In a New York Minute

Xavier Institute
It was morning at the mansion, as Scott came down for breakfast in his usual outfit. Everyone else was there, except Clark. He had spent most of the night on patrol. Scott picked up his cereal and sat next to Jean.
"Where's Clark?" Kitty inquired.
"I'm right here." Clark said as he walked down in casual clothing with glasses framing his face. He swiftly parted his hair down the middle, as he switched off his image-inducer completing his disguise of a clumsy, nervous country-boy.
"Late night?" Archangel asked him.
"Oh yeah." Clark replied. "Another plane experienced engine trouble over Australia, so I had to help it land. After that, there was a coal mine collapse; staying out of sight while digging escape tunnels was not easy, for your information."
"Clark, don't you do anything for fun?" Jean asked. Chuckling, she added, "Scott has the same problem, so don't feel too bad."
"Hey, I do so know how to have fun!" Scott countered.
"Scott, a late-night Danger Room session is not 'having fun'." Kitty said flatly.
"Sorry, guys, I know you're trying to help, but between repairing my ship and activities as Superman, there just isn't time for fun." Clark said.
"It was worth a try." Psylocke sighed.
Clark then walked upstairs to his room as Ororo came in. "Everyone, we may be having a new student, soon." she said, smiling.
"Who is it, Frau Munroe?" Kurt inquired.
"My nephew, Evan Daniels." Ororo answered. "Evan's mutation causes excessive bone growth; he can grow bony spikes and shed them like spears."
"Ouch! That sounds painful!" Kitty exclaimed.
"Not at all!" Ororo said. "Evan will just be visiting us; he hasn't made up his mind, just yet."
Clark then called out from the top of the stairs.
"Morning, Storm." He greeted.
"Hey, Auntie O!"
"Evan! Come in!" Ororo said, smiling. "Everyone, this is Evan."
At Ororo's call, a fairly tall 15-year-old African-American boy, of average frame walked in. He had dark eyes, and short, bleached-blond crew-cut-style hair under his skater's helmet. He wore a red-and-white vest, and dark green khaki pants, with a skateboard under his arm. "Hey." Evan greeted.
Scott stood up, smiling, and held out his hand. 
"Hey." He greeted. "I'm Scott Summers. Nice to meet you."
"Likewise." Evan replied, smiling. "So...you all have powers, too?" Everyone nodded. "Even that guy standing at the top of the stairs? What's he do?"
"You wouldn't believe us if we told you." Bishop replied.
Daily Bugle, New York City...
"PARKER!"
15 year old Peter Parker entered his boss's office. Peter was fairly tall, and of an athletic build, which he hid under his clothes, with short, messy brown hair and blue eyes, clad in his usual t-shirt and blue jeans, his camera looped around his neck by its strap. He was a freelance photographer for the Daily Bugle.
He was also Spider-Man, unbeknownst to his boss, thank goodness.
Peter had been bitten by a genetically altered spider during a field trip, which had endowed him with the proportionate strength and agility of a spider, as well as their ability to stick to walls, with a limited precognition – a "spider-sense" – which warned him of danger.
Walking into his boss' office, Peter – once again – swallowed his pride, and asked, "Yes, Mr. Jameson?"
J. Jonah Jameson, the Editor-in-Chief of the Daily Bugle newspaper, glared crossly at him. Mr. Jameson – or "JJ" – was in his early fifties, tall, and lean, with short, greying brown hair, brown eyes, and a "Hitler-style" mustache, wearing a white button-up shirt and black pants. "Where are those pictures, Parker?!" He barked.
"Sorry, Mr. Jameson, but there haven't been any Spider-Man sightings, lately." Peter said truthfully; he hadn't taken any pictures of himself in action – placing his camera so he could snap photos with the time-delay flash – because there hadn't been any opportunities for him to stop crime. The only real crimes lately had been an unknown...who moved too fast to catch; every time Spider-Man reached the scene, the perp was long gone.
"'Spider-Man'? That wall-crawling menace is old news!" JJ said. "What I want are pictures of Superman! So far, no other paper has gotten so much as a snapshot of this guy! I can't get ahead with ineptness like yours, Parker! You're fired!"
"JJ?" came the voice of Robert "Robbie" Robertson as the Editor walked in. Robbie, a tall, calm, soft-spoken African-American man in his forties, with short brown hair, clad in a white button-up shirt and blue jeans, was Jameson's counterpart; cool where JJ was hot-tempered. 
"Clark Kent is here to do a interview with Peter."