Webs We Weave



Chapter Nine

DISCLAIMER :: This tale blends together aspects of Peter Parker/Spider-Man and Gwen Stacy/Ghost Spider/Spider-Gwen from Marvel Comics, Marvel Television, and Marvel Studios. Fanfiction? Sort of. The world and characters are mine, but they may seem familiar.

Author's note: Finally starting to see a little movement. I'm looking forward to this. How about you?
To those who don't speak Spanish, Google Translate is free. To those who do and believe I messed up somewhere, I apologize. Google Translate is free.

(( Chapter Theme: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jFRL0eNR_d0 ))

A few minutes after Hailey and I finished eating and dumped our trays, the bell rang to signal the beginning of the next mad rush to class. Sounds of disappointment rang out in the cafeteria. My new acquaintance and I examined my schedule and discovered we had a biology course called “Living Environment”and P.E. together the following day. Our schedules were organized into “A Block” and “B Block”. Each class lasted ninety minutes and the lunch period was forty-five minutes. We bid farewell to one another and I tried navigating the sea of overstimulation to my Spanish class.

Upon reading that Mr. Davis had placed me in a foreign language elective that I was practically fluent in through osmosis, I laughed. All the classes were going to be a breeze, but that one in particular — given the date — was funny enough for me to laugh in the hallway. I ignored the awkward glances and found the classroom.

Upon entering the room, almost all the seats were filled with students. My eyes recognized Jefa and Lowkey almost immediately and I flashed a smile at them. The teacher at the front of class stopped momentarily to glance at me. She was an older woman, likely closer to forty than thirty, with a couple strips of gray hair among her black locks. She had a decent tan complexion. She wore a loose blouse and slacks with flats on her feet. Her brown eyes fixed on me like I’d done something wrong.

“¿Y quién eres tú, jovencita? ¿Se supone que debes estar en esta clase?” She asked me with authority.

The class was labeled like a second-year Spanish course. It’s only natural that the instructor would communicate entirely in the language she was teaching. I answered almost effortlessly, “Soy Saoirse Parker. Sí, esta es mi clase. Me inscribí esta mañana.”

Blinking quickly, it was as if she couldn’t believe I could actually communicate with her. Then, she shook her head and continued. “Encantador. Tome asiento, Señorita Parker. Parece que ya ha estudiado español antes.”

“Podría decirse que sí.” Smiling, I crossed to the desks and took a seat near Jefa and Lowkey who both looked at me in disbelief.

Lowkey nodded upward at me. “Yo, I had no idea you knew Spanish, chica.”

Jefa agreed. “I know, right? We could’ve been trying to talk in code and you’re up in here spittin’ it back at us.” She giggled.

“¡Alumnos! ¡En español! ¡Ahora mismo!” The teacher, Señora Silva, according to my schedule, glared down the column at the three of us. “¡Señorita Cortez Santiago! ¡Señor Álvarez! ¡No se lo voy a repetir!”

Both Lowkey and Jefa jumped a little and turned forward quickly, apologizing in Spanish. I hadn’t actually heard their ‘government names’ up to that point. It was strange hearing them spoken aloud. Thankfully, the rest of class was fairly uneventful. The teacher taught us the actual origin of Cinco de Mayo in Spanish. In all my years, I never knew it was originally a celebration in a small town after actually defeating a French army in a decisive victory. The people of Puebla were apparently pretty badass.

The final class that day should have been against the Geneva Conventions. It was absolute torture. Because I didn’t have any transcripts to prove I’d earned the mandatory credits the State of New York imposed on students, I was placed in a classroom with a bunch of computers and had to prove my aptitude. It was a small room with a couple rows of computers on one side and a couple of tables on the other. The adult in the room introduced himself as Dr. Hopwell. It seemed a little demeaning to have someone with a doctorate in an environment like that, but I was being judgmental. Interestingly enough, Salty was in the room with me. We didn’t get to talk much, though. He had some testing to go over and I had a date with the most mind-numbing computer programs I had ever seen.

The system had me start with the requirements of a freshman and move my way up. There were a couple of things I couldn’t fulfill in this manner, such as any arts or lab work. I started with the math requirements. After that, I planned to tackle the social studies. I resolved to save the sciences for last so I could actually enjoy the completion of this exercise. It would take a while, though. The “Common Core” method in the math slipped me up more than once. I could arrive at the correct answer, but the method of showing how I got there was frustrating me. Not even the advanced calculus at MIT was that confusing. The dismissal bell felt like a release on a pressure valve that had been building throughout the close to ninety minutes I had spent in front of the monitor. Salty and I shared a sigh of relief as we moved toward the door.

“Not so fast, Miss Parker. Can I speak with you a minute?” Dr. Hopwell stopped me within feet of freedom.

My entire body communicated my disappointment as it fell into a slouch. “Sure, I guess.”

Salty spun around quickly and gave a sympathetic glance. “We’ll meet you out front, Saoirse. We usually head home together. Safety in numbers, y’know?”

I nodded to him as I turned to see what the good doctor wanted to talk about. “I’m listening, Dr. Hopwell.”

The man was the walking embodiment of Milton Waddams from Office Space. I’m sure he meant well. He adjusted the glasses on the bridge of his nose while glancing at a sheet of paper before he spoke. “I can see very clearly that you’re not taking well to the remedial requirements to make up your credits for graduation. It’s hard being a new high school student after so many years of homeschooling, isn’t it?”

“It’s my first day, Doctor. Everything is hard.” My answer was brutally honest.

He turned to the whiteboard on the front wall of the room and wrote out an equation. When he was finished, all it took was a single glance for me to know it was a basic indefinite integral. He pointed to the equation while handing me his marker. “Solve it.”

Taking the marker, I solved it in three steps. Handing him his marker, I rolled my eyes. “Basic indefinite integral. Apply the power rule, then add the constant of integration. Literally solved it in my head.”

Dr. Hopwell smiled. “Mr. Davis indicated that you might be gifted. Now you’ve proven it.” He let out a sigh. “Miss Parker, this class period will improve. It will feel barbaric and brutal at first as you make your way through what might feel like toddler math for you. Please keep going. I’ll help you prepare for the Regents next month to ensure you get placed in the AP courses next year. You have my word.”

“Thanks, Doc.” Half my body motioned to the door. “Can I go now?”

“I’ve been notified that you need to stop by the front office. Miss Warren is waiting for you. She’s going to arrange for you to get a photo and your student ID. Shouldn’t take more than a few minutes. I’d head down there if you want access to the building in the morning.”

I wanted to complain to every department in the bureaucracy the moment he mentioned the toxically positive STH liaison. My disdain was likely telegraphed. “Okay. I’ll head down there.”

He smiled at me. “Wonderful. See you in two days, Miss Parker.”

Without another word, I darted out the door as if I were running from the law. Every part of my being just wanted the day to end. Whatever the cost, nothing would please me more than getting out of that building. I forgot how quickly I actually moved through the corridors. The LTC was on the fourth floor. When I got to the stairwell, I managed to take them two flights at a time. I leapt over the railing and landed on the flight of stairs below. My ankle rolled funny and I slipped on one, but I kept moving. I wasn’t hurt, thankfully. It’s possible I only shaved about twenty seconds off my travel time, but it was worth it.

Finally, I arrived at the front office and just told the person behind the counter my name. She pointed me in the right direction. In moments, I was sitting on a short bar stool with a sheet of blue fabric behind me. My default expression conveyed that I was tired and very much over the events of such a long day. Ms. Warren told a mildly funny joke to get me to smile. It worked and they snapped the picture. Three minutes later, I had a hard plastic card in my hand with the goofy smile picture, my name, the name of the school, and my grade level printed on the surface. It’s only then that I noticed the school’s colors were red and blue. My previous high school had three: red, black, and white. Midtown had a dark blue and a deep red color.

For the time being, I shrugged off that tidbit of information. I quickly wormed my way out of the room and ultimately out of the building. As soon as I opened the doors, the symphony of New York City played once more. The air smelled like asphalt and moisture. There was a light drizzle coming down. Overall, it was warm and a little damp. Freedom felt good.

“Gyat-dam! You look like you been locked up for a month, girl,” Matcha noted.

Jefa let out a quick breath. “We’ve all been there, Matcha. She just survived her first day after all that paperwork an’ shit.”

I threw up my arms and welcomed the water droplets. “Freedom is glorious.”

Everybody had a chuckle. Salty added his two cents, “No cap. Let’s get moving. Aunt Mae’s gonna be on our asses about homework soon.”

“Don’t be delulu. You never do your homework, anyway.” Jefa chuckled.

“Let’s just get back to the house. Maybe we do a movie night just to blow off some steam?” Lowkey suggested.

“So long as it ain’t one o’ them Tarantino flicks. They mid as hell.” Matcha commented.

“Anybody up for a good adventure movie or, I dunno, one of those superhero movies?” I suggested.

They all stopped for a moment and considered.

“Bet. Pretty sure we can pirate Uncharted or somethin’. That one sounds fire, dawg!” Salty broke the silence.

Jefa sucked in some air and made a ‘tsk’ sound. “Boy, you simp hard for Tom Holland, don’t you?”

We all continued walking. I was positioned a step or two behind the rest of the group. They knew each other better than me. I was the new variable. “Don’t you guys have streaming or something?”

“Do we look boujee enough fo’ dat shit?” Matcha spoke up.

Thankfully, I was starting to understand the lingo. “None of us are.”

“An’ dat’s the tea, girl. Broke bitches gotta get entertained somehow. Chispa can get anything we wanna watch with theater quality. Girl’s got skills.” He turned to the rest of the group. “We’ll do a poll. Y’all suggest somethin’ for later and we vote. Bet?”

Everybody except me responded. “Bet.” I just shrugged and kept walking with them.

As a group, we navigated the streets until we hit 6th Avenue. Without any words, everybody decided to hop on the subway and ride a single stop before getting off again and heading to Tír na nÓg. We walked the entire length of the platform and came up on the southern end where all we had to do was cross 6th into Greenwich Village. It was a different path than I had seen Maven take. Watching the different navigation styles was interesting.

Arriving at our place of residence, it was well known among us that there was no hiding from Maven. There might be three doors on the exterior of the block of red brick buildings, but only one was a true entrance. That led directly into Maven’s welcome area and her office. Opening the door, we all filed into the building. Maven was at her desk, going over some paperwork on top of it. Her glance rose to us the moment she heard our footsteps.

“Welcome home, children.” She greeted us. “Makai, Marisol, Noah, Federico, and Seung-ri, please proceed. Julia is in the cafeteria completing her homework, as you all should do. Saoirse, I’d like a word.”

It was telling that everyone visibly shrank into themselves. That was the first time I’d ever heard the names their parents actually bestowed on them. It seemed to be a cultural thing among street kids to give each other pseudonyms to allow people to retain their anonymity. They all filtered out of the room and the last to exit closed the door behind them, leaving Maven and me alone in the room.

“Am I in trouble or something?” My voice broke the silence.

“No, love, you’re not. I merely wanted to know how you got on for your first day. Did it go well?”

For the hundredth time that day, I shrugged. “It went fine. It was boring as hell. I already know President Andrew Jackson was a 19th-century asshole. I already speak Spanish, but oddly didn’t know the origins of Cinco de Mayo. Their remedial computer lab is the worst joke ever. Beyond that, I may have made a friend and committed social suicide by daring to be in the path of the Queen Bee. Satisfied?”

Maven huffed. Oh boy. “Saoirse, I need you to listen closely when I say this, girl…” Her eyes met mine. “I know it’ll be difficult, perhaps even torturous at times, but it’s worth it. Going through this kind of schooling twice ain’t for the faint of heart. It’s for safety, love. Nothin’ worth doin’ has ever been easy, girl. Remember that.”

I hung my head. She had a point. “Yea…”

I could almost feel Maven smile as she crossed to me. She gripped my chin in her hand and lifted my eyes to hers. “Chin up, love. You made a friend. That’s not nothing.”

“Also found out I’m attracted to guys, so there’s that.”

“Isn’t that the case for most girls your age? I’d have thought you’d have figured that out long before now.”

“I wasn’t sixteen and female a week ago. I was so far in the closet that the skeletons and I were great pals. We were gonna have a barbecue this weekend.”

“Doesn’t matter. What happened was a gift, love. It’s a chance to start over and find out who ya really are. Cherish it.”

“Speaking of… I’m gonna start doing some testing on the roof. I think I need to get a real sense of what I can do.”

“So long as you’re not seen, it shouldn’t matter.” She cleared her throat. “Have you got any homework, love?”

“Thankfully, no.”

“Then off with ya. You’ve got some testing coming up this week. Best enjoy yourself while you can.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice.”

The way my legs carried me, it was like I almost bolted out of her office and into the building proper. While the others gathered in the cafeteria space and began their homework, I was tasting freedom for the first time that day. Climbing the stairs to the upper floors, I skipped a couple of steps here and there. Finally up in the privacy of the room I’d been given, the backpack was dropped unceremoniously onto the bed. For a moment, I thought about what I might need to do some proper testing. The jeans I was wearing were the first thing to be replaced. I found a pair of black leggings and slipped them on. In an instant, my range of movement was enhanced. Nothing else seemed important, so I grabbed my phone and earbuds before making my way to the roof.

The door to the roof swung open and freaked out a few pigeons. My eyes scanned the surroundings. The immediate neighborhood between 6th Avenue and 7th Avenue, as well as between 4th Street and Bleecker Street, would serve as a suitable enough testing ground. The varied heights of the buildings would be handy. So long as I didn’t get too close to Christopher Street to the north or Father Demo Square to the south, it was entirely possible I wouldn’t be seen at all. Only tourists look up in New York City and I was nowhere near Times Square.

Pulling out my phone, I queued up a playlist. Generally, it had been used as octane to fuel the journeys I had to take for deliveries. It was comprised of all my favorite rock, punk, and emo hits from my teen years — from 2000 to roughly 2011. It was all the songs that kept me going. I hit play as the first song was queued up and leveled my eyes at the rooftops across the street. Given earlier results, the jump should be easy. The drummer hit the kick in the song and I started running. I came up to the ledge and launched myself into the air. The lateral jump was just over fifteen meters and I landed on the other side with room to spare. Endorphins hit my brain and a huge smile appeared on my face. I suddenly understood what Tobey Maguire was trying to convey on the screen.

Without stopping, the music propelled me through the most intensive parkour exercise I’ve ever witnessed. I was leaping to different building heights. I was bouncing off walls or running along wall surfaces like it was nothing. Occasionally, I’d insert twists or little flips just for flair. The thrill of executing feats I had never considered being able to do throughout my life was intoxicating. Sporadically, an exuberant “woohoo!” would come out of my mouth. I’m human.

During one of my “laps” of parkour around the neighborhood, I decided to throw out a web line. Leaping off the side of one of the buildings over a road surface, my arm extended and my hand formed into the shape that would activate the spinneret. It activated and a line of gossamer ejected. Coming in contact with the brick facade, it amazingly attached to the surface. Grabbing the line, I was carried in a semi-circular arc around the building, the attachment point acting as the center. Like a weight on the end of a string, I swung around the building in a daring display. However, there were some miscalculations. Even as I gripped the line, the spinneret in my wrist kept producing that line. The radius of the circle was extended more than I wanted it to be. I had swung 180 degrees and there was a shorter roof beneath me. My one thought was ‘Uh oh’ before the line finally released and I fell toward the roof. I tried several times to produce a rescue line, but all that came out were globs of webbing. I came down and crashed with about as much grace as a drunk seagull.

Taking a moment to simply lie in my failure, I noted that it didn’t seem like I was hurt. Everything moved normally. After a few moments of self-deprecation, I stood and continued my exercises. Engineers working for Edison discovered more than ten thousand different ways to not make an incandescent lightbulb before they actually made one. It might take more than a few attempts before I’m swinging through Tribeca like a champion.

The exercises continued for a couple more hours as the sun dipped below the skyline. I ate some rather large slices of humble pie more than a few times. Sometimes, I miscalculated a jump and faceplanted onto a roof. Other times, the swing attempts worked poorly in spectacularly hilarious fashion. What was working was the fact that I could run faster than I’d ever been able to, I was more than decent at parkour, and I wasn’t getting hurt like I probably should have been after falling two or three stories. The inconsistent gossamer production wasn’t helping much. Sometimes, I would get a beautiful line that would support my weight and momentum. Other times, all I’d be able to produce would be a glob and a trip back down to terra firma. Almost everything would need further cataloguing and studying.

My landing back at the building that housed Tír na nÓg felt like it was piloted by the penguins from Madagascar 2. I flopped around end over end after another failed swinging attempt. My body landed, rolled, and came to a skidding stop on the roof while I groaned in response. Somehow, I thought I’d be more graceful and be able to catch myself before landing in a heap. Turns out, that was going to need practice as well. It might be a while before I’d be able to achieve landings worthy of a movie poster. Yet again, I let myself lie in failure while I calculated what went wrong.

“That must feel embarrassing. That looked like one of the videos I’ve seen of puffins,” A voice not far away broke the silence and my solitude. “The things will faceplant coming in for a landing next to their nests. It’s genuinely hilarious.”

Turning my head toward the sound, my eyes beheld a Hispanic teenager roughly the same age as I appeared to be. Her black hair was pulled back into a low ponytail. Glasses sat atop her nose obscuring her brown eyes a bit. Her clothing was an oversized t-shirt and baggy jeans. She leaned against an HVAC pipe with something under an old blanket behind her on top of the pipe. She had a single eyebrow raised as if there was a question lingering in her mind.

“How long have you been standing there?” I wondered.

“Long enough,” she answered simply. “How long have you had powers?”

Numbers ran through my head for a moment. “About a week.”

“Since ‘the event’, huh? Curious.”

“Oh, I’m sure we can come up with something better than ‘the event’. It sounds ominous and vague.”

“How about… an energy flux with an electromagnetic event horizon followed by an exotic particle tail that has affected the human race in ways not currently quantifiable?”

“That sums it up pretty well, but it might be a little breathy for the layman.”

“You’re smarter than you look.”

I grunted as I began to lift myself off the ground. “I get that a lot. We haven’t been able to talk much, Chispa. It’s nice to get an opportunity.”

“I was hoping to be up here alone, actually.”

“Introvert?”

“Not particularly. I just don’t have much in common with the others. It’s difficult to relate when I can’t debate quantum entanglement or something as simple as the Theory of Relativity.”

Finally standing, I stretched my limbs. Yet again, the only thing harmed by the stunt was my pride. “It can be like that some times. I get where you’re coming from.”

“Are the others aware that you have powers?”

“Nope! No reason to tell them, either. I’d like to keep it that way, if you please.”

She narrowed her eyes at me. “I shall keep your secret.”

“I appreciate that.” With a finger, I pointed at whatever was under the blanket. “What have you got there, if I’m allowed to ask?”

“I’ve been measuring CMBR and how it differentiates from the energies experienced during ‘the event’.”

“Not easy to do from a rooftop this low to the ground, I guess.”

“We must make do with the tools at hand.” She huffed.

“Inconclusive results, huh?”

She folded her arms. “Yes. It’s hard to do real science without much in the way of resources.”

“Graduate programs at universities. That’s where they send all the good money.”

“How old are you?”

I nearly gulped, feeling like I’d been caught or something. “Sixteen?”

She smirked in a way that suggested to me that she didn’t buy it. “Yea, okay. You still don’t have a street name, do you? That Irish name of yours is hard to get my tongue to cooperate with.”

“I don’t have a street name. How hard can it be to say Saoirse?”

“I think about the spelling and my tongue gets confused.” She narrowed her eyes at me once again. “We can call you Seda.”

“That’s Spanish for ‘silk’.”

“¿Crees que no lo sé? It’s elementary: gossamer equals silk.”

“Oh… because the webbing thing… You’re not wrong. It’s a bit like a dad joke, but it works.”

“Consider that I’m called ‘Chispa’ and I tinker with electronics a lot.”

“Fair point.” I bobbed my head for a moment, considering the proposal. “Sounds like it could work, I guess. Would you be so kind as to show me your device? I’m incredibly curious how you’re measuring CMBR from a terrestrial position with all the atmospheric distortion.”

She smiled and nodded, taking hold of the blanket. I think I made another friend.