SO ALRIGHT, COOL, WHATEVER | PETER PARKER

2

CHAPTER TWO | NEW YORK AND BAD PACKING

Oliver was bored out of his mind. In the next two days he was going to be moving, he'd said his goodbyes to his friends (though could they really be called that?)(Like he knew them and liked to hang out with them, but they never really talked deeply)(they'd just known each other too long and expected each other to act a certain way). All that was left was to pack, but there were already a couple boxes by his door with important things, and an open suitcase just asking to be filled with clothes.

He'd only moved once, when he was two, which he doesn't remember at all. But now at fifteen years old, he wished he could just forget all of it. It was stressful. His Mom was trying to figure out when her college friend would be able to move in, and how to get to the airport (hopefully by said friend), and then also packing and finding job offers in New York.

All that Oliver could really do was scroll through YouTube videos and draw. While watching a YouTube, an ad popped up, right when he was going to skip it he became interested. To be personally tutored by the famous Tony Stark. He knew that the possibility that he would actually win was super low, so he signed himself up. Submitting a few designs of cars (he didn't understand why nobody made cool cars anymore) and a crappy, and oddly bitter, essay about why he wanted to do the apprenticeship.

When he told his Mom, she was upset for about three minutes, before giving in to Oliver's faked sadness. At least he was going to have something to look forward to when they moved.

Oliver decided to actually pack the day they left. Their flight was a red-eye, so he really did have enough time, but he was still rushing.

His Moms college friend, Anna, was nice enough. Oliver liked her because she had a saint Bernard named Jasmine, who drooled an absurd amount.

Luckily for them, Anna was going to take them to the airport. It might not sound like a big deal, but the drive was two and a half hours. San Francisco was a while away.

So with a badly packed suitcase, partially working headphones, and a half charged phone: Oliver was whisked away to the airport.

When he was little he loved the airport. It reminded him of when his Mom would bring him and they'd wait for his Dad to come back from a work trip.

But now he was leaving everything he knew, for his Grandpa that practically disowned them after Oliver's Dad died. He was trying his hardest to not be mad at his Mom, or put all of the blame on her. Even with his growing bitterness to the situation, he knew deep, deep down that fate just liked to fuck with everyone. And this time around, fate decided to fuck with him. At least Oliver can try and tell people he was like a halfblood from Percy Jackson.

Security was stressful. So stressful that Oliver almost decided to just keep filing to the back of the line. But alas! His Mom had a tight grip on his backpack, and was not going to let go.

She knew her son's eagerness to dip from the line.

"Mama, do you think that they'll try and check my backpack?" Oliver really didn't want them to, sadly he felt like they would. He didn't have anything bad in it, he just felt like TSA was going to find something bad in it.

Luckily, nothing was found in his bags, and they didn't have to be checked.

Waiting for the plane was the worst part, next to landing. Seeing everybody else who you'll be stuck with for the next five to six hours, then realizing that they'll all end up annoying you, was never fun for Oliver's overactive imagination. He'd already started planning what to do in case he was stuck next to the creepy old guy who kept eyeing him.