Najicablitz
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Digimon Ch 10 Rewrite
🕑 Added 2025-08-31 15:00:54 +0000 UTCMonday rolls around, and I'm posted in front of Midtown High. I'm rocking a blue jacket with a massive hoodie. My Goggles are pushed up on my head like a pair of designer sunglasses. Inside my Digivice are Gatomon and BlackGatomon.
"So, what is this place?" Gatomon asks. I pull out the Digivice, and put it up to my ear. I lower my voice.
"It's a school," I tell them. "A place where people go to get smarter. Well, most of them anyway."
"I've never seen so many of those human children in one spot," BlackGatomon remarks, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Are they always this…loud?"
"Yep, pretty much," I say, popping the 'p'. "Get used to it, you two. It's only gonna get worse."
I stroll through the front doors, instantly regretting my life choices. Teenagers flood the hallway, laughing, yelling, and generally being obnoxious. I already finished college once. Now, I have to navigate this again? Seriously?
"Ethan! Hey, Ethan!"
I spin around. Standing there, looking like he's perpetually surprised, is Peter Parker. Well, a pre-Spider-Man Peter Parker. He's still rocking the nerdy glasses, his hair is a mess, and he's got that classic dorky grin plastered on his face. He is skinny as hell. Definitely hasn't gotten bitten by that radioactive spider yet.
"Hey, uh, Peter, right?" I ask, trying to act like I belong here. "What's up?"
"Dude, I was starting to think you weren't coming back," Peter says, his face lighting up. "I was kinda worried, you know?"
"Worried? About me?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. "I didn't think I made that much of an impression."
"You're one of the few friends I have," he admits, scratching the back of his neck. "So yeah, I get worried. So, uh, where do we need to go? Oh, did you need to go to your locker?
"Actually, yeah," I say, playing along. "I completely blanked on where it is. You remember where it is, right?"
Peter gives me a weird look. "Uh, yeah… Don't you? It's been, like, our lockers are right next to each other."
"Yeah, well, this past week wasn't exactly a picnic," I tell him, shrugging. "Memory's a little fuzzy."
"Oh, man, that's rough," Peter says, his expression softening. "No worries, I got you. Come on, it's this way."
Peter leads me down the crowded hall, weaving through the throng of students until we reach a bank of lockers. He points to one, a dented, olive-green thing with a faded number on it. "Here you go, dude. Number 2187. Can't miss it."
I stare at the lock, trying to remember the combination. Nope, nothing. "Uh, yeah, about that…" I mutter, glancing around to make sure no one's paying attention.
I subtly grip the lock, channeling a bit of that newfound strength. It groans in protest, then pops open with a snap. Not exactly subtle, but effective.
Peter's eyes go wide. "Whoa! What was that?"
I shrug, trying to look casual. "Must be rusted or something. Happens all the time."
I swing open the door. Inside, it is not a pretty sight. There are a couple of textbooks that look like they've seen better days. There are also a few random trinkets scattered about, like a broken action figure and a half-eaten candy bar.
"Wow, this place is a disaster," I mutter.
"Tell me about it," Peter says, wrinkling his nose. "You should see my locker. It's like a black hole in there. Papers and junk everywhere."
"Sounds about right," I say, grabbing the least disgusting book and shoving it into my backpack. "Well, let's get this show on the road, shall we? Don't want to be late for class."
I slam the locker shut, hoping I don't have to open it again anytime soon. This is going to be a long day.
We start moving again, heading towards whatever class we're supposed to be in. As we walk, we pass Flash Thompson, the resident meathead, and beside him is Mary Jane Watson. MJ is the definition of gorgeous, even in this cruddy school.
Peter's eyes lock on her, and his face goes all soft and dreamy. I swear, he practically stops breathing. It's kinda painful to watch, honestly.
"So, you, uh, you like the redhead?" I ask, nudging him with my elbow.
Peter jumps, startled. "What? Oh, uh, yeah. She's, uh, she's cool."
"Cool? That's it? Dude, you're practically drooling," I say, chuckling.
"She's just… a neighbor," Peter mumbles, avoiding eye contact. "We live in the same building. That's all."
"A neighbor you're clearly head-over-heels for," I point out, "You should ask her out."
Peter scoffs. "Ask her out? Are you crazy? I can't do that."
"Why not?"
"Because… she's with Flash," he says, gesturing towards the bully who's now laughing obnoxiously. "They're, like, a thing."
"A 'thing' that looks incredibly forced and awkward," I retort, rolling my eyes. "Look, pal, I'm no expert, but if you don't shoot your shot, you're never gonna score. Confidence, my dude. That's all it takes."
I seriously pity the guy. If he just had a little bit of swagger, a little bit of belief in himself, I'm pretty sure he'd have a fair chance. I can see that Mary Jane doesn't look like she's enjoying herself, even if she is smiling and laughing along with Flash.
"Yeah, yeah, easy for you to say," Peter mutters, kicking at a loose tile on the floor. "You're not exactly Mr. Popular either."
Okay, fair point.
"Alright, alright," I say, holding up my hands in surrender. "I'll drop it. But seriously, think about it, okay?"
"Whatever," he mumbles, still staring at Mary Jane as she walks away with Flash.
I can only sigh. Some things, it seems, are just inevitable. You can't force a dweeb to be confident. Especially not when the spider hasn't bitten him yet.
We finally reach the classroom, and I can only think of one thing: Ugh. More classes. I already aced this whole education thing once. Do I really need to sit through another lecture on cellular biology or whatever?
Peter's already sliding into a desk, pulling out his notebook and a pen. He actually looks excited. "Mr. Warren's class is awesome," he says. "He always has cool experiments."
"Yeah, well, color me thrilled," I mutter under my breath, taking the seat beside him.
