Look 'bad luck' up in the dictionary. Go on. We'll wait. See there? That picture of an awkward college student tripping over his own feet? That's Peter Parker. He's majoring in chemical engineering, and by some stroke of (you guessed it) bad luck, t...
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Roger Norton was a nose picker. Now, this might not sound like essential information, but when you're stuck in an elective lesson on literature from the 16th century, something as meaningless (and unhygienic) as a grown man picking his nose was a godsend. Roger, who was almost broader than his own desk and at least twice Peter's height, would whittle away the hours with a large sausage finger shoved up his nasal cavity. He'd push it around then yank it out again with a fresh booger that he'd then wipe on the bottom of his chair.
He even walked around campus like this. As if nose-picking was all he was ever meant to do with his life. Peter had once considered warning him that if he fell he might poke his brain out, but it struck him that losing intelligence was not something that Roger was worried about.
Thankfully for Peter's sanity, Roger wasn't the only distraction to be found within those dull grey walls. Another came in the form of a small girl on the other side of the classroom. Annabelle Lee. Her hair was the color of fallen leaves; sleek with the first rain of autumn. For people like Peter who are less poetically inclined, this means that her hair was brown - and it was twisted into two buns that sat on either side of her head, like two big dumplings...or meatballs. Peter's stomach growled at the thought.
What he wouldn't give for a plate of Aunt May's spaghetti right about now.
Annabelle's eyes didn't seem to help either. They were like two glasses of freshly filtered water. Not the poor excuse for a beverage that lurked in a tap. It made Peter's throat itch dryly, begging for something to quench the first signs of dehydration.
Okay...this wasn't usually how he'd describe a girl that he found relatively attractive, but he was starving. Upon arriving at the campus he'd been ten minutes late for class, meaning that he was unable to retrieve his daily dose of university-grade cafeteria food.
Peter slumped further into his seat with a glum expression, trying not to be overwhelmed by his own hunger as he glanced back over at Belle. She wasn't his usual type, that he could admit. His ex-girlfriend, Mary Jane Watson, had once been his vision of a perfect woman; amazing body, bedroom eyes, amazing body, long red hair, and, not to mention, such an amazing body.
Instead of Mary Jane though, who flaunted the whole 'could turn you into a drooling heap if you stared too long' aesthetic, or his more tomboyish ex, Michelle Jones, who looked like she might twist someone's arm off if they got too close, Annabelle catered more towards the 'watching movies at home with takeout and five adopted dogs' kind of look. As Peter grew older, he found that the latter was becoming more and more appealing.
Momentarily, the young genius found himself lost in the rhythmic swing of Annabelle's earrings. They were shaped like two sunny-side up eggs; the yellow yolk perfectly rounded within the white border. Peter hadn't eaten eggs in years now...not since he moved into his run-down apartment in probably the worst neighbourhood in New York. Not only would he likely burn the entire building down if he were ever to even attempt flicking the stovetop on, but he didn't have a cent to his name. Honestly, one cent would have been a massive improvement.
