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SEVENTEEN | BOYS WILL BE BUGS
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WITH THE WASHINGTON TRIP LOOMING CLOSER AND CLOSER, TENSIONS WERE SOARING WHEN THE FINAL DECATHLON PRACTICE ROLLED AROUND. Liz Allen was working them like the Navy, as if victory was a matter of life and death. It was a lot of pressure but Marinette had her own point to prove; that Peter Parker was not her equal, that she had surpassed him (while also literally being a teen hero, mind you–let's see Peter try to do that). He was the golden boy of intellect, his brilliance dazzling and infuriating in equal measure, and Marinette felt an insatiable urge to prove that the team could thrive without him.
She envisioned standing on that podium, the weight of triumph settling on her shoulders, a radiant testament to her resilience and creativity. The way he would gaze upon her when she returned with the hulking trophy—how his pupils would grow large and his eyebrows would scrunch up in the corners that way they always did—was more motivating then any of the speeches Mr Harrington had attempted over the week.
Marinette sat towards the back of the crowded practice room, as she normally did after having her turn on the stage. The air was thick with nervous energy and whispered strategizing while everyone poured over abused textbooks. Dull walls were plastered with colourful posters, each a harrowing reminder of the challenges they were about to face at the upcoming scholastic decathlon. She clutched her notes tightly, heart racing as she glanced at her teammates, their faces a mix of determination and apprehension. She often wondered how many of them shared her sentiment about Peter Parker.
At the front of the auditorium, Liz was grilling Flash Thompson after he answered a fairly easy physics question wrong. "And you're sure that you're going to be able to fill Peter's shoes?" She hadn't meant it in a rude way, Marinette knew that but she still knew being asked something like that so publicly would send the girl into a deep spiral (which she definitely didn't need, she'd only just earnt her spot back in the starting lineup).
Flash, however, was an image of nonchalance and waved her off, tapping his pen against the table he sat behind the desk atop the stage. "Liz, don't even say that name in this sacred space," he huffed.
