Peter Parker Field Trips And More

Peter Parker's Field Trip (Of course it's to Stark Industries) 5/6

If Peter’s life was like a movie, this is where the montage would happen. 

A series of crossfades would tell the story of the next two days, skipping over the boring stuff like sitting through his math class and breezing past the embarrassing stuff like Flash “accidentally” spilling his tray of mashed potatoes and turkey gravy into his lap. There’d be a pop song that was popular in the early 2000s, something that everyone nods their head along to, and maybe a fast-forward of Mr. Harrington and Principal Morita’s desperate attempts to find a way to prove that they had destroyed the original set of internship papers that they’d be given, perhaps in increasingly comical ways, until they finally found the proof they needed and proudly presented the evidence to Mr. Stark, ending the montage….

But, this is real life. 

And in real life, Peter has to actually live through the 48-hours standing between him and knowing for sure whether or not Mr. Stark was actually going to sue his teachers. He also has to experience math class and frantically scrub gravy from the crotch of his jeans thanks to Flash, without so much as a Black Eyed Peas song to uplift his spirits about it. No cool camera work or editing. Just 172,800 seconds of holding his breath while he hopes, prays, and waits to find out if they’re actually going to get their field trip. 

Fortunately for everyone involved, it’s not Peter’s luck that they had to rely on, in the end. 

A slightly grainy tape from the office where they shredded the packet was all the proof that Stark Industries needed to be sure that the documents hadn’t been misplaced or sold and that means field trip back on. 

Peter’s a hero, once again. 

But there’s not a single classmate of his, besides Ned, who knows it. 

And that’s the real kicker to end the montage on. 

***

Friday dawns clear and cold, with a pale sun sitting indifferently on the horizon. Looking down over Peter like a single, judgemental eye, tracking his process as he runs to school. 

Because he’s late. 

Again. 

He twists, turns, dives, bobs, and weaves his way through the crowds on the sidewalks in Queens and stumbles up the stairs into the bus in record time, winded but there and offering a weak wave to first the bus driver and then to Mr. Harrington, who’s sitting in the first seat behind the driver. 

Mr. Harrington waves back, his expression contrite, and Peter sighs. 

He’s been getting those looks since Tuesday, now. Every time that he makes eye contact with a teacher, they send him silent signals about how sorry they are for not believing him. Throwing extra points onto his assignments for “going above and beyond” what the expectation was, picking him for the interesting tasks like delivering notes to the office - okay, so maybe that doesn’t sound interesting, but any chance to get out of class and stretch your legs is highly coveted - or being part of the demonstration of something cool.