CLARK
I woke up to a beautiful day today, but there's no time to linger on that.
It's Saturday morning, the Prom is in 9 hours and counting, and besides the shower, I haven't eaten breakfast or started on my chores. And I still have to buy a corsage for Lana (which I think will take about an hour of very hard concentration) and a bouquet of flowers. And I have to pick up my tux.
I gotta admit that I was a bit skeptical about the bouquet of flowers, but Pete, my comrade for today's Prom preparations, was insistent. He said that if we're going to impress our ladies, then flowers are the way to go. Although a part of me will always be willing to make a good impression on Lana (I know being a super alien would be one way but… let's not), I reasoned to Pete that Lana and I are only friends. Why should I buy her a bouquet when my affection for her will never (it looks like) be reciprocated? Pete told me to stop being a dumb ass.
Still, I can picture the happy look on Lana's face when I surprise her with a bouquet of… tulips? Okay, maybe I should just go there and pick some pretty ones.
I hear Mom's voice from downstairs, calling me to come down for breakfast.
I take a really quick shower first (one task down, five to go). Bless my powers.
When I zoom (literally) down to the kitchen, Dad has just taken a seat at the table. I have to pause and smile at the sight of both of them, sitting together, chatting idly. A perfect picturesque moment of two people devoted to each other and very much in love, after years of marriage. My parents.
Of course, they're not my biological parents, but they're the only kind I'll ever know.
Feeling extremely lucky and exuberant (great parents, great friends, great Prom date, great luck with Whitney going off to Metropolis, great life) I greet my parents with a hearty, "Good morning!" and drop a kiss on my Mom's cheek.
"Someone's happy this morning," Mom observes.
"And rushing," I add. "I have a lot to do today."
"Ah. Prom preparations." Dad gets a nostalgic look in his eyes. "But what's to prepare for?"
"Well," I start, cutting off a big piece of my pancake and shoving it in my mouth. "Well," I repeat.
"Swallow then talk," Mom advises.
I swallow. "Well, I'm meeting up with Pete. We have to buy corsages and flower bouquets for our respective dates, then pick up my tux. Plus, I gotta do my chores first."
"Which would take two seconds," Dad says.
"Yeah but, I have a feeling I'll be stuck on the bouquet and corsage. I'm really bad at these things."
"It's the thought that counts, Clark," Mom assures me. "I'm sure Chloe wouldn't mind anything that you buy her."
I pause at Mom's words. Did she just say Chloe?
"It's a good thing that Chloe didn't have a date, then you'd have to go alone!" Mom continues while I rack my brains trying to remember if I told them I was taking Lana, not Chloe. "And I know there's nothing wrong with going alone, but when you're 16 and going to the Prom, it's pretty much the end of the world…"
"Mom," I interrupt. "I'm not taking Chloe."
Heavy pause.
"You're not?"
"No."
"Well, who are you taking, son?" Dad asks.
Seeing that it's no cause for concern (yeah, right), I make my best attempt at shrugging nonchalantly and say, "Lana."
Very heavy pause.
"Clark," Mom starts.
"Son," Dad starts.
"Guys," I cut in. "It's okay. Really. Whitney's gone to Metropolis to visit his sick aunt, so Lana didn't have a date." They glance at each other. "We're going as FRIENDS," I insist. They look at me doubtfully.
Luckily Mom, always the first to side with me, smiles at me and says, "If you say so, Clark."
I decide to avoid Dad's reproachful look.
"So who's Chloe going with?"
Now I wish I could avoid both of them.
CHLOE
Oversleeping was not one of my better ideas.
Groggily, I crack open an eye and cringe at the overexposure of light raping my pupil and forcing its way to the back of my skull where it fries my brain.
Sleeping late was not a good idea either. One could hardly blame me for that, though.
Using all the strength of my physical and mental being, I crawl out of bed and force my legs to move in the direction of the bathroom, barely registering a, "Good afternoon, sweetie. Sleep late?" from my Dad on the way before splashing my face with very cold water.
It's not until after the cold shower, aspirin and breakfast (brunch) that I begin to feel human again. And in this human form, I go through my checklist for the day, all of which involving the accomplishment of primping, curling, and dressing my way into a svelte Prom doll in five hours and counting- an impossible feat, I know, but I'll die trying.
I really, really, really should not have slept late.
Which is totally and completely Lex Luthor's fault, I'll have you know.
And, before finally drifting off at 4 a.m., what was my conclusion to the Lex Luthor tossing and turning façade? I was overreacting. From experience, let me assure you that this is not an improbable case, being born a natural born drama queen.
He said I was beautiful because I told him to call me beautiful. That's all. What else is there to read into that?
And now, in the light of day, the clock ticking and no sign of a kindly mutant with time stopping powers to help me, with other things to worry about than reading too much into three words, I wonder how my mind ever entertained the idea of Lex.
It's funny. Ridiculous. Ha, ha.
Today I'm faced with REAL problems. Trivial, sure, but real.
Like, how am I gonna do my hair, my nails, get the straps of my shoe fixed, shower, put on make-up and prepare questions for the interview with my date in the space of five hours.
Oversleeping was really a bad idea. Being in a Lex Haze was not helpful either.
The Clark Haze never stopped me from getting any sleep.
LEX
I said she was beautiful because she told me to call her beautiful. That's all. That's it. No other reason.
Of course, the fact that this has been repeated in my brain for the millionth time since last night, suggests something else.
The probability that maybe the annoying blonde teenager has gotten under my skin. And not only has she gotten under my skin, she's swimming and stomping around in it, making me itch.
Again, I find myself on the road, and again, I find myself contemplating the humiliation of the previous day. Except this time, this was not the work of a sixteen- year old farm boy with the desire of making all of his friends as happy as he is, or an ignorant personal assistant going through my appointments of the day. This, sad to say, came from my own big mouth.
What on earth possessed me to call her beautiful?
Perhaps a result from the odd myriad of feelings that seems to strike me when I'm in her presence. I seem to be straddling a very fine line between intense annoyance and an intense crush.
No. Not a crush. I've never had a crush before and I don't intend to start on a smart-mouthed teenager.
Certainly there have been a few non-chivalrous ideas at the back of my mind to get to know her better, but nothing I've had any actual inclination to act upon, if only because it's borderline legal, and the fact that she's Clark's friend.
Until Clark presented an offer to me.
No. Not an offer. A favor. Don't get your mind twisted over that.
She TOLD me to call her beautiful.
CLARK
The name 'Lex' has been hanging in the air for the past hour, it feels like. And in that hour, Mom and Dad have been looking at me with mouths gaping open, eyes wide as saucers and random choking.
Now, my parents know that I'm good friends with Lex, and even though I'm constantly pushing them to like him and see the good that I see in him, I know that they (especially Dad) will always distrust him.
And if they find out that I'm the one who got my poor innocent friend Chloe a date with the evil Lex Luthor himself? Most likely I'll have to climb out of my window to go to the Prom.
I hate lying to my parents, but I think dodging a few questions properly might save the day. The way I see it, I only have to avoid three crucial questions.
The first one would be why Lex is taking her. The second would be if they are dating, and my negative answer would then lead to the third: how did Lex come to ask her.
Hopefully, I'll avoid this altogether and just act like the innocent son.
Mom swallows hard and says, "Wow."
Unfortunately, Dad finds his voice too. "Let me get this straight," Dad says. "Lex LUTHOR asked Chloe to the Prom?" I nod. Then Dreaded Question No. 1 comes out, "Why?"
I decide that this is the best time to take a big bite of my pancake.
"Not that he shouldn't," Mom rushes in, kindly. "Chloe is a beautiful and intelligent girl…"
"Who is much too young and inexperienced for a man like him," Dad interrupts.
"Well, maybe it's not like that…" Mom starts.
Dad continues, "Well, it's an odd gesture, Martha. Taking a girl to her Prom."
"I can't imagine... I mean, I never realized that Chloe and Lex were, well, an item," Mom says.
Dreaded Question No. 2: "Are they?" Dad pushes. "Swallow, son."
I do, reluctantly. "No, they're not. Chloe didn't have a date so Lex asked her." Dad has that look of distrust on his face. I add, for Lex's benefit, "It's actually a kind gesture, Dad."
"Sounds more like charity," Dad retorts. It's funny how everyone sees it that way except me. And then, finally, Dreaded Question No. 3: "How did this come about, son?"
I look up and face my parents, ready to hand out the lie with an impressive steady wide-eyed gaze and maybe a smile to smooth things over.
Unfortunately guilt grabs my face back down and makes me take another big bite of my breakfast. "Well, Lex, you know, he just, you know, offered," I mumble through a mouthful of pancake.
Dad snorts. Out of the corner of my eye, Mom's looking suspicious, but doesn't say anything.
Which doesn't matter. I'm home free! For now, anyway.
* * * * * *
Thank you thank you thank you for the reviews!
I woke up to a beautiful day today, but there's no time to linger on that.
It's Saturday morning, the Prom is in 9 hours and counting, and besides the shower, I haven't eaten breakfast or started on my chores. And I still have to buy a corsage for Lana (which I think will take about an hour of very hard concentration) and a bouquet of flowers. And I have to pick up my tux.
I gotta admit that I was a bit skeptical about the bouquet of flowers, but Pete, my comrade for today's Prom preparations, was insistent. He said that if we're going to impress our ladies, then flowers are the way to go. Although a part of me will always be willing to make a good impression on Lana (I know being a super alien would be one way but… let's not), I reasoned to Pete that Lana and I are only friends. Why should I buy her a bouquet when my affection for her will never (it looks like) be reciprocated? Pete told me to stop being a dumb ass.
Still, I can picture the happy look on Lana's face when I surprise her with a bouquet of… tulips? Okay, maybe I should just go there and pick some pretty ones.
I hear Mom's voice from downstairs, calling me to come down for breakfast.
I take a really quick shower first (one task down, five to go). Bless my powers.
When I zoom (literally) down to the kitchen, Dad has just taken a seat at the table. I have to pause and smile at the sight of both of them, sitting together, chatting idly. A perfect picturesque moment of two people devoted to each other and very much in love, after years of marriage. My parents.
Of course, they're not my biological parents, but they're the only kind I'll ever know.
Feeling extremely lucky and exuberant (great parents, great friends, great Prom date, great luck with Whitney going off to Metropolis, great life) I greet my parents with a hearty, "Good morning!" and drop a kiss on my Mom's cheek.
"Someone's happy this morning," Mom observes.
"And rushing," I add. "I have a lot to do today."
"Ah. Prom preparations." Dad gets a nostalgic look in his eyes. "But what's to prepare for?"
"Well," I start, cutting off a big piece of my pancake and shoving it in my mouth. "Well," I repeat.
"Swallow then talk," Mom advises.
I swallow. "Well, I'm meeting up with Pete. We have to buy corsages and flower bouquets for our respective dates, then pick up my tux. Plus, I gotta do my chores first."
"Which would take two seconds," Dad says.
"Yeah but, I have a feeling I'll be stuck on the bouquet and corsage. I'm really bad at these things."
"It's the thought that counts, Clark," Mom assures me. "I'm sure Chloe wouldn't mind anything that you buy her."
I pause at Mom's words. Did she just say Chloe?
"It's a good thing that Chloe didn't have a date, then you'd have to go alone!" Mom continues while I rack my brains trying to remember if I told them I was taking Lana, not Chloe. "And I know there's nothing wrong with going alone, but when you're 16 and going to the Prom, it's pretty much the end of the world…"
"Mom," I interrupt. "I'm not taking Chloe."
Heavy pause.
"You're not?"
"No."
"Well, who are you taking, son?" Dad asks.
Seeing that it's no cause for concern (yeah, right), I make my best attempt at shrugging nonchalantly and say, "Lana."
Very heavy pause.
"Clark," Mom starts.
"Son," Dad starts.
"Guys," I cut in. "It's okay. Really. Whitney's gone to Metropolis to visit his sick aunt, so Lana didn't have a date." They glance at each other. "We're going as FRIENDS," I insist. They look at me doubtfully.
Luckily Mom, always the first to side with me, smiles at me and says, "If you say so, Clark."
I decide to avoid Dad's reproachful look.
"So who's Chloe going with?"
Now I wish I could avoid both of them.
CHLOE
Oversleeping was not one of my better ideas.
Groggily, I crack open an eye and cringe at the overexposure of light raping my pupil and forcing its way to the back of my skull where it fries my brain.
Sleeping late was not a good idea either. One could hardly blame me for that, though.
Using all the strength of my physical and mental being, I crawl out of bed and force my legs to move in the direction of the bathroom, barely registering a, "Good afternoon, sweetie. Sleep late?" from my Dad on the way before splashing my face with very cold water.
It's not until after the cold shower, aspirin and breakfast (brunch) that I begin to feel human again. And in this human form, I go through my checklist for the day, all of which involving the accomplishment of primping, curling, and dressing my way into a svelte Prom doll in five hours and counting- an impossible feat, I know, but I'll die trying.
I really, really, really should not have slept late.
Which is totally and completely Lex Luthor's fault, I'll have you know.
And, before finally drifting off at 4 a.m., what was my conclusion to the Lex Luthor tossing and turning façade? I was overreacting. From experience, let me assure you that this is not an improbable case, being born a natural born drama queen.
He said I was beautiful because I told him to call me beautiful. That's all. What else is there to read into that?
And now, in the light of day, the clock ticking and no sign of a kindly mutant with time stopping powers to help me, with other things to worry about than reading too much into three words, I wonder how my mind ever entertained the idea of Lex.
It's funny. Ridiculous. Ha, ha.
Today I'm faced with REAL problems. Trivial, sure, but real.
Like, how am I gonna do my hair, my nails, get the straps of my shoe fixed, shower, put on make-up and prepare questions for the interview with my date in the space of five hours.
Oversleeping was really a bad idea. Being in a Lex Haze was not helpful either.
The Clark Haze never stopped me from getting any sleep.
LEX
I said she was beautiful because she told me to call her beautiful. That's all. That's it. No other reason.
Of course, the fact that this has been repeated in my brain for the millionth time since last night, suggests something else.
The probability that maybe the annoying blonde teenager has gotten under my skin. And not only has she gotten under my skin, she's swimming and stomping around in it, making me itch.
Again, I find myself on the road, and again, I find myself contemplating the humiliation of the previous day. Except this time, this was not the work of a sixteen- year old farm boy with the desire of making all of his friends as happy as he is, or an ignorant personal assistant going through my appointments of the day. This, sad to say, came from my own big mouth.
What on earth possessed me to call her beautiful?
Perhaps a result from the odd myriad of feelings that seems to strike me when I'm in her presence. I seem to be straddling a very fine line between intense annoyance and an intense crush.
No. Not a crush. I've never had a crush before and I don't intend to start on a smart-mouthed teenager.
Certainly there have been a few non-chivalrous ideas at the back of my mind to get to know her better, but nothing I've had any actual inclination to act upon, if only because it's borderline legal, and the fact that she's Clark's friend.
Until Clark presented an offer to me.
No. Not an offer. A favor. Don't get your mind twisted over that.
She TOLD me to call her beautiful.
CLARK
The name 'Lex' has been hanging in the air for the past hour, it feels like. And in that hour, Mom and Dad have been looking at me with mouths gaping open, eyes wide as saucers and random choking.
Now, my parents know that I'm good friends with Lex, and even though I'm constantly pushing them to like him and see the good that I see in him, I know that they (especially Dad) will always distrust him.
And if they find out that I'm the one who got my poor innocent friend Chloe a date with the evil Lex Luthor himself? Most likely I'll have to climb out of my window to go to the Prom.
I hate lying to my parents, but I think dodging a few questions properly might save the day. The way I see it, I only have to avoid three crucial questions.
The first one would be why Lex is taking her. The second would be if they are dating, and my negative answer would then lead to the third: how did Lex come to ask her.
Hopefully, I'll avoid this altogether and just act like the innocent son.
Mom swallows hard and says, "Wow."
Unfortunately, Dad finds his voice too. "Let me get this straight," Dad says. "Lex LUTHOR asked Chloe to the Prom?" I nod. Then Dreaded Question No. 1 comes out, "Why?"
I decide that this is the best time to take a big bite of my pancake.
"Not that he shouldn't," Mom rushes in, kindly. "Chloe is a beautiful and intelligent girl…"
"Who is much too young and inexperienced for a man like him," Dad interrupts.
"Well, maybe it's not like that…" Mom starts.
Dad continues, "Well, it's an odd gesture, Martha. Taking a girl to her Prom."
"I can't imagine... I mean, I never realized that Chloe and Lex were, well, an item," Mom says.
Dreaded Question No. 2: "Are they?" Dad pushes. "Swallow, son."
I do, reluctantly. "No, they're not. Chloe didn't have a date so Lex asked her." Dad has that look of distrust on his face. I add, for Lex's benefit, "It's actually a kind gesture, Dad."
"Sounds more like charity," Dad retorts. It's funny how everyone sees it that way except me. And then, finally, Dreaded Question No. 3: "How did this come about, son?"
I look up and face my parents, ready to hand out the lie with an impressive steady wide-eyed gaze and maybe a smile to smooth things over.
Unfortunately guilt grabs my face back down and makes me take another big bite of my breakfast. "Well, Lex, you know, he just, you know, offered," I mumble through a mouthful of pancake.
Dad snorts. Out of the corner of my eye, Mom's looking suspicious, but doesn't say anything.
Which doesn't matter. I'm home free! For now, anyway.
* * * * * *
Thank you thank you thank you for the reviews!