Summary: In my mind's eye there will be Clark/Lana, Chloe/Clark, Lex/Chloe, Chloe/Lex or Clark???…You get where I'm going and we'll see how it ends.
Author's Note: I do this because its human nature to want things the way they want it. This is my first foray into fan fiction and I don't know whether I will suck an egg…or two. Be honest and tell me to fry or die.
Disclaimer: Usual disclaimer stuffs…
CHAPTER 1 – 2 Girls, A Guy & A Golliwog
*Smallville High…present day
CLARK
I am trying my best to concentrate on Mr. Watson's voice as he drones on about some war, somewhere. Mr. Watson, our History teacher, speaks of the glory and gore of war in a monotonous voice generally associated with the disjointed mechanical voice of computers. All around me there are familiar faces set in a sea of classic classroom behaviours – furtive whispering, behind-the-book giggling fits, strategic eraser-throwing, outright yawning, downright sleeping and teacher petting.
Although the subject of war is usually fascinating for most of the male species helped by the fresh injection of testosterone on the onset of puberty, I can hardly blame Mr. Watson (although of no help, see above) for my lack of concentration. She sits in front of me, and I find her most fascinating.
If I edge my fingers any closer towards the end of my table I can touch her long hair flowing over the back of her chair. Sometimes when the breeze comes in through the windows I think I can smell the flyaway sweetness of it. I look out for days when Mr. Watson gives out course materials because we all have to "Pass it on guys", the bespectacled Mr. Watson with a head full of toupee says in an attempt to 'get with it'. She will turn to me her perfect lips mouthing the words "Pass it on Clark", and smiles. My world burst into fruity flavours.
My name is Clark Kent, her name is Lana Lang, and I am failing History.
Although failing History in the grand scheme of things is the least of my problems…
**********
"You lucked out today huh? No papers to pass on?"
*Spot on. As usual.*
The words came out from the mouth of one Chloe Sullivan, Smallville High's dedicated editor of 'The Torch', believer of the weird and one of my best friends. A spunky cute blond being the usual description given to Chloe (although the words 'infuriating' have been known to be added to this description depending on who you talk to), through years of friendship she has the ability to read me like a book. I glance down at all 5 feet 5 inches of her from my considerably taller 6 feet 2 inches perch and she flashes me an infuriating grin, the one she dishes out to me in all things Lana.
Chloe was there when my quiet crush on Lana started in Kindergarten. Lana wanted the wooden blocks I was playing with and cried when our teacher told her to wait for her turn. My 6-year-old self turned gallant at the sight of those big brown eyes in tears, and her trembling pink lips. The stuff that make even 6-year-old boys fall, I passed her the blocks without question, mesmerised. 6-year-old Chloe however, thumped Lana on the head with a golliwog. Lana cried even more and Chloe thumped me on the head with her (then) deadly golliwog. But it was too late and I was hooked.
From that day Lana in a dress made for a princess armed with tears and a bow in her hair became a crush and Chloe in shorts armed with a golliwog became my best friend.
**********
"Sometimes Clo, I don't know whether to smack you or kiss you", I say to her in an affectionately yet menacing tone, with visions of thumping her cute blond head with her own golliwog crossing my mind.
"You could always do both when spoilt for choice Clark," she says, fake-batting her eyelashes at me. "I've always pegged you as the S & M type".
For one split second my male chromosomes bought the come-hither look in Chloe's eyes and we were in a land where I could kiss Chloe if I wanted to, with or without the handcuffs and whips…
*Whoa, hold on!*
A second later, I was back in Smallville mentally cursing myself for the thought of Chloe and I kissing. It seems preposterous to say the least! I feel a blush coming on and mercifully for me Chloe had turned on her heels and went into the newsroom.
"Spunky cute INFURIATING blond!" I say to her retreating back.
"Don't call me cute", she flipped back and with that we've got our best bud mode back on track.
And all is well.
**********
Author's Note: I do this because its human nature to want things the way they want it. This is my first foray into fan fiction and I don't know whether I will suck an egg…or two. Be honest and tell me to fry or die.
Disclaimer: Usual disclaimer stuffs…
CHAPTER 1 – 2 Girls, A Guy & A Golliwog
*Smallville High…present day
CLARK
I am trying my best to concentrate on Mr. Watson's voice as he drones on about some war, somewhere. Mr. Watson, our History teacher, speaks of the glory and gore of war in a monotonous voice generally associated with the disjointed mechanical voice of computers. All around me there are familiar faces set in a sea of classic classroom behaviours – furtive whispering, behind-the-book giggling fits, strategic eraser-throwing, outright yawning, downright sleeping and teacher petting.
Although the subject of war is usually fascinating for most of the male species helped by the fresh injection of testosterone on the onset of puberty, I can hardly blame Mr. Watson (although of no help, see above) for my lack of concentration. She sits in front of me, and I find her most fascinating.
If I edge my fingers any closer towards the end of my table I can touch her long hair flowing over the back of her chair. Sometimes when the breeze comes in through the windows I think I can smell the flyaway sweetness of it. I look out for days when Mr. Watson gives out course materials because we all have to "Pass it on guys", the bespectacled Mr. Watson with a head full of toupee says in an attempt to 'get with it'. She will turn to me her perfect lips mouthing the words "Pass it on Clark", and smiles. My world burst into fruity flavours.
My name is Clark Kent, her name is Lana Lang, and I am failing History.
Although failing History in the grand scheme of things is the least of my problems…
**********
"You lucked out today huh? No papers to pass on?"
*Spot on. As usual.*
The words came out from the mouth of one Chloe Sullivan, Smallville High's dedicated editor of 'The Torch', believer of the weird and one of my best friends. A spunky cute blond being the usual description given to Chloe (although the words 'infuriating' have been known to be added to this description depending on who you talk to), through years of friendship she has the ability to read me like a book. I glance down at all 5 feet 5 inches of her from my considerably taller 6 feet 2 inches perch and she flashes me an infuriating grin, the one she dishes out to me in all things Lana.
Chloe was there when my quiet crush on Lana started in Kindergarten. Lana wanted the wooden blocks I was playing with and cried when our teacher told her to wait for her turn. My 6-year-old self turned gallant at the sight of those big brown eyes in tears, and her trembling pink lips. The stuff that make even 6-year-old boys fall, I passed her the blocks without question, mesmerised. 6-year-old Chloe however, thumped Lana on the head with a golliwog. Lana cried even more and Chloe thumped me on the head with her (then) deadly golliwog. But it was too late and I was hooked.
From that day Lana in a dress made for a princess armed with tears and a bow in her hair became a crush and Chloe in shorts armed with a golliwog became my best friend.
**********
"Sometimes Clo, I don't know whether to smack you or kiss you", I say to her in an affectionately yet menacing tone, with visions of thumping her cute blond head with her own golliwog crossing my mind.
"You could always do both when spoilt for choice Clark," she says, fake-batting her eyelashes at me. "I've always pegged you as the S & M type".
For one split second my male chromosomes bought the come-hither look in Chloe's eyes and we were in a land where I could kiss Chloe if I wanted to, with or without the handcuffs and whips…
*Whoa, hold on!*
A second later, I was back in Smallville mentally cursing myself for the thought of Chloe and I kissing. It seems preposterous to say the least! I feel a blush coming on and mercifully for me Chloe had turned on her heels and went into the newsroom.
"Spunky cute INFURIATING blond!" I say to her retreating back.
"Don't call me cute", she flipped back and with that we've got our best bud mode back on track.
And all is well.
**********