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powerful, really ... than he had before. Radiating confidence in a manner that would have made his father proud, Harry said, "Hi."
    She smiled back. That alone was enough to put some

    additional spring in his step, and then she moved away, Flash blocking her from view.
    The class was standing in a corridor with arched ceilings, lined with neatly framed portraits of various scientists, or re productions of noted scientific documents. Sunlight filtered in through a series of skylights, and the acoustics were terrific as far as the kids were concerned ... and a horror show as far as Mr. Sullivan and the other chaperones were concerned. As their voices reverberated up and down the hall way the frantic "shushing" from the adults only made things

    worse.
    "He doesn't seem so bad," Peter said, standing at Harry's

    right shoulder.
    Harry looked at him in confusion, not entirely certain who "he" was. Then he realized that Peter was talking about his father, and it was all he could do to suppress a laugh. "Not if you're a genius," he said ruefully. "I think he wants

    to adopt you."
    Then Harry noticed that Peter was looking beyond him, and turned to see that his friend was staring at Mary Jane. Flash had drifted away—apparently a rendering of Da Vinci's famed drawing of man was one of the most hilarious things he'd ever seen, and he was laughing it up with his friends. Mary Jane, for her part, was about two feet away from Peter, studying a portrait of Isaac Newton.
    As intrigued as Harry was with Mary Jane, he knew two things beyond question: First, that Peter had been interested in her far longer, and second, that any guy who tried to take her away from Flash Thompson would probably get himself killed. Still, it might be worth the risk ... provided M. J. was actually interested in breaking it off with Thompson, the Id that Walked Like a Man. Better for his long-term health, Harry realized, if Peter were used for the litmus test of M.J.'s availability, rather than Harry himself. Not that Harry had
    any intention of sending his friend into danger. Certainly if push came to shove—particularly shove-through-the- wall—Harry could intercede and charm—i.e., bribe—Flash out of it.
    Harry snapped his fingers in front of Peter's face to catch his attention. "Hey," he whispered, and, nodding toward Mary Jane, said, "Say something."
    Peter squared his shoulders, which struck Harry as rather funny. Peter couldn't have looked more serious if he'd been preparing to enter a ring with a maddened bull, armed with only a dish towel. He approached Mary Jane, who saw him coming, turned and smiled that million-watt smile at him. No wonder, Harry mused, that her last name was Watson. She looked expectantly from Peter to Harry and then back to Peter, and Harry waited for his friend to say something.
    And waited.
    And waited.
    The moment morphed from energy-charged to awkward. Mary Jane tilted her head slightly, expectantly, like a dog trying to pick up a high-pitched noise. Desperate to have matters progress, Harry stepped forward and said to M. I, "Hi. How ya doing?"
    Mary Jane smiled in return. "Hey," she said conversa tionally, and waited once more for Peter to say something. It was difficult for Harry to get a read off her. It could be she was just being friendly ... or there might be some interest. He needed Peter to keep it going in order to tell for sure.
    Peter's jaw twitched once, twice more, which was good since it indicated that he was, in fact, alive. Then he walked away as quickly as he could. M. J. looked to Harry quizzi cally, and he made a vague noise in his throat and hurried off after Peter. The moment he drew alongside him he asked in annoyance, "Why didn't you say something?"
    "I was about to," Peter said defensively. "It . . . wasn't the

    right moment." Looking around for some sort of exit, he ducked into the nearby men's room, leaving Harry shaking

    his head.
    Suddenly a large shadow was cast over Harry. He turned and