**New chapter!!! Hehe, I know you've been waiting such a LONG time (hey, a
week is long, right? :P) so, here it is! Sorry to have left you hanging on
that last short one, but I have to admit, I had a little case of writer's
block (and a BIG case of too-much-homework. But hey, what's new? It's a
sophomore's life.) but that's over. Hope you like this one......:D P.S.
"Alexis Deyaled and the Pompous Windbreaker" is a real story, hehe....one I
wrote, I dunno, in the 7th grade? But anyway, plz don't ask me to put it
up, lol, it's too embarrassing.**
I left the pan full of savory Sloppy Joe meat on the stove. I didn't know how long my mom would be gone, or when my dad would get home. I finished my homework and put everything away. The silence was deafening. I got up and went to my room to get ready for bed, though I knew it was only a quarter to six. I tuned the radio to my favorite station, threw some pajamas on, and flopped onto my bed. Usually, I had too much to do, but right now, when I had all the time in the world, I could think of no distractions. I was alone with my thoughts. My horrible conclusions as to why my mother had just run away from me. And why all these strange things were happening to me. Struck with a sudden inspiration, I leaped off the bed and raced to the computer. I clicked away on the mouse until Word Perfect loomed before me on the screen. I inserted my floppy disk, safe-guarding everything I had written since before I could remember. I was comforted by the sight of dozens of different files, ranging from journals ("Jesi"s Jurnol: Pleze dont tuoch") to short stories ("Alexis Deyaled and the Pompous Windbreaker"). I smiled and opened a new file. Most people cried; I wrote. I poured my feelings out through my fingertips, tap-tap-tapping on the keyboard. I wrote a story about a depressed girl wandering through the halls in her school, no one noticing her, until the end where she remembered that she was dead and no one could see her anyway. I sat back, reading it over. Suddenly, the door opened behind me with a huge crack. I jumped and banged my elbow on the desk. I yelped and leaned over my arm, cradling the tingling bone. Eyes watering, I glared up at whoever had come in. It was my dad. I smiled through my pain, and was surprised to see my mom enter right behind him. She looked pale. My smile disappeared. The feeling was back again, even though she gave me a weak smile. I turned my eyes away, slightly abashed, and got up to help with Sloppy Joes.
My dad took off his jacket and hung it up on the coat rack. My mom set the bag of hamburger buns lightly on the counter. I ripped open the bag violently and grabbed a bun, plopping the steaming meat on it rudely. I looked up at my parents. My mom was seated at the table and my dad standing behind her, his hand on her shoulder, with identical looks of half- frightened, half-pitiful fighting for control on their faces. I hated this. They wouldn't tell me anything, and yet acted like I knew, like there was a perfectly normal reason for the way they were acting. My lips tightened as I slammed the Sloppy Joe on a plate and got out a soda.
"So, are you two going to tell me what's going on?" I said looking them in the eye. My mom looked up at my dad, and he looked down at her. They exchanged secretive looks.
"No? Fine," I said shortly. I walked toward my room.
"Jessi, hun, don't do that," said my dad, a pleading look on his face. I swirled around and glared at him. For a fleeting moment, I thought I might be acting unrationally. But when I caught sight of their faces again, I felt the anger well up.
"Then tell me what the hell is going on!" I bellowed. "And don't you dare tell me it's nothing. I know it's not." I stormed over to the counter and threw the plate down. I was lucky Sloppy Joe didn't splatter everywhere. I saw my mom wince, and felt suddenly very tired and depressed.
"If you're not going to say anything, just, let me go," I said lamely. I didn't know what else to say. They both looked so sad, almost disappointed. But I didn't know why. My dad looked at me helplessly. My emotions were on a rollercoaster, and I felt rage swell up again.
"Why are you making this so hard?" I said, almost shouting. They looked away from me. I slammed my fist on the counter, venting anger. I stared, open-mouthed; everything happened so fast. A strange feeling came over my lower forearm. Something shot out of my wrist. Yes, that's right. Out of my wrist. It felt suddenly empty, like someone had removed a sliver of muscled the diameter of a shoelace. The feeling was fleeting though, steadily going back to normal. A white substance flew across the room, hit the wall, and stuck there, like at school when girls threw wet paper towels on the ceiling. I stared at it, horrified.
"All right, Jess, let me explain exactly what is going on," said my dad calmly. He came toward me, but I moved sharply away from him. He stepped back, palms up. I shook myself out of my stupor and stared at him. I raised my eyebrows and crossed my arms.
"Go right ahead," I said, calming down a bit. My dad took a deep breath and blew it out through pursed lips. He sat down and spread his hands on the table.
"Was that the first time that's happened to you?" he asked bluntly. My eyes flew open in surprise, but I nodded. I looked down at my wrist. It felt normal again. I looked closely and saw that there was a tiny hole two inches above the pulse point. I looked up at him, bewildered. He ran his fingers through his hair.
"Hmm....I don't know where to start..." he muttered.
"The beginning's always a nice place," I said tartly, reverting back to my anger. Though, I hadn't meant to be that rude, but it came off that way, and my dad looked at me angrily. He started to say something, but stopped when my mom lay a hand on his shoulder.
"Just tell her, Pete," she said quietly. He nodded.
"Right," he said formally. He looked me directly in the eye, making me squirm uncomfortably. "Jessi, I'm going to tell you a story. I want you to promise you won't say anything, you won't interrupt me at all, until I finish." I couldn't think of anything to say, so I just nodded.
"Well, I suppose it all started senior year," he began, glancing wryly at my mom. She grinned back ironically. "I had a huge crush on your mom, though I suppose she's told you all about that?" I couldn't help wrinkling my nose. "Well, we were on a field trip, for science class. I was with Harry-" at this, I broke my promise.
"Harry? Harry Osbor-," I blurted, gawking at him. He stopped me, sternly.
"Jessica, you promised," he said, frowning at me. I nodded, biting my lip. "Yes, Harry and I were best friends back then. I was a geek, and he was a rich kid. None of the populars liked us very much." He paused and looked at my mom, smiling. "Well, almost none, I suppose. But, anyway, We were on a class field trip for science class, to see a study of DNA, in spiders. They were trying to make new hybrid spiders, I believe. That's the first time I met Harry's dad. Norman Osborn. A brilliant man, he was." His face clouded over, but he shook his head and went on. "Yes, well, while we were on the trip, Harry was trying to get me to talk to this one beautiful girl that I had had a crush on for years." He looked at my mom again, and I rolled my eyes. "Mary Jane Watson. But back to the field trip. I seem to remember, there were supposed to be fifteen spiders. Each spider had a different ability; jumping, carrying more than their own weight, spinning webs at super speed, climbing vertical surfaces." I got the shivers. Whatever had just shot out of my wrist looked eerily like a web. And I had been strong enough to break that man's arm that tried to mug me. I swallowed convulsively. My dad went on. "I mean, there were fifteen cases, but one was empty." I looked at my mom, remembering last night, she had told me that. "MJ pointed it out, and the tour guide said it must have been taken out for research. Well, the group moved ahead, and while I was trying to get the courage up to talk to your mother, I was struck with an idea. I asked her to pose next to the cases. 'For the paper,' I think I said. Man, I was such a nerd," he remarked, grinning. I started to say something, but he stopped me again, waggling an index finger in my face. "Nope, sorry, not done yet. While I was taking pictures, somehow a little spider crept up on my hand and bit me." I jerked. I was feeling that weird deja vu again. A spider had bit him? I remembered the spider biting me in my room. This was getting a little weird.
My dad took a deep breath. "Apparently, as I reasoned out later, it was one of the spiders from the case, the missing one, supposedly taken out for research. When I got home that night, I wasn't well at all. I felt sick, my head felt like it would explode, my eyes hurt to see light. I collapsed on the floor. I'm probably lucky I didn't die right there." Speaking of feeling sick, I wasn't feeling too good right now either. I tried to take deep breaths, but it wasn't working. Was my dad saying, what I thought he was saying? "When I woke up, I put my glasses on. But I didn't need them." This was too much for me. I stood up suddenly, almost tipping the table over. I backed up, frightened, and shook my head.
"I know where you're going with that," I said shakily, grasping onto the edge of the counter. I shook my head again. "You're trying to tell me that you were Spiderman." Spiderman was the only 'superhero' the city had ever had. He had fought numbers of criminals and bad guys, somehow flying through the air, though no one had ever figured out how. And now my dad, dorky old Peter Parker, was sitting in front of me, trying to tell me he was Spiderman, way back then? I didn't know why they were doing this, maybe for some sick humor, but I wasn't buying it. I glared at them both.
"Dad, I think maybe you need some therapy," I said bluntly. My dad blanched and stared at me. One of those, self-esteem, 'Dr. Phil' types of people, to, um, help you find your identity, or something," I added, wrinkling my nose. He stared at me for a few seconds, then burst out laughing. I glanced, bewildered, at my mom, as my dad threw his head back and laughed maniacally. I made to leave the room, but my hands were stuck to the counter. My nostrils flared angrily as I tried to pry myself off the counter. My dad stopped laughing and looked at me seriously. I yanked and my hands came off with a smacking sound. I crossed my arms and stared back at him, face burning. He looked at me skeptically.
"How do you explain that?" he asked smugly. I shook my head.
"I don't know, but you are not Spiderman, and I am not, erm, Spider.....girl...." I trailed off helplessly. This was too weird. My dad couldn't be Spiderman! It wasn't believable. My mom came over and put an arm around my shoulders.
"Hun, let me tell you what had me so freaked out today," she said. "Your father called me at work and told me about....this, dealing with you, and said that he was observing the same symptoms in you that he had when he first got bit. And right now as a matter of fact," she added. She gave me a final squeeze and let go, sitting back down. She looked suddenly very tired. Having two spider hybrids in the house obviously wasn't easy for- wait! What was I saying? I was NOT a spider! I shook my head.
"There's.... I mean, it can't.....it makes no sense! This kind of stuff doesn't happen in real life! There's no proof!" I blurted. I thought dimly that in normal conditions, I'd probably be having an asthma attack right now. I shook my head again.
"Now there's where you're wrong, Jess," said my dad excitedly. I looked at him, suspiciously. He grinned encouragingly, and bent his knees slightly, arms out from his body only a bit. My mom looked at him wearily.
"Now, Pete, just, don't make a-" she began, but was cut off by a sudden whipping sound. I watched as my dad pressed both his ring and middle finger toward his wrist. The same stuff that had flown out of my wrist sailed across the room, latching onto the remote control. My dad held on to his end of the, er, whatever it was, with the same hand, and deftly yanked it back, catching it neatly in his hand. I stared at him with my mouth open, and he looked back pleasantly.
"Mess," finished my mom, putting her hand to her head. I was seeing black dots, floating before my eyes.
"Proof," he said smugly. But the grin disappeared. "Jess? Jessi? Oh jeez," and that was the last thing I heard before hitting the floor.
I left the pan full of savory Sloppy Joe meat on the stove. I didn't know how long my mom would be gone, or when my dad would get home. I finished my homework and put everything away. The silence was deafening. I got up and went to my room to get ready for bed, though I knew it was only a quarter to six. I tuned the radio to my favorite station, threw some pajamas on, and flopped onto my bed. Usually, I had too much to do, but right now, when I had all the time in the world, I could think of no distractions. I was alone with my thoughts. My horrible conclusions as to why my mother had just run away from me. And why all these strange things were happening to me. Struck with a sudden inspiration, I leaped off the bed and raced to the computer. I clicked away on the mouse until Word Perfect loomed before me on the screen. I inserted my floppy disk, safe-guarding everything I had written since before I could remember. I was comforted by the sight of dozens of different files, ranging from journals ("Jesi"s Jurnol: Pleze dont tuoch") to short stories ("Alexis Deyaled and the Pompous Windbreaker"). I smiled and opened a new file. Most people cried; I wrote. I poured my feelings out through my fingertips, tap-tap-tapping on the keyboard. I wrote a story about a depressed girl wandering through the halls in her school, no one noticing her, until the end where she remembered that she was dead and no one could see her anyway. I sat back, reading it over. Suddenly, the door opened behind me with a huge crack. I jumped and banged my elbow on the desk. I yelped and leaned over my arm, cradling the tingling bone. Eyes watering, I glared up at whoever had come in. It was my dad. I smiled through my pain, and was surprised to see my mom enter right behind him. She looked pale. My smile disappeared. The feeling was back again, even though she gave me a weak smile. I turned my eyes away, slightly abashed, and got up to help with Sloppy Joes.
My dad took off his jacket and hung it up on the coat rack. My mom set the bag of hamburger buns lightly on the counter. I ripped open the bag violently and grabbed a bun, plopping the steaming meat on it rudely. I looked up at my parents. My mom was seated at the table and my dad standing behind her, his hand on her shoulder, with identical looks of half- frightened, half-pitiful fighting for control on their faces. I hated this. They wouldn't tell me anything, and yet acted like I knew, like there was a perfectly normal reason for the way they were acting. My lips tightened as I slammed the Sloppy Joe on a plate and got out a soda.
"So, are you two going to tell me what's going on?" I said looking them in the eye. My mom looked up at my dad, and he looked down at her. They exchanged secretive looks.
"No? Fine," I said shortly. I walked toward my room.
"Jessi, hun, don't do that," said my dad, a pleading look on his face. I swirled around and glared at him. For a fleeting moment, I thought I might be acting unrationally. But when I caught sight of their faces again, I felt the anger well up.
"Then tell me what the hell is going on!" I bellowed. "And don't you dare tell me it's nothing. I know it's not." I stormed over to the counter and threw the plate down. I was lucky Sloppy Joe didn't splatter everywhere. I saw my mom wince, and felt suddenly very tired and depressed.
"If you're not going to say anything, just, let me go," I said lamely. I didn't know what else to say. They both looked so sad, almost disappointed. But I didn't know why. My dad looked at me helplessly. My emotions were on a rollercoaster, and I felt rage swell up again.
"Why are you making this so hard?" I said, almost shouting. They looked away from me. I slammed my fist on the counter, venting anger. I stared, open-mouthed; everything happened so fast. A strange feeling came over my lower forearm. Something shot out of my wrist. Yes, that's right. Out of my wrist. It felt suddenly empty, like someone had removed a sliver of muscled the diameter of a shoelace. The feeling was fleeting though, steadily going back to normal. A white substance flew across the room, hit the wall, and stuck there, like at school when girls threw wet paper towels on the ceiling. I stared at it, horrified.
"All right, Jess, let me explain exactly what is going on," said my dad calmly. He came toward me, but I moved sharply away from him. He stepped back, palms up. I shook myself out of my stupor and stared at him. I raised my eyebrows and crossed my arms.
"Go right ahead," I said, calming down a bit. My dad took a deep breath and blew it out through pursed lips. He sat down and spread his hands on the table.
"Was that the first time that's happened to you?" he asked bluntly. My eyes flew open in surprise, but I nodded. I looked down at my wrist. It felt normal again. I looked closely and saw that there was a tiny hole two inches above the pulse point. I looked up at him, bewildered. He ran his fingers through his hair.
"Hmm....I don't know where to start..." he muttered.
"The beginning's always a nice place," I said tartly, reverting back to my anger. Though, I hadn't meant to be that rude, but it came off that way, and my dad looked at me angrily. He started to say something, but stopped when my mom lay a hand on his shoulder.
"Just tell her, Pete," she said quietly. He nodded.
"Right," he said formally. He looked me directly in the eye, making me squirm uncomfortably. "Jessi, I'm going to tell you a story. I want you to promise you won't say anything, you won't interrupt me at all, until I finish." I couldn't think of anything to say, so I just nodded.
"Well, I suppose it all started senior year," he began, glancing wryly at my mom. She grinned back ironically. "I had a huge crush on your mom, though I suppose she's told you all about that?" I couldn't help wrinkling my nose. "Well, we were on a field trip, for science class. I was with Harry-" at this, I broke my promise.
"Harry? Harry Osbor-," I blurted, gawking at him. He stopped me, sternly.
"Jessica, you promised," he said, frowning at me. I nodded, biting my lip. "Yes, Harry and I were best friends back then. I was a geek, and he was a rich kid. None of the populars liked us very much." He paused and looked at my mom, smiling. "Well, almost none, I suppose. But, anyway, We were on a class field trip for science class, to see a study of DNA, in spiders. They were trying to make new hybrid spiders, I believe. That's the first time I met Harry's dad. Norman Osborn. A brilliant man, he was." His face clouded over, but he shook his head and went on. "Yes, well, while we were on the trip, Harry was trying to get me to talk to this one beautiful girl that I had had a crush on for years." He looked at my mom again, and I rolled my eyes. "Mary Jane Watson. But back to the field trip. I seem to remember, there were supposed to be fifteen spiders. Each spider had a different ability; jumping, carrying more than their own weight, spinning webs at super speed, climbing vertical surfaces." I got the shivers. Whatever had just shot out of my wrist looked eerily like a web. And I had been strong enough to break that man's arm that tried to mug me. I swallowed convulsively. My dad went on. "I mean, there were fifteen cases, but one was empty." I looked at my mom, remembering last night, she had told me that. "MJ pointed it out, and the tour guide said it must have been taken out for research. Well, the group moved ahead, and while I was trying to get the courage up to talk to your mother, I was struck with an idea. I asked her to pose next to the cases. 'For the paper,' I think I said. Man, I was such a nerd," he remarked, grinning. I started to say something, but he stopped me again, waggling an index finger in my face. "Nope, sorry, not done yet. While I was taking pictures, somehow a little spider crept up on my hand and bit me." I jerked. I was feeling that weird deja vu again. A spider had bit him? I remembered the spider biting me in my room. This was getting a little weird.
My dad took a deep breath. "Apparently, as I reasoned out later, it was one of the spiders from the case, the missing one, supposedly taken out for research. When I got home that night, I wasn't well at all. I felt sick, my head felt like it would explode, my eyes hurt to see light. I collapsed on the floor. I'm probably lucky I didn't die right there." Speaking of feeling sick, I wasn't feeling too good right now either. I tried to take deep breaths, but it wasn't working. Was my dad saying, what I thought he was saying? "When I woke up, I put my glasses on. But I didn't need them." This was too much for me. I stood up suddenly, almost tipping the table over. I backed up, frightened, and shook my head.
"I know where you're going with that," I said shakily, grasping onto the edge of the counter. I shook my head again. "You're trying to tell me that you were Spiderman." Spiderman was the only 'superhero' the city had ever had. He had fought numbers of criminals and bad guys, somehow flying through the air, though no one had ever figured out how. And now my dad, dorky old Peter Parker, was sitting in front of me, trying to tell me he was Spiderman, way back then? I didn't know why they were doing this, maybe for some sick humor, but I wasn't buying it. I glared at them both.
"Dad, I think maybe you need some therapy," I said bluntly. My dad blanched and stared at me. One of those, self-esteem, 'Dr. Phil' types of people, to, um, help you find your identity, or something," I added, wrinkling my nose. He stared at me for a few seconds, then burst out laughing. I glanced, bewildered, at my mom, as my dad threw his head back and laughed maniacally. I made to leave the room, but my hands were stuck to the counter. My nostrils flared angrily as I tried to pry myself off the counter. My dad stopped laughing and looked at me seriously. I yanked and my hands came off with a smacking sound. I crossed my arms and stared back at him, face burning. He looked at me skeptically.
"How do you explain that?" he asked smugly. I shook my head.
"I don't know, but you are not Spiderman, and I am not, erm, Spider.....girl...." I trailed off helplessly. This was too weird. My dad couldn't be Spiderman! It wasn't believable. My mom came over and put an arm around my shoulders.
"Hun, let me tell you what had me so freaked out today," she said. "Your father called me at work and told me about....this, dealing with you, and said that he was observing the same symptoms in you that he had when he first got bit. And right now as a matter of fact," she added. She gave me a final squeeze and let go, sitting back down. She looked suddenly very tired. Having two spider hybrids in the house obviously wasn't easy for- wait! What was I saying? I was NOT a spider! I shook my head.
"There's.... I mean, it can't.....it makes no sense! This kind of stuff doesn't happen in real life! There's no proof!" I blurted. I thought dimly that in normal conditions, I'd probably be having an asthma attack right now. I shook my head again.
"Now there's where you're wrong, Jess," said my dad excitedly. I looked at him, suspiciously. He grinned encouragingly, and bent his knees slightly, arms out from his body only a bit. My mom looked at him wearily.
"Now, Pete, just, don't make a-" she began, but was cut off by a sudden whipping sound. I watched as my dad pressed both his ring and middle finger toward his wrist. The same stuff that had flown out of my wrist sailed across the room, latching onto the remote control. My dad held on to his end of the, er, whatever it was, with the same hand, and deftly yanked it back, catching it neatly in his hand. I stared at him with my mouth open, and he looked back pleasantly.
"Mess," finished my mom, putting her hand to her head. I was seeing black dots, floating before my eyes.
"Proof," he said smugly. But the grin disappeared. "Jess? Jessi? Oh jeez," and that was the last thing I heard before hitting the floor.