Lois was freaking out.
Not in the sense that phrase was typically used. She wasn't just upset. She was actually freaking out. Her heart was racing, her hands were shaking, and she was almost panting from the stress.
She'd been expelled from schools without batting an eye, certainly without a reaction anywhere near this extreme. But, then again, this was different. This was serious.
Surely her mysterious friend would have gotten her message by now. He wouldn't just leave her hanging. Right?
She threw her computer a beseeching glance just as a new message popped up on the screen.
SmallvilleGuy: Hey, I got your message. Is everything okay? You said it was an emergency.
She tripped over her chair, her knee hitting the floor with a painful, jarring thud, as she made a lunge for the keyboard. She'd kept the secure chat room with her secret friend open in the hopes he would get her SOS and respond. As she slid into her chair, she sucked in a deep breath to try to calm down. She didn't want him to think she was freaking out. She was freaking out, but she didn't want him to know it.
SkepticGirl1: So…um…this is awkward. I need your help. Do you know how to get stains out of a leather jacket? I think I ruined my new coat today and my parents will kill me if they find out.
The usual message that usually popped up to show he was typing on the other end of the line didn't appear for a long moment. She could only imagine that he was confused why this was an emergency.
SmallvilleGuy: Not really.
She groaned at his unhelpful response.
SkepticGirl1: Can you ask your parents? I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important. I've tried to Google it but nothing I found was very helpful.
There was another long pause before words popped up on her screen.
SmallvilleGuy: What kind of stain is it? Grease?
Lois winced. She'd been hoping to avoid this topic, actually. At least until after the crisis had passed.
SkepticGirl1: I don't know. A bomb stain?
SmallvilleGuy: A BOMB?
SkepticGirl1: … Well, I guess it could be grease. Or oil. I was in the trunk of that car for a while.
SmallvilleGuy: Lois! What were you doing in a trunk? … Wait, that's actually the less scary part so I'll get to that later. What do you mean it might be a bomb stain?
SkepticGirl1: I was hiding, of course. Nobody would believe me when I said something suspicious was going on, so I had to get a closer look!
SmallvilleGuy: At a BOMB?
A quick glance at the clock on her nightstand reminded her that time was passing all too quickly. She had to figure this out before her mom got home. She stared thoughtfully at the myriad of cleaning products in front of her as she pondered the best way to get her friend past this little mental hang-up he was having over the circumstances of her predicament. She was touched he was worried about her, but she didn't have time for this right now.
Before reaching for the Windex – it had to be good for more than cleaning just windows, right? – she shot off another quick message.
SkepticGirl1: It's not like it actually blew up. And, see? I'm here, talking to you, freaking out about my imminent demise. So I'm clearly fine. I'll tell you everything later. IF I live that long. Are you going to help me now, or are you going to freak out some more?
SmallvilleGuy: You'll be happy to know I can do both at the same time.
SkepticGirl1: Okay, but only one is helpful to me right now.
The message indicating he was typing popped up, disappeared, then popped up again. When no message came through, she assumed he'd deleted it without sending. That wasn't really a clear win in her column, but if it meant he was going to focus on the problem at hand instead of worrying about that silly 'bomb' thing, she would take it.
Anyway, the Windex had been a complete failure. She moved on to the carpet cleaner. Desperate times and all that.
SkepticGirl1: Anyway, can you ask your parents if they have any suggestions?
SmallvilleGuy: For how to get bomb stains out of leather? No, I don't think they'd take that well.
SkepticGirl1: What do you think will happen? They'll think you spend your free time diffusing bombs? Tell them it's for a school project or something!
SmallvilleGuy: What kind of school do you think I go to?
Lois huffed. Clearly not one that taught anything helpful.
SkepticGirl1: This is serious. When my mom gets home, she's going to kill me. I could handle it if it was my dad, but even HE doesn't cross my mom when she's seriously angry. And she has a sixth sense about these things. She'll know within five minutes of getting home. Tops. She'll sense it. I'm not kidding. This is DEFCON 1 levels of serious. I mean it.
He was silent long enough for her to get through both dishwashing detergent and the unlabeled bottle of what Lois could only assume was toxic waste that her mom used the last time one of Lucy's cooking projects exploded in the oven. The stain stubbornly held on. In fact, it was possibly getting worse, given that what was once grey was now taking on a distinctly purple-ish hue.
SmallvilleGuy: I asked my mom about stains. She said you have to figure out what kind of stain it is so you can use the right solvent. And she said it's important to dab, not scrub.
Well, that was good to know, since she'd spent the last ten minutes scrubbing at the coat with enough force, she was surprised she hadn't worn a hole in it. She shot another quick look at the clock. Her efforts – valiant as they were – were in vain, and she wasn't going to buy more time by stubbornly refusing to accept the obvious.
SkepticGirl1: Okay…this isn't going to happen. I'll be back in a moment. Time to try Plan B.
Just as she hit the button to sign off, she saw another message pop up.
SmallvilleGuy: What's Plan B?
Fifteen minutes or so later, she sank gracelessly into her chair and pulled up the chat window again. He was still waiting for her. She'd hoped he would be.
She didn't even have a chance to send him a progress report when a message popped up.
SmallvilleGuy: Everything okay?
SkepticGirl1: Yeah. I had to bribe her with twenty bucks – the brat – but Lucy agreed to take the fall for me. Which is good, because that's the third jacket I've ruined in as many months, and I'm not exaggerating when I say my parents would kill me if they found out.
SmallvilleGuy: What did you tell her happened to it?
Lois scowled. Her sister made one hell of a negotiator. She was positively ruthless.
SkepticGirl1: Nothing. Part of the deal was she couldn't ask questions – that cost me extra. I'm out fifty bucks! I hope I don't need to take a cab anywhere in the near future, because that was all my spending money!
SmallvilleGuy: Well, you can always hide in the trunk of a car. I hear that works pretty well.
"Oh, very funny," she blurted without even realizing she was speaking out loud.
Just then, she heard her mom call her from downstairs. Like a woman facing the guillotine, she typed a quick goodbye to her mysterious friend, stood, and headed for the door.
She'd get him back next time. For now, it was time to make sure Lucy earned every penny of that fifty dollars.