Spiderman 1 (32 page)

XV.

THE MYSTERY GIRL

   
It was everything Peter could do not to hack violently as he buttoned his shirt while running across the Empire State
University campus. He was starting to wonder if he was
going to cough up a lung. But he had to be cautious; he was
wearing his Spider-Man uniform underneath his clothes, a
habit he had taken to in recent days. He certainly didn't want to be running around the campus with his oxford shirt hang
ing open and his costume visible.

   
He tried to button the top button, and this time when the
coughing seized hold of him, he couldn't keep it back. He
knew he should consider himself lucky. He had, after all, in
haled a lot of smoke yesterday while rescuing those people.
If he'd taken in too much—and it wouldn't have required a lot—he could have been dealing with a collapsed lung by
now. The smart thing would have been to get himself to a
hospital to be checked over as soon as he'd gotten those peo
ple clear. But he was afraid a barrage of questions would be
forthcoming, to which he wouldn't have answers. In his
worst case imaginings, the hospital would call the police,
more questions would be posed that he couldn't answer
(such as why he was near the burning building) and in no time he'd be in jail, suspected of arson.

   
No, better to tough it out.

   
As a result, his chest was aching from the miserable
night's sleep he'd had. When he'd finally managed to get
some shut-eye, it was close to five
a.m.,
and then he slept
through his alarm going off. His only chance of getting to
school on time had been to websling over, except on his way
he'd wound up helping a would-be suicide who'd climbed
out on a ledge. That delayed him even further, and by the
time he'd arrived on campus—muscle-weary, still-sharp
pains in the chest—he felt like something that'd been
scraped off someone's shoe.

He darted across the campus, getting to the science building just as Dr. Curt Connors emerged. Indeed, if not
for a quick warning from his spider sense, he would have
gotten slammed in the face with the door. Connors hadn't
seen him coming because he'd been busy shoving the door
open with his shoulder. He only had one arm, and in his existing hand he was holding a small cage with an iguana
in it.

Connors looked down at Peter. The scientist wasn't espe
cially short-tempered, never flying off the handle easily. If
anything, as the lantern-jawed scientist stared at Peter, he ap
peared more disappointed than anything else. He was wearing a long, white lab coat, and the empty sleeve was pinned
up. "Dr. Connors ..." Peter began.

"You're an hour late, Parker," Connors said, allowing the
door to swing shut behind him. "Class is over. You missed
another . . . session . . ." He allowed the word to trail off, be
cause he was staring at Peter's general demeanor. Peter
glanced at his reflection in the glass of the door, and quickly
realized why. He was disheveled, and part of his hair was
still singed from the heat he'd endured in the burning building. Connors looked as if he was about to ask Peter what in the world had been going on in his life, and Peter quickly
started formulating responses.

But instead the professor just shook his head. "I'm sorry,
Peter, you have a hell of a scientific mind, but you can't seem

to get your priorities straight. You've been late six times this
semester."

"Professor, please, let me explain...."

Connors put the caged iguana on the ground and said
with a heavy sigh, "This is a paid internship. Do you know
how many freshman applied for it?" He put his hand on
Peter's shoulder, shook his head, then turned and picked up
the iguana cage.

Peter couldn't believe it. The look on Connors's face was
clear. Urgently refusing to believe this was happening, Peter
said, "Dr. Connors, I
need
this job!"

"I like you, Peter," Connors said, not unkindly, as he
walked away. "Come see me when you grow up a little."

Peter stood there, numbly staring after the departing Con
nors. Just like that. Just like that, he was unemployed.

It just seemed so damned unfair. Here he'd been nearly
running himself into the ground, just trying to help people.
And he'd gotten himself fired because of it. Anger welled up in him, stinging at his eyes, and he wiped his arm across his
face to make sure no tears flowed, because he'd be damned
if he stood there crying on the ESU campus, even if the tears
were flowing mostly because he was so blasted tired.

He tried to take an emotional step back and see it from
the professor's point of view. On that basis, he supposed he
could understand. Connors hadn't taken him on because he
wanted a series of excuses. He wanted an enthusiastic fresh
man who would be there when needed. And Peter hadn't
been there. You snooze, you lose. The race is to the swift. All
those other cliches came to mind as Peter tried, really tried,
to view the situation the way the professor probably viewed
it. On that basis, he supposed he could understand why Con
nors had just given him the heave-ho.

On the other hand, part of him, a nasty, insidious part,
couldn't help but hope that stupid iguana would mutate, bite

Connors, and turn him into a giant lizard. Then Connors
would get to see life from Peter Parker's point of view.
As if
that
would ever happen ...

Trying to take his mind off matters, Peter trekked over to
the ESU library, took a couple of hours to get some studying done, and then headed home. Considering he was feel
ing a bit down, he decided to walk the distance that he
normally would travel by subway
. . .
or, if he was feeling
adventurous, by webs.

On the way, he picked up a newspaper from the stand. Leaning against a wall, he flipped to the want ads. There
seemed to be a few possible prospects ... none of them par
ticularly interesting. But at least they'd put food on the table.
Harry had been incredibly elastic about Peter's share of the
rent. The main reason, of course, was that Peter was helping
him with his studies. Harry had made a point of saying that,
as far as he was concerned, Peter could live there rent free and Harry—for getting his grades salvaged—was still getting the better part of the bargain.

But Uncle Ben and Aunt May had spent long years
drilling a work ethic into Peter. Consequently, if he didn't
chip in for the rent, he'd feel like a freeloader no matter how
many tutorial skills he was bartering.

He found one address, of an employment office that
wasn't too far away, and he started heading in that direction.

But as he walked, he did so with a very different attitude
than he'd once had. Once upon a time, he would have just
walked along the sidewalk like anyone else: involved in
his own thoughts, occasionally glancing at others if they
did something interesting, but otherwise utterly self-
absorbed. Or even, God forbid, yakking on a cell phone.
That Peter Parker was gone, however. In his place was a
young man who was constantly looking all around him, sizing people up.

There was a woman whose little boy was pulling urgently
on her hand. Was there a danger he might slip loose and run
into traffic? No, it was okay ... she scooped him up so that
he wouldn't wiggle away.

There was a man, glancing right and left before entering
a jewelry store. Was he going to rob it? No, it was okay ...
a minute later, he reemerged, quickly slipping a small box
into his pocket as a young woman, obviously his girlfriend,
walked up to him and kissed him on the cheek. He must
have picked up an engagement ring on the sly, and they were
going somewhere where he'd propose to her.

Yet another false alarm.

Peter's head felt as if it was whirling. He was starting to think he was responsible for the safety of every single person in Manhattan. He realized that if he didn't start reordering his thoughts, if he didn't start coping with his power, it
was going to overwhelm him. He'd likely end up curled into
a sniveling ball, not knowing where to look first.

But he couldn't help it.

Over there
...
a guy approaching an elderly woman. She
was clutching her pocketbook nervously while standing on
the edge of a curb. Was he about to knock her down, grab it?
No
...
no, it was okay. He spoke to her softly, extended an
arm. She looked exceedingly grateful as he walked her across the busy intersection, tipped his hat, and walked
away.

And over there, at some seedy-looking diner with the
word
moondance
in neon letters overhead, except the first N
was burned out, so it seemed as if it were someplace that
cows went to boogie, there was a nervous-looking, red-
haired young woman, emerging with a raincoat drawn
tightly around her, as if concerned she was in danger from
some . . .

He did a double take as she walked right past him. "Hey!"
he said in astonishment.

"Buzz off," she snapped back.

"Mary Jane Watson?!"

She froze on the sidewalk. It was as if
. . .
as if her own name frightened her.

Peter approached her, cautiously, delicately, as if she were
a deer in the headlights about to bolt. "M. J.?
 
It's me
. . .
Peter . . ."

Mary Jane tried to laugh lightly, but she seemed embar
rassed to see him. "What are you doing around here?"

He held up the classifieds and said, "Begging for a job. What about you?"

"I'm, uh . . ." Her mind seemed to be racing,"... headed
for an audition."

The way she said it struck Peter as wrong somehow, but he wasn't about to call her on it. "So you're an actress now!
That's great!"

She still hadn't turned to face him. "Uh-huh," she said, and in a voice that sounded as it she were choking back a
sob, "It's a dream come true."

Suddenly the door of the diner burst open and a surly
looking cook stepped out. He was clutching a pile of restaurant checks in his large fist, and a smell was coming off him
that was reminiscent of rotting meat. Peter wasn't sure if it
was his own personal aroma or an odor that was clinging to
him from the food.