"So? What do you think?"

Lex frowned. Must we play these…inane…little games? You know exactly what I think. "I think I'm hungry," he said, testing the waters. Is he going to say something withering or not? Just how far will I be able to take this? As tempting as it is to ignore him, this is the only way I'm going to find out if he's feeling any guilt. Like those people who stuck rods in the ground, searching for gold. Except this is far more futile.

"Uh….I think I'm feeling hungry," he said finally, noting again that although they were attracting the odd stare, most of the students were too busy moving back in from a week-long vacation to even glance their way.

Stepping out of the way of traffic, his father sighed, and Lex couldn't help but feel a stab of pleasure at coming up with this inconvenience. It was around eight o'clock at night, there was absolutely no way to get food on campus, and the town wasn't exactly Metropolis or even Smallville.

"Well, if you want, I'll drive back to the convenience store, and find you something there."

Ah ha. A victory. However small. Without waiting for a reply, his father put down his stereo and turned to go. "This is the rest of your stuff. I'll be back in a little bit."

Well, Lex thought, lying down on the bed at least he chose an American boarding school this time. At least it's not in England. Or that fabled military school he trots out every now and then when he really wants to threaten me. But these schools are all the same when you come down to it. It's just the packaging that changes.

His father returned, as promised with sustenance, and they finished maneuvering the furniture into place, their words to each other (Thanks for the food. Are you sure that's all?) dropping into the space between them like a bored child dropping pick up sticks in a jar. Outside people sprayed their words in endless directions, more often than not reaching their target. Inside was another story.

Lex wondered if it made his father at all uneasy that he wasn't complaining or protesting or trying to persuade him to return home. I certainly left no doubt as to my feelings about Harrow. Maybe he chalks it up to my being older, or God forbid, actually wanting to go here, but not wanting to let on. Shit. I'm too tired for games.

Apparently, his father was, too, for he said goodbye and got out of there, after promising to call in a few days.

For that, Lex thought, remembering their acid exchanges at Harrow, I can definitely wait.

And he lay back down, and despite the current of noise nearby fell asleep.

When he woke up, he couldn't tell what time it was; the clock radio sat serenely unplugged on the dresser, and it was too dark to see his watch. From the silence, he guessed it had to be close to midnight, and when he located the light switch, he saw he was right. Might as well take advantage of the privacy while I can. It certainly won't be easy to in this place.

Still, he was surprised upon entering the bathroom that neither of the two boys said a word, or even looked more than briefly in his direction.

Now that is weird. Obviously, I'm not anyone's family member. Either they're really snobby, really tired, or else used to strange guys wandering around their bathroom. Actually, I don't want to know if the last is true.

Or I've suddenly become invisible. Whatever. Which would make a nice change right there.

"We're doing Hamlet right now," the teacher said, plopping down the book on Lex's desk. "You can….".

"Uh, I've actually already read it."

"Really?" and suddenly, Lex sensed the train in the distance about to turn the bend and barrel toward him at the speed of light and – what was endlessly worse – that the whole thing wasn't going to end after the bell rang.

Could I be any dumber? he thought. There's nothing teachers hate more than people who do the assignment ahead of time and publicly admit it. But it just popped out! I didn't say that on purpose. Sheesh, when I am ever going to learn to keep my mouth shut?

"Then you wouldn't mind giving those who haven't a synopsis."

"A synopsis," he repeated, instantly divining from the tension around him, that of thinly suppressed amusement that it would take very little time before the entire class was laughing. Well, screw this, it's a no-win situation; they'll make fun of me no matter what I say.

"Yeah. Sure.," he said, keeping his eyes on the desk where someone had scratched ink initials into heart. "Hamlet comes home from a trip and discovers his uncle killed his father. He spends the entire play agonizing over how to get revenge. At the end, he…" shit, shit, what does he do, oh right, kills him. Or does he? Suddenly, he couldn't remember, although he had read it, but no one is going to believe me no matter what I say, right? Right.

"And then what happens?" the teacher asked, her voice still fairly expressionless, but Lex wasn't fooled. Animals can wait all day to flush out their prey, and humans aren't any different.

"They have a sword fight. I think. Yeah. They fence until Hamlet kills his uncle." He paused, still staring at the graffiti: 'J.K. + T.E.' well, J.K. wherever you are, I hope you're a lot better off than me. "Then someone drinks poison. Oh no, wait.."

Still that silence, one with a high wire of tension overhead..

"Maybe that was Romeo and Juliet?" his voice tilting up like girl's, which apparently, was the tipping point and all it took for the rest of the class to shift from under-the-breath snickers to full-fledged hysterics. Meanwhile, the teacher kept staring at him, apparently oblivious to the racket. She's deaf. Nah. Just enjoying herself.

"I'm glad the play made such an impression on you," she said, as if it were only the two of them in the room, having a casual conversation. "Now let's all get out our notebooks and turn to Act II, scene three, page 76."

Miracle of miracles, the laughter shut off like a faucet.

I guess the headmaster was right about discipline, Lex thought. Well, the real question is: Is this some kind of humiliate-the-new-kid ritual, or does she always do that? Well, screw her. I was telling the truth, it's her fault for not believing me.

And now it's exactly twenty-one minutes to gym. Oh joy.

"Hey, Lex, do you do any sports?"

Already having anticipated this and what would happen if he told the truth, he answered but didn't bother to stop changing or even look up.

But they stared anyway.

"You do what?"

"You know. Fence."

"Oh. Like with swords and stuff?"

He didn't answer.

'That's not a sport. That's like a game or something."

Debatable, he thought. But it's marginally less embarrassing than saying none. And I bet they probably think only girls ride horses. We're definitely not in England anymore. There it was socially acceptable to say that, here it's just weird.

"Well, I guess that explains his knowledge of Hamlet."

"Or…wait…I don't know…Romeo and Juliet?" The imitation was flawless, but even if hadn't been, would have gotten snickers.

I knew that would come up again. I knew it. But what's the point of responding; they're just going to run it into the ground if I do. Or don't.

"Speaking of fencing, you were right about Hamlet," said a kid nearby. "And the poison. Only if you want to impress Connelly, you'll have to give her a lot more detail than you did."

"You've actually read the play?"

"Only because my parents made me over vacation. They're always bugging me about my grades.Bummer, huh?" Before Lex could even think about replying, he slammed his locker shut and caught up to the others going outside.

Here's a guy who's smart enough to have read the whole book already, smart enough not to tell anyone – or at least have a decent excuse ready, and smart enough to only talk to the freaky new kid when absolutely no one is paying attention. I'm impressed.

Unlike England, there was no rugby, but there was the requisite slog-through-the-mud activity:cross-country. At the start, everyone took off like a shot, which Lex expected. What he didn't expect was that everyone would keep up that pace as they turned into woods.

Whoa. Just my luck to have gym with the entire cross-country team. I know I can't be in the best of shape, but at Harrow, I was never this bad. I'd rather gallop through these woods on horseback any day.

After a minute of passing trees, no longer able to push past the burning in his lungs, he bent double, glad that no one was around to see or hear. For the first time since he'd arrived at Excelsior, he was entirely alone. But not for long.

"Youokay there?" the gym teacher said, catching up a minute later.

It's all right. Just breathe. Nothing's going to come up. "Yeah, I'm fine," Lex said, keeping his eyes fastened on a particularly hideous red toadstool. "Sorry, I don't know what happened."

Thankfully, the man didn't seem to care much either way. "Well, don't overdo it on your first day. Pace yourself. Finish at your own speed."

Guess it's a good thing this isn't a military school after all. By this time, I'd have done enough pushups so that my arms would be ready to fall off.

For a moment there, it felt like I was going to have an asthma attack. But I haven't had one sinceI was nine. That freak accident took it away. Not that anyone would believe me for the longest time.

The memory rose up, enough to make him burn with indignation though it had been years.

"Dad, guess what? My asthma's all gone. Really. I'm telling the truth."

"Lex, you're old enough to know you can't just get rid of asthma. You'd be a medical miracle if you did."

"No, seriously. It's gone. I'm all better. I can tell."

They'd exchanged looks that they thought he didn't see – his parents and the doctors – and humored him – not much of a decision given what they thought was my only real loss. But he'd been telling the truth, as they'd eventually admitted.

Not that becoming a medical miracle was one of my childhood dreams, but hey, maybe I shouldn't be choosy.

Ironic, Lex thought, opening his locker, that the only person here who isn't lining up to humiliate me is the gym teacher. They always seemed to take it as a personal insult in elementary school that you had a bona fide doctor's note saying you didn't have to participate in anything for the entire year. As if that would ever be my first choice.

Though he never could decide whether he was regretful or relieved to have avoided for so long comments like that of one of his original interrogators, sotto voce: "What sports did you say you did again, Lex? Ballet?"

You'd think since my father's got a black belt in humiliating people, Lex thought that night I'd be a faster study. But sometimes it seems so pointless, a temporary solution to a permanent problem. Especially, since I'm stuck here, with limited escape means, and I'm outnumbered.

My father thinks I'm way too touchy, but it's just that I'd like to be able to have a normal conversation with him occasionally, without him battering me with sarcasm. Now that's Mom's gone, it's him or no one. But maybe he's honestly incapable of it.

Like that night they had "discussed" education.

"Why are you so against my going to a public school, Dad? Can't you just give me a serious reason?"

Which had made his father laugh like there was no tomorrow. "You really want to go to Metropolis High? Wear acid wash jeans and concert tees every day of the week? Cut classes and get high in the parking lot? That sounds like something you'd enjoy."

"It was just a question. Jeez." The familiar black rage – at his father, but also disgust at setting himself up for ridicule yet again..

"Or, if you want to throw away your education entirely, why don't you just enroll at Smallville High?" By that time, his father was practically choking, but unfortunately not serious enough to require medical attention. "We'd have to make sure you were dressed in red and gold, though. Otherwise you'd get your milk money stolen."

Lex did not respond.

"You know their entire budget goes into football. Evolution thy name is not Smallville." His face twisted with disgust, then he gave his son a closer look. "What's wrong?"

Everything. You. "Nothing. I wouldn't have asked you in the first place, if I'd known you were going to laugh at me."

"Lex, I wasn't…." but no longer in the mood for either mockery or pseudo-apologies, he was well into the hall, when he caught the tail end…. "really need to work on your sense of humor, you know."

By the end of his first month at Excelsior, Lex had gotten the lowest grades of his academic career anywhere; even though nothing (technically) was any easier or harder than his other schools. His teachers' comments ranged from innocuous ("Did you not understand the assignment?") to tentative ("Is there anything you want to…..talk about?") to sarcastic ("I don't recall telling everybody except Lex we had a test tomorrow.") to the motivational ("Don't you want to get into college?"), but to all he stuck with simplicity. No. Yes. I don't know. I'm not sure. I guess. Adults hated it when you went monosyllabic on them, but this wasn't calculated. He no longer had the energy for excuses. Part of him wished he could.

But how do you explain feeling the way I do, when I can't even explain it to myself?

He knew it would a toss-up before his father or the headmaster wanted to have a little talk with him, and now here he was in the latter's office. He figured his father's call was imminent, too, but he couldn't begin to predict what his father would say. Tone, yes. Content, no.

"Do you know why I wanted to see you?"

Great. Can't he just tell me straight out? Why do adults have make everything into a game?

"No, sir."

His next words were a surprise. "I was looking through your records before you came. You went to school in England, didn't you?"

"Yes, I did. A couple years ago."

"From the looks of it, you did extremely well."

Shit, now I know where he's going. And I don't like it. "I guess so."

"And your schooling, as erratic as its been, well, we have records going back to when you entered kindergarten. Do you know why I bothered to collect them?"

Oh yes. He'd begun to sweat, and it didn't help that he was sitting next to the radiator, which was merrily pumping out hot air. Outside the window it was a downright balmy April day. "No sir, I don't."

"When a student does as badly as you've been doing – and we have nothing to compare it with here – we look at the records from former schools to see if there's any indication of a learning disability or other problem. But with you, well, we found nothing to explain this sudden poor performance."

Nothing? What am I supposed do now, apologize? Any minute, he's going to lose it. I know the signs.

First, the interrogation.

"Are you having trouble adjusting? Are you homesick?"

"No, sir." Stick to the monosyllables; you can't get into too much trouble.

"Is anyone giving you a hard time?"

"No." Just you.

Obviously uncomfortable with this topic, the man still managed a: "Are you sure?"

"Yes, sir. I'm sure."

The man examined him for what seemed an eternity. Finally, he said, "Your father went to Yale, didn't he?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well," the guy all but threw up his hands, "don't you want to go to a good college, too?"

That was easy, both to reply and lie about. If he'd asked the more open-ended Don't you care about your future?, it would have been harder to answer.

"I guess so."

"Are you sure there isn't anything you need extra help with? Not all schools cover the same material. There's no shame in being behind at first."

But the only shame is not asking for help, Lex completed silently, though the headmaster didn't bother. Now he's upset, he's this close to losing it. One…two…Blast off.

"I'm not a mind-reader, Lex. I don't have time to sit here and play Twenty Questions. If you won't tell me what's wrong, I can't help you."

Jeez, it's not precisely that I don't want to, it's that I can't, at least not so you'd understand. Why do even the most well-intentioned people lose it with me and turn into my dad? I swear it's not something I do on purpose.

"I'm sorry," he said finally, but the man was off again.

"Maybe you think you're simply too smart to have to do the work in the first place, but we've made accommodations…..waived your foreign language requirement, as your father told me you're functionally trilingual."

I didn't know they did that. Why doesn't anyone ever tell me these things? Maybe if they did, I'd have an easier time telling them what they want to hear.

"…..IQ that only one percent of the population has. If you're too arrogant to do the work, we can't pass you. If you do and still want a challenge, well….."

He stopped listening, only to have his attention snag on the words, "…..father wants you to call him tomorrow morning. Maybe you can tell him what the problem is."

The only problem, Lex thought, as he walked back to the dorm, is this fog I can't get out of. You know. The kind of problem where you say anything to anybody, they'll think you're nuts.

But maybe I really am.

And now, folks, time for Round Two.

His father answered on the first ring, clearly expecting him. "Lex, thanks for calling. How're things?"

"All right. I guess."

His father's cue to leap into full sarcasm mode. "Well, I don't see how that can be. Your headmaster called to say you're close to flunking every subject. Is this true? Is there anything you're not doing badly in?"

"Gym." And for what it's worth, that's not a lie. I can now run the whatever-minute mile without gagging once.

"That's great, Lex. I can't tell you how reassured I am to hear that you're not having a problem in gym." Pause. "What is wrong with you? Are you on…."

"What?"

"I can't believe I'masking this, but are you taking drugs?"

He wanted to laugh but couldn't; everything had gone foggy again.

"No, I'm not."

"I did enroll you in the right grade then, didn't I? Seriously. I'm stunned. And I would really like an explanation, any explanation. Please, indulge me."

Inside the phone booth, he curled up against the wall, so as to be invisible to anyone passing by, the graffiti blurring as he closed his eyes.

"Lex? Are you still there?"

Go away. Leave me alone. I'll promise whatever you want, just hang up. Please.

"Lex?"

"Sorry."

"I thought you'd hung up. Are you getting enough rest? Eating enough? You sound spacey – that's why…..well…." Pause. "Maybe you should get a physical. You could be coming down with mono. At least get extra help if you're behind in your classes. It's free. Just promise me that you'll do something. You can't flunk out."

"All right. I promise." He pushed himself upright. "Dad, I have to go get dressed for chapel now. I'd better say goodbye."

"Then I guess I'll let you go. But listen…be sure to get that physical. And call me in a few days so I can see how you're doing. All right? Lex? Lex?"

But he had already hung up.

He began to lose track of time. Hours or minutes would pass, and he'd come to, finding himself pulling on his socks in the locker room, staring at his books at his desk, or poking at his food in the dining hall, but with no knowledge of how he'd gotten there or even what he was doing there in the first place.

I'm really going crazy, he thought, but the thought, like the others, never hung around long enough for him to even begin to take action or indeed, worry very much, although somewhere inside, he sensed that perhaps he should worry.

One night, he'd dozed off, only to be awakened by crying. Not his. Not anyone's nearby. No. It was a baby.

Julian.

Pulling on a robe, he made his way past the guys in the common room watching TV and let himself outside.

He didn't know how long he'd been standing motionless, hugging his brother, when he saw a familiar figure.

Dad? What's he doing here?

He squinted into the rain.

He's upset. But why?

"What do you think you're doing out here? It's pouring. You're getting soaked. What is going on?"

"I found Julian, Dad."

His father's look of horror splintered and dissolved, as rain lashed the flag nearby, sounding as if it were trying to suck it from the pole by sheer might.

"He was outside crying. I found him. He was crying, but he's all right now."

A gust of wind sent the rain into his father's face.

"He was crying, but I found him. He's going to be OK."

Still, that look of shock and repulsion.

"Lex, your brother is dead. You have to realize that."

No. No. No!

"Why don't you at least come in and dry off? You aren't dressed for the weather."

He hesitated.

"Please, Lex. Please, don't make this difficult."

Something about the words seemed strange – only later when pieces of this memory began to surface, would he realize exactly what. His father never said please.

"Lex, whatever's wrong, we'll take care of it. But you've got to come in.. Please"

Please.

Again, he squinted through the rain at the man who he no longer recognized, but who seemed to want very badly for him to do something. To come.

Please.

He came.