Even under the circumstances, Peter was forced to admit that Flash had good fighting form. His fists were up and cocked, ready to unleash a flurry of punches at Peter the moment he was within range.
"It was an accident!" Mary Jane tried to tell Flash, grab bing at one of his arms. He shook her off, never taking his eyes from his target.
"I'm sorry. It really was," Peter said, and the apology was genuine. Despite all the dirt that Flash had done him, he didn't want to sink to Flash's level....
Except . . .
Why not? Why the hell not? It wasn't as if Flash would ever rise to his level, and he would teach him a lesson by giving him a sound thrashing on the debating team. If Flash was ever going to learn that he should leave Peter alone, descending to Flash's level was the only way the lesson would ever be taught.
But . . . could he really do it? Defeating Flash was more than a matter of strength and agility; it was having enough confidence to believe that it was possible. And that was a pool Peter was going to wade into with very tentative steps.
Unaware that he was in any physical peril, Flash dis missed Peter's protests by growling, "My fist breaking your teeth ... that's an accident."
Flash's cronies were closing in, but they weren't going to give Flash any help. Why should he need it, after all? It was just Puny Parker. They did, however, close a few stray class doors to make sure the teachers within weren't going to see what was about to happen.
Peter felt himself moving with strength and certainty.
Once again it was as if his body knew what to do and was just waiting for his brain to catch up. Suddenly he started to feel genuinely sorry for Flash, as it dawned on him that the bully very likely was going to get more than he bargained for. Endeavoring to give him an out—and yet half hoping Flash wouldn't take it—Peter said, "I don't want to fight you, Flash."
"I wouldn't want to fight me neither."
Well . . . can't say I didn't try, Peter thought. He balanced carefully on the balls of his feet, his center of gravity low.
Flash swung a quick right, then a left. Either of them, had they connected, would have put Puny Parker down for the count . . . had Flash been dealing with Puny Parker, of course. But Peter easily dodged them, making it look effort less, as if he knew where they were going to be coming from and had already arranged to be elsewhere.
On some level, one of Flash's cronies realized that this wasn't going according to plan. Perhaps it was the befuddled look on Flash's face when his punches failed to connect, or perhaps it was the blinding speed with which Peter was mov ing. Either way he decided things would go more smoothly if Parker were held immobile. So he lunged from behind with the intention of wrapping his arms around Peter's torso and keeping him still.
Peter, however, wasn't about to let that happen. Just as easily as he'd sensed Flash's attack from behind, he per ceived this one, as well. He ducked under the grab, leaving Flash's pal overextended and grasping air. Peter then imme diately straightened up, catching his assailant off balance, and sending him tumbling heels over head to the floor.
Flash clearly couldn't believe it. With a roar of outrage, Flash lunged at Peter, swinging an impressive combo of punches ... right jab, left jab, right roundhouse, left hay maker. Not a single one connected. Peter wasn't even back ing away. He simply twisted this way, that way, pivoted, and
then leaned back as if he were a limbo dancer. With each movement, his confidence swelled all the more. It wasn't just that he wasn't getting pummeled. He was actually making Flash look like a fool. In comparison to Peter Parker, Flash Thompson was moving in slow motion.
He heard Mary Jane call out to Harry Osborn, "Harry, please help him!"
"Which one?" asked an obviously impressed Harry.
That was it. That was the final validation for Peter, and he was filled with a surge of complete certainty that he had
"It was an accident!" Mary Jane tried to tell Flash, grab bing at one of his arms. He shook her off, never taking his eyes from his target.
"I'm sorry. It really was," Peter said, and the apology was genuine. Despite all the dirt that Flash had done him, he didn't want to sink to Flash's level....
Except . . .
Why not? Why the hell not? It wasn't as if Flash would ever rise to his level, and he would teach him a lesson by giving him a sound thrashing on the debating team. If Flash was ever going to learn that he should leave Peter alone, descending to Flash's level was the only way the lesson would ever be taught.
But . . . could he really do it? Defeating Flash was more than a matter of strength and agility; it was having enough confidence to believe that it was possible. And that was a pool Peter was going to wade into with very tentative steps.
Unaware that he was in any physical peril, Flash dis missed Peter's protests by growling, "My fist breaking your teeth ... that's an accident."
Flash's cronies were closing in, but they weren't going to give Flash any help. Why should he need it, after all? It was just Puny Parker. They did, however, close a few stray class doors to make sure the teachers within weren't going to see what was about to happen.
Peter felt himself moving with strength and certainty.
Once again it was as if his body knew what to do and was just waiting for his brain to catch up. Suddenly he started to feel genuinely sorry for Flash, as it dawned on him that the bully very likely was going to get more than he bargained for. Endeavoring to give him an out—and yet half hoping Flash wouldn't take it—Peter said, "I don't want to fight you, Flash."
"I wouldn't want to fight me neither."
Well . . . can't say I didn't try, Peter thought. He balanced carefully on the balls of his feet, his center of gravity low.
Flash swung a quick right, then a left. Either of them, had they connected, would have put Puny Parker down for the count . . . had Flash been dealing with Puny Parker, of course. But Peter easily dodged them, making it look effort less, as if he knew where they were going to be coming from and had already arranged to be elsewhere.
On some level, one of Flash's cronies realized that this wasn't going according to plan. Perhaps it was the befuddled look on Flash's face when his punches failed to connect, or perhaps it was the blinding speed with which Peter was mov ing. Either way he decided things would go more smoothly if Parker were held immobile. So he lunged from behind with the intention of wrapping his arms around Peter's torso and keeping him still.
Peter, however, wasn't about to let that happen. Just as easily as he'd sensed Flash's attack from behind, he per ceived this one, as well. He ducked under the grab, leaving Flash's pal overextended and grasping air. Peter then imme diately straightened up, catching his assailant off balance, and sending him tumbling heels over head to the floor.
Flash clearly couldn't believe it. With a roar of outrage, Flash lunged at Peter, swinging an impressive combo of punches ... right jab, left jab, right roundhouse, left hay maker. Not a single one connected. Peter wasn't even back ing away. He simply twisted this way, that way, pivoted, and
then leaned back as if he were a limbo dancer. With each movement, his confidence swelled all the more. It wasn't just that he wasn't getting pummeled. He was actually making Flash look like a fool. In comparison to Peter Parker, Flash Thompson was moving in slow motion.
He heard Mary Jane call out to Harry Osborn, "Harry, please help him!"
"Which one?" asked an obviously impressed Harry.
That was it. That was the final validation for Peter, and he was filled with a surge of complete certainty that he had
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