School Life Is… Fun?
Leaning toward Mary Jane so the rest of the class wouldn't hear, I whispered:
"MJ," — the girl turned to me, — "are Flash and Harry, like, a thing?"
I nodded in the direction of the two students now walking to their seats together.
"Peter, aren't you the one of the two of us who's been going to this school their whole life?" Mary Jane smirked. Mischievous sparks danced in her eyes.
"Well, I skipped a lot, and all this school drama never really interested me," I answered evasively.
"Fair enough," MJ didn't argue. "Well, from what I've heard from the girls, Flash has been trying to get into Osborn's pants for years," she explained.
"Is that such a difficult task?" I was genuinely surprised — like Osborn would ever turn down a chance to sleep with a girl…
That jerk had one-upped me even in the past world, I thought, looking at Mary Jane — and he wasn't the only one. I glanced at Thompson. It was probably a good thing if they stayed occupied with each other.
"Harder than you'd think," MJ smirked, looking at Flash with a mixture of envy and schadenfreude.
"Really?" Could I have been worried for nothing? In this world, women pursued men's favor — but surely catching Harry Osborn in a woman's net wasn't that difficult? I took another careful look at my former friend and enemy. Harry stood out favorably from most of the men I'd encountered on the street: handsome, well-built, dressed decently, and without any of the effeminate qualities or other distinctly male peculiarities of this world. I wouldn't be surprised if this guy had already done a thorough job of thinning the flower garden of our class.
"From what I've seen: Harry uses Thompson to keep the other girls away from him," the girl explained — then looked at Osborn and bit her lip.
Damn it, MJ, I know that look. I used to like it — you used to look at me that way. No, MJ, for the love of god, please no.
Maybe being cut off from male attention had preserved your innocence, but it clearly hadn't done your character any favors. The old Harry used to say a girl like that was practically falling out of her underwear, and given his father's financial standing, he had some experience with girls like that. As much as I didn't want to think about MJ in those terms — the reality was that if Osborn so much as crooked a finger at her… damn.
"To your seats, all of you," came Sarasti's cold voice from the doorway. Like a command to a dog. No one disobeyed.
"Wasting time on nonsense means you're ready for the test," Yukka walked to the lectern and surveyed the class. For a moment her gaze lingered on MJ.
I felt the girl tense beside me, but a moment later the teacher had already moved on.
"Thompson, come here," Flash obediently rose from her seat and followed the instruction. "Hand out the test papers."
Mary Jane beside me exhaled in relief.
"Looks like I'm in the clear," she whispered.
Right, we just had the small matter of cheating in a way that Sarasti wouldn't catch with her dead, unblinking stare.
"The test has fifty questions," Sarasti was saying in the meantime. "To receive an excellent, you must answer forty-five correctly. Forty for a good. Anything below thirty-five is unsatisfactory."
The test wasn't difficult for me — I could have finished it in five minutes. Naturally I didn't. Instead I filled in one answer per minute, carefully pretending to double-check each one. Meanwhile I was looking at the questions on Mary Jane's sheet, which she'd slid toward the edge of the desk.
Yukka wasn't sitting idle at her desk — she walked between the rows, catching the desperate ones who tried to cheat. When Sarasti's back was turned to me and MJ, I used my fingers to signal first the question number, then the correct answer.
Even with glasses I couldn't make out most of the questions clearly, and the girl had to fill in a large portion on her own.
At one point Sarasti stopped directly between me and Mary Jane and stood there for several minutes.
"Parker," — MJ flinched at the teacher's voice and broke into a sweat.
"Yes," I answered without a waver.
"What do you think of Miss Thompson's chest?" Sarasti asked in a cold voice.
"Um," — I'll admit I froze for a couple of seconds at that question — "I think it looks fine."
"Does it?" Sarasti sounded surprised. "I had the impression something was off. Take a closer look, Parker — you'll see it too."
"No matter how closely I look, I'm afraid I can't make out the details through clothing," I said drily. "If you want details, ask Osborn."
By this point the entire class had looked up from their tests and was staring at us. My last remark drew surprised whispers, and Sarasti apparently decided to end the performance:
"It seems to me that Miss Thompson's right side looks somewhat larger than usual today. Hand it over," — Yukka extended an open palm toward Flash.
Under the astonished gaze of the entire class, the girl pulled a cheat sheet from her bra.
"You may go, Miss Thompson," Sarasti said flatly.
An irate Flash stood, grabbed her bag, and stormed into the corridor — but never dared say a word to the teacher. Yukka meanwhile walked to the front of the class and, without turning around, spoke again:
"There's no need to show the class your tights, Miss Sanders — you may join Thompson, but wash the ink off your thigh first."
Another unfortunate soul left the room.
For the rest of the lesson Mary Jane didn't even dare glance in my direction. I'd given her a head start of ten correct answers — if she managed at least twenty-five on her own, she'd avoid a failing grade.
"Time," Yukka announced. "Since Miss Thompson has left us — Osborn, collect the papers."
Many students were scribbling their last answers in the final seconds, but no one dared ask for extra time under Sarasti's stern gaze.
Handing Harry her paper, a dejected Mary Jane was already moving to leave the classroom, but the teacher stopped her.
"There are still five minutes until the bell, Watson — aren't you interested in your result?"
"I know I failed," MJ muttered.
"I said sit down," the teacher ordered without raising her voice. "I wouldn't be so sure if I were you."
Sarasti began reading out the results with the speed and accuracy of a computer. One glance was all she needed to check the correctness of answers — I couldn't have done that. By some whim, Yukka set Mary Jane's paper aside and didn't announce her result until only two sheets remained.
"Watson: thirty correct answers," — Sarasti paused — "three."
A murmur rose in the class. Even students who had missed a passing grade by a single point had never been given a three from Sarasti. The girls' indignation exceeded even their fear of the authoritative teacher.
"Parker," the woman continued, ignoring the discontent. "Forty-nine correct answers — three."
The classroom went silent.
"Heh," I smirked. "Fair enough. Where did I go wrong?"
Sarasti raised an eyebrow.
"In the test, I mean. I have forty-nine points, which means one answer was wrong."
"You didn't account for the sign of the electron's charge in question thirty-nine."
"Thank you — I need to pay closer attention to details."
"Wait, that's not right," Harry jumped to his feet. "Even if Parker's a genius, he studies on the same curriculum as the rest of us — you can't give him a three for one mistake."
Wow — he stood up for me, and in front of Sarasti, no less, even though we're not even friends in this world.
"Why did you make an exception only for Watson?" one of the students who had failed dared to ask.
"No exceptions and no special treatment," Sarasti countered. "Together they scored seventy-nine points — less than eighty percent, which means a three. This is a lesson, Mr. Parker: if you want to help a friend with tests, do it in advance."
"I understand," I answered calmly. The bell rang a moment later.
"Dismissed," Sarasti announced.
The moment we stepped out of the classroom, the entire class locked their attention on me and Mary Jane.
"Peter," Mary Jane began. "I'm so sorry — it's all because of me."
"Hey, I was the one who offered to help," I objected. "And it's just a three in physics — who cares."
To say everyone was surprised would be an understatement. I had just steamrolled right over the reputation Peter had built up over years of school. First — Peter Parker would never have offered anyone to cheat off him. Second — he was always extremely meticulous about his grades. He might skip class for a week, but when he showed up he worked for an excellent mark. Third — hearing a swear word from Parker's mouth… no one had ever witnessed such a thing.
"That Sarasti is just a bitch," Osborn said, glancing around to make sure the teacher wasn't nearby. "She had no right to mark you down — you answered almost perfectly."
"Come on, Sarasti didn't do anything wrong. It might not be by the rules, but she's right — it was a good lesson."
***
The rest of the school day passed without incident. If you didn't count the fact that my classmates started talking to me. The morning episode had helped me fit in with the group.
Mary Jane, on the other hand, was clearly not happy about the three, and guilt was still gnawing at her — even though I repeated multiple times that I didn't care about the test grade. Even the classmates who had initially disapproved of MJ's behavior eventually conceded, under my persistent argument, that they would have done the same in her position.
At lunch I sat next to Mary Jane again. The girl looked at me and offered an apologetic smile.
"Still thinking about that nonsense?" I started.
"No, I just… it's awkward, I should have told Sarasti to give me a failing grade," I rolled my eyes. How long was this going to go on?
"Okay. If you want to make up for your 'guilt,'" — I put the last word in air quotes — "come with me tonight, say, to the Bunker."
"Holy shit!" Flash exclaimed nearby. "Did I die and wake up in a parallel world? Peter Parker is going to a nightclub with a girl… NO WAY!"
"Who are you and what did you do with Peter Parker?" Harry demanded, jabbing a fork in my direction accusingly.
Of course I laughed along with everyone at the joke… it was a joke, right?
"So what do you say, MJ — are you coming?" I repeated the question.
"I don't know what happened in class, but I'm willing to make it up to Watson if she doesn't want to go," Flash announced.
"No — I mean, yes, of course I'll go," the girl answered quickly.
Victory! Although that was too easy… as easy as if the old me had suddenly had Mary Jane make a move on me herself. I had probably just demonstrated deviant behavior to the entire class — it wasn't customary here for a boy to make the first move toward a girl he liked. But I didn't care. I could only thank fate for such a magnificent opportunity.
***
Flash gave me and MJ a ride home. We agreed to meet at ten that evening and parted ways.
It felt so unusual… I leaned the back of my head against the front door, processing the day that had just passed. I'd gone to school. And I'd liked it. Who would have thought?
With a stupid smile on my face, I heated up the soup and, whistling "The Way You Make Me Feel," turned on the television. I found a channel showing some stand-up comedian — a woman, naturally. Plenty of jokes about men, penises, and sex — funny ones, but ones that made me cringe with secondhand embarrassment on behalf of the speaker's former lovers.
During a commercial break I saw an advertisement featuring Spider-Woman. The girl was promoting insect repellent. Ironic.
She reminded me of something. Personal happiness was all well and good, and I wasn't going to cancel my evening plans — but there was work to be done.
Going back to my room, I loaded the Stans project data onto a flash drive, and at the same time pulled up the Empire State University website to check Connors' schedule. Two lectures today, the last one ending in three hours. That worked. A taxi would get me there in ten minutes… what to do with the remaining time?
My eyes fell on the web-shooter prototype. I'd started building it without thinking much about why, then stopped when I realized the materials on hand would only be enough for something resembling my very first attempts. After the masterpieces I'd made using Van Miao's nanomaterial technology and atmospheric moisture condensation, spending time and energy on something this primitive seemed pointless… but why not? Web-shooters were like a third arm to me — even without spider-sense, reflexes, agility, and strength, I could use them in an emergency. Better than carrying a weapon.
I had everything I needed: the experience, the materials for the mechanism, the ingredients. So why hadn't I made them yet?
Leaving the house two and a half hours later, I also grabbed all my cash — on the way back I'd stop to pick up some decent clothes, because I was going to a party.
The taxi driver, unsurprisingly, was a woman. A very talkative woman. So talkative that five minutes into the ride I was contemplating whether a web gag would suit her.
Fortunately the journey was short, and twenty minutes later I was standing outside the classroom door — Connors' lecture was due to finish any minute now.