Chapter Text
[Classroom, morning]
The blackboard was already filled with white symbols, hurried scribbles that the teacher wrote with chalk. Every feature seemed to vibrate, like lines of energy floating before Peter's eyes. He blinked several times, trying to focus, but the more he looked, the more those formulas seemed to dance, distort.
The squeak of chalk against the board sounded like fingernails scratching glass. A shiver ran down his spine.
He took a deep breath, but it was no use. Sounds came from every corner of the room: the nervous click of a pen, the zipper of a backpack being pulled, the sharp crack of a gum bubble bursting in the back row. Every little noise that would previously have gone unnoticed now hit his ears like hammering.
— Parker, did you solve the equation? — the teacher's voice sounded, sharp, breaking him out of his trance.
Peter blinked, confused. He realized that he was standing still, staring into space. The heart quickened when some colleagues laughed.
— Ah… yes, teacher. I mean, not yet. — he stammered, sinking into his seat. Heat rose to his face, his cheeks burning with embarrassment.
The giggles echoed like deafening laughter, and Peter wished the floor would open up.
[School hallway, break]
As soon as the bell rang, he left quickly. The hallway seemed like a river of voices and footsteps. Every word stood out, even the quietest ones.
— Parker is a weirdo. — he heard someone whisper, far away.
— He always was. — replied another voice.
Peter knew that his colleagues used to talk about him behind his back, but he had never heard it so clearly. It was as if he had microphones capturing everything around him. He clutched his books to his chest and quickened his pace, trying to escape the crowd, but there was nowhere to escape the noise.
[School gym]
Gym class seemed like a chance to distract my mind. The sound of the ball bouncing on the floor, the teacher's whistle, the shouts of his classmates — everything was still loud, but Peter tried to concentrate on the movement, on the game.
That's when it happened.
A colleague, distracted, threw the football the wrong way. She came straight towards Peter. Before he even thought, his body reacted. He moved in an impossible reflex, too fast, and the ball skimmed past, hitting the wall with a crash that made the whole class turn around.
— Dude! How did you do this? — asked a colleague, mouth open.
Peter felt his face heat up. The heart felt like a drum playing inside the chest.
— Luck… that's all. — he said, laughing nervously, trying to hide it.
But the curious gazes of others made him feel exposed. As if everyone knew something was wrong. The bell for the end of class rang, saving him. He almost ran away, straight to the bathroom.
[School bathroom]
He locked himself in one of the stalls and leaned his forehead against the cold door. He took a deep breath, his entire body shaking.
—What's happening to me? —he murmured, putting his hands on his head.
He closed his eyes tightly, but the sounds didn't disappear: footsteps echoing in the hallway, someone washing their hands in the sink, even the zipper of a backpack outside. Everything seemed to invade his mind.
He stayed there, trying to calm down, until he gathered the courage to leave.
[Way home]
The streets of Queens were full of life as always: cars honking, children playing, vendors calling out customers. But to Peter, it was a chaotic orchestra of jumbled sounds, each note hitting too loudly.
The cold wind hit his skin like needles. He walked quickly, eyes on the ground, avoiding looking at anyone. Every step felt heavy, every second longer than usual.
When he finally arrived home, exhausted, he felt as if he had crossed an invisible battlefield.