertson said with a small smile. "You can go now."

"Good night, sir." Peter wasted no time getting out of there. He glanced back at the teacher as he opened the classroom door. Mr. Robertson was again looking at something in his hand – a small notebook, as Peter had guessed.

# # # #

"It's Tyler," Maggie began the conversation after Matt answered her call.

Of course it was Tyler; the boy and his welfare were the only topics they talked about now, ever since . . . . Closing the door on that thought, Matt took a deep breath and asked, "What's the problem?"

"He was talking to Sister Ann today after school – "

"Wait a minute," Matt interrupted. "Please tell me you're not still having one of the sisters pick up him at school. He's perfectly capable of walking back to St. Agnes on his own. I thought we agreed."

"No, no," Maggie replied hurriedly. "You insisted, and I agreed – against my better judgment, I might add."

"Good. The last thing he needs is for the other kids to make jokes about him being picked up by a nun. So what's happening?"

"He was talking to Sister Ann, something about his homework, and he let it slip that one of the boys – or maybe more than one – has been taunting him, calling him names, making fun of him . . . making fun of his blindness."

"Damn," Matt swore.

"Apparently, the kid is smart enough not to do it when there are teachers or other adults around. I was thinking we need to report the harassment to the principal."

"No," Matt said firmly. "He's going to have to deal with ableist ass– uh, jerks – for the rest of his life. He needs to learn how to deal with them. He's 15, that's old enough. We need to let him handle this in his own way."

"You mean Daredevil's way?" Maggie asked pointedly.

"No, his way," Matt replied.

"Well, if you're sure . . . ," Maggie said doubtfully.

"I'm sure," Matt said, before ending the call.

He put down his phone and frowned. Talking to Maggie always left him feeling on edge. It stirred up feelings he'd rather keep buried, about the woman who gave birth to him, then abandoned him while suffering from postpartum depression. That he could understand, and forgive. What she did after she recovered, not so much. Instead of returning to the life she had chosen with her husband and son, she left them to follow what she said was her calling: to be a nun. Even after Jack's untimely death, she refused to be a mother, while continuing to assert her parental rights and making sure Matt could never be adopted. Instead of being his mother, she let him believe he was alone in this world. And he was.

She claimed God didn't want her to be a mother, He wanted her to be a nun. Matt wasn't buying it. More often than not, in his experience, "God's will" was simply a convenient justification for doing what you wanted to do. It was for Maggie. But Matt was the one who had to live with the fallout from her choices. Even now, years later, it still stung, growing up believing he was unwanted.

Tyler was Maggie's way of trying to atone for failing Matt. It might work with God. Matt wasn't so sure it would work with him.

# # # #

In the morning, Peter got up extra-early, determined to keep his promise to Mr. Robertson. To make sure, he didn't go out as Spider-man the night before and even set two alarms. He didn't dawdle getting ready and barely glanced at his phone before heading out. A half hour later, he emerged from the subway at the 50th Street station. His phone trilled, alerting him to multiple texts. He pulled it out of his pocket and stopped in the middle of the sidewalk when he read the first one: school was canceled for today. He quickly scrolled through the rest of the texts but learned nothing more. Annoyed pedestrians passed by him on both sides, some of them grumbling under their breath.

Peter turned to head back to the subway, then stopped. The school was only a few blocks away. Maybe he could find out what was going on. As he turned the corner onto the street in front of the school, it was obvious that something was happening there. Cop cars, marked and unmarked, filled the street in front of the building. Officers in uniform and plain clothes were standing around on the sidewalk. Yellow crime-scene tape was fluttering across the front door. A small crowd had gathered behind a line of saw horses. He joined the onlookers, searching for someone who might give him some answers, and spotted a young man wearing something that looked like press credentials. Peter pushed through the crowd and stood next to him. "What's happening?" he asked.

The man turned toward him and replied, "A teacher was found dead in his classroom."

End Note: This is a shorter chapter than usual, but I'll update again soon. Lawyer Matt will appear in the next chapter.