Chapter Text
You scoff at the teacher as you step out of their line of sight. Seriously. Giving you detention DURING the field trip?
Since you have absolutely nothing else to do, you head down the narrow alleyway leading to the school bus. The back door creaks shut behind you.
A dumpster sits beside the wall, smelling like old soda and wet cardboard. You try very hard not to touch it.
Naturally, your backpack brushes right against it.
Something skitters upward.
You freeze for half a second before continuing toward the bus. Probably a rat. Or a really ambitious cockroach.
You slide into your seat near the back just as tiny legs race across your hand.
Sharp pain shoots through your wrist.
“Ow—”
You instinctively flick the thing away.
It lands briefly on the floor of the bus.
Spider.
Weird-looking one, too. Purple-blue legs. Red markings. Its body almost seems to shimmer under the fluorescent lights.
Then it disappears beneath the seats.
Great.
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The bus drops everyone off at the main gate, where parents gather in large carpool clusters to drag exhausted teenagers home.
You flash your ID card to the security guard. He barely glances at it before waving you through.
The dorm hallway is quiet.
Technically, the room was meant for college students, but the school housing program had shoved you there anyway.
A small whiteboard hangs beside your door.
Name: Avery
Age: 16
Parents: Unknown
Guardian(s): None
It was placed there in your own shabby handwriting to make it easier to move dorms if needed. You stare at it for a second longer than usual before pushing the door open.
The second you flop onto the bed, the door swings shut behind you with a soft click.
“Probably the janitor,” you mumble.
You wave a hand dramatically toward the lock like some wizard in a fantasy movie.
“Alohomora,” you say under your breath.
Something shoots from your wrist.
A thin white strand slaps against the door.
Your eyes widen.
The door jerks shut harder as your arm moves with it.
You sit bolt upright.
“…what.”
Panicking slightly, you stumble over and manually lock the door, peeling the strange sticky thread off your wrist.
Then your hand refuses to come off the doorknob.
“Nope.”
You yank backward.
The entire metal lock rips straight out of the door.
Silence.
You stare at the lock in your hand.
“Okay,” you whisper.
Then you process the rest of that sentence.
You just:
ripped metal out of a door, got stuck to said door, and shot white goo out of your wrist.
You know what?
This is probably just a stress dream.
Or hallucinations.
Or early-onset something.
Either way, future-you can deal with it.
You go to sleep.
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The next day, you head into the cafeteria carrying what appears to be a brick of cheese and one teaspoon of cheap mayo trapped between two slices of bread.
The school insists it’s lunch.
You’re not convinced.
Tiny breadcrumbs still cling stubbornly to your palms, and this morning you nearly tore your blanket in half trying to get out of bed.
So.
Maybe it wasn’t a dream.
Across the cafeteria, MJ waves you over to her table. Her friend, Ned sits beside her mid-conversation, while another boy you can’t quite make out leans back in his chair.
Wait.
MJ.
You could tell MJ.
You stayed with her family for a few weeks years ago during foster placement transfers. She’d probably believe you.
…Or maybe Ned would be better.
He’s weirdly into magic, aliens, superheroes, and literally anything remotely impossible. Plus, according to him, he somehow knows Spider-Man.
Which still sounds fake, honestly.
Who do you tell?