Chapter 1.

Imagine you’re watching Beverly Hills 90210,
One Tree Hill or another similar show.
Remove the crap and that’s where this story begins, in a school.

“Peter! Peter!” I turn away from the window and aim my attention towards my unusually high-pitched physics teacher.

“What are you looking at Peter?”

I fumble for words…

to add to that my puberty, Gwen Stacey looking at me

and this itchy bite are not helping me think of a decent reply.

All that comes out is, “that bird!”
The one I was so happily lost in because it made me forget who I was for a minute.

“If you’re more interested in that bird you may join it. Since that’s what you seem to be branching towards.”

I smile as the class laughs. Mr Ryan’s wordplay didn’t seem that funny. But I guess when you’re teaching a class that doesn’t understand your subject even an attempt at humor is laugh worthy.

I look back at the bird, I wish I was that bird. To be free, not judged. Equal to the other birds. Oh crap! how could I forget flying! That would be awesome. And then, midway through my dream of flight, the oddest thing happens. The damn thing pecks this spider. Why the heck was that web freak chilling right next to it? Dum-ass arachnid. But I start feeling sorry for the eight-legged freak. He didn’t do anything wrong and the bird’s sitting in a tree loaded with hundreds of things it could eat. Maybe he just attracted trouble, maybe he was at the wrong place at the wrong time… As I watched the bird chew the spider, I couldn’t help but think about karma for a moment. Imagine if the spider came back as something more than the bird. But the science inside me didn’t let me go further. There is no karma and there aren’t any spiders bigger than that bird…

The door opens, the Teacher turns, the class turns like the crowd at Wimbledon and in walks a hooded, young man. He seems mysterious, with most of his face covered in branded cloth and blonde hair. The girls are going to dig him. But the second thought I have of him is very different. He reminds me of me.

It’s his vibe, the one that says he doesn’t want to be here.

I hear a sort of ‘prop-pah’ accent say, “Run along” from the entrance, but I can’t see the mysterious boy’s faceless guardian.

He joins me in the 3^rd row, almost every female eye in class follows him. Every alpha male’s attention is towards him. Including Tim, I call him the bear. Because that best describes a bear like-growth-hormone-infested seventeen year old. The mystery boy sits to my right and peers through his hoodie. He doesn’t even look at Gwen sitting in front of me. He just sits there. Still, like he’s not even human. I wonder if he’s breathing. He turns to me, one eye looks at me, the hoodie hides the other one. A bit dramatic this whole eye contact thing. But he’s breathing.

I turn to him and stealthily pass him a note introducing myself.

“I’m Peter.”

He reads it and tosses it back while he continues to stare at his closed text book.

I made an effort to get something out of him. But it’s a new place. He probably needs his space. I turn in front and notice every girl in class looking at him. But now it’s not just every girl, Gwen is looking at him as well.

Aw man! One more up on the food chain.

And one more step down the ladder for me.

The bell rings. It stops their gaze and I’m relieved. This is definitely more than a crush. D-uh! I could’ve told myself that on the third year of this borderline stalker relationship I have with her. Gwen doesn’t even know me that well. But I feel heavy when she’s with someone else. I’m nuts! Why does my chest feel like it’s being pressed by someone. Like, Tim the Bear sitting on it. I’m finding it hard to breathe. I’m finding it hard to compose myself. Just get out of the room man! I’ve never reacted to my situation with Gwen like this before… Oh man! I’m gonna puke.

I shove everyone out of the way. My bag smacks a few desks out of line, I don’t care. I get out of the class, I’m almost in the washroom and I smash into Tim. Why? Why on earth is the biggest seventeen year old in the world standing in front of the…

It happened.

I hurled and dude I feel better.
The nausea leaves me. My heads feels lighter and I feel good.
But then I feel light. I’m floating. Like I ate something really lethal that caused the world’s most powerful hurl so the thrust caused me to take flight. Hang on… Tim’s holding me up against the wall. I look down, his shoes look like my lunch. That’s how I wound up here.

And there it is, Tim’s good ol’ right arm.

Haven’t had the pleasure in a while.

I close my eyes and hope my reflexes take some of the blow.

Suddenly I’m dropped, my face doesn’t hurt. I can hear Tim screaming.
“Let go of my hand! Let go of my hand!”

I pull my hand of his clenched fist. But he screams again. What’s wrong with him?
I look at my hand covered in blood. I look at his and there’s blood dripping as he runs to the washroom.

I grab my bag as everyone looks in shock. I run.

Just as I get out of the school gate, I take a left and wait for the bus. C’mon, c’mon, c’mon… where’s the freakin…

Crap.

Tim is running towards me. I turn to run but his boy wonders have already got me. One has me by the neck, the other by the shoulder.

Tim smacks me in my face and I land on the floor. Someone from behind either kicks or smacks my head, either way, it’s hard and my ears are ringing. Tim the Bear, takes my bag and shoves it aside.

“What the heck were you thinking, you little bug?”

I reply, “I wasn’t feeling good… I’m sorry.” Woah! Busted my lip, talking like our tobacco chewing gym teacher.

I’m scared. And I remember every time I’ve fantasized about being unbelievably strong and super heroic. With one punch in my solar plexus I remember, it was all just fantasy.

I’m down on the ground. My left cheek resting, shivering on the floor. All I see is their rich boy sneakers. All I hear is the muffled sound of Tim saying, “we’re not finished Parker. I need to hear you crack.”

I see a pair of red sneakers walk up to them. They turn and suddenly, one of Tim’s goons is lying on the floor, his nose looks like crap and his eyes are exploding with tears. I get up slowly to see what I don’t think I’ll every forget. Mystery boy has just knocked out the other goon, whose feet are still twitching, creepy.

Tim charges towards him, I lunge forward to come in the way, but the boy shoves me back, turns around, and I think it’s the first time I’ve seen someone throw a Punch with a feeling of familiarity. It was a thing of beauty. Not just the fact that Tim’s momentum carried him straight into a wall and I heard the crunch of what was presumably a collarbone against concrete. But the way he hit him. It was like the calm of a monk and grace of a ballerina were turbo charged with a Protein shake of Rambo’s sweat and focused into this fist made of napalm. No wonder he doesn’t talk. With that right hook, there are few he will ever have to answer to.

He walks up to me and gives me my bag.

The two goons get up and take a crying Bear away from the point of impact.

I throw the bag over my shoulder.

He surprises me again with a, “Will you be alright?”

I reply, “Yeah. Just need to recover from the surprise.”

The Mystery man then says, “I trust you won’t say anything about this to anyone. I know they won’t. They’re too fragile to bring this up.”

I smile, he asks if I need a ride. I thank him and start walking home. He gets into a fancy car. And as he overtakes me, the car slows down, the window lowers, he sticks out his hand and says,

“Jason Todd.”

I shake it and reply, “I’m Peter Parker.”

The window closes.

I head home, tired of thinking of more excuses to lay on the Aunt and Uncle. I think I’ll tell them the truth.

I reach the porch, as the Sun is about to hide behind our little house. I open the door and I see my aunt and uncle sitting in front of the TV laughing. I decide not to burden them with my bruises. But they spot me and Uncle Ben switches off the TV. I turn to the staircase to get away and not ruin the evening. But his arm is already on my shoulder and he says, “Where you goin big fella? Don’t I get a hug?”

I turn, prepared to see the worst expression on my Aunt and Uncle’s faces.

Uncle Ben hugs me. Aunt May smiles and says we’re ordering Pizza today.

I just look at them in shock. Don’t they care? They get back to their show.

I run upstairs, chuck my bag on the bed and sit in front of my window. Have people just gotten used to the sight of a loser or me being beaten up?

I see the street light come on, I see some people get home from work, and as I’m about to dive into a pool of self pity, my focus shifts and I see my reflection on my window. I look fine!

I charge to the bathroom mirror.
My lip is fine, my black eye is… fine…

Did I just dream the whole thing, am I crazy?

Then I decide to wash my face. Maybe I’ll feel better. Oh crap! there’s blood still on my hand. I guess Aunt May and Uncle Ben missed that.

Then as I rub my hands together, I start to feel something on my hand.

I start peeling it off as I wash off some of the left over blood…

What the heck is it? The lather is washed off and I see it…

I think…

I just skinned the Bear.

CODE

like they come together to form the narrative in our minds, the world's stories come together to form the narrative in this project. 

our narratives start where the stories stop. and stop where they start again.

everything else is ours imagine, write and draw.