Spiderman 1 (28 page)

"But we had everything planned out! About what we
were gonna do when we got out of school!"

"Flash,
you
had everything planned out. Not me." There
was still no sign of her parents. She couldn't have been more

relieved. Having her folks there might have made this more
difficult, if not impossible. She'd planned to tell Flash that
evening when they went out, but she suddenly found that she
simply couldn't wait. That even one more date with him
would be giving more encouragement than she felt comfort
able with. She brushed her hair back again; she tended to do
that a lot when she was nervous. "I have a career I want to
pursue ... acting ..."

"Acting?
How about this, M. J.: You start acting like my
steady girlfriend, which is what you're supposed to be...."

"You know what the problem is, Flash?" she said, her
green eyes burning with anger. "You were too busy listening
to yourself to listen to me."

"You are being totally unfair!"

"I'm sorry you feel that way, Flash. Look," she said, "I
just
. . .
I feel like I want to explore options."

He bristled, his face getting red with fury. "And what about how I feel? Isn't that at all important?"

"Flash, it's been nothing
but
your feelings for years now.
You don't give a damn about my hopes, my dreams...."

"You?" He snorted. "You dream of partying, and you
hope there's another party after that. What, there's more?"

Something in his Neanderthal intelligence obviously warned him that he'd made a mistake just then. But it was
too late to repair it, as Mary Jane yanked the steady ring off her finger and shoved it in Flash's hand. Without a word, an
infuriated Flash cocked his arm, and for a moment Mary
Jane flinched, thinking he was going to belt her. Instead he
swept his arm around and let fly with the ring, sending it
hurtling over the crowd. Then he turned back to Mary Jane,
trembling, facing her with ... rage? Embarrassment? Frus
trated love? Any, all of the above?

And he growled, "There's gonna be payback for this. You
won't know when or where ... but definite payback." Then
he spun on his heel and stalked away.

Mary Jane took in a deep breath, then let it out. She
thought she should feel good
...
but all she felt was empty. For the first time in ages, she was alone. Totally, completely
alone. All around her were her classmates, laughing, joyful,
and almost all of them with their families. And here was
M. J. with nothing. She knew her parents. They were probably fighting, and when they fought, they tended to lose track
of time. When they started in on each other, nothing else
mattered ... least of all their daughter.

Her chin quivered as she fought to hold back tears, and
suddenly there was someone standing next to her. She
thought it might be her father; she feared it was Flash. She turned and reacted with surprise.

"You okay?" asked Harry Osborn. "I couldn't help but
notice ... Flash looked kind of pissed off. Is everything
okay with—?"

And Mary Jane let out a soft cry and buried her face on
the arm of a very surprised, but not the least bit displeased,
Harry Osborn.

Peter let out a low whistle. "So they broke up, huh?"

They were standing outside the Parker home. Norman
Osborn had given Peter and his aunt a lift home, and Harry
was standing at the curbside next to the Bentley. Although
Harry's father had made a point of saying that they couldn't
stay, he relented to May's urging and was now inside the house, looking at the long and proud collection of Peter's
various science awards. Peter was so mortified by the whole
thing that he was staying out on the sidewalk with Harry,
waiting for the ordeal to be over. Peter had his gown draped
over his hands. "You're positive?"

Harry nodded. "She told me. I would have let you know,
but you were busy talking to my dad...."

"Yeah, I hope that doesn't bother you, him making a fuss
over me—"

Harry shrugged. "Hey
...
if he likes you, and you like
me, then maybe he'll like me better." Then he laughed.
"Man, I wish you could have seen Flash's face. He looked
like the guy from that movie poster for
Scanners ...
you
know, the one where his head looks like it's about to blow
up. That's some timing, huh? On graduation day?"

"Well," sighed Peter, "I can't say I'm entirely surprised."

"You're not?"

"Look," and Peter shifted uncomfortably, glancing
around as if concerned he was going to be overheard. "Just
between us
. . .
?"

"Sure."

"I'm pretty sure M.J.'s father has been giving her all kinds of crap about . . . well, about everything."

"Her?" Harry obviously could scarcely believe it. "You
mean some guy's got a terrific daughter like M. J. and he
rags on her?"

"More than you can believe." Peter lowered his voice
even more, though there was no one around. "But as near as
I can tell, he really liked Flash. So I think she stayed with
Flash as
. . .
well . . . kind of protection, y'know? To survive. And also to feel a little bit less lonely in a family where love was hard to come by."

"Wow," Harry breathed, leaning against the lamppost.

"And by dumping Flash," concluded Peter, "it was almost as if she was signing her own Declaration of Independence."

"You've really got this whole thing worked out."

"Well," Peter admitted, "I've been giving her a lot of
thought."

At that, Harry raised an eyebrow and looked at him side
ways. "Hunh. Really. So are you planning to
. . .
y'know . . .
make a move? Now that Flash is out of the picture?"

"Harry, she just broke up with the guy, for crying out
loud. What, I want to be the guy on the rebound?"

"What's wrong with being the rebound?" Harry said rea
sonably. "Rebounds get played into slam dunks, too,
y'know."

"I just . . ."

"You just what . . . ?"

Peter knew that if he happened to be looking in a mirror
at that moment, he would have seen the haunted, dispirited
look in his eyes. Because as much as he'd been fighting it up
until that point, all he could think of was who wasn't there
that should have been....

She deserves better than me..
..

"Peter . . . ?" Harry prompted him.

And Peter just shrugged. "We're too different. We'd never
work. It'd be a train wreck. Trust me."

Harry started to reply, but then Norman Osborn came out
of the Parker house, walking briskly. Peter noticed that when
Osborn walked, his arms didn't swing at his sides like other
people's. They stayed straight down, taut, contained. He
looked as if he was capable of jumping into a few quick
movements from
Riverdance.

"You have a lot of awards, Peter," said Osborn. "Your
aunt showed me every one. Every. One."

"Ouch," Peter said sympathetically.

But Osborn gave a wan smile. "I understand. She's proud of you. It's good to have children you're proud of. Just as I'm
proud of Harry."

Harry looked thunderstruck, and as he climbed into the back of the Bentley with his father, he gave Peter a cheery
thumbs-up. Peter grinned and stood there, watching the car
pull away. Then he turned and walked slowly into the house.

Aunt May was beaming, looking at the science award,
turning it around in her hands and examining it from every angle. His diploma was on the coffee table; she already had
a frame picked out for it, poised and waiting next to it on the

table. She glanced over her shoulder as Peter entered and
started to trudge up the stairs. "May I fix you something?"
she asked.

"No. Thanks."

He was trying to keep back the sadness, but he could tell from Aunt May's expression that he was failing miserably. Peter continued up to his room, not even bothering to close
the door. Sitting on the edge of his bed, he interlaced his fingers and stared off into space. He had no idea how long he'd
sat like that when Aunt May finally entered.

She knocked on the door, peering around the open corner
of it, looking in at her nephew. Peter didn't stir, just sat there.
She apparently took that as leave to enter, for she walked
across the room and placed the science plaque on a shelf
next to some other trophies. The diploma was already
framed, and she placed it neatly on his desk. She took a step
back, considered it, then moved it slightly and nodded with
satisfaction over the minuscule adjustment.

Then she turned to Peter and just stood there, as if wait
ing for him to say something.

Finally he filled the silence. "I missed him a lot today," he admitted.

She nodded. "I know. I miss him, too." She took his hand
in hers and said, "But he was there."

Peter was in no mood to hear about how Uncle Ben would
always be there with them in spirit.
He was Ben Parker, not
Ben Kenobi, for crying out loud. And having him in our
hearts just isn't the same thing, so let's stop pretending that
it is.

But he didn't say any of that. Instead he just nodded, and
then he started to say, "I just wish I hadn't—"
Let the thief
go. Caused Uncle Ben's death.
All the real, true completions
for the sentence, he didn't dare say.

"Peter," sighed Aunt May, "don't start that again."

No, he didn't dare talk about the true reason for Ben's

passing. So instead he focused on the only aspect of his guilt
he felt safe discussing. "I can't help thinking about the last
thing I said to him ..."