Spiderman 1 Read Online Free PDF Page A

had thought he was the only one obsessive enough to bring along stuff to read. The seat next to her was empty. Peter, his legs weak, made eye contact with her.
    She promptly slammed the armload of books down into the space and fixed him with a fearsome glare that could have chilled the sun. "Don't even think about it," she growled.
    Wonderful. Liz was to the high school social whirl what the fox trot was to a mosh pit. Yet even she was concerned enough about her standing in the Midtown High community that she didn't want to share a seat with him.
    As he made his way down the aisle, he couldn't help but wonder what he'd done to deserve this. Was he really that ghastly looking? He caught a glimpse of himself in one of the windows as he passed. Granted, the window was covered with grime and dead bugs, but even with all of that, he wasn't that ugly. His face was round, his attitude honest and open. He was physically unimposing: Some would call him scrawny, but he preferred the term "svelte" or "lean." And in his eyes ... well, he thought his eyes were his best feature, deep blue and filled as they were with quiet intelligence and authority....
    Oh, well, and isn't that just what high schoolers adore: in telligence and authority. Intelligence blows the bell curve, and authority is what teens are supposed to rebel against. And here came Peter Parker, the living personification of both. With all that taken into consideration, it was a wonder that he was still walking around at all....

    And then, without warning, he was on the floor.
    At first he had no idea how it had happened; it had oc curred so quickly that his mind didn't have the time to process it. All he knew was that one moment he was making his way down the aisle, and the next he was flat on the floor. Unsurprisingly it was filthy, littered with gum wrappers, candy wrappers, stray bits of food and detritus that had been lying there for who knew how long? To add to this joy, he had banged his elbows severely when he'd hit, and the pain running up and down his arms was excruciating. More painful, however, was the humiliation, and the stinging of the blood rushing into his cheeks was the sharpest pain of all.
    Because Peter knew that he hadn't simply stumbled. He'd been tripped.
    He twisted himself around, shoving his glasses back into place as he looked up with pure, unbridled fury at the occupant of the seat he'd just gone by.
    Sure enough.
    Flash Thompson.
    Flash Thompson, the swaggering, arrogant, overarching, self-confident football hero, with a heart the size of all outdoors and compassion to match, if all outdoors happened to be the Arctic Circle. As far as Peter was concerned, Flash was living proof against Darwinism. Because Flash was ob viously a throwback to an earlier era, and if Neanderthals were anything like Flash, then mankind could never have evolved. NeanderFlash and his caveman cohorts would have made life for any new species an endless torture of trip-ups, poundings, wedgies, and verbal taunting. "You put the 'homo' in 'Homo sapiens,' " they'd doubtless be shouting, grunting and howling. The best and brightest future incarnations of man would have scampered back up the trees, never to descend again.
    Oh, and they'd get the best women. They'd just over-
    whelm them with their raw animal magnetism, sling them over their shoulders, and swagger away.
    Case in point:
    Mary Jane was sitting next to Flash.
    She clearly hadn't seen that Flash had been responsible for sending Peter tumbling to the floor, but she was regard ing him with clear suspicion. Flash, his hands upturned in a gesture of total innocence, was saying, "What?" And why shouldn't he? Even his lowbrow intelligence was enough to assure himself that Peter wouldn't rat him out, and he was right. The only thing worse than the way this morning was going would be for Peter to point accusingly and say, "He tripped me!" How utterly lame, how whining, would that sound?
    No, Peter had to suck it up, which was