Helpline

Wrong Contact

"Look at this! She said I can move up to chemistry two!" Peter sends the text message with a blurry picture of his most recent Chemistry test. 100% is written in bold red marker at the top with a note from his teacher that reads "Perfect again, see me after class."

Peter's nose buries in his phone as he leisurely makes his way down the hallway. The longer it takes to get to his locker, the better. Subtly stalling lunch is his top priority.

"Penis Parker," Flash calls out from down the packed hall. Not a single person bats an eye to his obnoxious yelling.

A nervous pounding pulses in Peter's brain as he slides his phone into his pocket. His eyes move to the lockers as he desperately searches for number 126. People bother him less when he doesn't make eye contact and he's doing something that seems productive.

The paper rips the skin on Peter's palms as Flash pulls it out of his hands. He waves it in the air with confidence as he walks backward down the hall to face Peter, trying to see if he will jump for it.

"Not so smart now," Flash says as he tears up the page and sprinkles the pieces in Peter's hair. What he's saying doesn't make sense. The grades are online. There's still proof of his stellar chemistry test scores. It isn't the nineteen eighties-no matter how bad Flash wants it to be.

"Sure Flash," Peter murmurs, standing awkwardly in front of locker 126. September is a golden month when Flash doesn't have his locker location memorized.

Peter's phone buzzes as Flash wanders away into the flow of people heading towards the lunch room. 212-321-5309, the same person from last night. A smile grows on his face, assuming the person is checking on him after their conversation.

      "Great job kid. Pretty impressive." Peter reads the text with confusion, wondering if it is for him. He scrolls up in the chat. Alarms go off in his brain as the picture of his test shows up. The text was supposed to go to Aunt May. He clicked on the wrong person.

      Peter turns off his phone as his cheeks redden, having to take a moment before responding. He opens up his locker, takes his metal lunchbox out of his bag, and hangs his backpack on the hook inside.

      He walks down the nearly empty hall towards the bathroom. Ned isn't at school. Peter likes his circle small but problems arise when your only friend is absent.

      The mens bathroom door opens with a squeak as he walks through it. A small breath of air releases from Peter's lips. There isn't anyone else inside. He can hide in here in peace.

      Peter climbs up onto the counter above the sink and leans against the wall. He sets his red lunchbox directly in front of him so it lines up with the dirty grout of the tiles. He glances around for a moment as the reality of the situation hits him. Eating in the bathroom like a loser. He has officially become the nerd in Flash's eighties horror movie.

      Sitting at a table in the lunchroom is more embarrassing. Everyone knows Peter doesn't have many friends but he's not going to remind them. Flash would probably throw food at him or something. Being by yourself in a lunch room full of groups makes you vulnerable. 

      He pulls out his phone and checks his messages again. Ned, Aunt May, the decathlon group chat, and the random stranger from the previous night were the only text threads in his inbox besides spam messages from fast food rewards programs. The contactless number is at the top of the list, knocking May down a slot.

      He smiles again upon reading Great job kid. Pretty impressive for a second time. The person didn't even question why they were sent a humble brag picture of a test.

      "Sorry that was for my aunt. I was texting while walking and pressed the wrong number. Thank you though :)" Peter adds the emojicon as an extra form of gratitude.

       "You're welcome. Are you on lunch break or are you texting during class?" Peter reads with surprise as he takes a bite of his peanut butter sandwich he groggily made this morning. It is supposed to have jelly too but he forgot to put it on.

      Another question comes as a surprise to him. The parts of his life that he tells people aren't enthralling. There isn't anything intriguing about his life.

      Peter shrugs and answers. "Lunch break." Maybe this persons day life is just as boring and monotonous as his.

      "Trying to find solace in your cell phone to escape the nosiness of the school cafeteria?" Peters lips flatten.

      "Something like that." He can't outright say he's eating in the school bathroom. No one willingly admits to that.

      "Don't tell me your one of those kids who eats in the bathroom stalls." It was like they are reading Peters mind.

      "Not in the stall... I have friends. The guy I normally eat lunch with isn't at school today." He texts back. Their conversation has had more honestly than most of his previous interactions with others. He can't throw that away now. One lie would only lead to more.

       "I'm eating alone too kid, nothing to be ashamed of."

      Peter sets down his phone and looks in the mirror at himself. Ashamed isn't the word he'd use. If he could pick descriptors for his current situation it would be self-pity.

      Grown adults eat alone all of the time. If a fifteen year old were to show up at a restaurant alone, they probably wouldn't be served. It isn't normal. This is supposed to be the easiest time in his life to make friends. But for some reason barely anyone likes him. The worst part is, he can't figure out why.

       He fights off the tears that well up in his eyes. It isn't fair that some people never have the feeling that their only option is to eat in a nasty school bathroom.

       His phone buzzes again, making a strange echoing noise against the tile.

       "We have lunch at the same time. If you need someone to have lunch with we could meet at a public cafe. No one should have to eat lunch alone in a bathroom."

       Stranger danger is Peters immediate thought. He was raised on the idea of not going somewhere with a stranger.

      "Tomorrow at 11:30?" But what's the harm of sitting at a table in a public cafe?

      "Coffee A Go Go?"

      Peter searches it up in maps. There is one about a five minute walk from Stark Tower. He knows that area well. On occasion he'll swing by there at night in hopes Iron Man or one of the Avengers will see him. Sometimes he'll even try to look into the windows on the lower floors but to Peters dismay they are tinted.

      "Sounds good. I never caught your name?" A a lot of people look like their name. Ned looks like a Ned. May looks like her name would be May. No one who isn't obnoxious would have people call them Flash-and he looks obnoxious. It is foolproof.

      "Tony."

      He has confidence he can pick a Tony out of a crowd.