FOSTER CHILD | PETER PARKER

𝐗𝐗𝐗𝐈𝐕 | peter parker

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𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗥𝗧𝗬-𝗧𝗛𝗥𝗘𝗘
Peter Parker

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PETER BENJAMIN PARKER WAS A BOY OF MISFORTUNE.

His parents died when he was young, forcing him to live with his overbearing but loving Aunt and Uncle who would stop at nothing to make his life absolutely perfect and it was, with the exception of Flash Thompson and his little crew that stopped at nothing to make Peter's life a living hell and the fact that he was a laughing stock to the entire student body. Being just so incredibly nerdy and socially awkward with a witty tongue further solidified his chances of never getting a friend either.

It was just no surprise to him that Isla Foster, the mysterious and enchanting girl that has wedged her way into his life no longer wanted to spend time with him. That's why he wasn't as fazed when she stopped showing up at his door with a random little girl by her side or when she would randomly find him in the streets.

At times, however, May would catch him dozing off, looking like he was longing for something he could no longer have but then he would snap back into the rhythm of things, reclining back into his little nerdy shell of Star Wars and Lego, one that certainly wouldn't attract any girls.

"Peter," May called, snapping the boy out of his daze. "Did you get your uncle to sign your slip for Oscorp yet?" She asked him as she left the stove to chop some onions.

Peter looked up from the breakfast table, his nose crinkling at the burning aroma that gradually coated the house. "It's not due until the end of the month."

"You should still get it signed," She huffed, wiping a stray tear from her eye before she continued chopping the onions. "You know the earlier the better."

Peter nodded, immersing himself back into this homework when the doorbell rang. "I'll get it." He said, pushing himself up from the ouch and hopping over it and making his way over to the door.

He opened the door, his mouth dropping the floor and his eyes wide, like a deer caught in headless.

"Hey, Lego Boy," Isla spoke, wishing she had a phone to snap a picture of Peter's face.

"Isla?" He blinked hard, for some reason not believing that the girl in front of him was at his front door. "Wha–Where?"

"Shocked to see me?"

"Kind of, thought that I'd..."

"Never see you again?" Isla interjected, smiling smugly as she stuffed her hands into her bomber jacket. "Why would I ditch the only person in New York who doesn't have to like me but does."

"I thought maybe your grandmother told you to stay away from me." He did not. "I don't think she likes me."

"She doesn't like me either." Isla said nonchalantly, "Another thing we have in common."

"We have nothing in common." Peter pointed out.

"We both have no friends." Isla countered, a cheeky smile on her face.