"Well, Parker, what do you say?" I told him I was eager to accept the offer which had just been given.

"When do I begin?"

"That is up to Doctor Octavius. He will be your boss from now on."

"What? But I thought...." So much for lab assisting the CEO of Oscorp Science and Research Facility. Apparently, I'd be lab assisting the second chair, which made me the equivalent of the sidekick's sidekick.

"Peter, you didn't honestly believe that on your first day, you'd make it to the board, did you?" Norman Osborn asked. That's right: Norman Osborn. Considered by some to be the greatest mind of this century, head of the most expansive science corporation in all of New York City, and my best friend's father. Harry pulled a few strings to help me meet his dear old dad so I could get a kick-off into the pro-league. "Frankly," he continued, "you should be proud to even be getting to help Octavius. You're a college student, not a professional."

That hurt. I guess he was right and all – I wouldn't be graduating for another month or so – but I was still hoping for a start fresh out of school, or while still in school, as I happened to try.

I don't know if he noticed my disappointment or if he just wanted to show off, but Osborn suddenly went off on a tangent. "Say, Parker, do you want to see my latest creation? Of course you do. Come over here and I'll demonstrate."

Getting out of his chair now, he went on, "You see, we do all kinds of work here at Oscorp. We do research, build appliances, discover medicines, create weapons – you name it. Well, this one's going to the military. And let me tell you – it's astonishing." I didn't even know if it was legal for Osborn to be showing me a military super-weapon, but I was curious.

Osborn continued rambling on about performance enhancers and stuff like that – I had heard it all before – as he typed something on a keypad. A laser popped out and scanned his black eye glistening with passion. "Welcome, Norman Osborn," a computerized voice announced, and a safe opened up. Inside, I could see loads of gizmos, most of which seemed either broken or incomplete, and a few tubes here and there. Osborn reached for one of the tubes, with a steamy liquid – or a gas, I couldn't really tell – bubbling inside.

"This," Osborn said, "is it. One drop will give you all of the above for one to three hours."

"Is it done?"

"All but the contracts."

It was then that Otto Octavius walked into the large round office. It was more of a den, really, than an office. I mean, it wasn't just big – it was big. And it had this huge window from which you could see the whole city. I swear, it was like being in the president's office, or maybe the kingpin's, actually. Either way, it was just really, really big. And empty.

But anyway, Octavius and I chatted a few minutes. He was almost done with his current project, which I could help him with, and then in a few days, we would discuss the next one. He was happy to have a partner – his old one, Caroline something, was a slacker, and he was hoping I'd be different. Well, I was a scientist, I told him. I'm a kid, sure, 21, but I'm also a scientist. And I wouldn't be a kid for much longer. Graduating next month.

Octavius wore a huge, goofy grin when he turned to leave, and then Osborn called out. "Otto, can I speak to you for a second." They walked outside and left me, alone, in Osborn's huge important office, with an open safe, formula on the table. I don't know why I did it – maybe I just love science so much I wanted to know how it worked, maybe I was just still mad at Osborn like a kid – either way, the point is that I took a little tube of my own and slipped the tiniest portion of Osborn's into mine. It wasn't that gaseous, more liquid, though it seemed like it was maybe supposed to be in gas form, but that Osborn had it pressurized for containment.

I finished the procedure right before Osborn got back in. He didn't see me, though.

And I was done for the day. I'd start work tomorrow after classes. That was that.

Well, the night came and went. Day broke in and I went to class in that small, five-row room with Doctor Warren. Nice guy, bit edgy though. Rumors that he's a creep, but it doesn't matter to what he's teaching. Whatever that was. I don't really remember.

I was too busy in my front-row seat dodging spitballs from football star Flash Thompson in the right corner of the room – upper-right – who was giggling away with his girlfriend, Liz Allen, until this blonde girl I like, Gwen Stacy, who I'm sort of unofficially dating, gave him that "look" thing – she's really good at that – so he turned to pick on the other front-row nerd, Herman Shultz – that one doesn't even have someone unofficial to give the look and I guess I feel bad for him, but hey, once past high school, what're you gonna do, right? – and then Harry Osborn, who sits two seats behind me, was also bugging about the rent, and I couldn't help but sneer at that glory-hog photographer Eddie Brock, who was attentively listening to his own girl, Glory Grant in the second-to-last row – why is it always the guy who has the girl, anyway? – and Gwen's friend, Mary Jane Watson, one seat back from me, was reading this book I started once, so I was thinking about why I didn't get back to it, and then Flash's second-from-the-back-row stooge, Kenny Kong, started throwing paper airplanes at me until third-row Randy Robertson, alongside his own girlfriend, Felicia Hardy, told him off that he was acting like a high school student – and a freshman, no less – and Kong flipped his lid and attracted Warren's attention and then the bell rang.

Anyway, after class, I saw a couple I hadn't seen in a while: my Uncle Ben and Aunt May. You see, my parents died when I was four and these two raised me ever since. They're to me sort of like your parents are to you, I suppose. Well, I had been rooming with Harry this past year, so I hadn't seen them in the vacation. I don't know why they chose to come today specifically – I hadn't told them about the job or anything – but they did.

My Uncle Ben was a wise and philosophical man. He found good in everybody and couldn't comprehend evil. Or maybe he just didn't believe in it. Either way, he saw everyone as equal, despite their race, persuasion, or even their past.

I remember this one time when I overheard him talking with a cop, Captain George Stacy – he's Gwen's dad, yeah. Anyway, Uncle Ben and Captain Stacy were talking about some cat burglar – Black Fox, I think he said? – well, Stacy had caught him and thrown him away. Guy had robbed some couple dozen museums and such, gone off with loads of high-priced antiquities. Well, then Uncle Ben said, "Maybe you should just talk to him. He's probably just upset about something." And then Stacy said, "No, he's just plain greedy." And then Uncle Ben said, "Well, maybe you should let me talk to him." Guy broke out the next day.

My Aunt May was an elderly woman who always sought to consol those in need. She couldn't stand anyone being upset about anything, so she tried to make sure everyone was happy.

Once, for example, she saw a booze-addict plopped over a dumpster and asked him what was wrong. He said he was upset about being sober and she told him there were better things in the world than alcohol. So she grabbed him by the fingerless glove, dragged him into Starbucks, and treated him to a coffee. Well, the people at Starbucks owe her a big thanks, 'cause every time I'm buying myself a bagel, there's that guy chugging his coffee.

But, anyway, these two, Uncle Ben and Aunt May, ganged up on me after class before I could even leave the room. "Peter, where have you been?" "Peter, how are things?" "Peter, we haven't seen you in so long." I could just tell that my cheeks were turning red.

Flash Thompson giggled somewhere behind me. Aunt May looked sharply at him, turning purple in the face, while Uncle Ben just stared at him blankly. I didn't see Flash's reaction to this, but I could guarantee he wasn't about to back off.

Didn't make a difference either way.