Author's Note: Here we go…
Ps/ Thanks to SmallvilleFreak for my very first review :-)…what a buzz.
Disclaimer: Usual disclaimer stuffs…
CHAPTER 2 – The Three Amigos
CHLOE
History has never been a favourite subject of mine. More so this year where as freshmen we are landed with quite possibly the most boring teacher in Smallville High. Mr. Watson aka The Drone aka Mr What? Aka Toupee Top. If tepid water had a voice, it would sound like Mr. Watson…'nuff said.
I am dead bored and although trying to discern the shade of Mr. Watson's toupee could whittle away the minutes (Is it orange? Is it wheatish? Is it wheatish orange??), I turn my attention elsewhere and noticed Clark zoning out. Flexing my fingers, I proceed to strategically zero aiming my eraser at Clark's brown haired head, who sits at my 2-o clock, 2 rows in front of me. Over the weeks I have honed my mini-bazooka skills to miss Shawn's nose and Debra's hair. Most times I hit his head and Clark turns to flash that megawatt Clark smile in my direction. Sometimes I overshoot and hit Lana's head…and Clark turns to give me "the look".
I overshoot quite a bit actually, honed skills be damned.
**********
My best friend Clark Kent has had a crush on Lana Lang since the beginning of time. Or so it feels like sometimes. Ever since Kindy when Clark played saviour to Lana's distress and I thumped his head with, Bernie, my golliwog. Over the years I've "looked" out for Clark in all things Lana. My infuriated looks turning into infuriating grins while I try to downplay Clark's pain when Lana goes out with yet another hotshot and/or jock. I suppose you couldn't blame the guy, I look dispassionately at the beatific profile of Smallville High's resident IT girl. Silky brown hair, big brown eyes, perfectly made up, perfectly dressed. And nice. That's Lana for you. All round Ms. Perfection.
I wonder if she shoots up between her toes? Or slaughter chicken at midnight in some satanic ritual to keep her pact with the devil? Don't mind me, sometimes the inner bitch in me speaks up…and we all have those now, don't we?
My eraser takes off and hits bulls-eye.
"Oops! Sorry Lana!" I mouth silently at her as she turns to flash me her pearly white/wide smile and I entertain Clark's "look" with my tongue.
*Helloooo Ms. Inner-Bitch!*
And I chuckle to myself.
**********
After combat training class (and after snippily taunting Clark about Ms. Lang), I rush to get to the newsroom. I am the Editor of the Torch this year, an achievement I am most proud of, being the first freshmen to be appointed so. I suppose there wasn't any other choice after I bombarded Principal Kwan's office with a mountain of articles. Dedication to my passions has never been a problem of mine.
"Hey Pete", I greet my other best friend, who is sitting on a desk as I walk into the newsroom. Clark follows my greeting in unison.
"Ready for the Homecoming dance Ms. Sullivan?" Pete asks me as I sit down in front of my beloved iMac.
"You betcha bippy boys. I have my ball gown, pearls and tiara all set for tonight!" I flippantly answer Pete.
Yes people, tonight is Homecoming Dance. All around school you can hear nothing but talks of limousines, shades of lipsticks, heels of every size, shape and colour, dresses of every kind. You go into the girls toilet and there's a mini hair salon set up in there. Not to mention who would be the Homecoming King and Queen. Although this question is moot, for Lana and hey jock boyfriend, Whitney has their names practically inscribed on the crowns.
Pete, Clark and I made a pact in grade school to go to Homecoming Dance together, as friends, like the Three Amigos, only without the sombreros. Pete thought it up one fine day whilst all three of us were sitting cross-legged on the school lawn. We had just watched 'The Outsider's' on the Kent's VCR and were feeling the natural angst of kids on the outside looking in.
Clark, the serious non-jock with a quiet crush. Pete, the colored boy, with humour masking bigotry. And me, Chloe, opinionated to the bone.
And so Pete thought it up, I seconded it, and Clark went along. Pete and I knew why Clark did it, and I think I did it because all through grade school I could count the number of dates I had with one hand. I was never into these kind of things anyway, my passion for journalism always foreshadowing other teen extra-curricular activities. Besides, I had my 2 favourite guys in my life anyway, and that's enough male factors for me.
And deep down, we made this pact to save each other from the embarrassment of waiting for (and wanting) the perfect date. There is no rebel in any of us; we were friends, and friends look out for one another.
It was a simple as that.
**********
Ps/ Thanks to SmallvilleFreak for my very first review :-)…what a buzz.
Disclaimer: Usual disclaimer stuffs…
CHAPTER 2 – The Three Amigos
CHLOE
History has never been a favourite subject of mine. More so this year where as freshmen we are landed with quite possibly the most boring teacher in Smallville High. Mr. Watson aka The Drone aka Mr What? Aka Toupee Top. If tepid water had a voice, it would sound like Mr. Watson…'nuff said.
I am dead bored and although trying to discern the shade of Mr. Watson's toupee could whittle away the minutes (Is it orange? Is it wheatish? Is it wheatish orange??), I turn my attention elsewhere and noticed Clark zoning out. Flexing my fingers, I proceed to strategically zero aiming my eraser at Clark's brown haired head, who sits at my 2-o clock, 2 rows in front of me. Over the weeks I have honed my mini-bazooka skills to miss Shawn's nose and Debra's hair. Most times I hit his head and Clark turns to flash that megawatt Clark smile in my direction. Sometimes I overshoot and hit Lana's head…and Clark turns to give me "the look".
I overshoot quite a bit actually, honed skills be damned.
**********
My best friend Clark Kent has had a crush on Lana Lang since the beginning of time. Or so it feels like sometimes. Ever since Kindy when Clark played saviour to Lana's distress and I thumped his head with, Bernie, my golliwog. Over the years I've "looked" out for Clark in all things Lana. My infuriated looks turning into infuriating grins while I try to downplay Clark's pain when Lana goes out with yet another hotshot and/or jock. I suppose you couldn't blame the guy, I look dispassionately at the beatific profile of Smallville High's resident IT girl. Silky brown hair, big brown eyes, perfectly made up, perfectly dressed. And nice. That's Lana for you. All round Ms. Perfection.
I wonder if she shoots up between her toes? Or slaughter chicken at midnight in some satanic ritual to keep her pact with the devil? Don't mind me, sometimes the inner bitch in me speaks up…and we all have those now, don't we?
My eraser takes off and hits bulls-eye.
"Oops! Sorry Lana!" I mouth silently at her as she turns to flash me her pearly white/wide smile and I entertain Clark's "look" with my tongue.
*Helloooo Ms. Inner-Bitch!*
And I chuckle to myself.
**********
After combat training class (and after snippily taunting Clark about Ms. Lang), I rush to get to the newsroom. I am the Editor of the Torch this year, an achievement I am most proud of, being the first freshmen to be appointed so. I suppose there wasn't any other choice after I bombarded Principal Kwan's office with a mountain of articles. Dedication to my passions has never been a problem of mine.
"Hey Pete", I greet my other best friend, who is sitting on a desk as I walk into the newsroom. Clark follows my greeting in unison.
"Ready for the Homecoming dance Ms. Sullivan?" Pete asks me as I sit down in front of my beloved iMac.
"You betcha bippy boys. I have my ball gown, pearls and tiara all set for tonight!" I flippantly answer Pete.
Yes people, tonight is Homecoming Dance. All around school you can hear nothing but talks of limousines, shades of lipsticks, heels of every size, shape and colour, dresses of every kind. You go into the girls toilet and there's a mini hair salon set up in there. Not to mention who would be the Homecoming King and Queen. Although this question is moot, for Lana and hey jock boyfriend, Whitney has their names practically inscribed on the crowns.
Pete, Clark and I made a pact in grade school to go to Homecoming Dance together, as friends, like the Three Amigos, only without the sombreros. Pete thought it up one fine day whilst all three of us were sitting cross-legged on the school lawn. We had just watched 'The Outsider's' on the Kent's VCR and were feeling the natural angst of kids on the outside looking in.
Clark, the serious non-jock with a quiet crush. Pete, the colored boy, with humour masking bigotry. And me, Chloe, opinionated to the bone.
And so Pete thought it up, I seconded it, and Clark went along. Pete and I knew why Clark did it, and I think I did it because all through grade school I could count the number of dates I had with one hand. I was never into these kind of things anyway, my passion for journalism always foreshadowing other teen extra-curricular activities. Besides, I had my 2 favourite guys in my life anyway, and that's enough male factors for me.
And deep down, we made this pact to save each other from the embarrassment of waiting for (and wanting) the perfect date. There is no rebel in any of us; we were friends, and friends look out for one another.
It was a simple as that.
**********