After Johnny and I finished lunch, he took me on a mini tour of New York. We saw towering buildings, honking cars, people yelling like it was an Olympic sport, and a hot dog cart that somehow smelled like both heaven and regret at the same time.
Somewhere between a comic shop and a guy juggling flaming batons, we ran into someone Johnny knew—Peter Parker, and his wife, Mary Jane Watson-Parker. They seemed nice. Normal, even. Except... not.
They had a kid, too—a six-year-old girl named Mayday. She was around my age, so I figured, hey, instant friends, right? Wrong.
She didn't say a word to me.
Not "hi," not "what's up," not even "move, you're standing on my shoelace." Just stared. Hard. The kind of stare grown-ups give when they're trying to remember if they left the stove on. It was starting to freak me out.
Mary Jane kept smiling at me—soft and sparkly-eyed, like how people look at puppies in pet store windows. Sweet, but kind of... sad?
And Peter? He was full-on staring. Superhero-level intensity. Like I'd just kicked his dog or knocked over his cereal. I started wondering if I had mustard on my face or something, but Johnny waved it off.
"Don't worry about it," he said, clapping a hand on my shoulder. "You've just got the face of the devil."
"…What?" I blinked up at him. "Who's the devil? Are you calling me the devil?"
He laughed like it was the funniest thing I'd ever said and kept walking.
So now I'm stuck wondering: what exactly did I do to that family? And more importantly... what's on my face?
Later that day, while Johnny argued with a pretzel vendor about "New York prices being daylight robbery," I spotted Mayday again. She and her parents were sitting on a bench, sharing a milkshake like they were in some Saturday morning cartoon.
I walked up, fidgeting with my sleeve. I needed to know if she hated me or if I just looked weird.
"Hey," I said, scratching my head. "Did I do something? You've been staring at me like I stole your juice box or something."
Mayday looked up, blinked once, then slid her cup over to her mom like she was bracing herself. "You didn't do anything bad," she said.
"Okay... but that's not a no."
She glanced at her parents. Mary Jane gave a soft, encouraging nod. Peter was still watching me like I might explode.
Mayday leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "You just feel... weird."
I blinked. "Weird how?"
"Like static. Or when the lights flicker but no one else notices. My brain goes all buzzy when you're around."
I stared at my hands like they might start sparking. "I don't think I'm doing that on purpose."
She shrugged. "Maybe you're just one of those kids. The kind that doesn't seem normal—but in a cool way."
I didn't know what to say to that, so I said, "Your hair's red."
She blinked. "So's yours."
"Mine's black. With a white streak."
"Exactly."
We stared at each other a second longer before she smirked, like I'd passed some kind of test. "Wanna race to that lamppost before my dad tells me to sit still again?"
I grinned. "You're on. But I gotta warn you—I jump off roofs."
She grinned back. "Yeah? I fall with style."
Then we were off, sprinting down the sidewalk like nothing else mattered—except maybe that weird buzzing feeling I couldn't stop thinking about.
"Think they like each other?" Johnny asked, leaning against the pretzel cart like he owned it. He took a bite of his pretzel while Peter stood next to him, arms folded and eyes locked on the kids.
Peter didn't answer right away.
"I mean, c'mon," Johnny continued. "Classic playground bonding. Race first, besties by sunset."
Peter sighed. "Maybe."
Johnny raised an eyebrow. "You've been giving that kid the Spider-Sense stare since we bumped into them. What's going on upstairs, Pete?"
Peter's gaze stayed fixed on me. "He's... strange. Not in a bad way. Just—something's off."
Johnny tilted his head. "Off how? Like 'New York weirdo' off, or 'secret bunker under the bed' off?"
"A little of both," Peter murmured. "He doesn't move like most kids. Every step looks... careful. Like he's thinking about how not to break something."
"Maybe Dante told him to tone it down," Johnny offered.
Peter glanced over. "That Dante?"
"Yep. The demon hunter. Kid just showed up one day, and now he's raising him like his own."
Peter let out a slow whistle. "You sure he's not his? That white streak..."
"Thought it was dyed," Johnny muttered.
"Does the kid know anything?"
"Nope. Far as he's concerned, Dante's just a cool guy with a big sword collection and a thing for motorcycles."
Peter didn't laugh. He kept watching me and Mayday as we zigzagged around a fire hydrant, trying to balance on it like it was a tightrope.
"Mayday asked if I felt that 'buzzing,'" Peter said.
Johnny frowned. "You think she's picking up something?"
"Could be. I trust her instincts. If she's cautious... there's a reason."
Johnny nudged him with an elbow. "You getting paranoid in your old age?"
Peter cracked a small smile. "Always. Comes with the territory."
They stood in silence as I tripped trying to mimic Mayday's hydrant trick, rolled harmlessly onto the pavement, and popped up laughing.
"I got him, Peter," Johnny said, watching me brush off my pants. "The kid's under my wing for the week."
Peter nodded. "Let's hope that's enough."
After the park, Johnny brought me to the place I'd be staying for the week—the Baxter Building.
It kind of sucked.
Johnny nearly choked on his soda. "You what?"
I sat cross-legged on his couch, fiddling with a remote I definitely shouldn't have been touching. "I'm just saying, for a building full of geniuses and superheroes, it's kinda boring. The elevators don't talk, the walls are white, and half the doors won't open without security clearance. I couldn't even find the bathroom."
Johnny pointed at me like I'd insulted his entire bloodline. "First of all, talking elevators are how horror movies start. Second, those doors protect you. You don't wanna open the wrong one and end up glowing green or seeing Ben Grimm exfoliating."
"…Who's Ben Grimm?"
He blinked. "Strike two."
I shrugged. "The tower my dad mentioned sounded cooler. Pool on the roof, jukebox in the hallway, gun rack in the kitchen."
"That's not a home, that's a lawsuit waiting to happen."
"Exactly. Way more exciting."
Johnny flopped onto the couch beside me. "Nate, kid, you're killing me. This place has next-level tech, a private lab, and Reed Richards—the guy who made a toaster that can calculate black hole mass while browning your bagel."
I raised a brow. "Does it work?"
"…Still in development."
"Exactly."
Johnny groaned into a throw pillow. "This is what I get for babysitting Dante's kid."
"I'm not a baby," I said. "I'm just a brutally honest houseguest."
"If Reed hears you call this place boring, he might give you a three-hour PowerPoint presentation."
"…Can I have popcorn for that?"
Johnny peeked out. "Now you're just being a smart-ass."
"Where's the rest of the Fantastic Four anyway?"
He waved lazily. "Sue and Reed took the kids to a museum. Ben might be at poker night. Or wrestling an alien. Could go either way."
The elevator dinged.
I looked up to see four people walk out.
First was a blonde woman who looked like she could handle alien invasions and PTA meetings at the same time—Sue Storm.
Next came a guy with glasses, white streaks in his hair, and a clipboard like it was surgically attached—definitely Reed Richards.
Then came the kids.
Valeria was younger than me but had the vibe of someone who could already build a laser. Franklin looked chill, but something about the way he watched the room made my skin crawl a little. Like he was pretending to be normal.
Sue smiled warmly. "You must be Nathaniel. We've heard a lot about you."
Valeria raised an eyebrow. Franklin gave a nod, quiet and calm.
"Uh... hi," I managed.
Sue smiled again, and it hit me right in the soul. "If you get hungry, Ben can make you something when he gets back."
"…Thanks," I said, blinking too fast.
"Great," Valeria muttered. "Mom's got another one."
I turned. "What?"
"She does this," Valeria said dryly. "The smile, the voice, the 'let me take care of you' thing. It's her superpower."
"She weaponizes kindness," Franklin added with a sage nod.
I slumped. "This family's terrifying."
"Told you," Valeria said, smug.
Then she asked, "So... what can you do?"
I shrugged. "I heal fast. I do parkour."
"That's it?" Franklin frowned. "Really?"
I nodded. "Pretty sure. Why?"
He glanced at his sister, then back at me. "You feel... off. Like, I can't sense you and can sense you at the same time. It's weird."
"You're the second person who's told me that," I muttered. "Mayday said I felt like static."
Valeria suddenly looked interested. "Static, huh?"
She folded her arms and narrowed her eyes.
"Oh boy," I muttered. "Here we go."