Spiderman 1 (9 page)

The guide was going on about the jumping spider, family
Salticidae, genus Salticus. On and on, and Peter turned away
from Mary Jane, from Flash, from that which was so upsetting to him that he couldn't even articulate it. For a fraction
of an instant, he thought he saw Mary Jane looking in his di
rection and then pulling away from Flash, looking embar
rassed over his overt and clumsy attempts at affection. But

no. He was certain that it was a product of his fevered imagination, a wish fulfillment that M. J. would realize that a guy
like Flash wasn't right for her, no matter what her father
might say.
Her father . . .

Peter had been watching that time....
He'd been daydreaming, staring out his window, when
he'd seen Flash Thompson pull up to her house. Flash had
walked up to the door, knocked, and M.J.'s father had
opened the door. Seeing the two of them together, Peter was
struck by the similarities, in terms of build and deportment.
They'd laughed together, there on the stoop, and although
Peter couldn't hear what was being said, he had no doubt that
it was bursting with enough machismo to grow hair on any
thing that didn't normally sport hair.

When Flash had left with M. J. on his arm, he'd received
a pat on the back from her dad, and even a few bucks that
M.J.'s dad dug out of his jacket pocket. It was perfectly ob
vious: M.J.'s dad felt he had a lot in common with Flash,
and had willingly "given" his daughter over to him.
And Mary Jane had gone along with it.
That struck him as unutterably sad, although he wasn't
entirely certain why.

Peter was abruptly jolted from his thoughts by Mr. Sulli
van's loud, pinched voice. He was bellowing at the other
kids, who had been looking anywhere and everywhere ex
cept at the tour guide, and talking about anything and every
thing except spiders. Sullivan was standing so close to Peter
when he shouted that Peter thought he was going to suffer permanent hearing loss.

"Excuse me! Is anyone paying attention to the genus
Salticus?"

That brought everything screeching to a halt. Even the

guide looked shaken. Mr. Sullivan nodded slightly in her di
rection and said, "I apologize. Go on."

The tour guide started speaking again, but it was rather
tentatively, and she wasn't taking her eyes off Mr. Sullivan,
as if concerned that there would be another outburst.
"The ... genus Salticus ... can leap up to forty times its
body length, thanks to a proportionate muscular strength
vastly greater than that of a human being." She was about to continue speaking when she noticed that Peter was trying to
catch her eye. She raised her eyebrows in response, clearly inviting a question.

Peter held up his camera and gestured to it. "Okay to take
a few pictures? For the school paper?"

The tour guide nodded, and Peter—to his chagrin—no
ticed that the guide looked more irked than anything. Obvi
ously she hated being interrupted. But Peter didn't have
much time to dwell on any faux pas he might have commit
ted, since he was immediately distracted by nearby snickering and mutterings of "geek." These days it seemed like any words out of his mouth, no matter how innocuous, managed to attract snide commentary and disdain from either Flash or
one of his cronies. It shouldn't be getting to him; he knew
that intellectually. All of Flash's friends put together had the
collective IQ of a dust bunny, and their opinions should have
carried just as much weight. But it bothered him neverthe
less ... and worse, it bothered him that it bothered him.

He tried to put it out of his mind, concentrating instead on
the nice shot that was set up at that moment, of the tour
guide standing just in front of one of the spider displays. It
was well framed, and would make a good accompanying
piece of art for the article. But with remarkable timing, just
as Peter pressed the shutter release, someone banged into his
arm, jostling the camera and giving Peter a superb photo
graph of Harry Osborn's elbow.

Peter fired a glance over his shoulder and saw one of

Flash's pals—a guy who'd picked up the nickname "Hoops,"
due to the number of small rings he had adorning his vari
ous piercings—backing away and snickering.

The tour guide, unaware of the struggle touched off by
the mere act of Peter's trying to take her picture, droned on as if anyone cared. "The funnel-web spider—family Hexathelidae, genus Atrax—one of the deadliest spiders in the
world, spins an intricate, funnel-shaped web whose strands
have a tensile strength proportionately equal to the type of
high-tension wire used in bridge building."

Hoping to salvage the moment, Peter started to aim his
camera, and once again his elbow was shoved. Hoops wasn't
even bothering to be coy about it this time. He shoved Peter's
arm deliberately, challengingly.

Even though he knew that Hoops could probably break
him in half, Peter whirled to face him. Seeing the anger
twisting Peter's features, and probably welcoming an oppor
tunity to tap dance on Peter's face, Hoops took a step for
ward in a threatening manner. But then a voice, low and
commanding, said, "Leave him alone."

Hoops and Peter turned to see the speaker, Harry Osborn.
As opposed to both Peter and Hoops, who were wearing
their respective outrages openly on their faces, Harry's mien
was one of utter calm. Obviously he wasn't going to give
Hoops the satisfaction of seeing him angry, as if Hoops
wasn't worthy of the privilege.

Nevertheless, Hoops said defiantly, "Or what?"

Flash, without batting an eye, replied, "Or his father will
fire your father."

Hoops blanched at that, and several kids standing around,
who had overheard the exchange, laughed loudly. Harry
didn't seem perturbed by the attention, although Peter
flushed a bit.

But Mr. Sullivan had clearly had it. In a loud, clear voice

he called out, "The next person who talks is going to fail this
course. I kid you not."

Peter didn't think that should be much of a threat to
Hoops, Flash, or any of their ilk; he was reasonably sure the
only time they ever saw a D, C, B, or A coming their way
was if they were standing on a subway platform. Nevertheless, Hoops backed off, although he did spare a fairly nasty glare for Harry.

Harry, for his part, didn't seem to notice or care.

Continuing along the display the tour guide said, "The
crab spider—family Thomisidae, genus Misumena—spins a
web to catch its prey, but hunts instead, using a set of re
flexes with nerve conduction velocities so fast, some re
searchers believe it almost borders on precognition
. . .
an early awareness of danger . . . a," and she dropped her voice
and waggled her fingers to make it sound mysterious,
"... spider sense."

They reached the center of the rotunda floor, where re
searchers were working at computers surrounding an elec
tron microscope. Large video screens around the room
displayed giant images of what was obviously the micro
scope's area of scrutiny: spider DNA. Peter found the entire
thing incredibly fascinating and could tell from a quick
glance at his classmates that he was the only one. Was there
something wrong with him, or with the rest of them?

"Over five painstaking years, Columbia's genetic re
search facility has fully mapped the genetic codes of each of
these spiders." The guide walked with measured strides
around the rotunda, speaking with such pride that one would
have thought she personally was in charge of designing a map to track every strand of every chromosome. "Armed
with these DNA blueprints," she continued, "we have now
begun what was once thought impossible: interspecies ge
netic transmutation."

Flash had drifted just within Peter's earshot, and just outside of Mary Jane's, and he said very softly, "I thought they
managed that when you were born, Parker." He guffawed to
himself and stepped back just before M. J. noticed that he'd
said anything. Once again Peter felt a sharp stinging in his face as the blood rushed to it. He didn't know which was
worse: Flash making jokes at his expense, or the knowledge
that Mary Jane was Flash's and Peter was left with nothing. "In this recombination lab," the guide said, gesturing with
one hand to take in the entirety of the amazing complex, "we
use synthesized transfer RNA to encode an entirely new genome combining genetic information from all three spi
ders into these fifteen genetically designed superspiders, the first mankind has ever produced."

Just ahead of them was a glass tank. The aforementioned mutated spiders were crawling along the walls. Peter noted
with wry amusement that something had finally presented it
self which fully captured the students' attention. They were staring with fascination at the disgusting creatures creeping
along the glass.

They seemed to be congregating in one area. Peter de
cided that if he could manage to get a shot with all fifteen of
them in it at once, that would be extraordinarily cool. Mary Jane had already positioned herself near "spider central." If
he could get her in the shot, so much the better. Harry was also drawing near, but Peter held back a bit in order to get the wider angle and make sure that the fifteen were in the
shot.

"Disgusting," said Mary Jane, but she didn't sound espe
cially repulsed. Indeed she seemed almost enthused, as if
they were beautiful in their sheer nauseating appearance.

Harry, however, misread her tone of voice. "Hateful little
things," he said, thinking he was agreeing with her.
"I
love
it," said M. J.

Quickly realizing his error, Harry amended, "Really? Me,
too."

It was all Peter could do not to laugh. Certainly the last
thing he wanted to do was start enjoying himself at his
friend's expense. He didn't exactly have an abundance of friends, and he sure didn't want to alienate the very few he
had.

"Just imagine," said the tour guide, "if one day we can
isolate the strengths, powers, and immunities in human be
ings, and transfer that DNA code among ourselves. All
known disease could be wiped out. Of course we're nowhere
near ready to start experimenting with humans, so for the moment we're concentrating on these fifteen spiders. Any
questions?"

"Fourteen," M. J. said abruptly. All eyes went to her, and
Mr. Sullivan laughed nervously in a "why is she doing this?"
manner.

"I beg your pardon?" called the tour guide.

Undaunted by the challenging looks from the others, and the clear chagrin from the teacher, M. J. said, "There's only fourteen spiders."