Chapter Three
Disclaimer: I do not own Spider-man. Most obviously, and I would very much not like to be sued.
CHAPTER THREE
JANUARY 2014
Peter sat in the office silent.
"Do you understand?" the man asked.
Peter nodded. There wasn't much to understand. His aunt had very little; a small account was set aside for him to go to college on, but nothing that he could access at this age.
"Now, this will be held in a trust until you turn eighteen. You were renting the apartment, so there is no equity on the house. She left everything to you. Now, it says here that you live with your aunt, but official guardianship hasn't changed from your parents." Peter blinked. He didn't know they were still legally alive.
It made sense, they hadn't reported them missing because, as far as his aunt and uncle knew, his parents weren't missing. They just left. His aunt and uncle had never formally adopted him.
That meant that the was essentially a ghost in the system. His parents were supposedly still alive to take care of them, even though Peter knew with his entire heart that they were dead. He would have hoped that they would have come back for them if they weren't.
Peter cleared his throat, "I'm living with a friend right now, but my mom is coming to get me. She wants to make amends."
The man gave him a look as if he was worried. "Do I need to get child services involved?" he asked the young boy.
Peter shook his head, "No, she went through a period where she was heavily addicted to cocaine. She dropped me off at my aunt and uncle's when I was four. She's been clean for almost six years now. We talk on the phone a lot, but I didn't want to leave New York."
Peter felt guilty at the lie. His mother had been a good person, or so he thought. He, however, didn't feel that guilty.
Child services scarred him. For one, it would put his Spider-man days in serious jeopardy. Having to explain to a foster parent why he was out at all hours of the night would not be good. Secondly, Peter did not want to have to care for someone. If the person did end up being a good foster parents, then he was likely to put them in danger.
Every parent Peter had ever had died or disappeared. At some point, he had to realize he was the common thread.
"Well that is all. The number I have on here is the cell I called you on. Can you confirm that it is yours." Peter nodded.
"Alright, we will be in touch. Feel free to stop by at any time to talk about finances. In four years we will contact you and you will be able to access all of the money your aunt left in your name."
"Thank you," Peter said simply.
"And Peter," the man said before Peter got up to walk out the door, "I'm sorry for your loss."
"Me too."
….
Peter had one phone call when he got out of the meeting. A person named Joe who wanted to meet up at the Starbucks he had left the flyer at. The man was a recent college graduate and probably needed furniture.
He had shaggy hair and a blue volkswagen van. Peter didn't ask very many questions.
"So," the man looked him over as if trying to figure out why a young teenager would be selling a couch set.
"I want nothing less than eight hundred for the sofa and chair set." Peter said quietly and readjusted his glasses. Despite his vision being perfect, he figured he had to wear them around his aunt to keep up appearances.
"Six hundred," the man countered.
"Seven hundred," Peter replied, "and I'll help you take it down to your van."
The man snorted, "Sure kid," and Peter shrugged.
Seven hundred was completely worth it a stranger being baffled at his strength. It's not like he had given the man his real name.
….
School on Monday was blissfully short and easy. Peter went to a school that had a block system where he would go to four classes on one day and another four on the other.
On Mondays, they got out at one o'clock. AP Chem was boring and easy; he slept through AP Physics II; and Clac AB constituted him casually talking notes the entire time and yawing. His aunt got him a private tutor when he was eight, feeling bored in school, and when she asked his teacher if he could be challenged more his teacher said to get him the workbooks at the store.
His aunt, being the wonderful woman she was, knew that that would not satisfy Peter. So, she got a nerdy junior in high school two doors over to give him science lessons everyday after school. For the next four years, Peter was first taught by the guy- Jackson was cool and incredibly nerdy- taught him to code, build computers, and eventually Jackson had him doing his work- both in college and high school- as practice. Safe to say, by the time Peter was twelve and Jackson left for a four year university- he had spent two years at a junior college- he knew most of the high school and some entry level science courses.
Peter then took free sourced online classes from colleges for fun because he was that much of a nerd, and worked with his inventions on the side. Jackson and he had lost touch, but he was grateful that his aunt had practically paid a babysitter to be his friend for four years.
Peter at lunch was bombarded with the robotics club.
"Pete," Jacob had a slight accent and loomed much taller than him. A senior this year who had moved to America when he was younger from South Africa, Peter found him fun and hilarious. Jacob was the type of nerdy one wanted to be. Smart, but somehow much cooler than everyone.
"Hi Jacob," he folded into himself. He wasn't quite ready for socializing yet.
"Are you going to come out to meetings again. You're always welcome with us." Peter smiled at his kindness. Robotics meetings were Friday nights from seven to nine. Peter could hypothetically come to them and then go out right after, but he usually used Fridays as free nap time. With no homework to do, Peter didn't have to worry about staying up, he could nap until it was time to go out and fight crime.
It was a good system, that had nothing to do with his introversion and awkwardness.
He liked robotics meeting when he went for the first two, he just felt out of place at them. He was only underclassman who showed up, and yet, he ended up helping everyone build theirs. He was mortified rather than smug, as a couple of seniors smarted off about him showing off.
"Thank you," he told Jacob, "I think on it." Peter knew he probably wouldn't go. This Friday he would be kicked out of his apartment, he had very import issues in his life at this moment.
Jacob smiled at him, "Of course, and if you come I'll talk to the guys. Nobody will say anything. It's your fault a little baby freshman schooled them."
Peter both wanted to laugh and cringe. Then he got a glint in his eye, "Well, they have to be put in their place sometimes."
The bell rang a few minutes later and Peter went to his photography class just a little bit lighter.
….
"You should sell those," the girl who sat next to him, Ashley, commented.
"What?" Peter asked.
"They're fucking amazing. You have a talent for graphic design. Anyone ever tell you that?"
Peter shook his head because no, he had always kept his head down in the call. His status as a photographer was kind of well know, especially after Shelby Jenkins, the homecoming Queen, had asked him to take photography of their group for the dance. Shelby had told him that she had watched him take photography at the football game and he looked like he knew what he was doing.
She didn't pay him much, which in retrospect was probably why she had asked him, but the pictures turned out fantastic and Peter had become someone of a gossip for a couple days. The nerdy freshman taking classes with seniors who was a fantastic photographer. That alone had put Flash off from bullying him for about a week.
"I don't know," Peter shook his head. He sat in the back corner of his photography class, put his headphones on and angled his computer away from the rest of the class.
His teacher didn't give much of a fuck about his students. In fact, Peter was pretty sure the man was high half the time. Every three Fridays, a new photo was due in an online turn in site. Peter was pretty sure the man had never looked at the photos for the kid who sat in front of him turned in a photo that he had lifted from online every Friday and played computer games the rest of the time.
Ashley did homework most of the class and a couple of girls would use the excuse of "going out and taking photography" to ditch the class consistently. Peter himself had done that twice so far, but in his case it was to go home and take a nap after a particularly hard time night of crime fighting.
That being said, Peter loved the class. His school had the most updated version of Photoshop and he would make almost memes out of the pictures he sold to the Daily Bugle. His pictures sent to J. J. Jameson would earn maybe fifty dollars a week, which had been huge for him when he was living with his aunt. Now, it was laughably bad.
The girl said, "Come on, you're the only person in the class that actually gives a fuck about it. You're fantastic at photography, but the entire school knows that, but I personally think you have a future in graphic design."
Peter swallowed hard, and then shrugged. "Thanks, I guess."
She said, "No problem," and turned back to the math she was working on. Peter put his headphones in and resolved not to think about anything but his photography for the next hour of class.
….
Later that afternoon he was standing in the middle of the place he had lived in for over ten years. The couch was gone. The armour was sitting in a middle and a middle class couple was coming to pick it up the next day. He had a haughty recent law graduate- as she was so eager to tell him-
coming to pick up his aunt's bed. The totality of his selling of of his aunt's possessions brought in a little over three hundred dollars.
Peter had calculated that he would have around twenty five hundred to three thousand dollars by the end of the week. Nothing much in NYC really, but much better than being on the streets with nothing. He needed his own apartment or studio, Peter knew that much.
Good side of town, bad side of town, it didn't matter. The Bronx, Harlem, Queens, as long as Peter could swing to school in less than a half hour, it would be worth it. Just something where no one else would see him change into Spider-man and he could put up some computers to continue to track crime and get a better algorithm for when he should be on the streets.
Peter took his laptop out and started to searched craigslist.