Spiderman 1 Read Online Free PDF

what he did.
    Without a word he staggered to his feet and fired Flash the fiercest, angriest look he could. This intimidated Thomp son about as much as could be expected; he curled his lip contemptuously and turned back to Mary Jane, making a point of draping an arm around her shoulders.
    There was an empty seat toward the back on the right. It was one of the two seats that nobody ever wanted to sit in: Directly over the rear wheels. It hit all the bumps and potholes, jostled constantly, and was in short the most uncom fortable seat in the house. Peter, sliding into self-pity, exiled himself there. No one gave him a second glance.
    Alone amongst a crowd, Peter did what he frequently did under such circumstances. He pulled out a small journal from between two larger books and laid it neatly on his lap, balancing it with accomplished expertise. The journal looked identical to the one that Uncle Ben had bought him over a decade ago, but it had the number 29 neatly inscribed in the upper right-hand corner of the cover. It was the twenty-ninth journal that he'd started since his youth. It was fortunate that Uncle Ben had purchased a common and

    popular brand of notebook. It gave him a sort of continuity between the young man he'd been and—with any luck—the old man he would become. It made him feel almost like a time traveler.
    Writing on the bouncing bus was no easy thing, and this wouldn't be one of his neater entries. Then again, compared to the chicken scratchings from when he was six and still trying to master cursive style, it would be a masterwork.
    He dated the page and wrote:

    Mom and Dad:
    Well, it happened again. Flash made me look like an idiot in front of M.J., and she didn't even realize it was him. I don't understand it. I have about a hundred times his brainpower, but he gets the best of me every time. Uncle ben says you can beat ignorant people by out- thinking them, and arrogant people by appealing to that arrogance and using it against them, but that people who are ignorant and arrogant are the toughest to deal with.
    And the worst is that he sits there with M.J. That's killing me. I don't think he even really likes her... not really likes her. He treats her like she's a trophy or something. Like, since he's the best athlete and everything, he deserves to have the best looking girl in the whole school. Like it's divine right or entitlement or something. When it comes down to it, Flash Thompson doesn't love anyone as much as he loves himself. She's there to make him look good.
    She must know that. She's got to know that. So why the heck does she put up with him? Why does she even like him? She deserves so much better than him.
    Mom, Dad . . . you know 1 don't ask favors of you, hardly ever. But the next time you're sitting around, shooting the breeze with God . . . do you think maybe you might mention Flash to him, and ask for some divine intervention? Nothing fancy. Nothing extraordinary. An anvil, maybe. A hundred pounds. On second thought, better make it five hun dred pounds. With his thick skull, he probably won't feel anything less. Whatever it takes. In short, any strings you could pull that would
    provide just a little balance, a little justice, would be greatly appreci ated.

    Harry Osborn shifted uncomfortably in the back of the chauffeur driven Bentley, sneaking looks at his father, Nor man, while fervently wishing that he was somewhere else— anywhere else—at this particular moment in time.
    Norman Osborn, for his part, hadn't glanced at Harry for the last twenty blocks. Instead he'd been utterly absorbed in coordinating his day of meetings via his handheld PDA. Harry's attempts at casual conversation had been met with occasional grunts or nods, and not much more.
    Osborn the Elder exuded an odd mix of power and barely controlled anger. Harry had never been able to figure out just with whom his father was mad, exactly. The world, it seemed. He was frustrated at all he wished to accomplish ...