CHAPTER 4: School
The chaos outside Midtown High was unreal. Betty Brant, in her reporter mode, greeted me sarcastically. "Go get 'em, tiger. Or should I say, 'Spider?'" The crowd was a mix of fans, protesters, and reporters, all wanting a piece of the Spider-Man saga.
Walking through the chaos with MJ and Ned, the news reporters narrated the scene, highlighting the divided sentiments among the crowd. Supporters cheered for MJ, while detractors accused me of being a murderer. Flash, ever the opportunist, seized the moment to shamelessly promote his new book, turning the whole situation into a bizarre sideshow.
Separated from MJ during the security check, I felt the isolation as security guards guided us through the crowd. The school's TVs played Betty Brant's coverage, amplifying the surreal nature of the situation.
Reaching the school entryway, Mr. Dell, Mr. Harrington, and Coach Wilson awaited me with unsettling smiles. The transformed trophy case, now a shrine, showcased the bizarre homage crafted by my fellow students. Coach Wilson's cryptic remarks added to the unease.
As I navigated the hallway, students' stares weighed on me, and the surreal adoration surrounding me became palpable. Internal dialogue underscored the strangeness of my return to Midtown High, highlighting the challenges posed by the newfound notoriety that now defined my life.
As I ascended the stairwell, I couldn't help but marvel at the peculiar banners that lined the hallways. "Peter Parker, the Webbed Wonder of Midtown" proclaimed one, while another showcased an image of me awkwardly juggling books, captioned "Balancing heroism and homework since 2016." A student ensemble, clad in homemade Spider-Man masks, played a hauntingly off-key version of the Star-Spangled Banner theme on a kazoo.
Now, here's where it gets even weirder. Mr. Dell, in a burst of creativity, handed me an honorary cape with the school logo, insisting it was the latest in Midtown High superhero fashion. Coach Wilson, maintaining his enigmatic demeanor, muttered something about the "cosmic ballet of fate," leaving me more perplexed than ever.
Mr. Harrington, still fighting back tears, practically begged me for a tour of the "Spider-Shrine." This makeshift exhibit featured candid shots of me attempting to eat lunch while web-slinging, accompanied by motivational captions like "Even superheroes need a snack break!" The pièce de résistance was a papier-mâché sculpture of me, clad in my Spider-Man suit, holding a diploma with exaggerated glee.
Smiling through the absurdity, I strolled through this spectacle, trying to digest the sheer craziness of it all. The students lining the hallway were whispering about my heroic exploits, exaggerated to mythic proportions. It was like stepping into a dimension where the line between reality and fan fiction blurred into a chaotic, absurdist narrative.
Oh, and Coach Wilson, now clutching a conspiracy board featuring interconnected pictures of Mysterio and me, approached once more. "I know what you did," he repeated, emphasizing each word. Was Midtown High secretly a breeding ground for eccentric conspiracy theorists?
It's too much.