Spiderman 1 Read Online Free PDF Page B

and able to focus only on failures rather than successes. And Harry was often the target of his misplaced frustration. At least, that was what Harry chose to believe.
    He had never forgotten that time, on his sixteenth birthday. His father had thrown a sizable bash, with a guest list comprised mostly of Norman's friends, with a couple of Harry's friends du jour tossed in for appearances. It was more a business opportunity for strategic meeting and greeting, but Norman had gotten himself seriously liquored up as the evening progressed. That was unusual for him. Usually he prided himself on his total control.
    Late in the evening, however, Harry had found himself alone in a hallway with his dad hanging with one arm on his son and speaking in a voice filled with alcohol and con tempt.
    "I look at you, Harry," he'd said, "and I see myself at your age ... except without the potential for greatness."
    Harry had gone to bed shortly thereafter, and hadn't come out for two days, claiming a headache. His father,

    mortified over what he'd said while in his cups, finally coaxed him out of his room with a dirt bike he'd been cov eting and a vacation to the mountains. It had been a glorious outing, but the circumstances behind it still rankled.
    As the Bentley approached the curbside at Columbia University, Harry could see the kids offloading from the school bus onto the sidewalk. He wished for all the world that he'd been able to ride along with the other kids. Norman had put a quick end to that notion, of course. No son of his rode creaky, dirty, disgusting school buses. What if someone he knew saw Harry on it?
    The limousine window was slightly rolled down, and he could hear the teacher, Mr. Sullivan, shouting in his perpet ually put-upon voice. "Okay, people, no wandering! Proceed directly up to the ... knock it the hell off!" he bellowed as the teen horseplay, laughter, and shouting reached terminal levels. For a microsecond he had caught their attention, and he continued in that same tone,"... up the steps and into the building ...!"
    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