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Things could be much worse for Harley Keener. He’s new to Midtown, so he doesn’t have anyone to sit with, but at least he’s sitting comfortably at a table in the courtyard, and not hanging from his boxers on the five foot fence across from him.
“Need a little help there?” He asks the mystery boy, who doesn’t seem fazed by his situation.
“It’s fine,” he calls back.
“Are… are you sure? That doesn’t look fine,” Harley says.
“Yup. It’s all good.”
Harley frowns. “Why are you up there?”
“Just the ushe.”
“The ushe?” Harley repeats.
“The usual bully antics of Midtown. Not very creative but physically impressive. I mean, to balance my weight on just my tension of my fabric on this pointy fence pole is pretty impressive, however…” There was a nearly inaudible rip, as he falls to the ground, rolling to catch his fall. “It would never support my weight for longer than a couple minutes with the angle and depth they stuck it in.”
“This happens often for you?” Harley asks with a raised brow.
“Yeah, but it’s all good. It’s pretty harmless,” mystery boy says with a shrug.
“Doesn’t look all that harmless,” Harley says.
“Better me than anyone else.” He eyes Harley’s lunch. “You must be new.”
“Why do you say that?” Harley asks.
“Because it’s nacho day, and you got the pizza.” He sits down. “Everyone knows that you always get nachos on nacho day.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“So, new kid, what has brought you to Midtown Tech?”
“My mom got a big promotion,” he responds. “Plus, we have a family friend that lives around here. We’ve been staying with him.”
“That’s nice of him,” Peter says. He points to the watermelon flavored Craisins. “Are you gonna eat those?”
“Probably not.”
“You mind?”
“Go ahead.”
Mystery boy snacks on the disgusting watermelon pellets while looking Harley up and down. “Do you play guitar?”
Harley shakes his head. “No.”
“You a mechanic, then?”
Taken aback, Harley nods. “How’d you know?”
“Your callouses. They’re mainly on your left hand though so that meant you were a right handed guitarist or a left handed mechanic.”
Even more intrigued by the curly haired teen, Harley asks, “What’s your name?”
“Peter. Parker.”
Harley puts out his hand. “Harley. Keener.”
Peter takes his hand and gives a firm shake. “It’s nice to meet you Harley Keener. I think we’re gonna get along just fine.”