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"And what? You're not going to answer me? Oh, don't tell me you ate your tongue too?" Peter asked, keeping his hand firm against Kenny's chest, pressing him against the locker. "I wouldn't be surprised, honestly," he continued, watching the complete lack of reaction from the boy. It was as if his brain had short-circuited.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then Kenny finally reacted, placing his hand over Peter's wrist and uselessly trying to push it away while taking a deep breath and opening his mouth to speak— probably to throw out some insult or salvage what little dignity he had left after being shoved against a locker by a nerd. Which must have looked pathetic to anyone watching — but all that came out was a muffled, confused sound, cut off by choking as the frosting dripping from his face was pulled into his mouth by his inhale.
'Disgusting,' Peter thought, silently grateful he hadn't overdone it at breakfast. The image of the frosting running down and going into Kenny's mouth would stay etched in his memory for quite a while, unfortunately.
And it was at that moment, amid the awkward silence and the fixed stares of dozens of students, that Peter realized something: it was very strange to be on the other side. To be the one doing the humiliating, instead of the one being humiliated.
A few years ago, when the bullying was constant, he had always imagined that he would feel good if he managed to get revenge. Satisfaction. Gratification, maybe. That sweet taste of payback that movies love to show. But now, looking at Kenny as he choked and Flash on the floor with that look of absolute shock, Peter felt none of that.
He wasn't proud, nor satisfied.
Honestly, all of that felt... superfluous. Empty. As if he had spent energy on something meaningless.
Still, he wasn't regretful. No, definitely not. When the pranks were only about him, about dirtying his old clothes with water balloons or things like that, he had no problem ignoring spider-sense warnings.
But now, letting them dirty his father's clothes? That was a big 'no way'. Those clothes were one of the few tangible things left of the man he barely remembered. And it wouldn't be Flash, Kenny, or any other idiot who would lay their hands on that.
Peter held Kenny's gaze for another second, feeling the judgment, the questions, and the reassessments the other students were making about him. 'I guess that's enough to get the message across. Things have changed.' He was about to let go of Kenny, take a step back, and end that situation with some line that wouldn't be too embarrassing when—
"THE VICE PRINCIPAL IS COMING!"
The shout came from somewhere in the middle of the crowd, loud and urgent.
Peter felt his blood run cold for a moment. He turned his head just in time to see the crowd of students scattering in all directions, like a panicked swarm, and also noticed, out of the corner of his eye, that Flash was gone.
The spot where he had fallen just seconds ago was empty, with only a puddle of frosting on the floor marking the place. Which meant that, very soon, only Peter and Kenny would remain at the "crime" scene.
'Oh... this couldn't get any worse.'
Midtown High's vice principal was well known for being strict. Not the good kind—the kind that commands respect just by being present—but the annoying kind, the type of authority figure who loved to apply disproportionate measures just to show who was in charge.
He was the kind of guy students learned to avoid at all costs.
So what would his reaction be when he got here and saw one of his beloved football players — one of the pillars of the school team, one of the boys who brought prestige to Midtown — being "bullied"?
Detention? Maybe. Suspension? Very possible, considering the man's track record.
But in the end, that wasn't even the worst part, because whatever the punishment was, May would be notified — and that was the real core of the problem. After everything that had happened in the past few weeks, the last thing Peter wanted was to give her another reason to worry.
'Okay... time to channel Usain Bolt' Peter was about to let go of Kenny and run after the crowd when a hand grabbed his other arm tightly and started pulling him away.
The movement was so unexpected that Peter simply let himself be pulled, his body following the command of those fingers. "Who—" He turned his head quickly to identify the owner of that hand, hoping it wasn't a teacher or monitor.
Imagine, then, his surprise when he came face to face with Liz Allan.
Liz... his ex-girlfriend.
The girl he had hurt several times.
The girl he broke up with in the middle of the cafeteria, in front of everyone, at the worst possible moment.
Peter froze. A complete freeze, the kind that starts in the head and spreads through the entire body, as if someone had flipped his off switch. His eyes fixed on Liz's straight black hair swaying as she pulled him along without looking back, guiding him out of the main hallway.
Peter even stumbled over his own feet for a second, completely disoriented.
He had assumed that Liz would never want to even look at him again. That any chance of friendship —or even basic civility— had died that day. Part of him believed she would hate him forever for how their relationship ended.
But now there she was, pulling him away, possibly helping him escape a huge problem. That was definitely a good sign, right? Maybe he hadn't hurt her as much as he thought. Maybe these past few days had been enough to heal the wounds. "Liz, I—"
"Shut up!" Liz turned abruptly in the middle of the hallway, the movement so fast that her hair whipped through the air. Her hand shot toward his face and covered his mouth firmly, and before he could try to understand what was happening, Liz shoved him aside.
Peter's back hit a door that opened with a click, and he stumbled into a dark space. Liz stepped in right behind him, quickly closing the door, the sound of the latch echoing in the silence of the room.
Peter blinked several times, his eyes adjusting to the low light as he looked around. The smell of cleaning products — bleach, detergent, and disinfectant — filled the air, strong and unmistakable. Shelves with brooms, mops, buckets, cleaning cloths, and laundry detergent lined the walls. They were in the room the janitors used to store cleaning supplies.
His gaze returned to Liz, who stood with her back to him, staring at the gaps in the door. She was wearing the same cheerleader outfit she always wore at school. But there was something different about her that Peter couldn't quite place. Maybe it was her posture? She seemed... tense.
'Ugh... yeah. I guess things aren't... great.'
***
Disclaimer: This story and its characters belong to Sony Pictures and Marvel Comics (Disney). This is merely a fanfiction written by a fan, with no intention of infringement.