We were on a class fieldtrip to the Met and while we were eating lunch on the steps, the Hobgoblin started attacking an armored truck across the street in front of everyone. I ducked out, pulled my hood up, and went out to help because I know I'm not supposed to, but May was either taking forever to get there from work or just didn't know there was anything going on. I was helping and everything was going fine until he threw me into this van that must have had something weird in it, because there was an explosion, I blacked out, and when I woke up I was here.
In other words, mom and dad, if you can read this, it's not completely my fault I'm in Los Angeles instead of Manhattan, and if wanted to forgo the lecture and just send me a plane ticket instead, I'm willing to do the grounding for you. Two weeks sound good? Remember: not completely my fault.
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