Read The Night Gwen Stacy Died for Free Online Page B

Spider-Man in the same way that there was something
     devious about learning French? She wasn’t sure what would create worry in the minds
     of her parents anymore, what would signal that she was in some way not living a normal
     life or healthy life. Her own father could probably tell her as much about Spider-Man
     as the Internet, but she wasn’t about to ask him.
    A pause, and then nothing. The creak of the stairs that signified her father had retreated
     back into his bedroom.
    First there was the expected stuff, the stuff everyone knew: spider bite, spider sense,
     great power, great responsibility, blah blah blah. Sheila scrolled down the page.
     Most of the stuff she read had to do with villains and superpowers, not the kind of
     thing that interested Sheila. But the more she researched, the more the varied facets
     of Peter Parker’s character seemed to gesture in directions that were completely contradictory.
     By some accounts, Parker was a hopeless recluse, a school nerd who was ridiculed by
     everyone; by others, outside of his school work, he was a part-time photojournalist
     who drove a motorcycle through the school parking lot and revved the engine around
     pretty girls, asked them out for sodas.
    He was a chameleon, and not just because of the whole secret identity thing. The other
     people in Peter’s life sometimes seemed baffled by his actions. Sheila clicked on
     a reproduction of a short spread from one of the early comic books. Peter Parker peeling
     around the school parking lot on his motorcycle. A blond girl named Gwendolyn Stacy
     gasps, clearly impressed,
Actually I never thought of you as the motorcycle type before, Pete!
    Peter Parker smiles in a satisfied way and looks the girl straight in the eye.
    Lady, there’s a LOT you don’t know about me! But stick around—I’m planning to educate
     you!
    Sheila sat back. She blinked at the screen. This is not the way science nerds spoke
     to pretty girls. Some things were not adding up here; some things were going to require
     further investigation.
     
    The next time she was near the college, Sheila walked into a store that sold comic
     books.
    “Can you please direct me to your Spider-Man section?” she asked the boy behind the
     counter.
    “Huh?” said the boy.
    “Spider-Man,” said Sheila.
    “Depends on the title. And the year. Back issues in the boxes, more recent on the
     walls. Alphabetical order,” he said.
    Sheila found a few relevant comic books in plastic sleeves along the walls. She brought
     them back up to the counter.
    “Could I look through these?” she asked the boy.
    “Sure,” he said, “if you buy them.”
    Sheila turned the comic books over and looked at the prices written on little white
     stickers on the cellophane.
    “Oh, I don’t really even want to read them,” said Sheila, “I just want to find out
     about Spider-Man’s life.”
    A few boys flipping through issues looked up from their shopping. Shuffling quieted
     near the front of the store.
    “What for?”
    “Oh, personal reasons,” said Sheila. “Anyway, they’re awfully expensive.”
    “They get much more expensive as you move up the wall there,” said the boy, finally
     making eye contact, or perhaps just catching her eye on his way to glancing down at
     her selections. “These in your hand are barely controversial issues.”
    “Just give me the bottom line,” said Sheila. “What sort of person is he really?”
    The clerk sneered. “He’s shy. He wears glasses. He gets bit by a spider.”
    “Glasses?” asked Sheila. “No, that doesn’t sound right at all. I thought he rides
     a motorcycle to school.”
    She started to put her selections back on the shelf, but in the back of the store
     she cornered a customer who looked about twelve and who set everything straight. Peter
     Parker didn’t really
need
eyeglasses; he wore them despite 20/20 vision. The motorcycle he bought with money
     from working as a photographer for the local