Again and again, thank you thank you thank you for the reviews. It really
keeps me going.
* * * * *
CHLOE
The townsfolk of Smallville have no imagination whatsoever and there's evidence of this everywhere you look, and you wouldn't have to look far. Find yourself smack dab in the middle of a small town that's called Smallville. They have an annual market where farmers sell their local produce called Farmers Market. There's a huge plant run by the Luthors called LuthorCorp (yes, I know LuthorCorp is a Metropolis based company, conglomerate, whatever; but since the latest Luthor has been plaguing my mind of late, I figured why the hell not).
You might want to congratulate The Beanery and The Talon for its ingenuity.
And so, if you happen to be an innocent to Smallville and it's your first time attending a high school Prom, don't be surprised when you walk through the gym doors and fail to see any theme of any sort.
I'm not strictly woman-of-the-world here, so what the hell am I talking about right? Besides spending my pre-teen years in Metropolis, and knowing a lot about meteorite rocks, I really don't know that much. But I'll call myself an internationally based chick if only from the knowledge I acquire from books, movies and whatever form of WB they show on the television. And since I'm a particular expert of John Hughes movies, I'll have you know that each high school Prom has a theme, and what theme they don't have, they make up in magnificence.
Of which you'll see neither here.
Okay, I'm not totally devoid of any school spirit so I'll applaud the efforts of the Prom committee (all those bubbleheads) for making the gym look at least out of the ordinary.
Some glitter here, streamers there, strobe lights making lazy circles on the dance floor (which suggests an Under The Sea theme if nothing else), and seriously the Prom doesn't look too bad. There's also the general wonderment at the sight of your high school mates dressed to the nines when you usually see them in various forms of plaid or letterman jackets. Some look good enough to be called decoration and some dressed revealingly enough to be called entertainment.
I turn to Clark to ask if he's getting any merman tendencies and if we should start swimming towards the buffet table, but the words die in my mouth. He's standing stiff as a board, jaw set and staring straight ahead with the most pitiable puppy dog expression on his face.
I don't even have to look. But hell, why not? My night's shot already, anyway.
So obviously I'm not dying of shock when I see Lana and Whitney on the dance floor, arms around each other, staring into each other's eyes. Looking like a typical lovesick couple people either envy or cannot stand. Envy in Clark's case, the latter for mine.
And I notice that Lana's blue dress would match the yellow roses perfectly.
God, you'd think she'd have the decency to look miserable, or guilty, or at least ugly.
However, one cannot dwell on such matters as these (however fun it might be) for too long when one has a friend who needs immediate cheering up (even if he did put this on himself).
I clear my throat loudly. "Hey Clark, guess what?"
He replies with a very unenthusiastic shrug of his shoulders. A surefire sign that said friend has begun to lose all interest in the event and is dragging me down with him.
"I've made a quick survey," I continue anyway. "And I'm pleased to confirm that, due to unanimous decision, the girl on your arm is without a doubt the prettiest girl in the room, and a shoo-in for title of Prom Queen. You may feel proud."
This manages to get a grin out of him, a silly putty one, and he pats my head. "I am."
Seconds after that, his grin disappears and he continues looking sullenly at the happy couple, the future Prom Queen and Prom Jock, the former being the key to Clark's happiness (as obviously, his friends aren't cutting it anymore) and the downfall of my evening.
And she WILL get the Prom Queen title too, I'll bet my shoes on it, and it just adds to the list of reasons as to why life is so unfair.
Sick to my toes of rescuing my dignity, my hair, my Prom dress, my pride, my evening, my everything, I desert Clark in his time of need as he has evidently deserted me, and start making my way to the punch bowl in severe hopes that it's spiked.
CLARK
I was feeling fine on my way to Chloe's. It might have been the trepidation that was all but eating me up as I wondered if Chloe would give me hell or just slam the door in my face. And if she wasn't so shell-shocked I think she might have done both.
I was fine on the way to the Prom, more relieved than anything else that Chloe didn't slam the door in my face or give me half the hell that I expected her to lash at me. Not forgetting that my mind was more engaged on the possibility of Chloe having feelings for Lex. Shocking and sufficiently controversial enough for there to be anything else on my mind.
Maybe I was just pushing it out of my mind.
It wasn't until I faced the gym doors that I ultimately realized that I will be facing Lana and Whitney in there, and the effect that had on me was like the gym doors had meteorite rocks embedded in it. That is: not good. Try as I might, a subject is kind of hard to push away when it's right in front of you.
And of course, since life is nice that way, the first thing I see when I went through the doors is Lana.
And what really, really pains me is how happy they look together.
It's always the same thing. When I'm with Lana, I'm convinced of how Whitney isn't good enough for her. Then I see how happy they look together, and I have to give in to the reluctance that maybe he is, to make her look that content.
I don't know if I could ever make her look at me that way. Sometimes I notice a look in her eyes, or maybe it's just a nervous movement, or just a different smile when she's around me. But still, I don't know if it came to that, if she would be gazing into my eyes like she gazes into Whitney's. And I don't know how I'd feel if it did come to that, and she didn't.
And strong guy that I am, I felt something break inside of me. Does Lana know this? The effect she has on me?
Putting someone through this pain seems like a really cruel thing to do. I hope I never find myself as a cause for anyone's pain, intentionally or unintentionally.
I stare at them transfixed for what seems like ages, a glutton for my own pain, when Pete's face pops in front of me and breaks the spell. Or curse.
"Hey Clark, I gotta ask," he says urgently, glancing behind and around him like a secret agent on a mission.
"Hey Pete, where's your date?"
He ignores that very unimportant question. "CLARK. What happened? Why is Lana here with Whitney instead of you?"
"Because Whitney is Lana's boyfriend?" I surmise, with just a hint of an ironic tone. But being sarcastic is too tiring. I have no idea where Chloe gets the energy. "And I guess his aunt got better."
Pete looks at me sympathetically. I kind of feel better for it. "So you're alone, huh?"
"Yes," I say without thinking. Then stop and remember, "No. I'm here with Chloe."
Pete looks more baffled. Can't say I blame him. I'm getting a bit confused now too. "What happened to Lex?"
"Something came up." It's true what they say: lying does get easier with practice.
"So where's Chloe?"
I pause and look at him. Then I glance to my side, and find an empty spot where there should have been Chloe.
As if I haven't screwed up enough.
I say, "Uh-oh."
Pete sighs loudly and puts a hand on my shoulder. "You're gonna have to take some really valuable lessons in dating, Clark, because as far as I remember, losing your date is a Numero Uno No-no."
"Add it to the list of incredibly unlucky and stupid things to happen to me today. GREAT," I groan loudly. "Oh, she can't be happy."
"Nope," Pete agrees, never one to twist the truth around when it comes to Chloe. Then, "Clara just got out of the ladies. Lots of luck, man."
"Yeah I need it," I reply miserably, but he's gone. Huh. Guess there's a little super speed in everyone, if the occasion calls for it.
Oh well. Taking one last look at Lana and Whitney, I start my search for my lost Prom date.
CHLOE
Extremely, catastrophically misfortunate to find in the punch bowl a clean and healthy mixture of fruit juices with no hint of alcohol or anything equally toxic in it. Not that I have actually drunk before, but if there's any good time to start, it would definitely be this evening.
In any case, whether spiked with mind-altering substances or just good and healthy fruity fun, I drink the punch like it's my only company (which it is). Maybe getting stomach indigestion from an overdose of citrus acids could cause a dizzying effect relatively similar to the effects of being drunk. Both would result in vomiting anyway.
Sighing, alone and so alone, I lean against the table and cradle the cup of punch in my hands. My eyes scan the room and involuntarily– in an attempt to make myself feel worse, no doubt- fall on the perfect couple that is Lana and Whitney, totally oblivious to the fact that they have just unwittingly ruined Clark's evening and in doing so set off a whole chain of events that would lead to my imminent downfall.
And there they are, all over each other.
Except that they're… not.
They're not even dancing. They're just standing in front of each other, not touching. And that's not a smile on Lana's perfect face, that's a frown.
And maybe the punch really is spiked because I'm finding it extremely hard to grapple with reality at the moment, and I blink several times to make sure that I really am seeing what I'm seeing.
But it soon hits home.
Dear God, is the future Prom Queen and King of this sad little menagerie having a fight?
CLARK
I always thought that being tall has its advantages. Sure I was a freak when I was twelve and taller than the whole class, but since I've turned 16 and my father confirmed that I really am a freak of nature, it doesn't bother me now. Being tall would be the least of my problems, and since it's more of a healthy thing at 16 than a freaky thing at 12, I've started appreciating the ability to look over people's heads and know who has healthy hair and who's suffering from dandruff.
Since I've started my hunt for Chloe I've been particularly appreciative. My only obstacle now is Chloe's height.
I found the familiar blonde head though, and if I didn't, I would have used a little x-ray skill to scan purses for notebooks (Chloe would probably be the only girl in the gym to have one, and I'm pretty sure she has one). As I started weaving my way through the crowd towards her, I heard someone say my name.
Looking around and finding no one calling me, I continue my walk to Chloe, and I hear my name again. Unmistakably, in the form of Lana's voice. But she wasn't calling me.
When I glance at the dance floor, I realize that Whitney and Lana are not dancing anymore. In fact, they look like they're having an argument.
When I hear my name again, from Whitney's mouth this time and with a good deal more anger dashed into it, it gives me a clue as to what they're fighting about exactly.
And wait a second, is that Lex standing over there?
CHLOE
I know this is horrible of me but I'm really enjoying this. It could very well be the highlight of my evening!
As much as I try dragging my attention away from the two lovebirds (okay, maybe I wasn't trying that hard), my gaze stays transfixed on them, pretty much like the way Clark was staring at them earlier on, but obviously without the puppy dog expression (no one can master that expression as well as Clark, anyway). This is, seriously speaking, entertainment at its very best. A soap opera on the gym floor. How you would imagine Romeo and Juliet having an argument.
Lana and Whitney fights are few and far between so really, if it does happen, you take what you can get.
Whitney's voice raises a notch and by this time everyone's looking at them. Lana turns pink, and I try to read her lips to get a clue as to what they're fighting about. This would be a highly practical skill for situations such as these, and it's the one skill that I very unfortunately have no talent in whatsoever. Busybodies like me should master skills like those.
I will have to opt for casually walking past them.
But, lip reader or no lip reader, I watch Lana mouth a word instantly recognizable to me. And really, I should have guessed it anyway.
Clark.
* * * * *
CHLOE
The townsfolk of Smallville have no imagination whatsoever and there's evidence of this everywhere you look, and you wouldn't have to look far. Find yourself smack dab in the middle of a small town that's called Smallville. They have an annual market where farmers sell their local produce called Farmers Market. There's a huge plant run by the Luthors called LuthorCorp (yes, I know LuthorCorp is a Metropolis based company, conglomerate, whatever; but since the latest Luthor has been plaguing my mind of late, I figured why the hell not).
You might want to congratulate The Beanery and The Talon for its ingenuity.
And so, if you happen to be an innocent to Smallville and it's your first time attending a high school Prom, don't be surprised when you walk through the gym doors and fail to see any theme of any sort.
I'm not strictly woman-of-the-world here, so what the hell am I talking about right? Besides spending my pre-teen years in Metropolis, and knowing a lot about meteorite rocks, I really don't know that much. But I'll call myself an internationally based chick if only from the knowledge I acquire from books, movies and whatever form of WB they show on the television. And since I'm a particular expert of John Hughes movies, I'll have you know that each high school Prom has a theme, and what theme they don't have, they make up in magnificence.
Of which you'll see neither here.
Okay, I'm not totally devoid of any school spirit so I'll applaud the efforts of the Prom committee (all those bubbleheads) for making the gym look at least out of the ordinary.
Some glitter here, streamers there, strobe lights making lazy circles on the dance floor (which suggests an Under The Sea theme if nothing else), and seriously the Prom doesn't look too bad. There's also the general wonderment at the sight of your high school mates dressed to the nines when you usually see them in various forms of plaid or letterman jackets. Some look good enough to be called decoration and some dressed revealingly enough to be called entertainment.
I turn to Clark to ask if he's getting any merman tendencies and if we should start swimming towards the buffet table, but the words die in my mouth. He's standing stiff as a board, jaw set and staring straight ahead with the most pitiable puppy dog expression on his face.
I don't even have to look. But hell, why not? My night's shot already, anyway.
So obviously I'm not dying of shock when I see Lana and Whitney on the dance floor, arms around each other, staring into each other's eyes. Looking like a typical lovesick couple people either envy or cannot stand. Envy in Clark's case, the latter for mine.
And I notice that Lana's blue dress would match the yellow roses perfectly.
God, you'd think she'd have the decency to look miserable, or guilty, or at least ugly.
However, one cannot dwell on such matters as these (however fun it might be) for too long when one has a friend who needs immediate cheering up (even if he did put this on himself).
I clear my throat loudly. "Hey Clark, guess what?"
He replies with a very unenthusiastic shrug of his shoulders. A surefire sign that said friend has begun to lose all interest in the event and is dragging me down with him.
"I've made a quick survey," I continue anyway. "And I'm pleased to confirm that, due to unanimous decision, the girl on your arm is without a doubt the prettiest girl in the room, and a shoo-in for title of Prom Queen. You may feel proud."
This manages to get a grin out of him, a silly putty one, and he pats my head. "I am."
Seconds after that, his grin disappears and he continues looking sullenly at the happy couple, the future Prom Queen and Prom Jock, the former being the key to Clark's happiness (as obviously, his friends aren't cutting it anymore) and the downfall of my evening.
And she WILL get the Prom Queen title too, I'll bet my shoes on it, and it just adds to the list of reasons as to why life is so unfair.
Sick to my toes of rescuing my dignity, my hair, my Prom dress, my pride, my evening, my everything, I desert Clark in his time of need as he has evidently deserted me, and start making my way to the punch bowl in severe hopes that it's spiked.
CLARK
I was feeling fine on my way to Chloe's. It might have been the trepidation that was all but eating me up as I wondered if Chloe would give me hell or just slam the door in my face. And if she wasn't so shell-shocked I think she might have done both.
I was fine on the way to the Prom, more relieved than anything else that Chloe didn't slam the door in my face or give me half the hell that I expected her to lash at me. Not forgetting that my mind was more engaged on the possibility of Chloe having feelings for Lex. Shocking and sufficiently controversial enough for there to be anything else on my mind.
Maybe I was just pushing it out of my mind.
It wasn't until I faced the gym doors that I ultimately realized that I will be facing Lana and Whitney in there, and the effect that had on me was like the gym doors had meteorite rocks embedded in it. That is: not good. Try as I might, a subject is kind of hard to push away when it's right in front of you.
And of course, since life is nice that way, the first thing I see when I went through the doors is Lana.
And what really, really pains me is how happy they look together.
It's always the same thing. When I'm with Lana, I'm convinced of how Whitney isn't good enough for her. Then I see how happy they look together, and I have to give in to the reluctance that maybe he is, to make her look that content.
I don't know if I could ever make her look at me that way. Sometimes I notice a look in her eyes, or maybe it's just a nervous movement, or just a different smile when she's around me. But still, I don't know if it came to that, if she would be gazing into my eyes like she gazes into Whitney's. And I don't know how I'd feel if it did come to that, and she didn't.
And strong guy that I am, I felt something break inside of me. Does Lana know this? The effect she has on me?
Putting someone through this pain seems like a really cruel thing to do. I hope I never find myself as a cause for anyone's pain, intentionally or unintentionally.
I stare at them transfixed for what seems like ages, a glutton for my own pain, when Pete's face pops in front of me and breaks the spell. Or curse.
"Hey Clark, I gotta ask," he says urgently, glancing behind and around him like a secret agent on a mission.
"Hey Pete, where's your date?"
He ignores that very unimportant question. "CLARK. What happened? Why is Lana here with Whitney instead of you?"
"Because Whitney is Lana's boyfriend?" I surmise, with just a hint of an ironic tone. But being sarcastic is too tiring. I have no idea where Chloe gets the energy. "And I guess his aunt got better."
Pete looks at me sympathetically. I kind of feel better for it. "So you're alone, huh?"
"Yes," I say without thinking. Then stop and remember, "No. I'm here with Chloe."
Pete looks more baffled. Can't say I blame him. I'm getting a bit confused now too. "What happened to Lex?"
"Something came up." It's true what they say: lying does get easier with practice.
"So where's Chloe?"
I pause and look at him. Then I glance to my side, and find an empty spot where there should have been Chloe.
As if I haven't screwed up enough.
I say, "Uh-oh."
Pete sighs loudly and puts a hand on my shoulder. "You're gonna have to take some really valuable lessons in dating, Clark, because as far as I remember, losing your date is a Numero Uno No-no."
"Add it to the list of incredibly unlucky and stupid things to happen to me today. GREAT," I groan loudly. "Oh, she can't be happy."
"Nope," Pete agrees, never one to twist the truth around when it comes to Chloe. Then, "Clara just got out of the ladies. Lots of luck, man."
"Yeah I need it," I reply miserably, but he's gone. Huh. Guess there's a little super speed in everyone, if the occasion calls for it.
Oh well. Taking one last look at Lana and Whitney, I start my search for my lost Prom date.
CHLOE
Extremely, catastrophically misfortunate to find in the punch bowl a clean and healthy mixture of fruit juices with no hint of alcohol or anything equally toxic in it. Not that I have actually drunk before, but if there's any good time to start, it would definitely be this evening.
In any case, whether spiked with mind-altering substances or just good and healthy fruity fun, I drink the punch like it's my only company (which it is). Maybe getting stomach indigestion from an overdose of citrus acids could cause a dizzying effect relatively similar to the effects of being drunk. Both would result in vomiting anyway.
Sighing, alone and so alone, I lean against the table and cradle the cup of punch in my hands. My eyes scan the room and involuntarily– in an attempt to make myself feel worse, no doubt- fall on the perfect couple that is Lana and Whitney, totally oblivious to the fact that they have just unwittingly ruined Clark's evening and in doing so set off a whole chain of events that would lead to my imminent downfall.
And there they are, all over each other.
Except that they're… not.
They're not even dancing. They're just standing in front of each other, not touching. And that's not a smile on Lana's perfect face, that's a frown.
And maybe the punch really is spiked because I'm finding it extremely hard to grapple with reality at the moment, and I blink several times to make sure that I really am seeing what I'm seeing.
But it soon hits home.
Dear God, is the future Prom Queen and King of this sad little menagerie having a fight?
CLARK
I always thought that being tall has its advantages. Sure I was a freak when I was twelve and taller than the whole class, but since I've turned 16 and my father confirmed that I really am a freak of nature, it doesn't bother me now. Being tall would be the least of my problems, and since it's more of a healthy thing at 16 than a freaky thing at 12, I've started appreciating the ability to look over people's heads and know who has healthy hair and who's suffering from dandruff.
Since I've started my hunt for Chloe I've been particularly appreciative. My only obstacle now is Chloe's height.
I found the familiar blonde head though, and if I didn't, I would have used a little x-ray skill to scan purses for notebooks (Chloe would probably be the only girl in the gym to have one, and I'm pretty sure she has one). As I started weaving my way through the crowd towards her, I heard someone say my name.
Looking around and finding no one calling me, I continue my walk to Chloe, and I hear my name again. Unmistakably, in the form of Lana's voice. But she wasn't calling me.
When I glance at the dance floor, I realize that Whitney and Lana are not dancing anymore. In fact, they look like they're having an argument.
When I hear my name again, from Whitney's mouth this time and with a good deal more anger dashed into it, it gives me a clue as to what they're fighting about exactly.
And wait a second, is that Lex standing over there?
CHLOE
I know this is horrible of me but I'm really enjoying this. It could very well be the highlight of my evening!
As much as I try dragging my attention away from the two lovebirds (okay, maybe I wasn't trying that hard), my gaze stays transfixed on them, pretty much like the way Clark was staring at them earlier on, but obviously without the puppy dog expression (no one can master that expression as well as Clark, anyway). This is, seriously speaking, entertainment at its very best. A soap opera on the gym floor. How you would imagine Romeo and Juliet having an argument.
Lana and Whitney fights are few and far between so really, if it does happen, you take what you can get.
Whitney's voice raises a notch and by this time everyone's looking at them. Lana turns pink, and I try to read her lips to get a clue as to what they're fighting about. This would be a highly practical skill for situations such as these, and it's the one skill that I very unfortunately have no talent in whatsoever. Busybodies like me should master skills like those.
I will have to opt for casually walking past them.
But, lip reader or no lip reader, I watch Lana mouth a word instantly recognizable to me. And really, I should have guessed it anyway.
Clark.