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During all those times I envisioned my future, Greendale Community College was never in the picture.
Oh, no, my imagination was far more delusional in its ideas. Despite my years' worth of experience with my terrible luck, I got blinded by my few minutes of fame and celebrity connections and expected the tide to turn.
I suppose it isn't merely my imagination to blame for my disillusionment. Even the people who don't try ridiculously hard in school end up in a flowy robe and a cap to throw in the air. No matter how shitty their decisions were. No matter how many people they hurt. No matter how much they mentally went through.
But my shitty decisions were far more consequential than theirs, because mine led to the destruction of Tony Stark's private property, Coney Island, downtown London, the Statue of Liberty, and almost the very fabric of time and space. I put my friends and family in danger in several occasions, getting some of them killed in the worst ones.
Reflecting on it, I definitely deserved community college for all those crimes.
Greendale is apparently one of the best in the city, but I've heard that it's also the wackiest one.
Wackier than the roller-coaster my life had been?
Challenge accepted.
Community colleges are more diverse than whole countries, and Greendale supported that claim. There were some fresh out of high school like I was, and there were others who looked like they should be playing bingo in a retirement home instead of studying Biology and Marketing. Each person with a uniquely screwed up story, probably, if they ended up here instead of a university with better prospects.
Maybe my troubles wouldn't seem so horrific after I'd heard some of theirs.
Provided that I made friends with any of them, which was unlikely to happen if I walked around with earphones in and my hood up.
I wasn't sure when I developed the habit. The illusion of anonymity was comforting enough to be addictive, I suppose.
My first day was nothing short of a mess. Of course it was. Would it really be my life if everything went perfectly, even for a day?
I did not wake up late. In fact, I didn't sleep the night before, just like the the night before that, and the night before that... you get the gist. Sometimes I lie in bed and close my eyes but I can never fall asleep— it’s a cruel, unusual punishment that fits in quite well into my cruel, unusual life.
I'd blame Spider-Man for it, and in an indirect way, it was his fault, but it was just my trauma catching up to me. After taking the GED, I thought it would get better. That the nightmares would fade back into nonsensical dreams, that every odd laugh wouldn't sound like a cackle, that every object wouldn't find a way to remind me of my old, infinitely better life.
Nothing got better.
Somehow, it got worse.
Life always found a way to surprise me, its darkness encasing me in its fatal hold further and further with every moment I spent alone with my thoughts.
Which, of course, was when I shut my eyes to rest.
The only way to avoid it was to distract myself, whether it was through Spider-Man, media consumption, doom scrolling, loud music… you get the gist.
And now school work.
Another reason why I enrolled at Greendale was for the accommodation that came with it.
As it would turn out, taking pictures of Spider-Man on commissions doesn’t help you pay rent for longer than two months. Greendale’s education, while having lower value compared to some high-profile university’s, was far more affordable.
Anyways, I was right on schedule for my first day. Early, even. Running on two cups of ramen noodles and way too much black coffee. I’d found my way to the front office, where I came face-to-face with some bald man wearing glasses making a PA announcement. His face was ringing a bell, but I was too sleep-deprived to recall from where exactly.
(This decision will have consequences.)
“And finally, Greendale will be hosting a dance to celebrate its reopening! Let’s hope that there isn’t a zombie outbreak this time around!” He giggled nervously before ending the announcement.
My eyes narrowed, looking around to see if anyone else seemed confused. Nobody did, either because they weren’t paying attention or because they knew precisely what he was talking about.
Shaking off the rust, I approached the desk to ask for my class schedule and the keys to my accommodation.
“Of course! What’s your full name?” The bald man, who seemed to be the receptionist, asked courteously.
Tapping my fist against the counter, I replied unnecessarily awkwardly, “Um, Peter… Parker.”
He didn’t take any notice of it, simply letting out an ‘aha!” sound the moment he caught hold of it. The printer sounded terribly old, creaking my schedule out as though it were running a marathon.
But the school had enough funds to organize a school-wide dance. Got it.
In the meantime, he gave me the keys to my new home. Before he handed my schedule out to me, he examined it as he made his way to my side of the reception desk. “Hmm, a lot of STEM classes. Parents want you to be a doctor or something?” He chuckled at his own assumption.
With a tight-lipped smile, I folded my schedule and pocketed it. “No offense, but if my parents wanted me to be a doctor, they would never send me to a community college.”
His face fell, disappointed by my admittedly crude joke. Quickly, he plastered on a smile again and nodded in halfhearted agreement.
Then, his jaw dropped and he facepalmed, as though a realization dawned upon him.
“Ah, I forgot to introduce myself! I’m so sorry, Peter. I am Dean Craig Pelton. So nice to meet you.”
He extended his hand out to shake, blinking at me twice as fast.
Naturally, I froze, my eyes practically bulging out of my sockets. It had barely been five minutes since I entered the campus, and I’d already given the freaking dean, the supreme authority of this place, a reason to hate me!
Somehow, I found a way to compose myself and return the handshake, though all my focus was trained on getting my breathing back to its default pattern and smiling my way through the embarrassment.
“Wow, that’s a very firm handshake!”
I realized that I was squeezing his hand enough to cause cramps. Grimacing, I quickly pulled away and muttered an apology.
“Do you need any help finding your room?”
Vigorously shaking my head, I stammered out, “I’ll— I’ll figure it out. Don’t worry about it. Nope. I’m sure you’re busy.”
“Alright-y then. I hope you like it here. Goodbye, Peter Parker!”
Once he frolicked away, I buried my red face in my hands, taking deep breaths to calm myself down. Clutching the strap of my duffel bag filled with clothes, I started my journey to my room, muttering crazed affirmations like follows, “You’re fine. All you have to do is keep your head down and never talk to anybody here ever again. How hard can that be?”
It was physically impossible to avoid human conversation, considering group assignments and all, but I was willing to try my best not to get too close to anyone.
These people already had enough problems without any trace of me in the mix.
---
My room was better than I was expecting. There was a bunk bed with no scent of a potential roommate, a cheap-looking but functional TV, good storage space, a window I could crawl in and out through. Walls ripe for decoration, though I didn’t want to get too comfortable. There was no guarantee I’d be here for long.
Besides, there was only so much I could carry on my person.
Class was starting soon, so I stuffed my duffel bag under the bed and removed the excess crap from my backpack before making my way to Chemistry 101.
Excluding the certain classes I took for specific credits, I deliberately chose classes appealing to my strong suits, so I could breeze by them without having to put too much effort. The number of useless classes on the website astounded me— there was a class about hacking. Hacking! I wouldn’t be shocked if the class was deliberately placed there by the FBI or something to scope out potential criminals. What a grift.
Funnily enough, my promise to keep my human interaction to a minimum screwed me over, because it took me half an hour of ambling around until I gave up and asked an Asian girl with glasses where it was.
“You’re still searching for it? The class has already started. In the next building. You should be more prepared.”
Her tone was more condescending than all the rich kids at my old school combined. Perhaps even more. But she still ended up answering my question, so I thanked her for it and ran to class.
One of my classic worst fears came true— being the center of attention for an utterly humiliating moment, though I hate being the center of attention without humiliation too, because the prospect of being known is inherently humiliating (and I’m rambling). The professor, Mister Xavier, gave me the stink-eye before he gestured to the one empty seat in the second row.
I wasn’t that tired— enhanced stamina and all— but the adrenaline was still taking time to wear off as I trudged to my seat. All I wanted was a good sip of water.
That was the one day I forgot to refill my water bottle, buried deep in my backpack. I cursed under my breath and sighed.
When I diverted my attention back to the desk, a pristine plastic water bottle waited for me.
Instinctively, I looked to my right, only to see a brunette with wide navy blue eyes smiling at me. I sent her a questioning look regarding the bottle, and she nodded.
“Thank you,” I whispered after I’d nourished my throat, passing it back to her.
To my predictable misfortune, Professor Xavier noticed this interaction amidst the pin-drop silent class. “Peter! Did I allow you to speak in my class?”
“Professor, he was just—” she protested, trying to be my knight in shining armor.
“Are you Peter?” He cut her off swiftly, before glaring daggers at me yet again. “Alright, Peter. I’ll give you a chance. Answer my questions correctly, and I won’t kick you out of this class.”
Great. Just great. What if he pulled out the hardest questions from his ass or from that cement brick of a textbook just to screw me over anyways?
“What is a precipitate?”
“Solid,” the answer slipped my tongue instantly.
“A heavy crystalline solid on heating decrepitates to form a residue that is reddish-brown when hot and yellow when cold. It—”
“Lead nitrate.”
“A solid which is yellow when hot and white when—”
“Zinc oxide.”
By this point, everyone was staring intently. I tried to ignore it since I was never a huge fan of attention unmasked.
“True or false: B-rays come next to the r-rays on the electromagnetic spectrum.”
“False; there’s no such thing as b-rays.”
Shutting the textbook, he half-smiled at me and asked his final doubt, “True or false: You were on the Academic Decathlon team in your high school.”
I shrugged with a smile, being coy about it. “I’m sorry for interrupting your class.”
“Use those smarts in your assignments, and we’ll be gold.”
With that, he resumed his lecture, unbeknownst to the fact that everyone was still hung up on the Chemistry prowess I'd just exhibited.
Usually, when there were these many eyes on me, it was because I was the butt of an unfunny joke made by someone more popular than me.
This kind of attention was born from admiration… at least, that's what I assumed. However, when I glanced at everyone, they shared the same predatory look in their eyes.
Did this mean everyone was going to bully me and make me do their homework? Was that a thing in community college too? I shuddered thinking about it, my middle school days coming to mind.
My life may have sucked ass, but at least I was not a scrawny, blind kid in middle school anymore, nor would I ever be.
My eyes landed back on the brunette beside me who, unlike everyone else, was fully focused on the lesson being taught.
Once he'd finished his lecture for the day, he instructed, “Look to the person sitting next to you.”
As became my instinct during this class, I looked at her, and she spared some of her concentration for me, pressing her lips into a small and polite small.
“That's your lab partner for the rest of the semester. I won't tolerate any changes. Class dismissed.”
Most people groaned like bratty middle schoolers, but I had zero problems with mine.
“Hey, I'm—” we both tried to introduce ourselves at the same time, down to the extension of our handshakes.
With some awkwardly sweet laughter from both sides, I shook her hand and clarified, “You first.”
“I'm Annie Edison.”
My first instinct was to make the obvious, awful reference to the scientist with the same surname, until I remembered that he was an asshole who stole credit for other people's work.
Instead, I chose to be more elegant and professional, simply replying, “I'm Peter Parker. Thanks for the help.”
“Oh, don't even. What you did back there was awesome! You're so smart,” she beamed, her brown eyes sparkling in the sunlight streaming through the windows at just the right angle.
“Hey, Annie, do you mind sharing him with the rest of us?”
The voice came from a White guy who could barely reach NBA height.
Suddenly, there were 6 other people stationed around Annie like they constituted her posse or her royal guard. All they needed was to replace their books with swords.
My surprise must've been written all over my face, because Annie proceeded to explain, “These are all my friends. We're a study group. Say hi, guys!”
In unison, they all said hi, some more enthusiastically than others. The tall guy didn’t even open his mouth, he just raised his brows at me.
Awkwardly, I replied and moved on, “’Sup. Um, I think I should get going. Don’t wanna be late again, right?”
Annie’s face fell, along with the pep in her shoulders.
She must’ve expected me to be more receptive to interacting with her friends, and vice versa.
It was for the best. She needed to understand as soon as possible that I’d end up disappointing her idealizations in every manner.
“Can I at least help you find your way?”
Her voice carried so much anticipation that it seemed impossible to say no.
Thankfully, the tall White dude swooped in and read the room, stating, “Come on, Annie. You’re not stupid. He’s clearly not here to make friends. He just wants his goddamn degree, and he wants it as soon as possible. Life pulled out the rug from beneath him, and he’s just trying to find his footing again. And, of course, the best way to bounce back is by doing it all alone. Isn’t that right, Peter?”
Condescension oozed from his voice as he stared directly into my eyes, as if trying to invade my soul.
Everyone else in the group side-eyed each other, waiting to see how I would react.
He was goading me into revealing something about myself through my emotions.
However, I've become very good at controlling my id. Shifting my gaze to Annie, I stoically reiterated, “I'm sorry, I really got to go. I'll see you around. Have a good day.”
I sent the tall White dude an icy glower and left the class, wondering how he'd managed to unravel my intentions so effortlessly.
---
[Jeff Winger's POV]
The moment Peter left the classroom, I turned to Annie, whose expression was like that of a forlorn Victorian peasant child who had just been denied charity in the form of a piece of bread.
Clicking my tongue, I lightly reprimanded her, "Jesus, Annie, you look like you witnessed someone's overdose. He's just a guy. Move on."
"I know, it's just... he seemed really sad."
"He also looks like a 13 year old," Britta remarked, earning rare hums of agreement from all of us. "Wonder what his story is."
Abed chimed in with his classic gimmick of turning a person into a television trope, saying, "Isn't it obvious? He's a twisted version of what Jeff once was."
"I dunno, still seems just as gay to me," Pierce commented, being the only asshole in the world who still used gay as an insult.
I didn't bother with a reply, well aware of how thick his skull was. Instead, I rationalised the situation for everyone to understand, "Whoever this kid is, I think it's best if we just leave him alone for now. Forcing our way into his life won't benefit either party."
"... Okay, but have you considered that he's really good at Chemistry?" Troy refuted with one finger pointed in the air, causing everyone to voice their approval simultaneously and inciting me to just leave them be.
If they wanted to meddle in some random teenager's life, I didn't want any part in it. No matter how weak my Organic Chemistry skills were.
---
After one of my easy-credit classes came lunch, at the beginning of which I decided to use the washroom. Breaking off from the crowded hallway, I went through the library shortcut, only to find Peter seated at the table with his earphones in, sketching in his notebook.
Before I could resume walking and ignore him, he glanced up at me. His expression remained neutral, but the veneer didn't extend to his dark-circled eyes.
To clear the air, I informed him, "It's lunch time already. You just missed the chicken fingers. Best thing in the cafeteria."
"Wow, that’s crazy…," he drawled out sarcastically, his delivery aligning with the circular stroke of his pencil. Clearing his throat, he decided to be polite and said, "Thanks for the pro-tip, anyway."
At first glance, he just seemed like an ordinary angsty teenager who wanted nothing more than to not be here. The dark hoodie and stock wired earphones denoted a lack of care for any fashion statement. He didn't care who saw him.
It was Community College, after all— nobody came here to build their social status.
Despite the simplicity of his demeanor, he was riddled with contradictions. Good at Chemistry, maybe at other STEM subjects too by proxy, but not an overachiever like Annie. Looked like a grumpy lone wolf type, but did not sound like one at all (with Annie, at least).
Safe to say, he contained multitudes.
"So, was I right about you?" I asked frankly, raising my brows at him.
In an even fatalistic tone than before, he answered without looking at me, "Not even close."
"Then why are you so allergic to making some acquaintances here?"
His pencil stopped abruptly and created a dent in the page due to the tautness of his grip. His jaw clenched, showcasing a vein bulging out in his neck.
Taking a deep breath, he glared at me and stated, "It's none of your business, and even if I wanted to be acquaintances with someone, it wouldn't be you."
"Well, if you want to get to know more about Annie, you're gonna have to."
"What do you mean?"
Scoffing, I canted my head and noted, "Come on, you think you were subtle with those googly eyes?"
He rolled his eyes at the accusation. "I have no intention of dating anyone here. I don't have time for all that."
"Is that what it's all about? You're too busy for friends and anything that could potentially pull you out of whatever hole of insomniac misery you're trapped in?"
Fury set ablaze in his eyes, his facial muscles twitching with the utmost restraint.
Bingo. I'd guessed right this time.
Before he could yell at me or leave, I decided to save him the trouble and depart, but not before I spoke my truth, "Take it from a fellow lone-wolf type, Peter-- that mindset isn't going to save your time or help you."
"You don't know me," he bit back, glaring daggers into my forehead.
"Well, if you come to your senses, Annie and the rest of my group would love to at a Chemistry study session in Study Room F, typically at 4 in the afternoon."
Okay. I know what you're thinking. Wasn't I the one who said that we should leave him be and not force our way into his life?
Yes, I was. But that was before I actually empathised with him using my own experiences. Up until this study group, I never really had any true friends. I had colleagues and connections and I milked them until they dried out. For 30 years, I'd lied and cheated my way to ‘success’, and it came crumbling down so quickly.
It was a riches to rags story, and it was the best thing that ever happened to me.
And despite my massive ego, I would've loved to be brought to earth when I was younger.
(If word of this gets out, you're going to be mentioned by name in my suicide note.)
I'm Jeff Winger— what I say and what I believe are two ludicrously different things.
To my shock, he tempered his hostility and questioned, "What about you?"
"Hmm?"
"You said your *group* would love to... hang out or whatever. What about you?"
Licking my lips, I contemplated how honest I should be. Then, I realized that I didn't give a shit what he thought of me, because by all metrics, there was no way we would ever be friends. He was more of Annie's, Troy's, and Abed's vibe, considering the closeness in age and the subsequent similarity in interests.
"I don't really give a shit. I just go along with them until they want me to lead the way. Even with all the dumbass decisions they make."
I don't think I'd ever described us so accurately before.
He spun the pencil in his hand as he narrowed his eyes at me and rationalised, "So if you're all that close, why risk adding someone and screwing up the dynamic? I'm sure that's happened before, right?"
He wasn't wrong. Even when a new member tried to join the study group, it always ended up being the seven of us. We'd all gone through so much together, and the new person would always be the outsider to some extent.
But I knew that Peter didn't care about any of that.
He just wanted to stay in the arbitrary comfort zone he'd created out of some irrational fears and traumatic experiences.
"Because risks are important and they give life meaning," I insisted in an unconvincing voice, before rolling my eyes and clarifying, "And if it doesn't work out, then you can just leave and we'll never think about you again."
Peter pressed his lips together and squeezed his probably tired eyes shut. "Alright. Just one more thing, though."
"What?"
"Was this conversation worth the five minutes of your lunch break that you sacrificed?"
There was no anticipation in his expression. He just wanted the God's honest truth out of ultimate curiosity.
With a small smile, I delivered my clever reply, "Well, Peter Parker... that depends on you, doesn’t it?"
His lips parted slightly as the realization sunk in, his gaze flickering downward.
For once, he looked like most kids his age, complete with the perpetually lost and confused expression poorly veiled behind the mask of neutrality.
"I suppose it does," he murmured, his tongue tracing the lines of his teeth in consideration.
I took this moment as the cue to leave, bidding farewell, "See you around, kid."
---
After our classes were over, we were all in the study room as per usual, chatting about our day.
"Is anyone else worried about Chemistry this year?" Annie pouted, looking around the table for someone to echo her opinion.
Shaking my head, I lathered my voice with condescension as I pointed out, "No, Annie, his name is Peter."
She side-eyed me, grinding her teeth in frustration.
"Ironic how you're telling her to let it go seeing as you're the one who keeps bringing it up," Britta remarked, earning hums from everyone else.
Shirley sided with Annie as she chimed in with that overly sweet voice, "I'm worried about Chemistry too. It would be nice if that boy was there to teach us. The professor seems quite strict."
"You're a devout Christian- since when do you believe that strict practices are a problem?" I raised a brow at her and smirked, though I mostly meant it as a joke.
Reverting to her normal voice, she riposted, "At least I believe in something instead of switching based on whatever benefits my self-interest."
The group hooted at that before focusing their collective attention on me, waiting to see how I'd react.
"You make it sound like it's a bad thing," I mocked, making Britta and Annie roll their eyes and Troy nod sagely.
However, their reactions veered a hard left into the same direction as they stared at something behind me.
Narrowing my eyes, I checked what all the fuss was about, only to be taken aback further.
None other than Peter Parker poked his head through the door of the study room, his shifty eyes surveying the scene before he slid inside and shut the door behind him.
I didn't realize he'd take me up on the offer so quickly— I had bet it would take at least 2 days.
Then again, I'm one persuasive ass mother fucker.
"Can we help you?" I initiated the conversation, though the real request was written all over my face— *whatever you do, don't mention me as the reason why you came here.*
Peter noticed my expression for a moment before he blinked and explained, "Yeah, I, um, was wondering if... I could study with you guys? And apologise for the way I acted earlier?"
"What changed your mind?" Annie tried to sound skeptical, but her excitement was adorably palpable.
Once again, I glared at him and slightly shook my head to denote the clear message.
Always the one to notice the gaps in information, Abed raised his finger and inquired, "How did you know where we were studying?"
Britta caught on, adding yet another entry to the interrogation, "Good point. Come to think of it, how do you know that we meet up around this time?"
You know, when I was envisioning this exact scenario, there was much more smiling and camaraderie. The reality was far more frustrating.
"I just... asked around."
Crossing her arms, Britta decided to call bullshit. "Somehow, I find that hard to believe. Just a few hours ago, you were adamant on not acknowledging our mere presence and focused on your classes, but now you're 'asking around' about us, all for the express purpose of... what, exactly?"
I clenched my jaw, wondering why Britta picked today to use her intelligence.
Peter fiddled with his sleeves and bit his lip, trying his level best to improvise a satisfactory answer.
"Well, like I said, I wanted to apologize for being standoffish earlier. When I showed up today at Greendale, I wasn't really sure how I wanted to go about anything. I'm kind of... back to square one with my life, and after everything, I just thought that brute-forcing it alone would help me the most without harming anyone else." He took a breath, probably struggling to think amidst the flashbacks rushing through his head of whatever old life he used to lead. "But then I remembered that I only ever made it this far because I had someone who, um, gave a shit about me, and now I don't, and I don't think I'm really in the position to pass by any opportunity to make some... acquaintances when life is handing it to me on a silver platter."
Judging by the expressions on everyone’s faces (except for Pierce), the sympathy route seemed to be the right one. To Peter’s credit, he hadn’t given away much of what he’d actually gone through, but some scope of imagination was enough to grant him grace and goodwill in everyone’s minds.
And then there were the puppy-dog eyes and baby face. Who could be so antagonistic towards him with those features striking them?
(Me. I could. I hate kids.)
Glancing at Annie, I levied the decision onto her, “What do you think?”
Her face gleamed with a bright smile, her eyes scouring the members of the table. “I think… I really would like some help with Chemistry. What about you guys?”
Everyone enthusiastically voiced their agreement, while I remained neutral, playing my part to perfection.
Taking note of this, she directed her concern at me, “Any objections, Jeff?”
I pressed my lips together and shook my head. “I’m not always a pariah, you know?”
“Of course I do,” she defended in a squeaky voice. Clearing her throat and sitting straight, she rectified, “I just remember what happened the last time we tried to invite someone to join our study group.”
Everyone blanched at the not-so-pleasant memory, while Annie swiftly moved on and addressed Peter, “You can sit next to Jeff.”
“Thanks,” he murmured, settling down beside me and keeping his backpack on the ground. “By the way, I don't have a textbook. Can't really afford a new one, so, um, do any of you have useful hand-me-downs or know someone who does?”
Troy pointed out the obvious, remarking, “I mean, it's not like you need it, uh… who's a Chemistry genius?”
Annie flipped through her book quickly and landed on a random page before stating, “Alfred Noble.”
“It's No-bell.”
“Like the prize?” Troy sounded far too excited about the ruefully mundane fact. “What is he doing here?”
Before Peter could answer, Pierce butted in as per usual with the beginnings of a probably fabricated anecdote, “You know, I was once approached for consideration of a Nobel Prize.”
Shirley rolled her eyes at the senile dumbass sitting close to her.
“For contributing to the normalisation of divorce via the innovative method of continuous genitalia mentions?”
Abed emitted a buzzer sound of disapproval. “Too wordy, Jeff.”
“I guess you're losing your charm,” Britta conspired, a shit-eating grin lighting up her typically dour face. Her accusatory gaze flickered to Peter as she enunciated, “Wonder why.”
Peter raised his brows, tilting his head to the right. “If you want me to leave, just say so.”
Out of some irrational instinct, I held out my hand in front of his chest and reassured, “No, stay. They're being idiots. We need help with Chemistry, and that's what you're here for. Here's my textbook.” I slid the pristine book towards him.
The entire table along with Peter blurted out the question, “Really?”
When I turned to look at them, they looked equally alarmed. Even Abed's brows were furrowed in frazzlement. As if I'd committed a heinous sin or triggered the Pharaoh's curse.
Shaking it off, I clarified to Peter, “If I keep this book, it's never gonna find any use until the exams come along. You're actually interested in the subject, so you need it more than I do. I'll just… use a PDF online.”
“Thanks. That's really nice of you.”
Oh-so helpfully, Britta reiterated in a contrasting tone while burning daggers into my head, “Yeah, very nice of you.”
If Peter noticed the tension in our group, which he definitely did, he chose not to mention it. Instead, he focused on Troy once more and said, “Um, you asked what Alfred Nobel is doing here, uh… wait, I just realized I don't know any of your names.”
“I'm Troy Barnes, the coolest one here.” He fluttered his eyelashes, making me chuckle.
“Debatable, but I would make the case, that I, Jeff Winger, am actually the coolest one here.”
“Yeah, it's the only personality trait he has,” Britta inputted, cracking up the entire group.
Flaring my nostrils, I saved her the trouble and introduced her, “This is Britta Perry, the most annoying performative activist alive.”
She gasped, her vacuous eyes bulging out of their sockets. “Performative?!”
“How sure are you that the clothes on your back weren't tailored by children in the sweatshops of India?”
She leaned forward and raised her voice, defending herself, “I only buy second-hand and thrift, unlike you, who buys designer clothes from shitty, exploitative companies who profit off the insecurities of women!”
“News flash, Britta, there is no ethical consumption under capitalism! We are in no place in the social hierarchy to do something meaningful about it, so to keep harping on it would be innately performative and ultimately useless!”
“I agree, but we can individually perform harm reduction by changing our own ways and keeping small businesses alive rather than being willfully complacent in the problem!”
“Fine, I will!”
“Okay, that's great!”
Silence ensued as the tension of the argument dissipated, everyone breathing a sigh of relief. I sat back and rubbed a palm across my face, second thoughts on the arrangement with Peter haunting me.
Clearing her throat, Annie informed a flummoxed Peter, “Don't worry, this is a typical type of interaction between them. Though they don't always agree at the end…” Her trail of thought ended in caution.
“Yeah, they usually just end up having sex,” Pierce pointed out, making everyone groan and specifically causing Shirley to stomp his foot. “Ow! You kids today are so scared of the truth.”
“We're not scared, Pierce, we're just sick of hearing about it!” Annie exclaimed, a crazed expression on her face.
“We all know why you're sick of hearing about it,” he bit back, earning Annie's classic overly exaggerated ‘huh’ noise of offence and a long ‘ohhhh’ from Troy.
Cheeks red with rage, Annie's voice boomed, “Oh, so I'm the problem now? My efforts to keep this group together are the only reason you have any actual friends!”
Even though it wasn't directed at me, I felt the burn of that brutal insult.
Trying to temper the situation, Britta stated, “Annie, there is no need to be so defensive.”
“I'm sorry, weren’t you being defensive like, two minutes ago? Why do you get to do it and I don't?”
Troy and Abed hummed in agreement like members of a jury swayed by a flawless argument.
“I know, but he's…”
“Britta, Annie's right, just… don't argue!”
“Shirley, you're not involved in this.”
And they went on and on, talking over and under each other.
Meanwhile, Peter Parker was in an intense fit of silent giggles, muffling it almost successfully into the palm of his hand. I noticed it when Pierce reminded everyone of mine and Britta's sexual history, but I chose to side-eye him for it now.
His brown eyes were crinkled at the corners, and when we made eye contact, I realized how absurd our group's constant and normalized civil war-esque antics might seem to an outsider.
Out of nowhere, I could feel a smile trickling onto my face as my mind kept rolling clips of how fucking ridiculous and immature we were as grown adults, and I ended up cackling too.
That obviously caught the attention of the rest of the group, and when they simultaneously stopped and snapped their heads at us, we laughed even harder, sinking further into our seats.
Annie dared to ask the question on everyone's minds— “What's so funny, guys?”
Huffing out another laugh, I adjusted my posture and rhetorically prodded, “Do you really need me to say it out aloud?”
“Winger speech incoming,” Abed mumbled under his breath, knowing us all far too well.
“We have spent so much time with each other over these past three years that we've forgotten what normal friendship looks like. All we do is yell and fight and argue with each other, and it's over the most immature, ridiculous, irrelevant things ever. Besides Troy and Abed— which, even they fight sometimes— it looks like we want to rip each other's throats out to an outsider. But I can't think of any better, funnier, happier times in my life. Can any of you?”
None of them had an answer as their shoulders relaxed, basking in my words.
“Every time we try to add someone new to the group and it doesn't work out, we always blame that person, but the truth is, it's us! We're the problem, not them! It's not their fault that they can't handle our collective insanity. So maybe we should just… take a moment, think of how ridiculous we are, and stop taking ourselves so goddamn seriously.”
I took a deep breath, brimming with pride about imparting this fresh insight to my only friends.
We all glanced at each other individually, our smiles growing wider as we progressed through it, before chuckling a little in sync.
Shockingly, Pierce was the first one to say, “I apologize for what I said. I'm sorry, Annie.”
“No, I was just being ridiculous, like I always am.”
“No, Annie, we love you for who you are, and I'm sorry for being so hypocritical,” Britta gave in before turning to look at me and opening her mouth.
I cut her off quickly, reaffirming, “Don't. This is how we are. I wouldn't have it any other way.”
She gave me a tight-lipped smile as a thanks.
“Third act resolution complete,” Abed stated with a smile of his own, making a gesture of slamming the clapperboard to signify the end of a take.
Shaking my head, I refuted, “No, there's one more plot thread left.”
With that, I turned to Peter, whose expression radiated tranquil warmth.
“We've shown you the kind of friends we are. Are you sure you still want to be here?”
After a moment of faux contemplation, he admitted, “Sure, but I don't think ‘friends’ is the right word.”
Confusion rippled through all of us.
“I'd say family is more like it.”
Everyone unanimously groaned at that cliche ass comment. Britta cupped her hands around her mouth and whined, “Booooooooo!”
Under my breath, I muttered jokingly, “Anddd you ruined it.”
“I wish I had tomatoes so I could throw them at you!” Troy exclaimed, inciting everyone to parrot the same sentiment.
Peter couldn't stop laughing, and he suggested amidst his fit, “I mean, you could just throw paper balls at me.”
Wasting no time at all, Troy and Abed pulled random paper balls from their bags and began throwing them at him. Peter held his hands up to shield his face, guffawing throughout the volley of balls.
Leaning closer to him, I expressed my approval of his being a potential part of our group, “I think you're capable of becoming just as insane as the rest of us.”
“Bold of you to assume I'm not already, Winger,” he whispered back, biting his lower lip in anticipation.
I had a feeling he was going to fit in just—
“Whoa!”
Within half a second, his hand was extended in front of me as he’d caught a heavy, taped paper ball that was headed straight towards my eye at lightning speed.
When I shifted my gaze back to him, his eyes were tightly shut and his nose was scrunched up, as if he’d severely regretted saving me from blindness by spiky object.
“Nice reflexes, dude! Do you play ball?” Troy gave up his tirade of paper balls for a shot at having a common interest with Peter.
With a nervous look on his face, Peter ambiguously replied, “… Something like that.”
My lawyer senses were tingling again.
Who are you really, Peter Parker?