Chapter Text
Frankie Hart was aggravated by most things.
Squeaky shoes, the patriarchy and people who brought babies to action movies to only name a few. Her temper was legend at Midtown High. People avoided her when she looked pissed off- which was most of the time, which she blamed her resting face for- and looked on in awe when she publicly chewed out teachers for their stupid lesson plans. And no one would forget the time she made their English teacher cry in seventh grade over a fundamental disagreement over whether Lord of the Flies would have been the same if the island had been populated by girls. She liked to believe she won the argument.
However, what was pissing her off right now was the irritating sound of The Rolling Stones blasting through the kitchen.
"Would you turn that shit off?" Frankie groaned, shoving the last lock of stringy blonde hair into a red hair tie, "It's literally five in the morning."
"And yet you're awake." her older brother Charlie shot back, shoving some pancake into his mouth, "And still in desperate need of a dye job."
The younger girl shrugged, snatching a piece of toast off of the counter and swiping back the home dyed pink tips of her hair off her shoulders. She'd bleached and chopped it a few months ago, staining the bathroom sink a sickly pink color. "I've got a project due today for chemistry. I'm measuring energy output of combusting biodiesel-"
"Yeah, I remember that project," completely ignoring her, Charlie continued chewing, already dressed and brown hair flopping over his eyes in that stupid way he thought made him look cool. He flicked his eyes over to her and looked her up and down, snorting at the sight of her rainbow sweater and threadbare green pants tucked into old brown boots.
"Are you seriously wearing that?", he questioned, speaking through a mouthful of blueberry pancakes, "Is it to distract from all the acne?"
Frankie's face grew hot with anger, mouth twisting open with a ready insult when their father Thomas bumbled his way into the room. His salt and pepper hair was a mess and his work clothes were carefully pressed to the best of his ability.
"Leave your sister alone", he chided, voice half cheery in that way it always was in the mornings to Frankie's annoyance, "She's a growing girl. Just because you didn't have an awkward phase doesn't mean she won't either."
"Dad!" the girl squeaked, hand flying up to her acne covered cheek.
"Francine!" her brother imitated smugly, sauntering towards the fridge to grab some orange juice. He didn't even give her a chance to snap and say her name was Frankie when he continued talking. "Dad, we're almost out of pasta."
"I'll pick some up at the store,'' he responded quickly, clapping his son on the back, "Gotta keep that calorie intake up, am I right?"
"That's what coach said,'' Charlie muttered, gulping down a mouthful of orange juice straight from the bottle, "I've gotta get to practice soon."
"Oh, I'll give you a ride", their dad offered cheerily, walking past Frankie with little attention, "Go ahead and hop in."
"But dad," the girl piped, feeling her shoulders hunch up, "You told me you'd give me a ride to school. I've gotta get there early to set up my project."
Her father's face scrunched up, pushing back his salt and pepper hair and rubbing his temples. "Right! Right, I did say that. Just- uh, just hop in the back seat. I'll take you both."
"She can't," Charlie cut him off, already tossing his backpack over his shoulder, "All my gear is in the back plus my history diorama. No room."
Their father looked guiltily over at Frankie, who felt her fists ball up. "He's already set up in the car."
"But-"
"Just take the subway, Frankie. I'll give you a ride next time."
The girl felt her face tighten into a scowl. In contrast, her voice grew quiet. "But you promised."
"Your brother is captain of the lacrosse team, he has to get to practice," her dad argued back, "How about you go over to the Parker's and ask for a ride. I'm sure they would be happy to help."
Both Frankie and Charlie snorted at the same time, the former sneering over at the two men across the room.
Charlie continued to chuckle, however. He found the whole thing funny. "Did you conveniently forget she and Peter hate each other? Like, one wrong word away from kicking the shit out of each other kind of hate."
Instead of telling Charlie not to use that language- which he most certainly would have done to Frankie- he turned to his daughter with a disappointed look. "Are you still bullying that Parker boy?"
"I'm not bullying him," Frankie argued, crossing her arms, "I'm just… selectively crushing his will to live."
Thomas groaned again, rubbing at the side of his head. "Frankie-"
"You said it's not safe for me to take the subway alone so early", Frankie cut him off, changing the subject, "Especially when I'm carrying a bunch of heavy materials for a science project."
"Well…" he shrugged, looking unsure, "Just this once won't hurt."
Frankie wanted to say that it wasn't just this once. That he'd done this at least four times since the start of the school year. But she didn't say anything. She never did. Instead, she watched her brother and father dash out the door, leaving her standing in the kitchen in her admittedly ugly clothes with no ride and no goodbye.
Just perfect...
She felt her face twist into a scowl, head dropping as she trudged back towards her room to gather her school supplies. The faded blue walls of her room were bare, save for the occasional band poster. Joan Jett and No Doubt peered down at her as she scooped up her backpack and trash bag filled with materials for the project due later that day. A few old broadway posters were barely held up by tape on the walls.
Curled up on her polka dot comforter was Lady Cordelia, Frankie's ageing cat that was currently laying on top of her history textbook. Her black fur stuck in between the old pages. The little creature mewed up at her, paw stretched out as if in greeting. It made the girl's lips quirk up a little, the silence of the apartment a little more bearable.
"Come on, Cordelia" the girl muttered, gently prodding the old cat off of her book, "I've gotta go, sweetie. I promise you can nap on my books later."
The old thing made a small mewing sound, stretching her legs out before slumping back down into a sleeping position with her legs curled up under her. Frankie gave her a gentle scratch on the belly before deciding to leave the poor thing to her nap.
Kicking a few stray books back under her bed, Frankie shuffled her way out of the room and all the way out of the apartment, grabbing a plate of pancakes along the way. Looking over the counter, she realized there was no lunch for her. Whatever. Her stomach felt weird anyway.
Her old converse scuffed against the linoleum floor on her way to the elevator. The old thing was probably about to bust at the seams but it held up okay under her weight. She pressed the lobby button and rode all the way down, past the Parker's floor. She had absolutely no desire to ask them for a ride. So, subway it is.
Once the door opened on the lobby, she stepped out, feet dragging a little under the extra weight of her science materials. Over at the desk was Perry, the only desk manager who actually liked her. His head perked up at the sound of her footsteps, a slow smile spreading over his face.
"Morning, Little Miss Bubblegum," he drawled, low voice smooth and lazy as he once again looked over her poorly dyed blonde and pink hair, "You got anything for me today?"
"You know I do," she smirked, dropping the plate of pancakes in front of him.
He chuckled, pulling the plate closer to himself. "What's the trashbag for?"
"Science project", she responded calmly, adjusting the plastic bag on her shoulder, "Combusting biodiesel to measure energy output."
"Those are too many big words." Perry responded lowly.
Frankie shrugged, already stepping away from the desk. "What can I say? I go to the fanciest public school in Brooklyn. I better get going, though. Project to do and all."
Perry waved her off, tucking into the pancakes she'd given him. "Knock 'em dead, kid."
"Always do!"
Frankie opened up the lobby doors into the brisk, dark morning. As usual, the streets stank of fuel and traces of old piss. Brooklyn was its usual ugly self in the morning. The blonde kept moving along towards the subway stop, only four blocks from the apartment. Very few people milled around the sidewalk as she made her way to the stop, swinging around onto the stairs and descending into the bacteria ridden subway.
She ended up waiting only a few minutes before she climbed onto a mostly empty subway car and made her way towards Midtown High. She'd stuck her earbuds in not long after sitting down and left them in as she made her way off, music far too loud to be perfectly healthy. Not like she particularly cared. Frankie liked the way it drowned out the outside world, drowning her in her own thoughts.
It was still dark outside as she made it up to the sidewalk, the lightest traces of lavender light spilling over the concrete. It was already starting to feel warmer, though. She could feel a little sweat sticking to her sweater. It was far too warm outside to be wearing it, but once she made it inside the school, the frigid air would be too cold not to have one.
Frankie carefully counted her steps. It kept her mind from freaking out over her project. One hundred and twenty six steps to the subway. Six steps towards her seat. Fifty seven taps of her foot against the subway floor. Fifty seven steps to the school.
Midtown High came into view in front of her, the iron gates at the front tall and imposing as she made her way through. The school grounds were effectively empty, no students in the school this early. Maybe a few janitors. She briefly wondered if Erica was working today- she was a nice woman. Single mother, always let Frankie sneak into the library before it opened.
With the music still blaring in her ears, Frankie didn't hear the person on the other side of the corner she was turning. She slammed straight into whoever it was, nearly dropping all her supplies and giving herself a panic attack in the process.
"Jesus, watch where you're-"
The blonde's mouth snapped shut when she realized who she'd run into.
Peter fucking Parker.
His face immediately fell at the sight of her as well, pulling into a scowl. Frankie noted a new batch of acne was popping up over his cheeks up to where his glasses rested on his nose. He only reached up to her nose, several inches shorter than her- a fact that made her feel prouder than she logically knew it should- and he always seemed to be glaring up at her through his mop of brown curls.
"Oh look," he groaned, clearly not pleased to be seeing her, "It's Satan's intern."
"Oh look," she quipped back, familiar with this game they played as she glanced down at his Avengers t-shirt, "It's the human equivalent of food poisoning. What's with the shirt? You like supporting mass murderers?"
"They're not murderers, Frankie," Peter bit back, "If you hadn't noticed, they literally saved the world."
"At the price of- what was it?" she tapped her finger to her chin, as if she didn't already have the answer memorized, "Four hundred and thirty two civilian lives across the board?"
Peter was glaring at her again, glasses slipping down his nose as Frankie decided to change the subject. "What are you doing here so early?"
"I'm setting up for the Chem presentation," he responded begrudgingly, "I'm guessing that's why you're here so early?"
"Oh no," she gushed back, "I'm here for the delight of being in your mere presence. Golden boy Peter Parker graces me with his existence."
Peter shrugged noncommittally. "It's not my fault half the teachers figured out you're a harpy."
"Ah, but the other half loves me", Frankie responded, adjusting the bag of materials on her shoulder, "Good job on all the chewed up gum in my chem book yesterday. Real original. I'm guessing the idea came from your fellow dork."
Peter shrugged, pushing his glasses up his nose with a pleased smile. "Can't prove it was me."
Frankie nodded, pressing her lips together and looking down her nose at the shorter boy. "Just like you can't prove what's in your locker was put there by me."
His eyes widened, back straightening. "What did you put in my locker?"
"Nothing you can prove," she simpered with a sickly sweet smile, "Ready to have your ass kicked in Chem?"
"Impossible," he shot back, arms crossing over his skinny torso, "My project is gonna blow everyone's minds."
The blonde hummed, nodding her head with a cocky smile. "Strong words from the boy who just got knocked down to second in the class."
"I- I did not!" he sputtered back, face tightening up in a surprised frown.
Flashing the boy a sick smile, Frankie shrugged and flipped her short hair back. "Check the school website. Updated last night. Best of luck, dipshit!"
With a perky little jump to rub it in, Frankie skipped around the shorter boy and relished in the fact that within the hour Peter would open his locker to have two air horns rigged inside, ready to blow the second he opened the door.
----
So the prank didn't go over as well as Frankie had hoped. At least, that's how the teacher that had been walking by when the air horns went off had felt about it.
Unfortunately for her, the teacher that had been walking by had been Mr. Holden, a man who particularly hated being Frankie's teacher. He didn't need proof to know that she'd been the one to rig up the locker, and he'd been quick to give the girl detention. Now, she was stuck in a mostly empty classroom with only her usual partner in such punishments, MJ. The other girl sat sketching in an old notebook, casually leaning back in her seat.
"What are you in for this time?" Frankie asked calmly, the familiarity of the moment almost static.
MJ's eyes flicked over to the bottle blonde, not stopping her drawing. "Civil disobedience. You?"
"Rigging someone's locker to blast airhorns."
The taller girl snorted, a smirk spreading over her sharp features. Frankie smiled in turn, ducking her head and resting her chin on her folded arms.
"You wanna check out that new documentary this weekend?" the girl asked, a yawn at the back of her throat.
MJ shrugged, lips still turned up as she sketched away. "I'll bring Poptarts."
Frankie's heavy eyes fluttered closed for a moment, feeling the day catch up to her. Besides her unfortunate academic imprisonment, the rest of the day had been somewhat okay. Her chem project had gone on without a hitch, earning her a near perfect score on the assignment. But, of course, Peter had earned a point higher, which had made her blood boil. One stupid lousy point had been the difference between her earning the hightest score in the class.
"Miss Hart."
Fuck.
The bored girl looked up to see Mr. Holden glaring at her with what she thought to be unnecessarily excessive amounts of exaggeration. He'd never liked her. At least not since she stuck several dozen Fuck The Patriarchy stickers on the screen of his computer after he told her that her tank top was distracting. He couldn't prove it was her so he couldn't give her detention, but he could give her as many withering looks as he pleased.
Apparently proof didn't matter to him anymore. Even if, technically, she did do it.
"Yes, Mr. Holden?" she responded in a sickly sweet voice, folding her hands in front of her.
"Will you tell me if you put that airhorn trap in Mr. Parker's locker this morning?" he groaned, seemingly annoyed at himself for bringing it up at all.
She gave an exaggerated shocked face, mouth pulled open in surprise. "Why I'd never do such a thing!"
"Because if you had" he continued begrudgingly, "I'd have to give you another detention. That would be your fifth this year just for bullying Peter."
"I thought I'd already been wrongfully punished for that crime."
"We never had this kind of trouble with your brother-"
"I'm not bullying Peter," she cut Holden off intensly. She'd heard that argument a million times from a million teachers. Aggravated she pulled out a lock of hair from the assortment of barrettes holding back the blonde and bubblegum mess, twisting it around her finger. "I'm fostering a semi-healthy rivalry. It keeps our grades up and libido's down."
Both Mr. Holden and Peter gagged at the comment. The older man looked about ready to slam his head into the desk in front of him. "If I let you go, will you stop referencing your libido?"
Frankie held up her right hand. "Scouts honor."
That effectively shut the teacher up, ending in him waving her out of the room. As soon as he did, Frankie snatched up her backpack and made her way towards the door. More locks of hair fell over her face as she practically skipped out. Just as she was about to step through, her ears perked up at the sound of Mr. Holden's voice.
"We've only got three more years of you, anyway."
The girl felt her mouth twist into a scowl, feet going still beneath her. Clearly the man didn't think she'd heard him, but that didn't stop the sting of his words from hitting Frankie square in the chest.
She couldn't help but think of how anyone else would have been treated differently. Her brother, for one, would never be looked at the way she was. He was lacrosse captain, future valedictorian, science wiz on his way to being hired right out of college by Oscorp. He was Midtown's resident golden boy. Frankie was anything but. No matter how high she was on the honor roll, how close she was on the road to being valedictorian herself, she was a pariah. An intellectual parasite.
Frankie turned slightly to see that MJ had noticed she was still there. Schooling her face into its usual smirk, she shrugged at the other girl to show her that she wasn't bothered before turning back down the hall.
So what if she was a parasite in the eyes of the school. She would be a parasite who ended up valedictorian.
----
"How was school, buddy?"
Peter shrugged off his backpack and looked over at his uncle Ben sprawled out on the couch. His work clothes were wrinkled and his tie was loosened around his neck as some Start Trek episode was playing on the TV. Leonard Nimoy was giving some monologue that Peter couldn't quite remember off the top of his head.
"Not bad," he replied easily, dropping down next to Ben on the couch, "My project got the top grade."
Ben smiled over at his nephew, ruffling his hair good naturedly. "Look at that. Too bad I genuinely don't understand how it works."
Peter chuckled, sinking into the couch. "I'll explain it to you later. Where's May?"
"Work," Ben responded with a shrug, "They're having her pull an all nighter at the office. Again."
The boy's face fell a little. He'd been hoping to tell May about how well his project went over. She'd been excited to hear about it this morning. It had been a little annoying at first, but he'd really been excited to mention it to her.
"Well, anything else happen?" his uncle cut off his thoughts, clearly but easily changing the subject. He was good at that. Reading a room.
"Well, Frankie rigged my locker with air horns," the teen offered, his eyes rolling back and plopping his head on the back of the couch.
To his annoyance, Ben started chuckling. He glared over at his uncle, whose slow smile kept spreading over his face. "Wish I had that girl's creativity."
"Creativity?" Peter sputtered incredulously, straightening up, "She's been torturing me since third grade!"
"Yeah, but weren't you friends before that?" his uncle pointed out with his annoyingly knowing look, "You two were something of a dynamic duo."
"We were eight," Peter argued back, "Things- I don't know, things changed."
"What things?"
The boy groaned, throwing his head back again. He scowled at the memory of Frankie back before everything changed. Her choppy brown hair and bright green overalls and bright smile filled with crooked teeth. Then her smile turned into a scowl and she'd started walking away from him at lunch and snapping insults at him. He'd tried for months to figure out what had happened. Then, after what happened to her mom, he stepped back. Now here they were, and he still didn't have a good answer for why it all happened.
Instead of saying that, though, Peter just shrugged his shoulders up and watched Scotty beam Kirk down to another random planet. "Guess she turned into a demon."
----
Whack!
Frankie swung at her punching bag once again, the sound of her wrapped knuckles hitting the vinyl filling her bedroom. The Ramones were blasting in her ears, covering up the sounds of her brother's crappy music playing in the kitchen. He'd taken over the living room with his big physics project, leaving Frankie to slump away to her own room having already finished all her homework while he'd been at practice. Their dad was at work, enjoying overtime and any time spent away from home.
Now, she was punching the shit out of this bag, bouncing carefully on the balls of her feet and making sure she didn't step on Cordelia. A therapist had suggested it after her mom died. Something about releasing aggression in a healthy manner. To be honest, Frankie didn't remember much of those brief sessions. They'd been so many years ago. But she still had the punching bag in her closet at all times, ready to be hooked up to her ceiling.
"Hey!"
The sound of her brother's voice startled Frankie, the punch she'd been throwing stopping mid-thrust. She tugged her earbuds out, sweat matting her hair as she pushed it back with her other hand.
"What the hell?" she panted, pulling at her shirt to keep it off of her sticky back.
"Could you please keep it down?" Charlie sighed, glaring at his little sister, "Mr. Kim is going to call the landlord on us again if you keep it up."
The blonde girl's head ducked slightly, fists unclenching at her side. "Yeah. Sorry, I guess."
"No shit," her brother reprimanded, leaning on her door frame lazily.
Frankie noticed he had something dark green smeared under his eyes, half rubbed away. Pointing towards it, the girl wrinkled her nose while pointing it out. "You've got something on your face."
Charlie looked confused for a second before he nodded his head, wiping under his eyes with his wrist. "Grease paint. Keeps the sun out of our eyes during games."
He didn't seem interested in elaborating, instead dropping his hands and looking at the corner of her room, "What the hell is that?"
Frankie followed his gaze, eyes landing on her newest project. It was only half assembled and objectively ugly, but the fact that he'd noticed it made the girl straighten up a bit with excitement. She'd been working on it for weeks with marginal success and no one had asked about it yet.
"It's a micro specific cauterization instrument," she explained, trying and failing to keep the pride out of her voice as she picked up the half built object up off the ground, "You see, it attaches to the wrist. There's gonna be a lever that reaches up to the palm, and when you press it, a laser is able to cauterize-"
"Yeah, cool," Charlie cut her off, rubbing at his head, "Laser toy. Got it."
Frankie's face dropped, her grip on the instrument loosening. Of course he didn't care. "It's not a laser toy. It's a medical instrument."
The taller boy shrugged, his face hardening slightly while already moving to close the door. "Whatever. It's late and I've got practice in the morning. Please just quit it with the punching, okay?"
Feeling her gut twist and ears heat up, Frankie resisted the urge to say something. Anything. Tell her brother he was an asshole, say her invention was interesting. But she never seemed to be able to say anything in this house. Not like she could at school. It all died in her lungs before she could say anything at all. Besides, it wouldn't matter. Charlie had already turned back out into the hall, shutting the door behind him.
"Yeah" the girl said to herself, dropping her invention on her bed. It was stupid anyway. Probably wouldn't have worked.
Her eyes flicked over to her window. A little crack covered in duct tape cut through the city light spilling through the glass. Huffing in a breath, she walked over and opened it up to the night. The sound of Queens erupted the second the window opened up. Right outside of it was a fire escape, though she'd spent little time on it since she was ten. It remained sturdy beneath her feet, only the slightest groan made her wonder if it would collapse. Instead, she set her sights higher. With a small grunt, the blonde stepped onto the old ladder and wrapped her fingers around the bars. Her hands were still wrapped up, scraping against the rough metal. Climbing it was second nature, the way up familiar and easy. It's not like she went that high, just high enough to reach the fire escape outside of the apartment that never got rented out. No one was there to pay any attention to her. It was high up enough to make her feel like she was wrapped up in her own little corner of Queens. Curling up in the corner, Frankie stared out at the neighborhood.
Her mom would have liked the instrument. She would have probably even come up with a clever name for it. She'd been an EMT so she would have understood the purpose of it. It could cauterize severed arteries without having to deal with nerve clamps or shaky hands. It could stop someone from bleeding out.
Frankie tried not to think that maybe it would have stopped her mom from bleeding out, too.