Internships and injustice
Day before the Stark Competition deadline, Peter was sitting at the table, making final edits to his project. To be honest, it was completely finished, but staying in this room, looking over this much-loved project, there was a sense of safety for him. In this very moment, he was invincible. Despite all of the hardship, and background nonsense that he put up with, he had fucking smashed this, and it gave him a weird sort of power.
There were a few other kids dotted around various work tables. An odd mix of stress, relief, excitement and fear swam amongst each different face.
Ned had given up, decided not to give in an entry, but make his idea more of a long term project, and there was another competition at the end of the year that the sign language glove would be more suited to, so it wasn't a waste or anything. On the other hand, Mj had given hers in as soon as possible - the organization skills she possessed were sometimes a little scary. Peter could tell a lot of passion went into that essay, though the topic was still a mystery to him.
Looking back down at his written work, he inhaled a deep breathe.
"This is a good project. You are smart, and this is a good project," he whispered under his breath, reassuring his shaky hands. Standing up with a false confidence, he walked up to Harrington's desk.
"Here's my project sir," he said, holding out his hand-written essay and the material alongside it.
"Thank you, Peter," he returns calmly before pausing, "Have you considered typing it up, it might look a little more professional?" he added politely.
"I - umm, don't have a laptop, I tried the one in the library, but it doesn't connect to a printer and I read online that they need a physical copy to go along with the - umm the prototype. Is it bad that I don't have it typed, cause I can't - I've got to go in like five minutes, I'll like get in trouble. I thought it be okay cause my handwriting is good," rambled Peter, panic leaking into every word.
"No, it's fine Peter. It's the project that really matters," Mr Harrington smiled. He then opened his own laptop and started typing, and without Peter's knowledge wrote his name and title, before starting in the main body of the essay.
Another forced breathe left Peter, as well as a little nod, before he turned away in a slight hurry in an attempt to not upset another one of the drivers as he's named them. There's an alternating schedule of who gets him to and from school, but they are only unified in their mutual dislike for Peter - judging from the stares and disapproving hmphs.
He slid into the same dusty black car, clutching tightly onto his backpack.
"Two minutes late," the nameless man spat out unpleasantly.
"Sorry, I was talking to a teacher. Handing in a project actually," he replied politely, even though really he was struggling in the bathroom to get back on their ugly grey uniform.
"I didn't ask for some lousy excuse."
"Apologies."
There was another annoying hmph before they finally set off. Honestly, Peter's blood boiled at the injustice of it all. The judgment, the rudeness, the cruelty, all of it. He had done nothing to deserve it, maybe just his laughable bad luck. He must have done something remarkable evil in a last life to be given this one.
He scurried up to the bedroom, and pushed open the door.
"Got the goods, man?" Felipe asked quickly, you'd think he was some kind of addict.
"Yes, I have your chocolate fix, don't worry," he quipped, chucking another chocolate bar.
"Life-saver man," he whispered, and not for the first time, as he devoured the little bar, "so what's happening out in the world then?"
"I dunno - I mean I handed in the Stark project today," he said, lying down on his bunk.
"That cool - i think? I don't know about any of that sciency shit," Felipe rambled as he finished of the last square.
"Yeah, it's kind of a big deal."
"How cool is that Miles, like being out in the world, entering competitions and like seeing people?" Felipe continued, a slight unhinged tone peeking through.
"Yeah, all I get to see is your ugly mug," Miles quipped, without even opening his eyes.
"And our lovely Matron of course."
"Ah, of course."
An angry voice interrupted them, "Shut up!!"
All three boys exchanged looks, and tried to contain their smirks. There wasn't often a reaction from the trolls on the upper bunks, but they suspected it was due to their annoyance with sarcasm.
A purposeful, borderline violent opening of the door filled him with a wave of panic, interrupting the calm atmosphere within the room.
"Chores, now," the Matron snapped, "and I don't appreciate you just returning, and already dirtying the covers of your bed with your shoes. That's an infraction Mr Parker. And this room is an absolute disgrace, after all the time, energy and money put into you boys, all we require is for you to keep your living areas clean. Another infraction for all of you! Now up you get, I said chores."
There a silent grumble if that was possible - it was almost as if they all expected a collective groan, or heard it in their heads but no one had the guts to actually to do it out loud. Filing out of the door, with heads hung long, these five boys were only unified in their bad luck in ending up here. Their vastly different personalities did nothing to prevent them ending up here, bad luck with a side of societal judgment was responsible for that.
They ended up scrubbing dishes, and pots and pans and all sorts of cutlery, which wasn't hard just exhausting. There were an awful lot of fucking dishes. The laziness of the two older boys didn't help either - apparently they didn't see the point, she'd just find something else for them to do. But the glint of fear in Felipe's eye at the idea of an infraction was enough for Peter to scrub his hands raw. To be honest, he didn't really know what an infraction actually meant, but from some of the reactions from the others, he'd reckoned he better start trying to avoid them. Although, he wasn't really sure what else they could do to him - there weren't really any privileges he had left to lose. Then again, he'd lost a lot of privileges that he hadn't even realised he had before.
Eventually after a few hours of washing and dirty water, and the Matron coming in several times to critique (but mainly criticise) their work, they were finally dismissed, and began to shuffle past Matron with their heads hung low once again.
"Wait - not you Peter, you still have another infraction, I'm afraid. You will be scrubbing these floors instead of dinner," the Matron announced smugly.
In that moment, Peter realised a privilege he had to lose. A privilege he previously thought was a right, but apparently not.
"Verbal answers please."
Peter gritted out a "Yes Matron," through his teeth, and chose to ignore his rumbling stomach - it wasn't the first time he been denied a meal, he'd survive, like always.
He returns to his knees, clutching a yellow sponge within his raw and blistered hands and began scrubbing. Filling his head with random tunes or book quotes Mj had managed to ingrain into his brain, it wasn't that bad of a punishment.
Eventually, he was let go as well, trudging back into his room, where he was met with sympathetic smiles and some half-stale bread pushed into his hand that had probably been stuffed into a place he didn't want to know about.
"Wait - where's my like bedding and stuff?" Peter stopped, looking up confused.
"Infraction, mate," Miles reasoned paying him on the shoulder.
"So she took our pillows and duvets?" he questioned, running a hand over his head confused.
Felipe just shrugged. He had curled himself up into the corner of the room, stretching around the wardrobe to doodle behind the wooden door. He did that often - and Peter often wondered if he was leaving his mark, some sort of twisted comfort for the next poor sod that ended up here. There was a message that Peter read every night that was carved into the wooden panels above him - it read 'fuck this' short but appropriate words that sum up his experience in St Edmunds do far.
"What the fuck - why the bedding?"Peter laughed, almost hysterically at the randomness of it all.
"We ain't got nothing else," a short reply came.
And to be fair they didn't. It was an uncomfortable nights sleep, but mostly it was just ridiculous. Who the fuck takes away pillows?
The next day, his hands were red raw and covered in blisters. He could barely zip up his back back without wincing, and he had some odd sort of respect for the cleverness of these vindictive punishments. Nothing illegal, just fucking insane.
They didn't get back their bedsheets for another three weeks either, and once they did, some of the duvets didn't have covers anymore, and only four out of five pillows were returned meaning there was now an alternating schedule for who didn't get of pillow (excluding Jude and Alex, who had refused to share.)
Things were quiet for a while. They had learnt there lesson with the cleanliness, and Miles who was the best at making the beds up, did them all military style. Peter didn't stay late any more - he discovered that if he looked like he'd been waiting a long time for the staff to pick him up , they wouldn't report him for tardiness or anything else for that matter because of the smugness of causing him to suffer and the power of forcing him to wait. He still snuck in contraband, which mostly helped maintain morale. It was fucking miserable in here, but apparently the bonus of snacks and messages lifted the mood significantly. Felipe even admitted in the middle of the night, protected by the darkness and the snores around him, that sometimes it was the only thing keeping him going. While others had family or Miles had his girlfriend, Felipe admitted he didn't feel like he had a friend in the world, and he didn't have anything to live for - shitty childhood and family, rubbish at school, too hot headed to hold down a job and angry all the time. What was the point if the best he could get was this place? Peter had returned with some waffle that was as comforting as it could be, but still it was a depressing thought that best part of his life was the pathetic chocolate bar Peter was offering. The only good thing though was that Felipe was just as determined as Peter to keep out of trouble and get the fuck out of here, although his hopes were dwindling with each infraction. Miles had also shared in their their little bonding sessions, about fears of the future. For as long as he could remember, life was about surviving, dodging the punches or avoiding many of his moms boyfriends, or trying to take care of her when she was off her head, and now he was heading towards eighteen, he didn't really have anyone he could lean on. His girlfriend helped, but the limited contact they had, made his stomach churn with anxiety. Peter related so much to these boys. As much as he adored his friendships with Ned and Mj, they could never fully know what it is to go through what they have. Despite missing his phone like he would miss a hand, Peter appreciated the time to realize he was not alone. The glaring differences he felt between himself and the rest of the world lessened in their company, even if their humor was less sophisticated and their conversation was rather basic. Misery finds company and all that.
Anyway, things were quiet for a while until the most incredible thing happened of all things that could happen. There was another intercom announcement that gave Peter a horrible sense of deja-vu. He was logically expecting another sympathetic talk about them being there for him, or a long lecture about something or other he did wrong. He was surprised though cause it was a real random time of day - his study period where he was rushing this chemistry worksheet so the others wouldn't call him a swot if he tried to do it later at the group home. Packing up his stuff, he trailed towards the office, praying to a god he didn't believe in that he wasn't in trouble or anything (he'd only just got his bedsheets back.)
"Mr Parker, hello, come in, come in," Morita rambled excitedly gesturing towards the red armchair that positioned in front of the desk, "We have some amazing news for you."
Mr Harrington was stood in the corner of his office, wearing a matching beaming smile and a sort of nervous excited energy, as he rocked back and forth on his heels. He did a quick nod of the head towards Peter, as his smile grew even bigger.
"I have received an email this morning from Stark Industries! Peter, they loved your entry and have asked for an interview!" Morita exclaimed.
Happiness burst through Peter's chest, stealing his breathe, and causing his heart to face wildly. This was it. His shot. Get this internship and he's be set for life - group home or no group home.
"Are you sure - they mean me?" he questioned through a breath of disbelief.
"Of course they do, you have a very bright future ahead," Harrington replied, almost sternly form the corner, but with an happy gleam in his eye, "this is an incredible opportunity that you deserve more than anyone."
"Thank you, I - i just thanks," Peter stuttered while stuck in some sort of stunned amazement.
"All you kid," Morita returned kindly, with Harrington nodding in agreement behind him, "The interview has been arranged for next Thursday and it's all day at Stark Tower. We can organise a member of staff to take you if you have no alternative. They haven't given much information, but this is an amazing opportunity. Talk with the whoever runs the home, and come back to me for arrangements. I'm sure Mr Harrington will be more than happy to transport you in order to catch a glimpse of Stark Industries," he winked cheekily, as a laugh echoed in the background.
"Yeah, absolutely," Mr Harrington added.
"Thank you, that's great thank you."
Morris slid over a printed version of the email with all of the details, with that Stark logo printed clearly on the top, and a congratulations in bold. Peter almost couldn't believe his eyes. A mix of feelings squirmed beneath his chest, but he was overwhelmingly happy. A kind of happiness that blurred out all other feeling or anxieties. A kind of happiness he hasn't felt since May's death. A kind of happiness he'd had forgotten existed. He couldn't contain his smile of joy, but bit his lip to prevent a squeal escaping from his lips.This was a dream come true.
"Well, I'm sure you can't wait to tell your friends, so you may leave. Congratulations Peter, we're really proud of you," Morita concluded.
Peter quietly left the room, using up all of his calmness, before celebrating like a footballer who scored the a goal but in a much more nerdy way, with a few punches to the air, and whoops and cheers. He scampered back to his study period, where he had left his open book next to Ned. Rushing over determinedly, Peter slid back into his chair. He ignored Ned's weird looks at him, before sliding over the folded sheet that Morita had given him like some spy in an action movie. Ned reached for it suspiciously, unfolded it, took a second to process it before ...
"Dude! Oh my god! Dude! This is insane. Oh my god, I'm gonna die, this is literally insane, is this real? Oh my god Peter, Stark Industries! Peter! You're gonna be a famous scientist. My best friend is the next Tony Stark !" Ned gushes, with more excitement than Peter knew possible.
"Woah - slow down. It's just an interview," he replied, thankful for the care of his best friend but also squirming from embarrassment (everyone in the library was now looking at them.)
"Sorry," Ned whispered, "but this is incredible.
Peter, I'm so happy for you, you're gonna do amazing."
"This mean so much to me," Peter admitted, " I really want it."
"You will. You're Peter, I don't think I've ever met anyone as smart as you,"
"Awwww dude."
He didn't tell anyone but Ned - he was the only one that truly understood the importance of this. Apart from Mj of course, but by the time he found her, she apparently already knew? She was waiting with a congrats and a cookie from the cafeteria. As always, there was a calm nonchalance around her, but Peter could tell she was fucking buzzing for him.
If you'd asked Peter what happened at school after the email, he wouldn't have been able to name one thing, yet he reckoned that this was the best day he has had for a very long time.
Returning to St Edmunds, not even they could dampen his mood, and instead of heading directly back to the room like usual, he shuffled unsurely in the direction that Matron always stroked of to - presumably her office. He came to face a large heavy wooden door, and hesitantly raised a hand to knock.
“Come in,” a disdained voice called. Peter steadied himself with a little mental pep talk, prepared to perform as the worlds most polite and respectful angle child. He couldn’t get this wrong. Pushing his weight forward, the door swung open, but he faltered before he stepped in.
“Is it possible to talk to you about an opportunity that had come up at school, please?” he stammered, as he tried to show all of his a manners at once.
“If you must,” Matron replied, barely glancing at him in favor of the little metal watch that dangled around her wrist.
“Thank you,” Peter sighed in relief, one step further towards his goal, “I found out today that I got an interview for an internship at Stark Industries. I submitted a project as a compulsory part of my physics class. The interview is next Thursday and my teacher has offered to provide me with transport. Is it okay if you sign this - I need permission from a legal guardian.”
“An internship?” she questioned, opening the sheet with the email printed and scanning it quickly.
“Yes Matron.” There was a beat of silence, before he added, “It’s an incredible opportunity - this is the first scheme they offer to high school students, from a very prestigious company. It would lead to future employment opportunities and look great on my college applications.”
“I understand. However, internships are a luxury not
a right. You will have to earn my permission as I cannot be certain you can be trusted. After all your privileges were only recently restored, isn’t that right?”
“Yes Matron.”
“Therefore, you will only be allowed this …. interview once you have proved you deserve it.”
“Yes Matron.”
“Right off you go then,” she waved dismissively. Anger surged inside Peter but he bit his tongue and contained it. He wasn’t some criminal. He was here through no fault of his own, but he has earnt that interview off his own merit. It was up this power crazed lady to decide whether he deserved it or not. He spent hours and hours on that project and now he didn’t deserve it?
“What can I do to earn if? This means a lot to me, and I-i really, really want this. Please, I’ll do extra chores or, I don’t know …” he panicked slightly, words gushing out as he was losing grip on his dream. He got a twisted smile in response, like some evil dictator.
“Good behavior is expected not rewarded, Mr Parker.”
Pete had to fight the urge to roll his eyes. The cliche sayings she loved so much were bloody exhausting, and kind of depressing. No one owes you a happy life and bad things happen all of the time and good behavior is expected and all that nonsense. As they weren’t already familiar with bad luck. Knowing saying anything else wouldn’t help his case, he turned away defeated and walked out. Fucking foster care, it had to ruin bloody everything.