"Parker! Did you fall into the toilet? The whole class is waiting for you!"
Mr. Harrington's roar crashed through the restroom door like muffled thunder.
Peter jolted. He braced both hands against the marble sink, gasping for breath. The boy in the mirror was as pale as paper, and sweat had soaked his faded plaid shirt through, plastering it against his back.
"I... I'll be right out!" Peter's voice shook, his throat as dry as if he had swallowed a handful of sand.
He instinctively reached for the faucet, hoping to splash some cold water on his face and clear his head.
"Creeeak!"
A teeth-grating screech of twisting metal erupted in the cramped room. Peter froze.
He lowered his head and stared blankly at his right hand. That hand usually struggled to unscrew the lids on Aunt May's homemade jam jars, yet now it had crushed the solid brass faucet handle into a twisted lump of scrap metal!
"Hiss-"
An uncontrolled jet of pressurized water shot up like a fountain, struck the ceiling, and came splashing down all over him.
"Oh my God!" Peter snatched his hand back as though he had been electrocuted, his mind going blank.
He had no idea what had just happened. All he knew was that something like molten lava was rampaging through his veins, filling his muscles with a wild strength that threatened to burst through his skin.
"Peter? Are you okay? I can hear water running!" Gwen Stacy's worried voice came from outside the door.
"I'm fine! Just washing my hands!" In a panic, Peter grabbed a few paper towels and haphazardly wiped his face. He pressed the mangled handle against the pipe, barely plugging the stream, then opened the door with a guilty air.
In the hallway, Mr. Harrington was checking his