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What If: Whence Came the Spider by Bill Hart For those of you who know me not, I am Uatu. But to those select few of you, who reside upon the aqua blue gem known as, and named, simply Earth, which circles a small yellow star they call Sol, I am known more simply as - the Watcher. And yet, Watcher is less an appellation than it is the generic functionality of my entire race. From my secret base, whose exact location is known only to those select few humans outside my ancient race, cradled within a crater on the farside of the Earth's only moon, I observe, as do we all, who are known as Watchers. As you might guess, it is our sole purpose in life. We watch. And it is for that selfsame reason, we have come to be widely known as the race of Watchers and, as a result, the true name of our ancient race has been forever lost, even to us. Whatever activity unfolds within the confines of the multiverse, one of us shall always be there to observe it. And, as we have watched since before the dawn of time itself, we shall continue our vigilant watch until time itself no longer holds a valid meaning. As is also required of all Watchers, I have been pledged eternally to the Oath of Noninterference. I have given my word as a Watcher to uphold it. And, for the most part, I have not interfered with what has transpired. But I do chronicle all that is, all that was, and all that will be, as well as anything and everything that might have been, may be, or might yet become. These are all included within our many duties, which not only define who a Watcher is, but also explain exactly what a Watcher does. In the vast expanse of the multiverse, any event may transpire in infinite combinations and permutations. Whatever is possible, however unlikely, or even impossible in any given aspect, must occur somewhere within the confines of the boundless multiverse. In one aspect of reality, some happenstance may hold great importance. While in another, perhaps just as equally possible or perhaps not, that very same happening may be totally inconsequential. It might be both of great importance and of no consequence. Or perhaps, neither. Mayhaps, that one event might describe some great causal nexus. And then again, perhaps not. I shall relate to you all, one such eventuality that might be of passing interest to some of you - and yet. to others, of no great interest at all. This incident of which I speak might have happened many years ago ... in, what I believe might be, the summer of 1962 by that peculiar way time is reckoned upon most of the Earths within the multiverse ... And yet, it may not have occurred on others ... yet. But, as I have previously stated, any such an event, as the one I shall describe, more often than not, manifests quite differently across the any string of divergent aspects of the multiverse. There are perhaps some of you who may have heard some tale similar to that which I propose to tell you now. And perhaps some of you have never heard a word of it before. Perhaps, I have told this tale before. And yet, perhaps I have not. It is a most remarkable tale of a young man, a high school student, by the name of Peter Parker. In the infinite number of the worlds of the multiverse where he continues to exist, his tale is often a most interesting one. But then, just as often, it is not. Sometimes both he and his story are important. And yet other times, they are not. In some frames of reality, Richard and Mary Parker were not killed in an overseas airplane crash, and young Peter had no reason to be sent to live with his Uncle Ben and Aunt May. And in a few others, young Peter had accompanied his parents on that fateful day. But in more of these frames than might reasonably be expected by any rational probabilistic determination, young Peter Parker, almost always an honor student at Midtown High School in Forest Hills, New York, was bitten on the hand by a spider. Not unusual, you say. And some of you are now whispering to yourselves, saying you've heard this story before. But what consequently happened to the spider-bitten Peter Parker, citizen of the multiverse, was remarkably dependent upon just which aspect of the multiverse he resided. In some, the spider was no more and no less than an ordinary arachnid. Young Parker received a painful bite to be sure, but, discounting some recurring bouts of nausea, experienced by a few of those Peters, nothing momentous or of any great consequence resulted from those bites. But those bites by harmless spiders are mostly irrelevant. It is in those frames in which the spiders had been accidentally and massively irradiated that has resulted in this otherwise "not unusual" event becoming the nexus it has become. In some, the dying spider's bite mutagenically infused the young man with the incredible senses and proportionate strength of that spider. As a result, Peter Parker became a superhero, of sorts, and an inspiration to those who had been as he had been. In some, the venom in that single bite alone caused Peter to undergo horrific mutations, which consequently destroyed his life and many of those around him. The growing of eight legs was a quite common alteration of his form, as was also the development of multifaceted eyes. But the common thread running through all of these worlds was the transformed young student becoming a hunted pariah, who was thought nothing more than some woeful monstrosity by nearly everyone. In some, the bite simply killed him outright. Sometimes, very peacefully. And sometimes, mercifully quick. But oft times, neither. But most oddly, in many of those worlds of the infinite multiverse where Peter Parker never - not even for the briefest of instants - actually existed, his name, as well as his alter-ego's name, has become almost legendary. Nearly all of his heroic exploits, as well as the majority of his agonizing failures, have been somehow captured in print. In that particular infinite subset of the infinite worlds, they are read, almost as if they might be someone's transcribed dreams, as fiction, either as some great novel of _amazing_ adventures or, much more commonly, in some relatively obscure graphical format. Such is the nature of the multiverse that I might easily speak for many endless days on just a few of his more interesting transformative episodes, but instead of doing so, let me turn the clock back, or forward, as is necessary. Let us watch one such episode together. Let us all view those events, even as I, Uatu the Watcher, first observed, or shall observe them, so many years past, or yet to come. * * * * * It was a day that started out just like any other day for high school honors student Peter Parker. He had eaten breakfast with his Aunt May and Uncle Ben, who had taken him in when his parents, Richard and Mary Parker, had been killed in an airplane crash while overseas. Peter had been only six years old at the time. But Peter, who, as his honors status in science would attest, was exceptionally bright, was also painfully shy and unassuming. And when his shyness was coupled with his scholastic interests and aptitude - a very deadly combination for any _teen_ attending high school - Peter Parker fit the mold of social outcast perfectly. He was seen as standoffish, as well as someone to be avoided by his fellow students, most of whom had never taken any time to get to know him. And this day was no different. As Peter arrived for classes at Midtown High School, he saw a group of his fellow students standing just inside the gate. They must have seen him. "Say gang," said one of the guys, his back turned towards Peter. "We still need another guy for the dance tonight! How about Peter Parker over there?" Flash Thompson began laughing. Flash was everything Peter wasn't - a football hero, and very popular - not that it bothered Peter much, except where Liz Allan was concerned. Maybe Liz was the reason that Peter and Flash didn't get along very well. But on the other hand, maybe it was because Peter thought him a loudmouthed, obnoxious, muscle- bound oaf. "Are you kidding?" chuckled Flash. "That bookworm can't possibly know how to dance. He'd never be able to tell a tango from a waltz." "Peter Parker?" smiled Liz Allan, joining in the _fun_. "He's Midtown High's only professional wallflower!" Of course, Peter had heard the exchange between Flash and his friends. Obviously, he'd been meant to hear, as he wasn't standing all that far away from them. They weren't overly concerned whether or not he heard them - he wasn't one of them. But Liz's remark stung. How could she say those kinds of things about him? Peter slinked away. If he heard Liz Allan, no one will ever know. "He heard us," she told the others. She hadn't meant to be unkind or make his day miserable, but somehow she just said things without thinking, whenever she was hanging around Flash. "So what!" roared Flash. And the crowd surrounding Flash roared with laughter. * * * * * * However, Peter Parker could always lose himself in his science classes. From within those hallowed halls, whatever his peers thought of him was nothing more than inconsequential. And yet the faculty, even if his fellow students couldn't, seemed to fully recognize the great potential of young Peter Parker. That day in class, as Peter finished his assigned experiment, his science teacher approached. "Keep up the good work, Parker," commended Mr. Warren. "and you're sure to rate a scholarship when you graduate." Peter beamed with pride. "I'll do my best, sir." * * * * * * However, once outside his science classroom, the real world crowded in again. And there, everything was the still the same. Peter walked outside those places his classmates walked. And teenagers, even then, had always been able to be cruel without ever knowing or having meant to be cruel. "Sally, I, eh, was wondering," said Peter as he approached the pretty brunette, "if you're not busy tonight..." Sally Avril sighed in response. "For the umpteenth time, Peter," she replied, "you're just not my type ..." Flash Thompson walked past them. "... not when dreamboats like Flash Thompson are around!" 'Not Flash Thompson again,' thought Peter. "I admire your good taste in men, doll," replied Flash with a wide grin Peter wanted to shove to the back of his face. Flash turned back to Peter. "Now, get lost, bookworm!" And Peter agonizingly watched as Flash and Sally strolled off together arm in arm. 'Why me?' thought Peter. But as he continued towards the school gate, he encountered Liz Allan with a group of her friends. "There's a great new exhibit at the science hall tonight," Peter told them. "Would any of you like to go with me tonight?" "Science hall?" asked one of the boys. "Hah!" "Tell you what Parker," said another of the boys with Liz. "_You_ stick to your science. _We'll_ take the chicks." He laughed, as did Liz and the other girl with them. Peter stared after them as they climbed into the first boy's car and drove away. "Someday," he muttered, "I'll show them." He wiped away a tear that had begun to form. "Someday ... they'll all be sorry! Some day ... they'll be sorry they always laughed at me." * * * * * * Uatu here again. Please forgive my brief interruption. It should be noted that in a great many of these frames of the multiverse, Peter Parker did indeed partake of his revenge - or indulged his anger, whichever you prefer - on his fellow students, who had endlessly tormented him. His revenge - as it often is with revenge - solved ... nothing. It brought only more pain and misery, mostly to those who did not deserve to suffer such pain and misery. And for those, who could not or, more likely, would not learn, his actions were the first of many such incidents that resulted only in needless pain and anguish. There were just too few who would admit that a serious problem needed to be addressed. And, unfortunately, those few, who believed such a problem existed, could never agree just where the problem lie. * * * * * * Alone, as usual, Peter attended the science exhibits that afternoon, instead of waiting for the evening. It would prove to be a fateful decision. The public exhibition was sponsored by the General Techtronics Corporation, primarily to demonstrate their advances in the safe handling of nuclear laboratory waste materials. And once Peter was inside, the wonders of science made him quickly forget the taunts and jibes from his fellow classmates. Peter stopped in front of one of the first exhibits. It appeared they were getting ready for a live demonstration. "And now for a demonstration of how we can control radioactive emissions in our safe laboratory environment," said one of the technicians, who had been setting things up. However, as the experiment began, no one noticed a small spider slowly descending from the hall's ceiling along a nearly invisible single strand of webbing. But, even had anyone noticed its descent, it was unlikely the experiment would have been delayed to remove one little inconsequential spider, who was just going to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. As a result, the spider, unknown to anyone at the time, was quickly and massively irradiated. It fell from its strand of web. And in its death throes, it lashed out and bit the human hand on which it landed. "Ow!" exclaimed Peter Parker, at the sudden shock of his hand being bitten. As he raised his hand, Peter observed the source of the annoying and painful bite. "A spider. That's what bit me," he said, mostly to himself. "But why is it burning so? And why is it glowing that way?" But suddenly, the young science student began to feel dizzy, and very peculiar. Shaking the dead spider off his hand, he then raised his hand to his forehead. "My head feels strange," he told those around him. "I think I need some air." The lab technician smiled as he watched the woozy student leave the hall. Turning to Mr. Warren, he observed, "It looks as though our little experiment unnerved your young student." "That's too bad," replied Peter's science teacher. "I never realized that young Parker had such a weak stomach." * * * * * * As he left the exhibit hall in a daze, Peter paid little attention where he was walking. He had other, more important, thoughts occupying his mind. "What's happening to me?" he wondered aloud. "I feel ... somehow ... different. Almost as if my entire body had been charged with some sort of incredible energy!" Lost totally in his thoughts, Peter failed to hear the approaching car, as he stepped out into the street without looking. Its horn blared out. And on sheer reflex instinct alone, Peter easily leapt out of harm's way. As his senses returned, Peter quickly realized what an incredible leap he had just made. He had to be at least thirty feet up the side of the nearby building. And, just by touching his fingertips to the wall, he was able to stick to it like a fly. Astonished by his new ability, Peter climbed the wall effortlessly. "What's come over me?" he asked himself, as he climbed the wall. "I've scaled this wall as easily as I can walk!" Within mere seconds he'd reached the roof. Reaching for the pipe to pull himself over the ledge and onto the roof, Peter was surprised once again. "What's this?" he exclaimed as he grabbed the pipe firmly. "I crushed this steel pipe as if it were made of paper." But why? And how? "It's the spider!" exclaimed Peter suddenly. "It must be the spider! Somehow ... in some strange and miraculous manner ... its bite has transferred its own power into me." Flushed with his newfound powers and abilities, Peter effortlessly walked up a nearby guy wire, with an astounding sense of balance and confidence unlike anything he had ever experienced before. And with equal agility, he "walked" down the wire using only his hands. It was all so amazing! But as he returned to the street, Peter realized he must have time to think about what had happened to him. For some unknown reason, he had been given these unbelievable abilities and powers. And, not yet knowing what he could, or should, do with them, he knew he faced making some very difficult decisions. * * * * * * Peter thought about what he should do with his powers all the way home, but he came to no conclusion. He couldn't even decide whether or not he should tell Aunt May and Uncle Ben about his newly obtained powers. But he'd scarcely been home a few minutes, when Aunt May sent him back out on an important errand for her. "I promised to deliver these old clothes for the community charity, Peter," Aunt May told him. "Would you please take them down to the National Guard Armory for me?" "Of course, Aunt May," replied Peter, as he kissed his aunt on the cheek. * * * * * * Arriving at the Armory, Peter decided he had the perfect opportunity to learn exactly what was possible with his new powers. Inside one of the buildings was an old carny-like challenge wrestling match with a sign that read "*$100* to the man who can stay in the ring three minutes with *CRUSHER HOGAN*." Quickly deciding this was an excellent chance to test his newly gained powers, Peter slipped into an nearby empty room and changed into some of the old clothes - a baggy sweatshirt and a faded pair of blue denims - Aunt May had given him to donate to charity. And not wanting to make himself a laughingstock in case he failed, he also donned a head- covering mask in order to conceal his true identity. "I'll try for that hundred dollars, Crusher," said the masked Peter, as he confidently approached the ring. The crowd snickered. It would take at least three of the masked stranger to even come close to the larger bulk of Crusher Hogan. Not a single soul in the crowd figured the match would last over twenty seconds. And no one believed the small challenger had a chance to win the hundred dollar prize. Most of them hoped he wouldn't be seriously hurt. Neither was Crusher worried about his opponent. "Well, well!" he chuckled as Peter entered the ring. "If it ain't some _little_ masked marvel. Step into the ring, sucker." And as the two of them faced one another, the wrestler sneered, "Now you just relax, little fella. I'll try to make this as painless as possible." But try as he might, the wrestler could not catch up with, or even touch, his masked challenger. As fast and agile as Crusher appeared to be, the little masked man was faster and more agile. Peter was constantly amazed at how easily he fought the professional wrestler. After picking up Crusher as if he were weightless, Peter carried him with ease as he danced along the top rope as if he were an accomplished tightrope walker. The young student was beside himself. "I have the speed ... the agility ... the very strength of a gigantic spider." "Put me _down_!" screamed Crusher to the delight of the crowd. "You win, kid! _You win_!" And as Peter gently set the wrestler down in the center of the ring, the apparently terrified wrestler added, "You ... You ain't human, kid! _Nobody_ can do those things you just did!" "Wanna bet?" asked the teenager. The crowd was stunned by what they'd seen. "Greatest act I've ever seen!" "Sensational!" "He was terrific!" "Great gimmick! That mask gives him just the right touch of mystery!" And after Peter had collected his one hundred dollar prize from the promoter, Peter was approached by a little man, who identified himself as the talent agent Maxie Shiffman, who'd been looking for a new act to promote. He promised Peter a spot on the "Ed Sullivan Show." And, even more importantly, he offered to make the powerful teenager a _fortune_. If Peter still had doubts about what he'd do with his new powers and fantastic abilities, they vanished when Maxie mentioned making him a fortune. With all that money, he'd be able to take care of Aunt May and Uncle Ben. And they'd never have to worry about money again. But as his new agent left, Peter rubbed his hand across his aching chest. He decided he must have pulled a muscle while he was showing off. It was pretty sore, but it should heal in time for the show next week. After all, Peter still wasn't used to having the abilities and proportionate strength of a spider, and he was certain he would heal quite quickly. * * * * * * Over the next few evenings, Peter secretly prepared for his television debut. He hadn't told Aunt May and Uncle Ben what had happened to him. And he definitely didn't want them finding out what was going on, before he could surprise them with his first enormous paycheck. While alone in his room, he designed himself a costume and then, with far less much trouble than he'd anticipated, he silk-screened his design onto a body stocking and a full-head mask. In order to capitalize and add to his increasing spider-like mystique, the teenage science student developed a fluid that, for all practical purposes, duplicated a spider's webbing. And to deliver his new webbing, he constructed mechanical reproductions of a spider's spinnerets, which, when worn on his wrists, could be easily activated with a simple touch of his finger. And finally, he decided on a stage name to call himself. The Amazing Spider-Man. * * * * * * And yet for Peter, if everything seemed reasonably normal, albeit somewhat more secretive than usual, in the evening hours, several events, all of which had occurred during the day, could not be considered even close to normal by the teen. One day, as he'd arrived at school, he had seen Liz Allan, who he'd known since they were kids and had always had a crush on, standing just inside the gate. And quite inexplicably, he'd looked at her and felt absolutely nothing. But only the day before he'd still had all his usual fantasies involving Liz. And yet, on that day, as well as every day since, he no longer seemed to be even remotely interested in her at all. In fact, the only thought that had crossed his mind with regard to Liz since then was that she'd look better wearing a shorter skirt and a soft cotton blouse instead of one of those sweaters she always wore. However, Peter knew he'd never been one to notice things like that before. And later on that same day, he had paid no attention to Marcy Kane as they'd passed in the hall going to their classes. Peter was just too caught in his daydreams to see her, although he might have been surprised had he been able to read her thoughts. As far as Marcy was concerned, being ignored was no big deal nor was it all that unusual - boys, even bookworms like Peter Parker, seldom noticed her. But that was fine with her, since she'd never really been all that interested in any of them. And yet today, Marcy had turned and watched Peter walk away with a growing sense of attraction for him. Marcy felt confused by this new feeling, which caused her to wonder if her long hidden, deep dark secret might no longer be true. After all, Peter was a boy, and she'd never felt such a powerful attraction to any boy before. Nor had he noticed, still later that same day, when he had casually walked right by Sally Avril, who he was forever asking out and she was always turning him down, as if she were totally invisible. However, walking past her, neither speaking to her nor acknowledging her presence, didn't seem to upset Peter in the slightest. But it certainly came as a rather large surprise to Sally. Never before had Peter Parker strolled past her as if she didn't exist. She didn't like what he'd done, but on the other hand, Sally found Peter's actions intriguing. Suddenly, she even thought he was kind of cute. She began wondering why the boy who was always pestering her for a date hadn't stopped to ask her out again. Just because she'd turned him down a few zillion times, didn't mean she'd turn him down now. If he'd asked, she might have said yes this time. But then, maybe he hadn't asked her out today because he thought there was something wrong with her. 'No, that couldn't be it,' she thought, as she continuing watching Peter walk away. "It just can't be _me_," she mumbled. "It must be _him_." And, although he had paid Sally the scantest of attention as he'd passed by, Peter noted to himself that she would look even prettier, if she'd only let her brunette hair grow out several inches. But Peter had also noticed, she did wear very beautiful clothes. "What is it with me and women's clothes all of a sudden?" mumbled Peter. But that thought reminded him of the previous day, when he'd walked home alone from Midtown High. For some reason he couldn't understand, he'd spent several hours window shopping, and totally lost track of the passage of time. He still wondered why all the girls had stared at him later. It wasn't as if he'd bought any of those clothes he'd seen in the windows. Even his science class, his last true bastion of relief from the world around him, failed to excite him as it always had before. And far worse, he'd begun having problems concentrating on the subject material. He'd never experienced these kinds of problems before, but he readily assumed that the expectations and thrills of his upcoming television appearance must somehow be clouding his mind, and obscuring his thought processes. He was certain everything would return to normal the day following the show. "Is there something wrong, Parker?" asked Mr. Warren at the conclusion of the last science class of the week. "No, sir," answered Peter quickly. "Everything is just fine, sir." And then, he turned and, most unlike Peter Parker, swiftly left the classroom and his puzzled teacher behind. But Mr. Warren, still unconvinced that all was well with his best student, could only shake his head. He'd seen these types of symptoms manifest before. And yet, he couldn't - no, he wouldn't - believe it of young Parker. He was far too intelligent for something like that. And not long after Peter had left his last class, he spotted Flash Thompson standing around near the front gate, with a group of his friends from the football team. For what felt like several minutes, Peter stared at the group of boys and Flash in particular. But all of a sudden, he realized what he was doing was wrong. He knew he had to get as far away from them as possible, before Flash spotted him. How could he explain staring at Flash, when he didn't know why he was doing it himself? And Peter also knew he already had more than enough troubles with Flash's crowd, just being his normal self. And, currently unable to explain his own actions, he definitely didn't want to add any new fuel to their taunting fires. Fortunately for him, Flash and his friends turned and walked out the gate. And a very confused Peter Parker quickly fled from the school grounds unobserved. "What is wrong with me?" he muttered to himself. And with a quick peek in the direction Flash had gone, he fearfully added, "And whatever could possibly make me think that big, dumb jerk Flash Thompson is such an incredible dreamboat?" * * * * * * Totally unable to comprehend his alien thoughts, Peter's mind shut down, while he ran all the way home. And after a three mile run, in slightly under six minutes, the young man wasn't even breathing hard. "Are you alright, Peter?" asked his aunt with obvious concern as he entered the house. "I'm fine, Aunt May," replied Peter, wondering what she had spotted. "That's good, dear," replied May Parker. "It just seemed that you got home so early today, Peter. I thought you might not be feeling well. You have looked a little peaked of late." "No, I'm fine, Aunt May," repeated Peter, more for her benefit than his. "Really, I am." Something was wrong, he knew, but he couldn't burden his aunt with his troubles. "I think I'll go up to my room and work on my homework before dinner." "Alright, Peter," smiled his aunt. But as Peter turned to go up the stairs to his room, he ran into Uncle Ben. "Excuse me, Uncle Ben," said the teen, "I didn't see you." Ben Parker laughed. "No problem, son," he told his nephew. "I assume you're on your way upstairs to do your school work." "Yes, sir," replied Peter. "Very well," replied his uncle. "But I think you should see about getting your hair cut before you go back to school next week. It's getting a little long." "Of course, Uncle Ben," replied Peter as he went up the stairs to his room. And yet, he remembered having his hair cut just last week. * * * * * * Entering his room, Peter uncharacteristically tossed his books on his bed. He went into the bathroom that adjoined his room and looked at his reflection in the mirror. His hair seemed only slightly longer than he remembered - it was just covering the tops of his ears. But he couldn't remember if it had been that long this morning. 'Strange,' he thought, 'my hair generally doesn't grow very fast.' And it also appeared that he might have lost a little weight. But it couldn't have been very much. And losing just a little weight wasn't a bad thing. Was it? At least, the muscle he'd pulled wrestling Crusher Hogan last week was no longer bothering him. He stretched out his arms. The muscle was still a little achy, but other than that it felt fine. Finally something seemed to be going his way. Peter went back to his room and sat on the edge of his bed. He yawned. And, also very uncharacteristically of him, he laid down and fell asleep. * * * * * * An hour or so later, Aunt May knocked on his door to tell him dinner was ready. And quite oddly, her light rapping woke him. "I'll be down in a minute," he replied to the closed door. "I need to wash my hands." And, after walking into the bathroom, he stared into the mirror. Not knowing what he'd actually been expecting, Peter breathed a heavy sigh of relief. He hadn't changed a bit while he'd been asleep. Now, if he could only figure out why he was no longer very hungry. * * * * * * It was an uneventful weekend in the Parker household. Neither Aunt May nor Uncle Ben suspected anything was amiss, when Peter told them late Sunday afternoon he was going to work on his science class project with a friend of his, and would be back sometime after supper. But it wasn't books he packed away in his bag. And it wasn't to a friend's house he went. * * * * * * Peter stopped at a gas station about a block away from the television studio to change clothes. No one was expecting Peter Parker, and he thought it best to arrive in full costume so that he might retain his anonymity. "Great costume, kid," remarked his agent Maxie Shiffman, as Peter entered in his self-made spider suit. "You're up next." Peter heard the applause as the act on stage finished. "Let's hear it," said Ed Sullivan to the audience, who applauded even more vigorously. "And now ... right here on our show ... straight from parts unknown ... the Amazing ... Spider-Man." Spider-Man calmly stepped onto the stage, then before anyone could say anything, he, quite impossibly to those who watched, scampered up the back wall of the set. After reaching the top, he turned around and just as easily, as well as just as impossibly to the observers, slowly rappelled down from the ceiling with webbing seemingly spun from his own fingertips. The crowd sat stunned, unable to speak. What they had just seen was impossible. Wasn't it? "I saw all that he did," whispered a man in the front row, "and I can't believe he did any of it. But _I_ saw it." After a few more tricks with his webbing, his allotted time was over. The crowd cheered wildly, without any prompting necessary. "Thank you, very much, Spider-Man," said Ed Sullivan. "Perhaps, we can get you to come back again. You were truly amazing, Spider-Man." * * * * * * Spider-Man was an instant celebrity. And Peter Parker basked in the attendant limelight. As he went out to speak with the reporters, he was astounded just how sweet his new found success actually tasted. "I'm with _Life_," said one of the gathered reporters. "You can name your price for a photo spread." "We'll beat any offer _they_ can make," said another. "I'm from _Look_." "Sign up with me!" shouted a man, wildly waving papers at the costumed man. "I'll put you in the movies. You'll be a star." "We only want an interview." "See my agent, folks," said Spider-Man with a grin no one could see beneath his mask. "I'm busy right now." And the stunned gathering watched, as the man of the hour exited the room into the hall. "Stop thief!" hollered a security guard giving chase to a man running towards Peter. "Stop him!" he screamed at the costumed man. "If he makes it to the elevator, he'll get away!" But the teenager made no move to stop the fleeing thief, which resulted in him easily reaching the elevator and making his escape. "What the hell's wrong with you, mister?" asked the furious guard. "All you hadda do was trip him. Or even hold him up for justa minute or so." "Sorry, pal," replied the costumed teen nonchalantly. "_I'm_ a _professional_ performer," he told the stunned guard. "Chasing criminals is _your_ job - not mine. From now on, I'm through being pushed around by anyone ... and that includes _you_. I'm looking out for number one first ... and that's _me_." "Why you pompous little bastard," reprimanded the guard. "I oughta run your ass in." "Save your breath, buddy," replied Peter, with a small laugh muffled by his mask. Before turning to leave, Peter told the guard, "I've got much better things to do now." And leaving the stunned guard behind, Spider-Man walked away, while rubbing his aching pectoral muscles. As far as he was concerned the incident was closed and soon forgotten. If only he could find some way to use his powers without pulling a muscle or two. * * * * * * Over the next several days, the Amazing Spider-Man, who had been seen across the nation on the "Ed Sullivan Show," became an overnight sensation. And the previously shy and naive young man was well on his way to the fame and fortune as an entertainer Maxie had promised him. One evening, as Peter returned home from one of his Spider-Man personal appearances, he decided to tell Uncle Ben and Aunt May that _he_ was this Amazing Spider-Man person they'd undoubtedly seen on television. They had a right a know. And Peter had previously decided, he would take care of them from now on. But as he rounded the corner, he was surprised to see a police car, its lights flashing, in front of their house. And why had that ambulance just left? There was something wrong. 'What can it be?' he wondered. As Peter approached the officer, who was standing between his car and the house, the officer turned towards him. "Are you Peter Parker?" he asked emotionlessly. "Yes, sir," replied Peter, suddenly worried by the officer's tone of voice. "What's wrong?" "I've got bad news, son," answered the officer in the same monotone voice. "Your uncle has been shot ... he's dead." Peter was stunned. "Uncle Ben ... dead?" He shook his head in utter disbelief. "No! It can't be!" shouted Peter in complete denial of what the officer had told him. "There wasn't anything wrong with him. He can't be dead." And then suddenly, his shock and disbelief turned into anger. "Who did it?" he demanded of the officer. "_Who_ shot _my_ Uncle Ben?" "It was a burglar, son," said the officer calmly. "Your uncle must have walked in on him at the wrong moment, and surprised him in the act," explained the officer. "But don't you worry, son. We've got him trapped in the old Acme Warehouse down on the waterfront. He won't get away from us. You can count on that ..." Peter took a few minutes to digest what the officer had told him. He knew someone could hole up in that old building for weeks or, even worse, escape without detection if the police let down their guard for even the briefest of moments. "... Your aunt is next door," continued the officer. "The Watson's are looking after her." Suddenly Peter bolted for the front porch. "Wait, son!" hollered the officer. But it was too late to wait - Peter had other plans. "I've got to go," he mumbled incoherently. "I've got to get him!" And then the young man raced up the steps and into the house. Once he was safely inside and certain the officer was not following him, Peter changed into his Spider-Man costume. He had decided he would catch the burglar, who had murdered Uncle Ben. There was no way he'd let that killer escape without making him pay for what he had done. "He might be able to hold off a small army for a while in that gloomy old warehouse," said Peter to himself. "But there is absolutely no way, he'll ever be able to hold off ... Spider-Man." And having made up his mind, the spider-empowered teenager, his still aching pectoral muscles now forgotten, scurried out his bedroom window and up the side of the Parker house to its roof. He never noticed the figure in the window next door. * * * * * * Within mere minutes, Spider-Man, spinning his web from building to building, had traveled clear across town to the waterfront. And being dark, no one had even seen him arrive at the old Acme Warehouse. Now that _he_ was here, he knew the burglar and killer was trapped, even though the police probably thought the thief's position in the old warehouse too defensible to risk charging inside after him. But safety, neither his nor anyone else's, was the farthest thought from Spider-Man's mind. He was here to catch the man who had murdered Uncle Ben, _and_ make him pay. Throwing caution to the wind, Spider-Man easily swung up onto the roof of the old warehouse. He figured the burglar inside would never consider it possible to be attacked from above. He entered silently through the open skylight. "You'll _never_ escape me now, murderer!" exclaimed Spider-Man ominously, as he casually crawled down the wall towards the startled burglar. "What the ..." exclaimed the burglar. "You're surprised to see me here, I'll bet," replied Spider-Man. "But I'll also bet you're not half as surprised as you're going to be." The frightened burglar bolted for the stairwell door. "Gotta get away from here. Gotta hide from whatever that thing is." Spider-Man leapt from the wall over the head of the fleeing criminal, and landed directly in his path of escape. The thief stared at the strangely dressed man. "You? I must be seeing things." "There's no place on earth _you_ can hide from _me_!" declared the angry teenager. And when the burglar drew his gun and pointed it at Peter, his webbing quickly shot out from his contrived spider's spinnerets to encase the gun and the hand holding it. "_My_ webbing has relieved you of _your_ weapon. And now," he smashed the burglar in the face, "my fists will do the rest." Advancing menacingly towards his fallen foe, Peter's anger suddenly and unexpectedly dissipated. "Oh no," groaned Peter. "It can't be!" But it was. Fate, in strict accordance with Murphy's Laws, could sometimes be unkind. And, as Peter shook his head in disbelief, he stared at the face of the fugitive, who had run past him and escaped into the elevator that night he'd appeared on the "Ed Sullivan Show." "If I had only stopped him that night," gasped Peter guiltily, "then Uncle Ben would still be alive. It's all my fault Uncle Ben is dead." Tears filled his eyes as he wrapped up the crook in his webbing and then lowered him down to the waiting, not to mention very surprised, police. Totally unnoticed, Spider-Man exited the warehouse. As he slowly made his way towards home, Peter, tears still flowing freely, pulled the mask of his alter ego from his head. "_I_ could have stopped him then and there," mumbled Peter, "but I didn't. And because I didn't ... Uncle Ben ... is dead." And as he continued his slow walk home, he could hear, in his past memories, Uncle Ben telling him, "With great power must come great responsibility." Peter sighed. He'd been given "great power." But he'd proved himself to be totally irresponsible. * * * * * * As the heartbroken Peter Parker arrived at the empty house where he had lived with Uncle Ben and Aunt May, he still couldn't believe how cruel fate had been. If only he had known then, what he knew now. Less than a week ago, he had let that same crook run past him without even making an attempt to stop him. And now, Uncle Ben was dead because of _his_ inaction. Peter thought it most unfair for Uncle Ben to be the one punished for _his_ mistake - _his_ arrogance. Uncle Ben had always told him that with "great power must come great responsibility." And even if no one else knew about it, he _had_ been given great powers. But he was all too well aware that he had shirked _his_ responsibility in favor of fame and fortune. And, as a result of _his_ irresponsible behavior, Uncle Ben, not him as it should have been, had paid dearly for it. To Peter's way of thinking, there was little doubt that Uncle Ben's death was as much, if not more, his fault as it was that of the armed burglar. Peter began thinking that maybe he might not deserve having this great power. He was worried about others being hurt or killed through his inactions or mistakes. And all the while he wallowed in his self-pity, he rubbed the aching and throbbing muscles of his chest again. He stretched his arms out wide, but found no relief. "If things weren't bad enough already, I probably overexerted myself catching that bandit," he mumbled, continuing to rub his sore muscles. "It seems the more I use these powers I've been given, the longer my muscles ache. I would have thought I'd be getting used to all this exertion by now." Peter removed the rest of his spider costume, tossed it into a corner of his room, and slid into his bed. Still faced with making the biggest decision of his young life, he decided it could wait for resolution until the following morning. He knew he wouldn't be as tired then and his mind, always sharper in the morning, shouldn't be as confused. And, hopefully, his chest wouldn't be throbbing as much. And, quite oddly, within moments of his head hitting the pillow, the anguished Peter Parker had fallen soundly asleep. * * * * * * However quickly Peter had dropped off, his sleep was restless and fitful throughout the night. He dreamed about Uncle Ben. "You let me down, Peter," said the dream Ben Parker. "It was your great responsibility to use your great powers wisely. But you didn't. Did you, Peter?" "What will we do without Ben?" wailed the dream Aunt May. "It's all _your_ fault we're alone now, Peter." "Your Uncle is dead, son," said the dream officer, who looked like the officer who had been waiting for Peter to arrive home. "And it's all _your_ fault he's dead, son," he reprimanded Peter. "You should have stopped that crook when you _first_ had the chance." "All you hadda do was trip him," said the dream security guard. "Or even hold him up for justa minute or so. If you hadda done that, I'd've caught him, easy. Then your Uncle Ben would still be among the living." Peter's slumbering mind was muddled and confused with the incoherence of his dream thoughts. But clearly, everyone blamed him for Uncle Ben's death. How could they not blame him, when Peter's mind was convinced it was all his fault. He tossed. And he turned. And, every once in a while, his dreams drifted away from scenes of his great guilt and refocused into other scenes, which were stranger and most often bizarre. Curiously odd were any of the several dreams involving him and Flash Thompson. In one of his dream vignettes, Flash constantly stared at him without ever saying a word. All he did was smile most unusually at him, as his eyes kept looking him over - first up, then down. Suddenly, his dream self was seated in Flash's car. And most disconcertingly, he was all alone with the dream Flash, who began leaning towards him. And then ... Peter eyes snapped open. It was still dark outside. And quickly, Peter realized, greatly relieved, he had only been dreaming those images. But as he closed his eyes again, he couldn't help wondering where those weird images in his dreams had first originated. Never once had he thought of Flash Thompson like that. Nor had he ever imagined wanting to do what he had been dreaming of doing in his dreams. Tears rolled down Peter's cheek. And without thinking, he casually swept his hair out from in front of his eyes, rolled over, and went back to sleep. If he dreamed again, Peter would not remember. * * * * * * As Peter awoke, the rising sun flooded his bedroom with light. His muscles didn't ache nearly as much as they had the night before, although he still felt somewhat peculiar and likewise very tired. Peter wondered if he'd caught some bug somewhere. As he lay quietly in his bed with his eyes closed, he quite casually, and without much thought, swept his hair out of face. 'That's odd,' he thought, 'I can't remember ever doing that before.' Absently, his hand reached for his hair. "What the ...," he exclaimed as he discovered his hair had inexplicably grown to shoulder length during the night. "This just isn't possible." As he turned from his side to his back, he tossed back the bedcovers. In doing so, he experienced another large surprise ... or rather, he experienced _two_ large surprises. _Breasts_. Impossible as it seemed to Peter, he had somehow during the night acquired two full and firm female breasts. "This isn't possible either," muttered Peter as he poked cautiously and curiously at each of his new breasts. "I _can't_ have breasts." But as he sat up on the edge of the bed, he could feel the increased weight of his two new breasts. There could be no doubt they were there. In addition, he felt his newly lengthened hair swishing across his shoulders. Even his waist had become a lot thinner than he remembered it being just yesterday. And, if he hadn't known better, he would have sworn he was sitting on an inflatable raft. After rising shakily from his bed, Peter stumbled across the room. Not only had his center of gravity changed radically, but his butt kept wanting to sway back and forth. However, as he finally reached the door, he had instinctively sorted out how to deal with the motions of his altered body. But having never before walked the way he now walked, Peter wondered how he could have acclimated to walking this differently so quickly. But even those thoughts soon vanished, as he casually strolled down the hall as if he'd possessed this body all of his life. Entering the bathroom, he stared in astonishment at the mirror above the sink. His hair, even though it was now slightly longer than shoulder length, was the same color it had always been, as were his eyes. But his facial features had become very feminine. As he looked at himself in the mirror, he thought he could see some of the old Peter in the pretty girl's face reflected back at him. However, there just wasn't much of _him_ that remained recognizably him. Someone who knew _him_ might think this girl was related to him somehow. Or, more likely, they might not. His arms had thinned appreciably. And likewise, his hands had become smaller, while his fingers were now longer and slender. He didn't want to admit to something obviously impossible, but he appeared to be girl. Looking down towards his crotch, he wondered if what he saw down there was normal for a girl, since he'd never seen a naked girl before. But he was well aware that what he saw was definitely not normal for the boy he'd been before. "I've become a girl," remarked Peter in wonder. "Or, at the very least, a good, reasonable facsimile of one. But why??" Suddenly, Peter thought he knew the answer. It made perfect sense and it fit with all the other observable changes he'd been through. "That spider!" exclaimed Peter. "It has to be that spider!" Peter reasoned that the spider's bite, which had already provided him the strength, speed, and senses of a spider, had just taken a little more time to exert enough influence over his physiology in order to match their genders. "That spider must have been a female ... and now ... so am I, ... I guess." But he continued wondering, 'What else could still be happening to me?' * * * * * * Peter stared at himself in the mirror. 'How can I face Aunt May like this?' he wondered. 'And how can I face my friends? Maybe a shower will make me feel better.' Without stopping to consider his radically changed new anatomy, Peter stepped into the shower enclosure. Turning on the cold water first, as he had always done before, Peter was shocked, when he felt his nipples stiffen under the icy spray of water. 'What the hell?' he thought, even as the water warmed. Peter soaped his new breasts. But with even the slightest rub, pleasurable sensations coursed through his body. And the fine spray of water that washed the excess soap from his breasts felt every bit as pleasurable and exciting. Peter didn't think he should be doing these things, but it just felt so good. Without thinking, Peter's hand sought out his transformed crotch. It felt different there than it had before, and Peter hoped it was normal for the girl he now appeared to be. And, although the transformed teen had only intended to the wash the area, much as he'd always done in the past, Peter was soon breathing heavily from his own soft and gentle caresses. 'This is totally wrong!' thought Peter, as he forced himself to stop. 'I shouldn't be doing this.' And then, Peter remembered something Aunt May had said to Uncle Ben one night shortly after moving in with them. "You should go take a cold shower, Ben," she'd told him. It hadn't made much sense then, but it was worth a try now. With the hot water turned off, the spray from the shower head turned icy cold. Peter stuck his head under the water, before letting the cold water flow over the rest of his body. Peter shivered as he turned off the water. He was cold, but it had worked. He was no longer aroused. But he had another problem now. What could he do with his long wet hair? However, it quickly turned into no problem at all. He'd found Aunt May's portable hair dryer in the cupboard under the sink. And even though he'd never used one before, or even seen one used, he swiftly and expertly dried his hair. Peter looked in the mirror again. 'That's much better," he thought. * * * * * * As Peter returned to his room, he noticed his brown hair had grown even longer. In the front, it tickled the sensitive nipples of his breasts, while in the back it swished across the bottoms of his shoulder blades. And when he glanced down at his slender fingers, he also noted his fingernails had grown. "I must still be changing," mumbled Peter. "Just when will it all end?" 'What am I going to wear?' he wondered. But after he opened one of his dresser drawers, he found and removed a bag he didn't remember putting there. Curiously, it was one of those large plastic bags from one of the stores, where he'd been absently window shopping last week. But he hadn't bought anything at any of those stores. Or had he? And at the moment, Peter couldn't remember with certainty, whether he had or hadn't. When he opened the bag to look inside, he was startled at finding a short and light brown skirt, a simple cotton blouse, a pair of flat heeled shoes, and a wide variety of girls' undergarments. Although there was nothing overly fancy in the bag, everything seemed quite functional. But, he didn't remember buying these things. And if he had bought them, how had he even known he'd need them. Since none of his other clothes were likely to fit his altered body better than these mysterious clothes, Peter decided he'd wear them. And although he never actually noticed anything unusual himself, Peter donned his new clothing as if he'd been wearing something similar all of his life. And yet, even as he dressed in girls' clothing, Peter wondered if he would be able to find a cure for his new femaleness, while, at the same time retaining his enhanced spider powers. He couldn't think of anything wrong with him being a Spider-Man, but he definitely didn't like the idea of being a girl. Peter soon decided that Spider-Man would have to disappear for a while. He didn't think it would be a very good idea for his normal male self to disappear, while, at the same time, having some new Spider-Woman emerge to take the place of his missing alter ego. Even though no one knew that Peter Parker was Spider-Man, he was afraid that two _new_ girls in town might look awfully suspicious to those people who had nothing better to do than look for things that looked suspicious. It might even lead to his secrets becoming common knowledge. * * * * * * At that instant, on the porch of the Parker house, May Parker spoke with her concerned neighbor and best friend Anna Watson. "I really want to thank you again for looking after me last night, Anna," said May. "I just don't know what I would have done without you." "No problem May," replied Anna. "I know you would have done the same for me had our circumstances been reversed." Anna hugged her longtime friend May. "I must check up on Peter, you know. I really expected him to come over to your house last night after he returned home, but he didn't." May looked at her friend, certain she would understand how she felt. "I'm just very worried about him." Anna smiled at her friend. "Peter's a big boy now, May. He's almost a man, you know. I'm sure he'll be alright," replied Anna. "You just need to give him and yourself some time to get over your loss." "I know Anna," said May, attempting to hold back her tears. "But with Ben gone now, Peter's all that I have left." Tears rolled freely down her cheek. "I don't know what I'd do if something happened to Peter." Anna, trying her best to offer her friend comfort, hugged May again. 'Maybe if she thought about something else,' thought Anna. "I know this isn't really the best time, May, but when do you think we can arrange to get your nephew Peter together with my niece Mary Jane?" "I just don't know, Anna," replied May. "I'll ask him again. But Peter still seems awfully hesitant about meeting any girls. And yet, I know he'll just love Mary Jane after he meets her. I think they have a lot in common." "So do I, May," smiled Anna. "Now, don't hesitate to call me if you have any problems? I'm just a quick phone call away." "Of course, Anna, replied May. "And thank you again for letting me stay with you last night." And after the two women hugged each other again, May Parker entered her house. She hoped Peter was alright. * * * * * * Peter, once fully attired in his new clothes, had returned to stand before the mirror. As he stared at his reflection with continued disbelief, Aunt May entered the house. Totally engrossed in his transformed self, as well as glad that there had been no additional changes - at least none that were noticeable - for the past several minutes, Peter didn't hear the front door open or close. Nor did he hear his aunt enter and start up the stairs. And yet, it hardly mattered. Even if he had heard anything, all he might have been able to do was close the door before Aunt May saw his new form. But then, that would have only delayed the inevitable. "Who are you?" asked Aunt May of the stranger she assumed was a girl. "Are you a friend of my nephew Peter, dear?" "Aunt May," blurted Peter in his new soprano voice. "Do I know you, dear?" asked a very confused May Parker. "I generally remember people's faces, especially friends of Peter's, but I don't seem to recall having ever met you before." "But _you_ do know me, Aunt May," replied Peter, wondering how he could possibly explain to her what had happened to him when he didn't really understand what had happened himself. "I haven't always looked like this, Aunt May." Aunt May stared with evident confusion at the girl. "We all change as we get older, dear. Although you don't look at all old enough to be worrying about something like that. Maybe if you tell me your name, then I'll remember you." Peter sighed. Something else Uncle Ben had always told him came to mind - it was always best to be direct when telling people incredible things. But this wasn't just something incredible, it was totally unbelievable. And, in addition to straining his aunt's credulity, it was also very likely going to cause her a major shock. "You're not going to believe this, Aunt May, because, quite frankly, except for the obvious fact I'm standing here telling you this, I still don't believe it myself." He paused for a moment. "I'm your nephew Peter." May stared at the girl suspiciously. "That's not very funny, young lady!" she scolded the girl. "You just can't be Peter. _You_ are a _girl_. And _Peter_ is a _boy_." A funny look quickly crossed May Parker's face. "You and Peter haven't been up to anything you two shouldn't have been doing? Have you?" "Of course not, Aunt May!" "Then where is _my_ nephew, young lady?" "But Aunt May," he objected, "I'm Peter." May stared angrily at the girl, who was claiming to be her nephew. "You are trying my patience, young lady!" she exclaimed. "I would really hate getting you into any trouble by having to call the police about this, but if you leave me no other option, I'm afraid I'll have no choice but to call them." May waited for the girl to speak. "Now tell me! _Where_ is Peter?" "But Aunt May," he wheedled. "I just don't know how to convince you, that regardless of what I now look like, I really _am_ Peter." But, all of a sudden, as he sensed a peculiar tingling permeating his mind, he gained the exact knowledge necessary to convince Aunt May that he was who he said he was. Looking his aunt squarely in the eye, he told her, "You _have_ to listen to me, Aunt May. You _must_ believe me." Aunt May's eyes glazed over. She stood before her transformed nephew, as if in some deep trance. "Can you hear me, Aunt May?" "Yes," she replied woodenly. 'This is totally remarkable,' thought Peter. 'I've apparently just gained another new spider power. But I wonder why it didn't manifest before now?' Peter remembered from one of his biology classes, that some spiders had the ability to mesmerize their prey. And he had apparently, and almost instinctively, just used such a hypnotic power to entrance Aunt May. Now, all he needed to do was instruct Aunt May that the girl she saw was really Peter, and then she'd unquestioningly believe he was her nephew. But just as he was about to _tell_ Aunt May who he was, he suddenly realized that everyone else he knew would have the same problems believing he was Peter that Aunt May had. If he just told her he was Peter, she'd believe him, but no one else would. And having to run around hypnotizing everyone in town into believing he was Peter seemed impractical. However, Peter soon decided there was a simpler, as well as better and far more practical, way to proceed. And the method was so simple, he was surprised he hadn't thought of it earlier. It would be much less trouble for him, if everyone just thought of him as the girl he now appeared to be. Besides, like it or not, he was going to have to live like a girl until he could figure out some way to return himself to normal, more or less, again. "Aunt May." She straightened as he addressed her. "Your nephew, Peter Parker, has gone to stay with Ben's brother in Minnesota. He blames himself for Ben's death, even though he knows you would never blame him for it. "Peter will be staying in Minnesota for a while, and that's what you'll tell anyone who asks about him. However, _my_ parents didn't want you to be alone, so, while Peter's staying with them in Minnesota, I'll be living with you. _I_ am your niece, Aunt May. My name is Pamela Parker. Do you understand me, Aunt May?" "Yes." Peter smiled. That had been even easier than he'd expected. "Then it's time to wake up, Aunt May." May Parker shook her head, feeling as if she'd just awakened from a short nap she didn't know she'd taken. She smiled back at the girl, she now recognized as her niece. "I'm so glad you've come to stay with me for a while, Pamela. I only wish the circumstances could have been different. And I hope you don't take this the wrong way, dear, but I really hope Peter gets over his unnecessary feelings of guilt quickly, so he can return home." "So do I, Aunt May. So do I," replied Peter, happy that his aunt had accepted everything he'd told her so completely. It also pleased him to have gained another remarkable spider power, but he still couldn't understand why it hadn't manifested until after he had changed into a girl. "Why don't I go downstairs and fix us some lunch, dear." "That sounds great, Aunt May," replied Peter. "And maybe afterwards, we can go out and do some shopping?" "That sounds like fun, Pamela," smiled May, as she left her niece's room and headed down the stairs. 'Shopping?' thought Peter. 'Just why would I want to go shopping?' But then he realized that, if he were going to remain a girl for a while, he was going to need a lot more clothes than what he'd found in that mysterious bag earlier. However, deep in his mind, it still bothered him somewhat that going shopping with Aunt May made perfect sense. He looked at himself in the mirror again. "You're a very pretty girl, Pamela Parker." For several minutes, he smiled at _her_ reflection, as if dazed or lost in a thick fog. With a sudden start, he realized that being a girl, even for just a little while, wasn't going to be nearly as bad as he'd first thought it would be. And besides, he'd now be able to ogle that incredible dreamboat Flash Thompson all he wanted, and nobody would be able to say a word about it. All of a sudden, Peter wanted to gag. Flash Thompson? An incredible dreamboat? What could he possibly be thinking? * * * * * * Over the next several days, Peter acclimated to his new role as Pamela much quicker than he would have ever considered possible. He'd even been shopping with Aunt May and enjoyed himself thoroughly. And he'd returned home with several new dresses and a wide variety of other feminine attire he knew he really love wearing. Since Pamela was still a teenager, she had to attend high school during the day. At first, Peter had been worried about obtaining Pamela's nonexistent transcripts, but then, he'd just gone to talk to the counselor to whom Pamela had been assigned. And after a small experiment in the use of his hypnotic power, the counselor had simply copied Peter's transcripts and put Pamela's name on them. But Peter's actions had felt like cheating to him, until he realized that the transcripts were actually his _and_ he was, for now, also Pamela, which, by the simplest of logical implications, meant his transcripts _were_ Pamela's, as well. As a consequence, she'd been enrolled into nearly all of the same classes Peter had attended, only at different times during day. The science teacher, Mr. Warren, was very impressed by her knowledge, which he considered quite extensive and most uncommon for a girl, an attitude Pamela quickly came to despise. And even more surprising, at least to Peter's mind, his _cousin_ Pamela had been readily accepted into Flash Thompson's little band of friends. Well, almost. The boys, at least, had welcomed another pretty girl into their midst. But the girls were another story. And Peter wasn't all that certain, he'd ever truly know what Sally Avril or Liz Allan really thought of her. Liz Allan seemed to view Pamela as if she were some kind of a rival, which was something Peter couldn't understand. Surely, Liz couldn't think she was interested in Flash Thompson. How could Pamela be interested in Flash, when Peter wasn't? And, as a man himself, he knew he could never be interested in Flash. But even more strangely, whenever Liz did decide to talk with Pamela, she always asked a lot of questions about Peter. She'd never seemed all that concerned about him before, but her constant questions made Peter wonder if it were possible she actually lik