Spider-Man Fic: Knucklehead Stew
This is a 400 word Spider-Man fic for the Weekend Challenge at 1_million_words ENJOY!
Peter had been thrilled when he’d first learned of the existence of STEM schools.
Finally, there was a place that emphasized science, technology and mathematics; a place where being a science or math nerd was not only accepted but encouraged.
To put it simply, Midtown School of Science and Technology’s was his paradise on earth and he did everything in his power to get accepted.
May and Ben proudly boasted that their nephew had scored the highest grade on the school’s placement tests that the teachers had ever seen which in turn secured his unheard of fully funded four year scholarship, tuition and book bill included.
What Peter hadn’t anticipated was that the students still had to take part in the more mundane classes like gym and the vocational subjects like wood shop and home economics.
Ben had coached him through his first attempt at a candle shelf holder (“Ben, the directions said it should only take an hour, it’s already been three!”) and the home ec class he secretly saw as lame and a complete waste of time, was completely kicking his ass.
His attempt at a simple Tuscan chicken entree was graded a C (“Peter, chicken should never be this dry”) and his slightly more complicated dessert only rated a C+ (“Peter your chocolate chip bundt cake should not be drooping sideways on the plate.”)
It was humiliating and frustrating and if he didn’t need the class to graduate he would have happily taken his straight C average but he was determined to raise his grade to a B which explained his reading every Betty Crocker book he could get his hands on.
Peter thought he’d have a reprieve with his classes being virtual but unfortunately that wasn’t the case, because he still had to prepare and cook three meals a week.
May tried to be as reassuring as she could, especially when she found him hiding in their pantry, his face deadly white and half covered in bread crumbs, a wooden spoon in one hand and a carving fork in the other.
“Peter, I refuse to believe that balsamic glazed meatloaf with honey roasted carrots and rosemary fondant potatoes has gotten the best of you!”
Peter smiled bravely as he waved away the smoke in the kitchen and started plating their dinner. “Thanks May, I actually do think this meatloaf’s less charred then the first two attempts.”
Peter had been thrilled when he’d first learned of the existence of STEM schools.
Finally, there was a place that emphasized science, technology and mathematics; a place where being a science or math nerd was not only accepted but encouraged.
To put it simply, Midtown School of Science and Technology’s was his paradise on earth and he did everything in his power to get accepted.
May and Ben proudly boasted that their nephew had scored the highest grade on the school’s placement tests that the teachers had ever seen which in turn secured his unheard of fully funded four year scholarship, tuition and book bill included.
What Peter hadn’t anticipated was that the students still had to take part in the more mundane classes like gym and the vocational subjects like wood shop and home economics.
Ben had coached him through his first attempt at a candle shelf holder (“Ben, the directions said it should only take an hour, it’s already been three!”) and the home ec class he secretly saw as lame and a complete waste of time, was completely kicking his ass.
His attempt at a simple Tuscan chicken entree was graded a C (“Peter, chicken should never be this dry”) and his slightly more complicated dessert only rated a C+ (“Peter your chocolate chip bundt cake should not be drooping sideways on the plate.”)
It was humiliating and frustrating and if he didn’t need the class to graduate he would have happily taken his straight C average but he was determined to raise his grade to a B which explained his reading every Betty Crocker book he could get his hands on.
Peter thought he’d have a reprieve with his classes being virtual but unfortunately that wasn’t the case, because he still had to prepare and cook three meals a week.
May tried to be as reassuring as she could, especially when she found him hiding in their pantry, his face deadly white and half covered in bread crumbs, a wooden spoon in one hand and a carving fork in the other.
“Peter, I refuse to believe that balsamic glazed meatloaf with honey roasted carrots and rosemary fondant potatoes has gotten the best of you!”
Peter smiled bravely as he waved away the smoke in the kitchen and started plating their dinner. “Thanks May, I actually do think this meatloaf’s less charred then the first two attempts.”