"Telekinesis"
by Laura Reddingale
edited by Mainecoon, who likes this story even though she's never seen the show, and who has miraculously resisted all temptation to add editors notes in the text of the actual story itself.
Ever just woken up with a fabulous idea for an episode of Smallville? [editor's note: No. Never. Why are you asking me? I'm just doing your blinking formatting!!!] No? Well, neither have I, but this seemed like a pretty neat idea, so I wrote it down anyway. I hope you enjoy it! Please review! [editor's note: I don't need to review. I'm the editor! SO THERE!!! Besides, I've never seen Smallville, and I still think Champagne would be a better name for a boy.]
******
School had been out for nearly two hours, and Chloe was still putting finishing touches on the Torch. Clark looked at his watch for what felt like the millionth time, and wished she would hurry up. He leaned against his locker, and began giving serious thought to going on to the Beanery and letting Chloe catch up with him there. At least that way he could get a cup of coffee or something. On the other side of the hall, a girl was sitting with her history notes piled up around her. He had a feeling he knew her; she was in his math class or something. He knew that she had a funny name, Champagne Miller. He considered striking up a conversation, but decided that she looked a little preoccupied.
He craned his neck into the classroom. "Are you almost done Chloe?" he called.
"Nearly. I'll be right there, I promise," she answered, without looking up.
He gave up, and went back to staring at the wall. In a moment, a gaggle of cheerleaders came down the hall, apparently having just finished their practice.
They were deep in conversation, and none seemed to be looking quite where they were going.
"So I thought that maybe he would take me to dinner and a movie or something, but all he-Hey! Watch it!" The cheerleader stumbled over the girl's history book.
She glanced up. "Sorry," she said briefly, and went back to studying.
The cheerleader glared, obviously waiting for something more. When it didn't come, she flipped her hair back over her shoulders and strode down the hall. They continued the conversation in stage whispers, carefully designed to carry.
"She is such a freak."
"Yeah, I mean, look at what she's wearing."
There were some soft giggles.
"And her hair! Does she even know what shampoo is?"
"Well, what do you expect from trash like that?"
"And what the hell kind of name is Champagne?"
Clark glanced across the hall, to see if Champagne was listening, or if she cared. The girl was looking up, her eyes on the retreating figures of the cheerleaders.
A shriek from that end of the hall caught his attention. The one who had tripped over Champagne's history book was clutching her leg, crying.
He was there in a moment. "Are you all right?"
Her eyes were filled with tears. "I fell, I..." she paused. "I think my ankle is sprained."
"I'll get the nurse," one of the girls said.
"What did you fall over?" Clark asked.
"I don't know, I just fell."
Almost against his will, Clark turned to look back at the silent figure leaning against her locker, her eyes innocently affixed on her history book.
~*#*~
On Monday, math class was far more exciting than usual. Mrs. Simmons returned some quizzes they had taken the week before.
"I admit, I'm quite disappointed in you. I had expected better. Especially from you, Miss Miller." She looked down at the silent girl, her face sculpted into the perfect frown.
Champagne didn't answer.
"Miss Miller, if you don't manage to raise your grade, you are going to fail my class."
She still didn't respond, and Mrs. Simmons gave up. She paced to the front of the room. She had just picked up a piece of chalk and was beginning to write on the board, when she slipped. Her head smashed into the blackboard, and she fell the floor of the classroom, stunned.
The room exploded with noise. Some ran to the front of the room to see if she was okay, one student ran next door to tell another teacher, and some just stared in surprise. Clark turned around in his seat to look at Champagne. Her face was pale, and her eyes were big. She saw him looking at her.
"Oh God, I hope she's okay," she said softly.
"Yeah, me too."
Math class was canceled for that day.
~*#*~
That afternoon, as Clark and Pete were leaving the school, they passed by the football field. Lana, Whitney, and a few of his friends were milling around, talking, and occasionally tossing a football back and forth. Champagne, probably drawn outside by the sunshine, was curled up in the corner, her ever-present book in hand. Clark found himself pausing for a moment to watch, as Whitney broke away from his friends and approached her.
"Clark?" Pete asked, then saw where his friend's eyes were, and turned.
Whitney was grinning. Clark recognized that grin, and knew that it meant trouble. He saw the water balloon in the other boy's hand.
"He wouldn't hurt a girl, would he?" Pete said suddenly.
Clark didn't have a chance to answer, because just at that moment Whitney let fly and they saw that the balloon had been filled with ink. The bottom-half of Champagne's shirt was soaked, and her book was covered. Both were completely ruined.
"That answer your question?" Clark said.
Champagne stood up, put her backpack on, and turned away without a word.
"Hey! Can't you take a joke?" Whitney called.
She didn't answer.
He rolled his eyes, obviously annoyed that she hadn't yelled or burst into tears or something. Any reaction would have been better than this. Frustrated, he sat down on the far end of one of the metal benches beneath the bleacher. The bench flipped and landed on him.
Clark swallowed a gasp, and spared a quick glimpse at Champagne. She hadn't even stopped to look back at Whitney.
"What the-" Pete spluttered. "Whitney doesn't weigh that much! That just isn't possible! How could that have happened?"
"I don't know," Clark answered. But he was starting to get an idea.
~*#*~
Later that afternoon, he rang the doorbell of the Miller's house. A spare, rather washed-out looking, old man opened the door.
"Hello?" he said. Even his voice sounded rather gray and faded.
"Hello Mr. Miller. I'm here to see Champagne. Is she home?"
The old man rubbed his temples. "I'm not sure." He turned and yelled up the stairs, "CHAMPAGNE!"
"WHAT?" a voice called from above.
"Someone to see you."
"Tell them the check's in the mail."
Clark stepped inside. "Hey Champagne? This is Clark Kent, from your math class. I just came over to talk to you," he called. A cat rubbed itself around his ankles. He glanced down, and saw that the house was filled with cats.
There was a moment's pause, and then Champagne came down the stairs. "Sorry Clark, I thought you were someone else. Come on up to my room." She turned to the old man. "Daddy, you go lie down. You're not suppose to move around much."
The old man wandered out of the room, trailed by three or four cats.
Clark followed the girl up the stairs. He forced himself to keep silent when he realized she was taking them eight at a time. She led him into what was either a large closet, or an extremely small room. Apparently it was the latter, for she gestured for him to take a seat on the bed.
"So, what did you want to talk about?"
He hesitated, uncertain as to how to begin. "You remember on Friday, when that girl fell down? And this morning, when Mrs. Simmons had that accident? Or this afternoon, when Whitney was crushed by a bench? Do you know what I'm talking about?"
She studied him. "What are you getting at?"
"I think you had something to do with it."
"And if I did?" She didn't deny it.
"Then you need help."
She stared, then started to laugh. "Help? Dear God, Clark Kent, what makes you think that anyone or anything can possibly help me?"
He was alarmed, more by her laughter than by her words. "Are you all right?"
Her laughter stopped as abruptly as it had started. "No, of course not. I accidentally almost killed three people. That is not all right. The problem is, things are getting more out of control."
"What do you mean?"
She shrugged. "I can't always control it. Sometimes, things just happen."
"Look," he studied his hands. "I'm friends with Lex Luthor. He has a whole staff of scientists; some of the most brilliant minds in the world are at his disposal. If anyone can help you, I'm sure he can."
She shook her head. "I don't want to become some sort of specimen, Clark."
"I understand that, but I'm sure Lex could help. Isn't it worth some risk in order to get this power of yours under control?" When she didn't answer, he continued, "If you keep on like this, someone is going to get killed. It's inevitable."
There were tears in her eyes. "When can we talk to him?" she whispered.
"I'll call him. I'm sure he'll agree to talk to you soon. Where's your phone?"
As he followed her downstairs, he nearly tripped over one of the cats. "Why so many cats?"
She shrugged. "They're sweet. We have thirty-three of them."
"Thirty-three! How do you keep track of them all?"
"Oh, they all have names."
"And you can remember them all?"
"Sure. There's Amber, Hershey, Teacup, Misty, Shimmer, Chaser, Apple, Ebony, Cinnamon, Ginger, Sugar, Auburn, Cleopatra, Splash, Ribbon, Autumn, Chesapeake, Taco, Pepper, Ramses, Twinkle, Freckles, Anna-Costia, Ivory, Jasper, Chaucer, Spice, Blanche, Ozymandias, Teddy, Shakespeare, and the king of them all, Richard the Lionhearted." She scooped the largest cat up in her arms, and held him in her arms while Clark called Lex.
~*#*~
Twenty minutes later, they were being ushered into Lex's office. Champagne had recovered completely, and there was no sign that she had been crying.
"Good evening Clark. I don't believe I've met your friend."
She extended her hand. "I'm Champagne Miller, Mr. Luthor. Pleased to meet you."
"The pleasure's all mine," he replied, taking her hand. "Now then, Clark tells me you have a few unusual...abilities, that you'd like to get rid of?"
"I need to either get rid of them, or get them under control."
He nodded, lightly touching the tips of his fingers together. "Clark was remarkably vague when he mentioned your talent. What exactly is it that you can do?"
Champagne shrugged, obviously ill at ease. "I guess the technical term is telekinesis." She splayed out her fingers and studied their nail-bitten appearance. Something about Lex Luthor made her very aware of herself and what she looked like. She knew that her tee shirt was ratty and old. She realized that her jeans were faded and worn. She was aware that her shoes were cracked and dusty. Her coat was too big, and falling apart, and her braid was messy.
"Telekinesis?" he repeated. Under the enforced monotone, she heard repressed excitement and doubt.
"You know, moving objects and things without actually touching them."
"Yes, I know what it means. But can you actually do it?"
She folded her legs up underneath her so that she was sitting cross-legged in midair.
"With objects besides yourself?" Lex's face betrayed no surprise at her floating in the middle of his office. He picked up a heavy paperweight and held it out towards her. It lifted out of his hand and drifted towards her.
"Do you have to see the object in question?"
She closed her eyes. The paperweight remained suspended in midair.
"And is it any great effort for you?"
Champagne opened her eyes, and put her feet back down on the ground. "No, it's as easy as thought. Easier, really, and that's the problem. I barely have to think of something, before it happens." She released the paperweight, which flew to land on his desk. The girl crossed her arms, as though cold, and directed her words to the floor. "I'm sure you've done a few things that you wish you could undo, but imagine if every thought of yours came true, before you could decide whether it was a good idea or not! That's what's been happening to me."
"I can see how that could be problematic. But you've told no one else?" Lex put his hands behind his back and studied the window. It was a fine night, and the stars were bright and clear.
"No one, and Clark seems to be the only one who's figured it out." Now she looked up and faced him. "He said that you might be able to help."
Lex nodded. "I will certainly do my best. Perhaps we had best go to my laboratory before exploring these powers further. I need to know more about them. By the way, have either of you eaten?"
When they shook their heads, he smiled knowingly. "I suspected as much. I'll have the cook send something down to us."
He led the way out of the room, Champagne trailing just behind Clark.
"Do you really think you'll be able to do something?" Clark asked Lex in an undertone.
"I can't answer that yet. I expect so. I'm hoping that she can learn to harness these powers though. Think of the phenomenal amount of work that could be saved by her! If it truly is as easy as she says..."
"Lex..." Clark chided.
"Of course, I am getting ahead of myself."
"You're excited. I don't think I've ever seen you quite so wound-up."
Lex just laughed softly and dropped back a little to speak to Champagne. "Of course, there are several questions that I'm eager to ask you, but first I just have to ask, how did you end up being named Champagne? It's so...unusual."
"Stupid, you mean." She smiled slightly. "I have five older brothers, and they're named Tom, Michael, Harry, Jonathan, and Sam. I was the first girl, and I guess my parents thought that I should have a special name too. I suppose it could have been much worse. Anyway, Lex is sort of strange too."
"Actually, it's Alexander, but that's a bit of a mouthful. Ah, here we are."
"This place is amazing! You own this?" Champagne stared at the room around her. "You could fit ten of our science labs at school in here, easy."
"No doubt. If you could take a seat over there..." Lex began.
"Excuse me, sir. I do hope I'm not interrupting anything." The cook stood in the doorway clutching an enormous platter. All the food was covered, but a savory smell filled the air.
"Thank you, just leave it there." Lex gestured imperiously.
The cook put the tray down and fled.
"What is it?" Champagne asked. One of the lids lifted up to reveal a bowls of simmering stew. "Oh, this looks really good. You're lucky, Mr. Luthor." The bowl flew over to her. A few drops fell out, but they only fell a few inches before returning themselves to the bowl.
"Call me Lex, and you're quite right." Lex seemed to have completely adjusted to the fact that objects would fly when Champagne was around.
Clark still found it a trifle unnerving. "How long have you been able to do that?"
"As long as I can remember," Champagne replied, putting her spoon down. "It was almost certainly the meteor shower from twelve years ago. There's no other obvious explanation."
"But it's only gotten out of control recently?" Lex asked as he crossed the room and bent down to peer inside one of the cabinets.
She nodded. "I used to barely be able to pick up little things, but now it seems like there is nothing that I can't move. Even things that I wouldn't be able to move otherwise, like cars."
Lex looked thoughtful. "I would be curious to know whether your power would continue to grow, or whether you've reached some sort of limit, and that's why it's getting out of control. You have all this energy; it needs to use itself up some how, so it just shoots itself out whenever you get angry." He began to prepare a shot. "Not very scientifically stated, but you follow my point I hope."
"I follow you, but what's the solution to be?" Champagne asked.
"This, for a start." Lex held up the needle. "If I give you this injection, perhaps we'll be able to start unraveling this mystery. No promises, of course."
"Of course." As she held out her arm, Champagne inquired, "What is that stuff anyway?"
He carefully injected her, replying "Diphenhydramine and dimehydrinate mostly."
"No, I meant...I meant...what does it do?" She put a hand to her temple and sat down.
"It's a very strong sedative," he replied.
Champagne nodded. "I believe you. I feel sort of...dizzy...very light." She closed her eyes.
Lex turned to Clark. "I have some scientist friends in Metropolis. I think we should take her there. They can examine her, and perhaps..."
"No!" Champagne sat up with a cry. "No! I won't be studied! I'm not a frog to be dissected for...Oh God, my head!" She rose up into the air, and with a drunken roll headed for the window.
"Champagne, stop. They won't hurt you...CHAMPAGNE!" Lex almost screamed her name as the window shattered and the girl took off. "Come down! That sedative is going to take effect any moment!"
Clark, followed closely by Lex, jumped through the window and ran into the courtyard. Champagne was hovering about thirty feet off the ground. Her flight was jerky and erratic. With a sudden moan, she lost control and crashed to the ground, her neck at an angle that nature had never intended.
In seconds both young men were at her side. "Call 911," Lex ordered. His tone did not sanction argument, and Clark didn't offer any. He made the call, and they waited together until the sirens screamed their arrival.
~*#*~
Clark paced across the waiting room. Lex looked up from his magazine. "Sit down. You'll not do her any good by wearing a path in their carpet."
"I'm just...tense."
"I know Clark. Knowing you, you're probably blaming yourself for bringing her to me."
"And shouldn't I?"
"No, Clark, you shouldn't. We couldn't have foreseen what her reaction would be to the idea, and if there is responsibility, it's mine."
"I just keep thinking that if I'd stayed out of it, that..."
"That what, Clark? You know as well as I do that things couldn't go on as they were. Sit down, and try to stay calm."
Clark threw himself into a chair and closed his eyes.
"Hey Kent!" A voice called across the room. "What are you doing here?"
He looked up. Whitney was standing in front of him, his arm in a sling. "Hi, Whitney. Are you all right? I saw that bench land on you."
"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a little sprain, it should be gone in a week. The doctors say I'm lucky I didn't break any of my ribs." He grinned. "But you didn't answer my question, why are you here?"
"A friend of mine got hurt. You know Champagne Miller?"
"Slightly." Whitney's lips twisted, obviously remembering the afternoon.
"Mr. Clark, Mr. Luthor?" A young woman called to them from her desk. "Miss Miller is awake, and able to see visitors now."
"I'll see you around," Whitney said.
"Yeah, see you," Clark answered, following Lex as he went into the room.
It was dim, but they could see the shape of a body lying in bed. "Hello," Champagne's voice said. She sounded slightly muffled.
"Hi," Clark said awkwardly. "Can I turn up the lights?"
"Go ahead."
Lex said down in the chair next to her bed. "How are you feeling?" he asked.
She suddenly smiled. Only the right side of her face moved; the left remained motionless. "I feel better than I have in a while."
Even Lex couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice when he asked, "What?"
Champagne's strange smile grew wider, or at least half of it did. "The power's gone. I can't move anything without touching it. Do you know, I can't even move my left arm."
"Paralysis?" Clark whispered.
"Yes," she began to nod, but found she couldn't. "Don't look so sad, Clark. The doctors say it may not even be permanent. I may get the use of my body back someday, but I doubt I'll ever get my powers back."
"I suppose that's all to the good," Lex said dully.
"Yes, I suppose so," she murmured. "Of course, the real worry is the cost." She glanced at a piece of paper on the table next to the bed. "I asked a nurse to guess about how much this was going to cost my family. It's a scary number."
"Don't worry about that," Lex said, reaching across the bed and picking up the paper. He glanced at it, then opened his checkbook. As he filled out a check, he explained, "Now, you realize that what happened was that you and Clark were over at my house to see the lab. Clark mentioned what a clear night it was, and I commented that I had a very powerful telescope that we could use. In your excitement, you slipped on the stones and fell. Am I right?"
"On all counts, but how did the window break?"
"Oh, it's been broken for ages." He handed her the check.
Champagne glanced at it. "Mr. Luthor, my body is broken. My mind is not. This is a much higher number than the one the nurse gave me."
"Of course it is."
She studied him, and then understanding entered her eyes. "Oh, of course. It's much cheaper for you just to pay me off then to risk being sued."
"And I would win, even if you did try to sue me, but it would be irritating. I would like to keep this quiet. There's enough gossip about me drifting around as is."
"I understand Mr. Luthor. Thank you very much."
"You're very welcome. I hope you get better quite soon." He stood up. "Goodbye to both of you. I'll see you around Clark." With that, he left.
Clark sat down in the chair Lex had vacated. "I'm so sorry Champagne."
"No, it truly is better like this." She saw his worried look. "Believe me. Look, Clark, a couple years ago, when I was twelve and my powers were weaker and better under control, I went camping with a few friends. I couldn't sleep, and I found myself wishing the night would end; that the sun would hurry up and come. I remember thinking that if only my powers were stronger, I could speed up the earth's rotation, and thereby begin the day sooner. Do you realize what the consequences of that would have been?"
"Not exactly, but it wouldn't have been good."
"No, it would have messed up earth's orbit. It almost certainly would have either brought us too close, or too far from the sun. It would have destroyed all life on this planet. Clark, before this evening, I had that much power. A single careless thought of mine might have destroyed us all. No, it is better like this. It really is, Clark."
He squeezed her hand, not certain if she could feel it or not. "If you're okay with it, then I suppose..."
She smiled her strange half-smile. "Cheer up. You may have just saved the world, Clark Kent."
"Well," he said quickly, "I'd better not make a habit of it, it's terribly stressful!"
...End...
Notes to readers: Okay, I'm terrible at science!
For the ingredients to that shot that Lex gave her, I just looked at the backs of a few medicine bottles, and choose two of the longer looking words! [editor's note: so that worked, then? I'm now frightened of what I might find if I looked in the medecine cabinets at your house. What the heck is Diphenhydramine??? That sounds like something I should know for biology class, but don't because I really don't CARE about biology class.....]
At one point, Whitney says that he has a sprain, but it will be gone in a week. I frankly don't know how long a sprain normally lasts, though I'm guessing it depends on how badly something is sprained.
I have no idea what the result of speeding up earth's rotation would be, but Champagne probably doesn't either, so that's okay. [editor's note: the earth would go faster. It would become very windy. Then we would all be thrown into deep space by the centrifugal force. Ta-da.]
I also don't know if the sort of paralysis that I'm describing Champagne as having would ever go away, but I figure they're figuring out new cures everyday, so maybe!
Oh, and the reason her power went away is that she was somehow doing it with part of her brain that is usually inactive. (Did you know that some enormous amount of your brain never gets used at all?) When she hurt her spinal column, she messed it up, and thus her power vanished. That's the semi-scientific explanation!
I hope you liked the story; please review. Constructive criticism is appreciated; flames will be used to toast marshmallows. [editor's note: *chuckle* And they will, too. I've seen her do it!!]
by Laura Reddingale
edited by Mainecoon, who likes this story even though she's never seen the show, and who has miraculously resisted all temptation to add editors notes in the text of the actual story itself.
Ever just woken up with a fabulous idea for an episode of Smallville? [editor's note: No. Never. Why are you asking me? I'm just doing your blinking formatting!!!] No? Well, neither have I, but this seemed like a pretty neat idea, so I wrote it down anyway. I hope you enjoy it! Please review! [editor's note: I don't need to review. I'm the editor! SO THERE!!! Besides, I've never seen Smallville, and I still think Champagne would be a better name for a boy.]
******
School had been out for nearly two hours, and Chloe was still putting finishing touches on the Torch. Clark looked at his watch for what felt like the millionth time, and wished she would hurry up. He leaned against his locker, and began giving serious thought to going on to the Beanery and letting Chloe catch up with him there. At least that way he could get a cup of coffee or something. On the other side of the hall, a girl was sitting with her history notes piled up around her. He had a feeling he knew her; she was in his math class or something. He knew that she had a funny name, Champagne Miller. He considered striking up a conversation, but decided that she looked a little preoccupied.
He craned his neck into the classroom. "Are you almost done Chloe?" he called.
"Nearly. I'll be right there, I promise," she answered, without looking up.
He gave up, and went back to staring at the wall. In a moment, a gaggle of cheerleaders came down the hall, apparently having just finished their practice.
They were deep in conversation, and none seemed to be looking quite where they were going.
"So I thought that maybe he would take me to dinner and a movie or something, but all he-Hey! Watch it!" The cheerleader stumbled over the girl's history book.
She glanced up. "Sorry," she said briefly, and went back to studying.
The cheerleader glared, obviously waiting for something more. When it didn't come, she flipped her hair back over her shoulders and strode down the hall. They continued the conversation in stage whispers, carefully designed to carry.
"She is such a freak."
"Yeah, I mean, look at what she's wearing."
There were some soft giggles.
"And her hair! Does she even know what shampoo is?"
"Well, what do you expect from trash like that?"
"And what the hell kind of name is Champagne?"
Clark glanced across the hall, to see if Champagne was listening, or if she cared. The girl was looking up, her eyes on the retreating figures of the cheerleaders.
A shriek from that end of the hall caught his attention. The one who had tripped over Champagne's history book was clutching her leg, crying.
He was there in a moment. "Are you all right?"
Her eyes were filled with tears. "I fell, I..." she paused. "I think my ankle is sprained."
"I'll get the nurse," one of the girls said.
"What did you fall over?" Clark asked.
"I don't know, I just fell."
Almost against his will, Clark turned to look back at the silent figure leaning against her locker, her eyes innocently affixed on her history book.
~*#*~
On Monday, math class was far more exciting than usual. Mrs. Simmons returned some quizzes they had taken the week before.
"I admit, I'm quite disappointed in you. I had expected better. Especially from you, Miss Miller." She looked down at the silent girl, her face sculpted into the perfect frown.
Champagne didn't answer.
"Miss Miller, if you don't manage to raise your grade, you are going to fail my class."
She still didn't respond, and Mrs. Simmons gave up. She paced to the front of the room. She had just picked up a piece of chalk and was beginning to write on the board, when she slipped. Her head smashed into the blackboard, and she fell the floor of the classroom, stunned.
The room exploded with noise. Some ran to the front of the room to see if she was okay, one student ran next door to tell another teacher, and some just stared in surprise. Clark turned around in his seat to look at Champagne. Her face was pale, and her eyes were big. She saw him looking at her.
"Oh God, I hope she's okay," she said softly.
"Yeah, me too."
Math class was canceled for that day.
~*#*~
That afternoon, as Clark and Pete were leaving the school, they passed by the football field. Lana, Whitney, and a few of his friends were milling around, talking, and occasionally tossing a football back and forth. Champagne, probably drawn outside by the sunshine, was curled up in the corner, her ever-present book in hand. Clark found himself pausing for a moment to watch, as Whitney broke away from his friends and approached her.
"Clark?" Pete asked, then saw where his friend's eyes were, and turned.
Whitney was grinning. Clark recognized that grin, and knew that it meant trouble. He saw the water balloon in the other boy's hand.
"He wouldn't hurt a girl, would he?" Pete said suddenly.
Clark didn't have a chance to answer, because just at that moment Whitney let fly and they saw that the balloon had been filled with ink. The bottom-half of Champagne's shirt was soaked, and her book was covered. Both were completely ruined.
"That answer your question?" Clark said.
Champagne stood up, put her backpack on, and turned away without a word.
"Hey! Can't you take a joke?" Whitney called.
She didn't answer.
He rolled his eyes, obviously annoyed that she hadn't yelled or burst into tears or something. Any reaction would have been better than this. Frustrated, he sat down on the far end of one of the metal benches beneath the bleacher. The bench flipped and landed on him.
Clark swallowed a gasp, and spared a quick glimpse at Champagne. She hadn't even stopped to look back at Whitney.
"What the-" Pete spluttered. "Whitney doesn't weigh that much! That just isn't possible! How could that have happened?"
"I don't know," Clark answered. But he was starting to get an idea.
~*#*~
Later that afternoon, he rang the doorbell of the Miller's house. A spare, rather washed-out looking, old man opened the door.
"Hello?" he said. Even his voice sounded rather gray and faded.
"Hello Mr. Miller. I'm here to see Champagne. Is she home?"
The old man rubbed his temples. "I'm not sure." He turned and yelled up the stairs, "CHAMPAGNE!"
"WHAT?" a voice called from above.
"Someone to see you."
"Tell them the check's in the mail."
Clark stepped inside. "Hey Champagne? This is Clark Kent, from your math class. I just came over to talk to you," he called. A cat rubbed itself around his ankles. He glanced down, and saw that the house was filled with cats.
There was a moment's pause, and then Champagne came down the stairs. "Sorry Clark, I thought you were someone else. Come on up to my room." She turned to the old man. "Daddy, you go lie down. You're not suppose to move around much."
The old man wandered out of the room, trailed by three or four cats.
Clark followed the girl up the stairs. He forced himself to keep silent when he realized she was taking them eight at a time. She led him into what was either a large closet, or an extremely small room. Apparently it was the latter, for she gestured for him to take a seat on the bed.
"So, what did you want to talk about?"
He hesitated, uncertain as to how to begin. "You remember on Friday, when that girl fell down? And this morning, when Mrs. Simmons had that accident? Or this afternoon, when Whitney was crushed by a bench? Do you know what I'm talking about?"
She studied him. "What are you getting at?"
"I think you had something to do with it."
"And if I did?" She didn't deny it.
"Then you need help."
She stared, then started to laugh. "Help? Dear God, Clark Kent, what makes you think that anyone or anything can possibly help me?"
He was alarmed, more by her laughter than by her words. "Are you all right?"
Her laughter stopped as abruptly as it had started. "No, of course not. I accidentally almost killed three people. That is not all right. The problem is, things are getting more out of control."
"What do you mean?"
She shrugged. "I can't always control it. Sometimes, things just happen."
"Look," he studied his hands. "I'm friends with Lex Luthor. He has a whole staff of scientists; some of the most brilliant minds in the world are at his disposal. If anyone can help you, I'm sure he can."
She shook her head. "I don't want to become some sort of specimen, Clark."
"I understand that, but I'm sure Lex could help. Isn't it worth some risk in order to get this power of yours under control?" When she didn't answer, he continued, "If you keep on like this, someone is going to get killed. It's inevitable."
There were tears in her eyes. "When can we talk to him?" she whispered.
"I'll call him. I'm sure he'll agree to talk to you soon. Where's your phone?"
As he followed her downstairs, he nearly tripped over one of the cats. "Why so many cats?"
She shrugged. "They're sweet. We have thirty-three of them."
"Thirty-three! How do you keep track of them all?"
"Oh, they all have names."
"And you can remember them all?"
"Sure. There's Amber, Hershey, Teacup, Misty, Shimmer, Chaser, Apple, Ebony, Cinnamon, Ginger, Sugar, Auburn, Cleopatra, Splash, Ribbon, Autumn, Chesapeake, Taco, Pepper, Ramses, Twinkle, Freckles, Anna-Costia, Ivory, Jasper, Chaucer, Spice, Blanche, Ozymandias, Teddy, Shakespeare, and the king of them all, Richard the Lionhearted." She scooped the largest cat up in her arms, and held him in her arms while Clark called Lex.
~*#*~
Twenty minutes later, they were being ushered into Lex's office. Champagne had recovered completely, and there was no sign that she had been crying.
"Good evening Clark. I don't believe I've met your friend."
She extended her hand. "I'm Champagne Miller, Mr. Luthor. Pleased to meet you."
"The pleasure's all mine," he replied, taking her hand. "Now then, Clark tells me you have a few unusual...abilities, that you'd like to get rid of?"
"I need to either get rid of them, or get them under control."
He nodded, lightly touching the tips of his fingers together. "Clark was remarkably vague when he mentioned your talent. What exactly is it that you can do?"
Champagne shrugged, obviously ill at ease. "I guess the technical term is telekinesis." She splayed out her fingers and studied their nail-bitten appearance. Something about Lex Luthor made her very aware of herself and what she looked like. She knew that her tee shirt was ratty and old. She realized that her jeans were faded and worn. She was aware that her shoes were cracked and dusty. Her coat was too big, and falling apart, and her braid was messy.
"Telekinesis?" he repeated. Under the enforced monotone, she heard repressed excitement and doubt.
"You know, moving objects and things without actually touching them."
"Yes, I know what it means. But can you actually do it?"
She folded her legs up underneath her so that she was sitting cross-legged in midair.
"With objects besides yourself?" Lex's face betrayed no surprise at her floating in the middle of his office. He picked up a heavy paperweight and held it out towards her. It lifted out of his hand and drifted towards her.
"Do you have to see the object in question?"
She closed her eyes. The paperweight remained suspended in midair.
"And is it any great effort for you?"
Champagne opened her eyes, and put her feet back down on the ground. "No, it's as easy as thought. Easier, really, and that's the problem. I barely have to think of something, before it happens." She released the paperweight, which flew to land on his desk. The girl crossed her arms, as though cold, and directed her words to the floor. "I'm sure you've done a few things that you wish you could undo, but imagine if every thought of yours came true, before you could decide whether it was a good idea or not! That's what's been happening to me."
"I can see how that could be problematic. But you've told no one else?" Lex put his hands behind his back and studied the window. It was a fine night, and the stars were bright and clear.
"No one, and Clark seems to be the only one who's figured it out." Now she looked up and faced him. "He said that you might be able to help."
Lex nodded. "I will certainly do my best. Perhaps we had best go to my laboratory before exploring these powers further. I need to know more about them. By the way, have either of you eaten?"
When they shook their heads, he smiled knowingly. "I suspected as much. I'll have the cook send something down to us."
He led the way out of the room, Champagne trailing just behind Clark.
"Do you really think you'll be able to do something?" Clark asked Lex in an undertone.
"I can't answer that yet. I expect so. I'm hoping that she can learn to harness these powers though. Think of the phenomenal amount of work that could be saved by her! If it truly is as easy as she says..."
"Lex..." Clark chided.
"Of course, I am getting ahead of myself."
"You're excited. I don't think I've ever seen you quite so wound-up."
Lex just laughed softly and dropped back a little to speak to Champagne. "Of course, there are several questions that I'm eager to ask you, but first I just have to ask, how did you end up being named Champagne? It's so...unusual."
"Stupid, you mean." She smiled slightly. "I have five older brothers, and they're named Tom, Michael, Harry, Jonathan, and Sam. I was the first girl, and I guess my parents thought that I should have a special name too. I suppose it could have been much worse. Anyway, Lex is sort of strange too."
"Actually, it's Alexander, but that's a bit of a mouthful. Ah, here we are."
"This place is amazing! You own this?" Champagne stared at the room around her. "You could fit ten of our science labs at school in here, easy."
"No doubt. If you could take a seat over there..." Lex began.
"Excuse me, sir. I do hope I'm not interrupting anything." The cook stood in the doorway clutching an enormous platter. All the food was covered, but a savory smell filled the air.
"Thank you, just leave it there." Lex gestured imperiously.
The cook put the tray down and fled.
"What is it?" Champagne asked. One of the lids lifted up to reveal a bowls of simmering stew. "Oh, this looks really good. You're lucky, Mr. Luthor." The bowl flew over to her. A few drops fell out, but they only fell a few inches before returning themselves to the bowl.
"Call me Lex, and you're quite right." Lex seemed to have completely adjusted to the fact that objects would fly when Champagne was around.
Clark still found it a trifle unnerving. "How long have you been able to do that?"
"As long as I can remember," Champagne replied, putting her spoon down. "It was almost certainly the meteor shower from twelve years ago. There's no other obvious explanation."
"But it's only gotten out of control recently?" Lex asked as he crossed the room and bent down to peer inside one of the cabinets.
She nodded. "I used to barely be able to pick up little things, but now it seems like there is nothing that I can't move. Even things that I wouldn't be able to move otherwise, like cars."
Lex looked thoughtful. "I would be curious to know whether your power would continue to grow, or whether you've reached some sort of limit, and that's why it's getting out of control. You have all this energy; it needs to use itself up some how, so it just shoots itself out whenever you get angry." He began to prepare a shot. "Not very scientifically stated, but you follow my point I hope."
"I follow you, but what's the solution to be?" Champagne asked.
"This, for a start." Lex held up the needle. "If I give you this injection, perhaps we'll be able to start unraveling this mystery. No promises, of course."
"Of course." As she held out her arm, Champagne inquired, "What is that stuff anyway?"
He carefully injected her, replying "Diphenhydramine and dimehydrinate mostly."
"No, I meant...I meant...what does it do?" She put a hand to her temple and sat down.
"It's a very strong sedative," he replied.
Champagne nodded. "I believe you. I feel sort of...dizzy...very light." She closed her eyes.
Lex turned to Clark. "I have some scientist friends in Metropolis. I think we should take her there. They can examine her, and perhaps..."
"No!" Champagne sat up with a cry. "No! I won't be studied! I'm not a frog to be dissected for...Oh God, my head!" She rose up into the air, and with a drunken roll headed for the window.
"Champagne, stop. They won't hurt you...CHAMPAGNE!" Lex almost screamed her name as the window shattered and the girl took off. "Come down! That sedative is going to take effect any moment!"
Clark, followed closely by Lex, jumped through the window and ran into the courtyard. Champagne was hovering about thirty feet off the ground. Her flight was jerky and erratic. With a sudden moan, she lost control and crashed to the ground, her neck at an angle that nature had never intended.
In seconds both young men were at her side. "Call 911," Lex ordered. His tone did not sanction argument, and Clark didn't offer any. He made the call, and they waited together until the sirens screamed their arrival.
~*#*~
Clark paced across the waiting room. Lex looked up from his magazine. "Sit down. You'll not do her any good by wearing a path in their carpet."
"I'm just...tense."
"I know Clark. Knowing you, you're probably blaming yourself for bringing her to me."
"And shouldn't I?"
"No, Clark, you shouldn't. We couldn't have foreseen what her reaction would be to the idea, and if there is responsibility, it's mine."
"I just keep thinking that if I'd stayed out of it, that..."
"That what, Clark? You know as well as I do that things couldn't go on as they were. Sit down, and try to stay calm."
Clark threw himself into a chair and closed his eyes.
"Hey Kent!" A voice called across the room. "What are you doing here?"
He looked up. Whitney was standing in front of him, his arm in a sling. "Hi, Whitney. Are you all right? I saw that bench land on you."
"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a little sprain, it should be gone in a week. The doctors say I'm lucky I didn't break any of my ribs." He grinned. "But you didn't answer my question, why are you here?"
"A friend of mine got hurt. You know Champagne Miller?"
"Slightly." Whitney's lips twisted, obviously remembering the afternoon.
"Mr. Clark, Mr. Luthor?" A young woman called to them from her desk. "Miss Miller is awake, and able to see visitors now."
"I'll see you around," Whitney said.
"Yeah, see you," Clark answered, following Lex as he went into the room.
It was dim, but they could see the shape of a body lying in bed. "Hello," Champagne's voice said. She sounded slightly muffled.
"Hi," Clark said awkwardly. "Can I turn up the lights?"
"Go ahead."
Lex said down in the chair next to her bed. "How are you feeling?" he asked.
She suddenly smiled. Only the right side of her face moved; the left remained motionless. "I feel better than I have in a while."
Even Lex couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice when he asked, "What?"
Champagne's strange smile grew wider, or at least half of it did. "The power's gone. I can't move anything without touching it. Do you know, I can't even move my left arm."
"Paralysis?" Clark whispered.
"Yes," she began to nod, but found she couldn't. "Don't look so sad, Clark. The doctors say it may not even be permanent. I may get the use of my body back someday, but I doubt I'll ever get my powers back."
"I suppose that's all to the good," Lex said dully.
"Yes, I suppose so," she murmured. "Of course, the real worry is the cost." She glanced at a piece of paper on the table next to the bed. "I asked a nurse to guess about how much this was going to cost my family. It's a scary number."
"Don't worry about that," Lex said, reaching across the bed and picking up the paper. He glanced at it, then opened his checkbook. As he filled out a check, he explained, "Now, you realize that what happened was that you and Clark were over at my house to see the lab. Clark mentioned what a clear night it was, and I commented that I had a very powerful telescope that we could use. In your excitement, you slipped on the stones and fell. Am I right?"
"On all counts, but how did the window break?"
"Oh, it's been broken for ages." He handed her the check.
Champagne glanced at it. "Mr. Luthor, my body is broken. My mind is not. This is a much higher number than the one the nurse gave me."
"Of course it is."
She studied him, and then understanding entered her eyes. "Oh, of course. It's much cheaper for you just to pay me off then to risk being sued."
"And I would win, even if you did try to sue me, but it would be irritating. I would like to keep this quiet. There's enough gossip about me drifting around as is."
"I understand Mr. Luthor. Thank you very much."
"You're very welcome. I hope you get better quite soon." He stood up. "Goodbye to both of you. I'll see you around Clark." With that, he left.
Clark sat down in the chair Lex had vacated. "I'm so sorry Champagne."
"No, it truly is better like this." She saw his worried look. "Believe me. Look, Clark, a couple years ago, when I was twelve and my powers were weaker and better under control, I went camping with a few friends. I couldn't sleep, and I found myself wishing the night would end; that the sun would hurry up and come. I remember thinking that if only my powers were stronger, I could speed up the earth's rotation, and thereby begin the day sooner. Do you realize what the consequences of that would have been?"
"Not exactly, but it wouldn't have been good."
"No, it would have messed up earth's orbit. It almost certainly would have either brought us too close, or too far from the sun. It would have destroyed all life on this planet. Clark, before this evening, I had that much power. A single careless thought of mine might have destroyed us all. No, it is better like this. It really is, Clark."
He squeezed her hand, not certain if she could feel it or not. "If you're okay with it, then I suppose..."
She smiled her strange half-smile. "Cheer up. You may have just saved the world, Clark Kent."
"Well," he said quickly, "I'd better not make a habit of it, it's terribly stressful!"
...End...
Notes to readers: Okay, I'm terrible at science!
For the ingredients to that shot that Lex gave her, I just looked at the backs of a few medicine bottles, and choose two of the longer looking words! [editor's note: so that worked, then? I'm now frightened of what I might find if I looked in the medecine cabinets at your house. What the heck is Diphenhydramine??? That sounds like something I should know for biology class, but don't because I really don't CARE about biology class.....]
At one point, Whitney says that he has a sprain, but it will be gone in a week. I frankly don't know how long a sprain normally lasts, though I'm guessing it depends on how badly something is sprained.
I have no idea what the result of speeding up earth's rotation would be, but Champagne probably doesn't either, so that's okay. [editor's note: the earth would go faster. It would become very windy. Then we would all be thrown into deep space by the centrifugal force. Ta-da.]
I also don't know if the sort of paralysis that I'm describing Champagne as having would ever go away, but I figure they're figuring out new cures everyday, so maybe!
Oh, and the reason her power went away is that she was somehow doing it with part of her brain that is usually inactive. (Did you know that some enormous amount of your brain never gets used at all?) When she hurt her spinal column, she messed it up, and thus her power vanished. That's the semi-scientific explanation!
I hope you liked the story; please review. Constructive criticism is appreciated; flames will be used to toast marshmallows. [editor's note: *chuckle* And they will, too. I've seen her do it!!]