"What was the best thing about being Spider-Man? Hard to say!"
The morning sun spilled across New York's skyline as a red-and-blue figure raced along the glass facade of a skyscraper. If any office workers noticed a fleeting shadow on the ground and looked up, they would see Spider-Man with a backpack on his back. Today, he had abandoned his signature web-swinging in favor of running along vertical walls.
"But not having to squeeze onto the subway every day was definitely in the top three. Woohoo!"
Peter took a running leap onto the railing by the Hudson River. Amid the roar of passing traffic, he dived down like a competitive diver. Just before he hit the water, a web shot out with a whoosh, carrying him in a perfect arc beneath the Queensboro Bridge.
Uncle Ben and George were both busy with work, so they normally did not drive them to and from school unless it was a special occasion, like the first day of school.
"Hot dogs that even Spider-Man loves! Hot dogs that even Spider-Man loves! New York's only officially designated Spider-Man hot dogs!"
The owner of a hot dog stand on a street in Midtown Manhattan advertised his hot dogs with a blank expression every day. After the Battle of New York ended, he had originally sold hot dogs here to Damage Control employees. But as the cleanup work came to an end, he found a new business opportunity: Spider-Man had allowed him to use his likeness, and so New York's only hot dog stand with Spider-Man packaging was born.
The most eye-catching thing about the stand was the plastic bag hanging from the top of its parasol—there was always a specially made hot dog inside.
"Boss, is that really a hot dog Spider-Man likes too?"
Eugene Thompson, a freshman at Midtown High School, shoved through the crowd to the stand. He eyed the owner skeptically as he opened his wallet and started taking out money. "Give me one. Also, you put it up on the parasol—can Spider-Man really reach it?"
"He's Spider-Man. Of course he can."
The owner looked expressionlessly at the customer before him and skillfully packed up a hot dog. But Thompson kept yammering on. "But what if you put it up too early? What if it gets cold? If your cold hot dog upsets Spider-Man's stomach, how's he supposed to fight—"
"Thanks, Paul!"
Spider-Man cut off Thompson's endless chatter as he swung past the hot dog stand on a web, tossing down two one-dollar bills. The hot dog on top of the parasol had already vanished.
Thompson stood there dumbfounded. Only when the owner waved the hot dog in front of him did he snap out of it, pull out another five dollars, and let out an almost deafening shriek. "Give me two more of Spider-Man's favorite hot dogs! Thank you!!!"
"Morning, Laurie! How's Carl doing today?"
The middle-aged man on the rooftop, who was preparing to let his pigeon out, only had time to say that much before the figure racing across the wall vanished around the corner. The startled pigeon began cooing frantically, and Laurie could only stroke his old friend again and again. "Calm down. He just wrapped you in webbing and sent you home. It's not like he roasted and ate you."
Mornings like this played out every day. Spider-Man ate hot dogs, high-fived the newsstand owner, helped old ladies carry their shopping bags, and even gave lost puppies directions—after all, what kind of "friendly neighborhood Spider-Man" did not know every street in the neighborhood?
Then, at some point, the red-and-blue suit disappeared among Manhattan's towering buildings.
At the subway station exit, Peter Parker emerged in casual clothes "just in time." Of course, he had not taken the subway here—this was simply a reasonable excuse for suddenly appearing near school. Two blocks farther stood Midtown High School, one of New York's top public high schools that existed only in the Marvel universe. Early in the morning, Midtown High's TV station was already at work, and on screens scattered throughout the hallways, two anchors were delivering the news.
"Good morning, students. This is Midtown High. I'm your host, Betty."
"I'm your host, Jessie."
After glancing at the screen, Peter went to his locker, opened it, put away his backpack, and took out the supplies he needed for his morning classes. Before he could close the locker door, he heard a familiar, incredibly annoying voice.
"Parker!"
"Again? Carl?"
Peter's Spider-Sense did not react at all. He could not even be bothered to pretend he had been startled. He simply shut his locker and stepped back as Carl King strode over and slammed a fist heavily into someone else's locker, trying to look menacing.
Peter pointed at the locker Carl had hit.
"You know that isn't my locker, right?"
Carl King hesitated, then made a fierce threat. "Listen, Parker. I'll let go of what happened in middle school. I won't interfere with your little group of friends either. But if you keep sticking your nose into things, you're finished."
With another bang, the poor locker was struck again. Carl King did not give Peter any time to react before leaving, leaving Peter thoroughly baffled.
"Is this some new kind of school bullying? The person who got taught a lesson turning around and threatening the person who taught him one?"
Unable to understand Carl King's behavior at all, Peter shook his head. The elderly janitor passing by, leaning on his broom, voiced a similar sentiment. "Every era has plenty of trash students like that. But I've seen lots of punks, kid. Don't be afraid of them. Be brave, fight back, and beat them!"
"Thanks, Stan."
After thanking the father of Marvel, who could only work as a janitor in a universe without Marvel comics, Peter entered the math classroom. He, Amadeus, and Harry had the same math teacher, while Gwen had been assigned to another one.
And then there was Carl King. You could not expect a muscle-brained idiot to be in the same level of math class as Peter Parker.
"Morning, Peter." Harry sat down beside Peter and placed his laptop on the desk. Since class had not started yet, Harry turned it on and began searching online for news about Spider-Man.
"Spider-Man? Why are you interested in him?"
"Nothing much. I heard people talking about Spider-Man, so I wanted to learn more. By the way, are you planning to join the Detective Agency? I'm thinking of checking it out."
"Sure. I like deduction puzzles, too. They're relaxing."
Amadeus arrived late, apologized, and sat behind them. He was not very tall to begin with, the textbook skinny nerd type who looked easy to bully. It was hard to say whether he could even see clearly from the back. After Amadeus sat down, Harry turned around and brought up their earlier topic.
"Hey, Amadeus, we're planning to submit applications to join the Detective Agency after school. Want to come with us?"
"Sure, let's go together. Sounds good."
Amadeus nodded. After a few seconds of silence, Peter looked at him. "Are you okay? Is someone bullying you?"
"No, no. I'm just kind of short, so nobody notices me. I got bumped into several times."
Amadeus brushed off the subject, and at that moment, the teacher came in and interrupted their conversation.
High school studies were boring no matter the country. This class was pre-calculus—Midtown High's required math curriculum was much harder than that of other high schools, covering advanced algebra and foundational calculus. That was probably because of its partnerships with Osborn Industries and Stark Industries. At other middle schools, the math curriculum was likely much easier. Peter had even heard of schools where students organized to make math an elective, which was absurd.
Listening to the utterly unchallenging pre-calculus lesson, Peter quickly grew bored and began spinning a pen, scribbling on paper, then switching to spin the pen with his right hand while writing on the paper with his left.
"You can write with both hands?"
As if he had discovered something incredible, Harry lowered his voice and asked, "Can you write with both hands at the same time?"
Peter wrote "yes" on the paper with his left hand.
"Can you write different things at the same time?"
This time, he wrote "No" with his right hand.
"All right, guys. We need to find a good day to build LEGO together."
Having survived math class, Harry seemed to have finally thought of something. He broke into a happy smile. He clearly really wanted to build LEGO, and Peter smiled and nodded.
"No problem. We just need to pick a time. I'll tell Aunt May—she'll be happy to arrange dinner for us."
The group headed for their next classroom. As they walked, the school news program began broadcasting a new announcement.
"Based on this year's vote, we have confirmed the theme for the first day of Spirit Week before Homecoming—superheroes! Every student who wants to participate must dress up as a superhero or supervillain!"
Before you continue