That was met with predictable moans and whines.

  Javier was one of the last to get up. He stared at Peter the whole time, then got up and walked out, never taking his eyes off Peter.

  For his part, Peter met the stare. By the time he reached the door, Javier looked royally pissed off that Peter didn’t blink.

  Poor kid. If only he knew . . . Peter looked like a wussy white guy from Queens, and Javier usually ate teachers like that for breakfast. But Peter had spent all of his life since he was only a little older than Javier dealing with people who would eat Javier for breakfast.

  Gregory made his way out of the class slowly, not wanting to get in anyone’s way for fear that someone might notice him. Peter recognized that walk oh so well. That was how he had walked all over Midtown High. It was also how he had walked into that science exhibit on that fateful day, sponsored by a company in the Pacific Northwest that was doing demonstrations at high schools across the country. He had entered slowly, shuffling his feet, not wanting to bother anybody, and therefore had been stuck at the back of the room, barely able to see the demo. When a spider had gotten into the workings and became irradiated, Peter had been the one it bit in its death throes, the radiation changing the spider bite from something potentially fatal to something wondrous. Standing at the back as he was, nobody had noticed Peter stumbling out of the exhibit hall, wandering aimlessly down the streets of the Forest Hills section of Queens, wondering why he felt so strange.

  Now, Peter walked more confidently through the school’s halls, preparing himself to head home to his wife. No, head home to an empty apartment, he amended. Mary Jane had rehearsal tonight. His lovely wife had a supporting part and was understudy to the female lead in a way-the-heck-off-Broadway play called The Z-Axis.

  “Hey, Mr. Parker!”

  Peter turned to see Tommy standing at his locker, wearing the same smart-aleck grin that Flash Thompson used to wear when he was about to torment young Peter Parker. Some of Tommy’s friends were nearby, cleaning out their lockers and grabbing their jackets and books. “Yeah, Tommy?”

  To Peter’s surprise, the grin fell, and Tommy sounded serious. “That speech you gave today—I gotta say it really really really sucked.” By the time he reached the last two words, the grin was back.

  Putting a hand on Tommy’s shoulder, Peter said, “Well, Tommy, under normal circumstances I’d say that you just have to tough it out until June, at which point you’ll never have to take general science again.”

  Tommy looked confused. “Whaddaya mean ‘normal circumstances’?”

  Peter smiled. “Well, if you keep going the way you’re going, you’re gonna have to take it all over again in summer school after you flunk.” Removing the hand, and taking pleasure in the guffaws from Tommy’s friends, Peter continued walking toward the faculty lounge.

  He entered the tiny room that served as the teachers’ refuge from the students. The furniture was brand-new when it was purchased shortly after World War II, the refrigerator sounded like a motorcycle with a muffler problem and only intermittently kept its contents below room temperature, and the grout in the tilework around the sink could, at this point, qualify as an alien life-form.

  Just remember, Parker, you chose this job. If nothing else, it provided a more steady income than freelance photography ever had.

  “How do you do it?”

  Peter turned to see one of the math teachers, Elizabeth Doyle, sitting on the green sofa with the red cushions, clutching a can of diet soda for dear life.

  “Do what, Liz?”

  “Keep that smile on your face.” She shook her head. “Damn newbies, always thinking this job’s a calling and that it’s noble. It’s a job. And like every job, it sucks.”

  Walking over to the coffeemaker on the counter, Peter said, “Oh believe me, Liz, I’ve been at jobs that suck.” He saw that there was about one cup left in the pot, and reached for the handle with one hand while opening the cabinet to retrieve his mug with the other. “But here at least I feel like I’m accomplishing something.”

  Liz looked at him like he’d grown another head. “If you say so. Don’t you have Velasquez in your class?”

  Peter nodded as he poured the coffee into the mug, steam twirling up from it.

  She shook her head. “That’s an expulsion waiting to happen. I’m telling you, the only way he’s not expelled by the end of the year is if he gets himself killed.”

  Whatever Peter was going to say in response was lost when he made the mistake of actually drinking the coffee. Closing his eyes and trying not to think too hard about what he was doing, he swallowed it. “I see they’re still using yesterday’s dishwater for the coffee.”

  Holding up her can, Liz said, “That’s why I stick with the soda machines. Safer.”

  “Yah.” Peter poured the rest of the coffee into the sink. I can always grab a cup at home before going on patrol. “Anyhow, I think it’s important—”

  Liz held up a hand. “I swear, Pete, you tell me you took this job to give something back to the school that taught you so much, I will throw up right here on this sofa.”

  Peering at the cushions, Peter smiled and said, “Might improve the color.”

  Shaking her head, Liz hauled herself up from the couch and drank down the rest of her soda. “You’re a crazy man, Pete.”

  “I think that was part of the job description when they hired me. ‘Must have been crazy since the age of eighteen.’”

  Liz chuckled. “Sad, but true. You need a lift home?”

  “Nah, I’ll walk. Thanks, though.” Peter had accepted lifts home from Liz a few times, but with MJ not being home, he wasn’t in any particular rush. The walk back to the apartment would help him decompress.

  “Smart man, no car in this town. Wouldn’t have one myself, but you try gettin’ to Bayside by mass transit from here.”

  Having spent most of his youth navigating the Queens bus lines, Peter felt Liz’s pain. The only subway that came close to Bayside, the 7, didn’t come through Forest Hills. She was definitely better off with a car, even the ’86 Chevy junker that she drove.

  After saying his good-byes to Liz, Peter went by the science office to drop off his books and check his mail. Peter had spent most of his time since high school learning to travel with what he could put in his pockets. His school-related stuff remained in the science office—he didn’t have anything to grade tonight, and he’d prepare for tomorrow’s lessons in the morning—and everything else he needed fit in either his pants or jacket. It was a bit nippy out on this spring day, but Peter was wearing a skintight outfit underneath his button-down shirt, jacket, and slacks, so he figured he’d be warm enough.

  Bidding farewell to his fellow science teachers—several of whom made their usual disparaging remarks about Peter’s leaving all his work at the office—he headed toward the exit, allowing the teenagers dashing through the halls to get to their parents’ cars or the bus stop or just out to zip past him. Among the many gifts the dying spider had conferred upon him was a sixth sense that he referred to as his “spider-sense,” which allowed him to avoid danger. In practical terms it meant that, in a hallway full of high school kids desperate to be outside, not one of them crashed or bumped into Peter.

  The biggest buzz from that extra sense came just as Peter was approaching the metal door at the end of the hall and was about to push the horizontal bar in to release it. Stopping his forward motion and moving to the side gracefully—and so quickly that he doubted anyone would even notice—Peter avoided being rear-ended by Javier. For his part, Javier stumbled forward unsteadily, not even acknowledging Peter’s presence.

  I was expecting another dirty look from him at the very least.

  Resolving to live with the disappointment, Peter followed Javier to the sidewalk. During the one hour after school let out, this side street was closed to vehicular traffic except for the city buses that Midtown High commissioned to serve as shuttles to various neighborhoods. They were lined up one in front of the other on the curb, kids milling toward the front doors, faculty proctors making a valiant (and futile) attempt to keep the students in some semblance of single file. Peter shuddered, knowing that he would catch this duty in two weeks and dreading it.

  Then he whirled back toward Javier—mainly because the spider-sense buzz Peter got off the kid hadn’t died down.

  In fact, it was intensifying.

  “Yo, Javier, ’sup with you, man?” asked one of his friends. Peter didn’t know the kid’s given name, but had seen him before hanging out with Javier, who called him Nariz. Given the enormous schnozz on the kid, the nickname—the Spanish word for “nose”—fit.

  Nariz held up his hand, expecting Javier to clasp it in return, but Javier was just standing unsteadily in the middle of the sidewalk. “You gonna leave me hangin’, yo?”

  With each passing second, Peter’s spider-sense buzz increased in intensity. Javier was wobbly on his feet, but he didn’t move or speak.

  Just as Peter was about to find a place to change into his other outfit, Nariz lightly tapped Javier on the shoulder with the back of his hand. “’Sup, yo, you dissin’ me now? What up with that?”

  “Get offa me!”

  Even as Javier said the words, he backhanded Nariz in the face. In and of itself, that would have been unremarkable, except that the blow sent Nariz twenty feet down the sidewalk, knocking over a group of seniors who were congregating.

  Fourteen-year-old kids don’t usually have that kind of strength, Peter thought as he realized that he wasn’t going to have time to change clothes.

  Especially when he saw that Javier’s complexion had changed from its usual dark skin tone to an emerald green.

  There is absolutely no way this can be good. Super strength and green skin was a combination that generally meant enhancement by gamma radiation—the most spectacular example being the Hulk. How does a street kid from Queens get gamma-irradiated? Peter asked himself, but saved it for later. Maybe he got bitten by a radioactive wombat—worry about that when he isn’t about to tear up the street and the students.

  One of the security guards at this door was a retired cop named Pat “Lefty” Lefkowitz, who’d been keeping an eye on things at Midtown High since before Peter’s student days. Upon seeing Javier clock someone, he waddled over toward the kid, hand on the butt of his .38 revolver. Peter, hoping to keep this civil and knowing full well he probably couldn’t, also moved toward Javier. If nothing else, maybe I can keep Lefty’s gun in its holster.

  “’Ey, Velasquez, wha’d I tell you about—”

  Javier turned around and snarled. His face was getting greener by the second, and Peter noticed that he was also growing, his new physique straining against his clothes.

  “Sweet Jesus!” Lefty cried, and unholstered his revolver.

  Before he could fire a shot, Javier was on the retired cop, punching him in his huge belly, sending Lefty sprawling against the metal door, wheezing. Peter swore he heard the sound of bones cracking.

  Kids and faculty alike started screaming, but Peter tried not to pay attention to any of it. Grabbing Javier’s arm, he whirled the kid around into one of the metal doors, hoping that his own super strength would give the push enough force to render the kid at least insensate for a few minutes until one of the other guards showed up with a pair of handcuffs.

  Unfortunately, being smashed into a metal door served only to make Javier angry. “Kill you!” he cried as he jumped at Peter, who could only let Javier knock him to the ground, using his abilities to roll with the attack enough so that it only hurt a little when they collided with the pavement.

  “Get offa him, Velasquez!”

  Peter recognized the voice of the other security guard assigned to this door, an ex-jock with delusions of competence named Brian Klein, but Brian’s words concerned Peter a lot less than Javier’s face. He was as green as the Hulk now, and based on the way he’d slammed into Peter’s rib cage, he was starting to get near the Hulk’s strength class, too.

  Before Peter could kick Javier off him—and later come up with a feeble explanation for how a skinny white science teacher could toss a superstrong kid around—Javier suddenly screamed as if he was in pain, rearing his head back and shouting at the clear sky.

  Then the kid collapsed right on top of Peter.

  Deciding discretion was the better part of keeping his secrets safe, Peter played the helpless teacher and whimpered, “Uh, help?”

  Javier, now a dead weight on Peter’s chest, started twitching. A moment later, the weight was gone, as Brian had rolled him off. Clambering to his feet, Peter looked down to see the green hue fading from Javier’s epidermis, even as the kid was convulsing.

  From the ground, Lefty said, “I called 911.” Peter turned to see Lefty still on the ground, but holding a cell phone. He clambered to his feet, wincing in a manner Peter recognized as that of a man with cracked ribs.

  “Good call, old-timer,” Brian said.

  Lefty snapped, “Don’t call me old-timer, you little punk.” Lefty, Peter knew, had never had much use for Brian. “You okay, Pete?”

  Peter nodded. “Just a little winded.”

  Brian stared at Peter. “That was a brave thing you did, Parker—throwing him into the door like that.”

  “Brave, hell, that was just stupid.” Lefty was now clambering slowly to his feet. “Leave the security to the guards next time, Pete.”

  “Yeah, like you flat on your ass?” Brian asked with a sneer.

  Javier’s convulsing started getting worse. Peter also noticed he was sweating.

  “Ambulance should be here in a minute,” Lefty said, ignoring Brian. “Figures that Velasquez is usin’ as well as dealin’. We—”

  “I kick his ass!”

  Peter whirled around to see that Nariz was back on his feet.

  “Where the hell is he, I gonna kick—”

  Even as he spoke, Peter had moved to intercept him faster than Brian or Lefty could have. “Easy, Javier’s already down.”

  “Get out the way, teacher-man, I gonna—”

  Peter forcibly stopped Nariz, putting his right hand on the boy’s left shoulder and his left hand on the kid’s right biceps.

  Giving Peter a menacing look that probably would’ve scared most science teachers, Nariz—who was bleeding from his outsized hooter— said, “You best be lettin’ go’a me, teacher-man.”

  “Javier’s not going anywhere, Nariz. Take a look.” He gestured with his head to the ground, where Javier was still twitching, without actually taking his eye off Nariz. Nariz looked down at Javier. “Damn.” He looked at Lefty. “Wha’d you do to him?”

  “He didn’t do anything,” Peter said quickly before Lefty or Brian responded in kind. “He just collapsed. Is he on anything that would do that?”

  Nariz just stared at Peter. “You got two seconds to be lettin’ go’a me ’fore I get up in yo’ face.”

  Peter let go just as he heard sirens growing closer.

  Turning his back on Peter, Nariz walked away. “This ain’t over.”

  The ambulance pulled in behind one of the buses. Only then did Peter notice the crowd that had gathered, barely being held in check by a couple of faculty members and the other security guards, who’d come to check out the ruckus.

  One of the English teachers, a small woman named Constance Dobson, looked at Peter and shook her head. “The guard was right about what you did, y’know.”

  Not sure which guard she meant, Peter asked, “About being brave or about being stupid?”

  “Both.”

  Unable to help it, Peter laughed. “Yeah, maybe. Still, if I hadn’t done anything—”

  “Lefty or Brian woulda taken care of it. Leave that to the pros, Parker.”

  “I’ll remember that,” Peter lied. He’d stood by and done nothing when he had the power to help once. It was a mistake he would never make again.

  The EMTs started working on Javier, and based on their chatter, they were assuming he was coming down off a shot of ecstasy. Peter frowned. That doesn’t track—he was straight in class. He had to have taken it after the bell rang. But you don’t burn through an X high that quick.

  But then, an X high didn’t turn you green and give you superstrength.

  Nariz was right, Peter thought as he brushed off the paramedic who approached, assuring her that he was fine. This isn’t over.

  TWO

  AN old saying had it that familiarity bred contempt, which explained why Eileen Velasquez hated Parkway Hospital so much. She’d certainly spent enough time here, and she’d come to despise the place.

  It all started when she was pregnant with her first child, Orlando. The pregnancy was deemed high-risk by the doctors, and she spent the four months leading up to his birth checked into the OB/GYN ward on twenty-four-hour bed rest. She hadn’t wanted another child after that, and she had talked her husband, Carlos, into letting her get one of those fancy birth control implants. Unfortunately, something about the implant didn’t work right, and she became pregnant with Javier. That pregnancy went fine, though the labor took twenty-three hours, and she spent all twenty-three back here again. Somehow, Carlos talked her into a third child, which became four when her doctor told her she had twins: Jorge and Manuel.

  Then Orlando got into that accident with his bike, necessitating an emergency-room trip. Then Javier got into a fight at school, the first of many. Then they found out that Manuel had a bone disease, one not shared by Jorge. That meant lots more trips to and from not only Parkway Hospital, but also Mount Sinai in Manhattan, to visit the specialist.

  And then there was the accident.

  Eileen worked at Dilmore, Ward, and Greenberger, Attorneys-at-Law, as a receptionist. It was there that she got the phone call from Mr. Harrington, the principal of Midtown High, saying there was an “incident.” Usually that was code for “Javier got into a fight,” which it turned out was true again as far as it went—but that Javier had been high on something was a new twist.