Twip! Twip! Twip!
It's been a week now since I got my powers back from the spider bite. I walked over to the calendar pinned against the wall, running my finger across the dates before circling today with a red marker.
The day Uncle Ben passed away.
I have to make sure it doesn't happen this time. If my memory serves me right, things went wrong after that feud with him—when I found out some clues about my dad.
I remembered sitting in the car, telling Uncle Ben to drop me off at the library.
But instead, I ditched him. I went into that wrestling match to test out my spider powers and… well, you know the gist.
I sank into my chair, elbows resting on my knees, head buried in my hands.
"Sigh… I wish I hadn't said all those harsh things to you, Uncle Ben."
My voice cracked, the weight of regret making the room feel colder than it was.
I glanced over my shoulder. Sitting on the desk beside me was the spider that bit me, trapped inside a glass jar.
I leaned forward, pressing my palm against the table, staring at it. As usual, I had planned to study it—its patterns, its movements, its secrets.
But I had killed it by accident in my past life. The bite it left on my back and neck had been too painful, and in my anger I struck it down.
I lifted the jar carefully, tilting it under the light. The spider's moves here and there in the jar.
This wasn't just any spider.
This was a creation developed by my dad.
I remembered the sterile corridors of that hidden laboratory, the sound of air filters humming above, the rows of glass containers holding specimens meant to survive beyond their natural limits.
My dad's voice echoed in my head, talking about life expectancy, preservation, the next step forward for mankind.
And here it was—his work, the key to my second chance—resting in my hand.
I tightened my grip on the jar, eyes narrowing with determination.
This time… I won't let history repeat itself.
But first, I had to go see Gwen. She'd invited me to her place for dinner. When I told Aunt May and Uncle Ben, of course, they couldn't help teasing me—saying I was finally going out on a date with a girl, even though it was just dinner with her family.
Later that night, I stood in front of my mirror, deciding what to wear. For a second, I thought about putting on a suit, but that would've been way over the top.
This was a family dinner, not prom. So I settled on a white T-shirt, a red button-up shirt over it, and a pair of blue jeans. Simple. Casual. Safe.
I slipped on my sneakers, ran a hand through my hair, and grabbed the wrapped gift basket I'd picked up earlier. Gwen lived only a block away, so the walk wasn't bad.
"Thank God she lives close by," I muttered to myself as I stepped into the apartment building lobby.
At her door, I shifted the basket in my hands and pressed the doorbell. The door creaked open, and I found myself face-to-face with a tall, broad-shouldered man with sharp eyes.
"So, you're Peter Parker," he said in a deep, firm voice.
George Stacy. Gwen's dad. Police captain of New York.
Before I could answer, Gwen rushed past him, grinning ear to ear.
"Petey!! You're here—just in time! And… a gift basket?!" She flung her arms around me so suddenly I almost dropped the basket.
"Whoa, careful," I laughed nervously, shifting my weight to steady it. "I just… I wanted to make a good impression, so I thought about bringing a little something."
I rubbed the back of my head, trying to play the role of a nervous teenager, even though deep down, I was carrying the mind of a man who'd already lived to fifty in another life.
George gave me a nod, crossing his arms. "Well, at least you're not like that Thompson kid Gwen keeps complaining about. And I heard you even put him in his place."
He smirked.
"I like a kid who protects my daughter. But… what's the catch?"
"Dad, really?" Gwen pouted, stamping her foot a little.
"Hey, a dad's instinct always kicks in when he has a daughter," George said, shrugging.
"Oh, Dad…" Gwen groaned, cheeks puffed.
"Ehehehe." I chuckled awkwardly, glancing between the two of them. "You two really do look like you have a strong bond. Honestly, I envy you, Mr. Stacy."
George's eyebrow rose slightly. "Why's that? Surely you have your own father and mother, right?"
"Dad!!" Gwen snapped, realizing what he'd just asked. Her eyes flicked to me, wide with panic.
I waved my hand gently, shaking my head to calm her down.
"It's fine, Gwen. Really. No… I don't have parents. My mom and dad died in a plane crash. My dad's older brother—Uncle Ben—took me in before social services could."
The hallway went quiet. Even the hum of the lights above felt louder than the silence between us. George's firm expression softened, regret flashing across his face.
"Oh… I… I'm sorry, Peter. I didn't mean that."
I forced a faint smile, shifting the basket back into my hands. "It's okay. I've gotten old used to it over the years. You just… learn to live with it."
"Used to it…?" George repeated, tilting his head. "But you said you've gotten old."
My heart skipped. My eyes widened slightly.
"Ahhh, man," I muttered under my breath. Way to screw it up, me.
"I… I mean, I just… well, umm…"
I stammered, trying to fix what I'd slipped.
"I just got bullied a lot for not having real parents. But Uncle Ben and Aunt May… they're like my mom and dad now. So I got over the whole 'I don't have parents' thing."
"Oh, you poor child."
A gentle voice came from the corner, and Gwen's mom—Helen Stacy—stepped into the room. She walked straight over and wrapped me in a warm hug before I could react.
Well, this is awkward. Even for me.
I glanced sideways and saw Gwen, red as a tomato, sinking into her chair with both hands covering her face in embarrassment.
Soon, we all settled around the dinner table. The dishes smelled amazing—roast chicken, mashed potatoes, the works.
Gwen's family was cheerful, the conversation flowing easily. I learned that Gwen had one younger sibling, her little brother Arthur, who was still in primary school.
And then… it happened.
Arthur leaned forward on his elbows, eyes wide with childish curiosity.
"Hey, you're Peter, right? What do you think of Gwen… as a girl?"
Pfft!!!
I almost choked on my drink. My head whipped toward him as the words detonated across the table like a bomb.
Way to go, Arthur—bringing in the big bang cannon right to the dinner table.
From the corner of my eye, I could feel George Stacy's sharp gaze drilling into me, waiting… judging.
And the worst part?
No one—absolutely no one—was stopping this kid.
Really? Nobody? Not Gwen, not Helen, not even the chicken on the table?
ANYONE???!!!!
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Chapter 7 — End.