The Amazing Spider-Man: Year One

Typical Teenager

Zion Zamor was just sixteen years old and attended Brooklyn Academy, but he couldn't argue that he found any enjoyment through much of it. In his hands, he held a large book containing multiple arguments that fought to coherently disprove harmful theories relating to science and race. As his eyes widely skimmed the inky printed paragraphs, the young man failed to notice an incoming object being flung toward him. He was snapped out of the heavy voice from his headphones, as they were struggling to produce any noise from water damage.

He frantically looked around, only to find a fancy yellow Volkswagen beetle standing on the street parral to him. Inside were four students donning lettermen jackets and holding water balloons in their grasps.

"HA! Looks like I got ten points!" Exclaimed a teenager in the back seat behind the passenger. Zion sighed as he removed his headphones and placed them in his satchel, staring at two with a glare. They caught onto this and began to mock him with frowns and baby noises, very childish but vexing after what happened. This was Kenny Kong, Brooklyn High's biggest and bulkiest quarterback on the team, alongside equal partner in tormenting Zion and best friend to Flash Thompson.

Flash Thompson sat in the passenger seat, holding onto an even larger balloon aimed directly at Zion's head. He was undoubtedly the "popular" kid within the school. He was handsome, strong, charismatic, and the face of the football team. Everyone loved him. Flash and Zion never got along, as the latter's public status as an "outcast" meant their interactions were anything but pleasant, at least for Zion.

Before he could toss the ballon, an older man stepped in front of the drenched kid, shielding him from any more potential wet attacks. Upon spotting an elderly man standing above him, recognition and humility instantly set in.

"Uncle Imari?" Zion procured with disbelief. He quickly got up despite the dampness working to polish the floor beneath his boots enough to cause a struggle.

His uncle, a man of slender and lengthy stature, didn't shake. His aged body knew of greater physical trauma in his past but his demeanor only showed fragility. With a smile, he winked at his nephew just before spinning around to face the culprits.

"I have half a mind to come over there and slash them damn tires." Imari blurted with wrinkly arms thrown up in the air. His methods of intimidation were promptly mocked with snickers and chuckles. The group decided to just leave with fumes and smog spewing from the worn-down car. As they sped off down the block, Imari dusted himself off and helped Zion off the ground.

"What are you doing here?" Zion quizzed, shaking off water droplets like a wet dog.

"Well, I was heading out to pick up some groceries." He solemnly hummed. This was a common activity he did to get fresh air and avoid spending money on gas. "Come on, boy, let's get you dried up."

Zion angrily shoved his broken headphones into his backpack and followed his uncle. The walk back was silent and bitter, with Zion finding a way to stay calm by crossing his arms and periodically sighing out loud. They passed through the suburbs that were brightly decorated with expressive murals and floral designs that spread out from building to building. As they walked home, dozens of friends and neighbors stopped to chat with them, which was another common occurrence for them.

Imari unlocked the door and pushed it open to trigger the squeaky hinges, thus alerting an elderly woman of their presence. Mei Reilly, the wife of Imari, perked her head up and gently set down her poetry book on the couch. With a growing grin and tinges of silver-dyed hair that bounced as she stood up to greet her family. Mei immigrated to the U.S. in the mid-nineties, when she spent her time paying for college by working at a local bodega, the very same she happened to meet Imari. She spent her days writing poems for the local paper, which didn't pay much, but it helped cover bills when necessary.