Authors: Peter David
But then all eyes turned toward the Bentley. Harry
wanted to sink into his seat, through it, and into the trunk.
Hoping to salvage the situation, he muttered, "Dad, could
you drive around the corner?"
Norman glanced up from his work toward the entrance to
the building. "Why? The door's right here?" he said.
Harry lowered his voice to an urgent whisper, as if the kids could somehow hear them from outside. He saw that
they were congregating into one lump of curiosity, focused
entirely on him. "These are public school kids," he reminded
his father. "I'm not showing up to school in a Bentley."
Norman Osborn laughed bitterly. "What? You want me to
trade in my car for a Jetta just because you flunked out of every private school I sent you to?"
Harry winced at that. The only thing worse than the reproach in his father's voice was the knowledge that his dad
was right. Trying to mount some sort of defense, he said,
"They weren't for me. I told you that. It wasn't for me."
"Of course it was!" Norman shot back. But then, seeing Harry flinch at the abruptness, he sighed and then smiled wanly. He reached across Harry to unlatch the door on his side. "Don't ever be ashamed of who you are," he said, not
unkindly.
"Dad, I'm not ashamed. I'm just not what you—"
Norman frowned. "What, Harry?" he asked, trying to get
to the source of his son's discomfort.
"Forget it, Dad," he sighed, sliding out of the car.
He squinted, as his eyes had to adjust from seeing the
world through the smoked glass of the Bentley to being as
sailed by the brightness of the sun on the crisp autumn
morning.
He stepped onto the curb, bobbing his head slightly in
recognition of the awed and impressed expressions on the
kids' faces. They were approaching the car as if it was the Holy Grail, which made Harry even more uncomfortable.
He'd been speaking the truth to his father: He had never felt
like he fit in at private school. Now his money and status
were going to set him apart in public school, as well.
"Hi ya, Harry," said a familiar voice.
He felt a quick surge of relief as Peter Parker stepped out
of the crowd. Immediately Harry noted that the knees of Peter's pants were dirty, as if he'd taken a spill. Well, he
could always ask him about it later.
"Hey, Peter," he said.
Then Harry remembered: He'd borrowed some science
books from Peter and had intended to return them this morn
ing, but he'd left them in the car. He started to turn back to
the Bentley to get them, but his heart sank as the other back door opened and Norman Osborn stepped out. He didn't so much emerge from the car as grow from it, as if he were an
extension of the power and prestige such a vehicle afforded.
He was holding the book bag. "Won't you be needing this?" he inquired.
He handed the bag to Harry, but his gaze was riveted on
Peter, sizing up this person who had addressed Harry in such
a friendly and outgoing manner. Realizing that an introduction was not only required, but inevitable, Harry cleared his
throat and said, "Peter, this is my father, Norman Osborn."
"Great honor to meet you," Peter said, shaking Norman's
hand. He winced a bit.
Norman laughed good-naturedly. "Oh, come on, son. You
call that a handshake? A man is judged by the strength of his
grip. Let's see what you've got."
Peter made an obvious effort, and Harry couldn't watch. Instead he looked around at the girls who were gathering
around the Bentley, oohing and aahing. He couldn't help but
notice that Mary Jane Watson was one of them, looking at
the car almost reverentially, as if it was the most magnificent
thing she'd ever seen. He made a mental note of that. It
might be that showing up in such a fancy vehicle might not have been such a bad thing after all.
Apparently Peter had made a worthy enough effort, because Norman nodded approvingly and released his hand.
"I've heard a lot about you. Harry tells me you're quite the
science whiz."
"Well, I don't know about that . . ."
Quickly, Harry said, "He's being modest. I told you, Dad,
he's won all the prizes."
With a touch of reproach, Norman said, "Anyone who can
get Harry to pass chemistry shouldn't be modest." "Harry's really smart. He didn't really need my help."
"We have to go, Dad," Harry said. But Norman obviously found conversation with Peter too
engaging to end it quickly. "I'm something of a scientist my
self, you know," Norman said with genuine enthusiasm.
"I know," Peter said immediately. "I know all about
OsCorp. You guys are designing the guidance and reentry
systems for the first shuttle mission to Mars. Really bril
liant."
Norman blinked in surprise at Peter's obvious and total
knowledge of everything that his corporation was up to. "Impressive. Your parents must be proud."
Sounding slightly apologetic, Peter said, "I live with my
aunt and uncle. They're proud."
The girls were now moving away from the Bentley at the urging of Mr. Sullivan, who was trying to herd them up the
steps into the building.
"What about your folks?"
Harry wanted to say something to get Peter off the hook.
But Peter took a deep breath and said, "My parents died
when I was little."
Norman seemed a bit taken aback by this, and when he spoke again, he sounded sympathetic. "I lost my parents as
a young boy, as well."
Harry, sounding a bit more sarcastic than he would have liked, said, "Which no doubt strengthened your iron will to succeed, huh, Dad?"
From the door at the top of the steps, Mr. Sullivan—look
ing on the verge of apoplexy—called down,
"Hey, you two,
I'm closing the door! "
Norman released his grip on Harry's shoulder, and it was
all he could do not to sag in relief. "Nice to meet you, Mr.
Osborn," Peter said.
"See you again," Norman assured him before sliding
back into the Bentley.
Mary Jane was standing near Flash but watching the
Bentley as it pulled away. She shifted her gaze to Harry, and
suddenly Harry felt a lot more . . . more powerful, really ... than he had before. Radiating confidence in a manner that would have made his father proud, Harry said, "Hi."
She smiled back. That alone was enough to put some
additional spring in his step, and then she moved away, Flash
blocking her from view.
The class was standing in a corridor with arched ceilings, lined with neatly framed portraits of various scientists, or re
productions of noted scientific documents. Sunlight filtered
in through a series of skylights, and the acoustics were terrific as far as the kids were concerned ... and a horror show as far as Mr. Sullivan and the other chaperones were concerned. As their voices reverberated up and down the hall
way the frantic "shushing" from the adults only made things
worse.
"He doesn't seem so bad," Peter said, standing at Harry's
right shoulder.
Harry looked at him in confusion, not entirely certain
who "he" was. Then he realized that Peter was talking about
his father, and it was all he could do to suppress a laugh.
"Not if you're a genius," he said ruefully. "I think he wants
to adopt you."
Then Harry noticed that Peter was looking beyond him,
and turned to see that his friend was staring at Mary Jane.
Flash had drifted away—apparently a rendering of Da
Vinci's famed drawing of man was one of the most hilarious
things he'd ever seen, and he was laughing it up with his
friends. Mary Jane, for her part, was about two feet away from Peter, studying a portrait of Isaac Newton.
As intrigued as Harry was with Mary Jane, he knew two things beyond question: First, that Peter had been interested in her far longer, and second, that any guy who tried to take
her away from Flash Thompson would probably get himself
killed. Still, it might be worth the risk ... provided M. J. was
actually interested in breaking it off with Thompson, the Id that Walked Like a Man. Better for his long-term health,
Harry realized, if Peter were used for the litmus test of M.J.'s
availability, rather than Harry himself. Not that Harry had
any intention of sending his friend into danger. Certainly if push came to shove—particularly shove-through-the-
wall—Harry could intercede and charm—i.e., bribe—Flash out of it.
Harry snapped his fingers in front of Peter's face to catch
his attention. "Hey," he whispered, and, nodding toward
Mary Jane, said, "Say something."
Peter squared his shoulders, which struck Harry as rather funny. Peter couldn't have looked more serious if he'd been preparing to enter a ring with a maddened bull, armed with only a dish towel. He approached Mary Jane, who saw him
coming, turned and smiled that million-watt smile at him.
No wonder, Harry mused, that her last name was Watson.
She looked expectantly from Peter to Harry and then back to
Peter, and Harry waited for his friend to say something.
And waited.
And waited.
The moment morphed from energy-charged to awkward.
Mary Jane tilted her head slightly, expectantly, like a dog trying to pick up a high-pitched noise. Desperate to have
matters progress, Harry stepped forward and said to M. I,
"Hi. How ya doing?"
Mary Jane smiled in return. "Hey," she said conversa
tionally, and waited once more for Peter to say something. It
was difficult for Harry to get a read off her. It could be she was just being friendly
...
or there might be some interest.
He needed Peter to keep it going in order to tell for sure.
Peter's jaw twitched once, twice more, which was good
since it indicated that he was, in fact, alive. Then he walked
away as quickly as he could. M. J. looked to Harry quizzi
cally, and he made a vague noise in his throat and hurried off
after Peter. The moment he drew alongside him he asked in
annoyance, "Why didn't you say something?"
"I was about to," Peter said defensively. "It . . . wasn't the
right moment." Looking around for some sort of exit, he
ducked into the nearby men's room, leaving Harry shaking
his head.
Suddenly a large shadow was cast over Harry. He turned
and looked up, and up, at Flash, and for a moment wondered
if there might be a problem, wondered if Flash had figured
out what he was up to.