Part III.
Chloe had rehearsed the speech a hundred times in her head, but she still had absolutely no idea what she was going to say. The problem, she decided, was clearly that she'd changed it with each rehearsal.
She clearned her throat and began. "Yeah, so, man that trig test was a monster, huh? I mean who knew there'd be 30 questions on it? That Professor Garces is a complete slavedriver, and Whitney's writing for the Torch staff now, and do you think you and me and Pete should form a study group?" Chloe rolled her eyes at herself as she trudged along the path to the Kent farm. "Smooth, Sullivan. Real smooth." She breathed in what she desperately hoped was one of those "cleansing breaths" her mother talked about after her yoga classes at the Y, and tried again as Clark's barn loomed large on the horizon: "See, Clark, I believe very strongly in diversity among my staff. And before Whitney, we had a serious shortage of arrogant, violent assholes, so I had to take steps..." She sniggered at her own wit, and stopped short at Clark's barn door, staring at it apprehensively.
Time to channel Mom. (*Deep, cleansing breath, Chloe, honey. It'll do wonders, believe me.*)
"OK. He's going to be fine," she muttered to herself, still warily staring at the door as though it were set to viciously attack her at any moment. "He's not going to hate me. God, please don't make him hate me. I'll just casually say something like, `Clark, I just wanted to mention something that might be important--`"
"Like what?" A too-familiar tenor behind her stopped her heartbeat for entirely too long.
"Uh. Clark." She turned around slowly, her gaze suddenly intently studying a fascinating tuft of grass. "You snuck up on me."
"I live here, Chloe," Clark said, the sarcasm in his voice affectionate. "I saw you standing here and decided to come over, since I figured you weren't here to admire the livestock."
Oh, if only you knew, Clark, she thought. "Right. Actually yeah, I came over to see you, so--"
"So it's a good thing I snuck up on you." He grinned. She melted.
"Right." She searched his belovedly oblivious face for a moment before kicking the hapless grass tuft a few times. "Can we go inside and talk or something?"
"Sure," Clark cocked his head, indicating that she should follow him into the barn as he stepped inside. "I was just heading upstairs to tackle that `Tale of Two Cities' outline." As he rounded the corner into his loft, he glanced behind him to see Chloe looking very... pinched. "Hey... everything OK?"
"Oh... yeah. Everything's just... great!" She switched on her happiest grin, which quickly faded. "Actually, no. Actually, Clark... I need to know you're not going to kill me."
"What?!"
"If I tell you something."
"Oh..." Clark half-smiled at her with a question in his eyes. "I dunno, Chloe. Depends on what it is."
"You're going to hate it."
"Well, the more you build it up, the more horrible I'm going to expect it to be."
"It's... pretty horrible."
Her melodrama made his green eyes twinkle, as always. "Did you kill someone?"
"No, but--"
"Have someone killed?"
"No! Clark--"
"Then I'm sure I'll forgive you."
"Whitney Fordman's on my staff!" There. She had blurted it out all in one breath. WhitneyFordmansonmystaff. She watched Clark blink in rapid succession.
"..."
"Clark? Are you--"
"Your staff at the Torch."
A forlorn sigh. "Yeah."
"Doing *what*, Chloe? The guy's the missing link in human evolution!"
"He's... my new sports editor," she said, practically melting into the hardwood floor with guilt.
"Please tell me you're kidding." But her pout told him otherwise. He shook his head, his eyes still wide with incredulity. "Jesus, Chloe, of all the people at Smallville High!"
"Clark, you may not know this, but I was truly, truly getting a little desperate with the lack of staffing over there."
"Obviously!"
She sighed patiently, and tried again: "My sports columns are painfully bad even to me, you know that. I needed a sports editor, and--"
"Chloe, I could have done it if you were THAT hard up; I know about sports, for heaven's sake!"
"You're... you've been really *busy*, Clark." She shrugged haplessly. "Whitney volunteered. I mean, yeah, he's definitely got some anger issues there, and he's kind of a pain in the ass, but truthfully, he's not that bad of a wri--"
"Oh, God, spare me!" Clark jumped and crossed his loft to his window in two great strides, and began pacing. "You don't understand! How could you as my friend let that guy on your staff? Whitney Fordman *hates* me!"
"It's... mutual, I'm sure."
"*I* am justified! He's a jerk. A world class jerk. He's like the Supreme World Jerk! You look up JERK in the dictionary and there's a tiny picture of Whitney Fordman scowling back at you right next to the definition."
"He's... a little surly," she conceded. "But honestly, he's the best person I can find for this job right now, and..." And she decided to leave off the part where she was helping him not get suspended, choosing instead to exposit, "And besides, it's not going to affect you anyway."
"Great, now every time I visit you, I'm going to have Whitney giving me his Death Stare," Clark clicked his tongue. "It's bad enough that every time I turn around, his arrogant mug is right there to... to gloat."
"That's... a little melodramatic, Clark," Chloe patted his arm. "But don't worry. If he tries anything, I promise I'll protect you."
Clark laughed, an echoing hearty laugh that made her smile even wider. "*You'll* protect *me*?"
"Absolutely." And her smile faltered, just a dash of sad, before it returned full force. "Fordman already knows better than to try me. I've already given him TWO full dressing-downs, and he's only been on my staff four days."
"Hmm. Come to think of it, I kinda like the idea of having you breathe down Whitney's neck all the time," Clark's eyes narrowed playfully, and he rabbit punched her in the arm. "If anybody can knock him down a few pegs, I guess it'd be you."
"Gee, *thanks*, Clark," she said, and giggled. "So... you're not mad?"
Without dropping his half-hearted grin, Clark made a space between his thumb and forefinger about an inch long.
"A little?" she prompted, and he nodded slowly, like an adorable little kid.
"But... I'll get over it. I *guess*. Just..."
"What?"
"Just don't get yourself all moony eyed over him like all the other girls in school do. Cause seriously, I'd have to puke."
Her heart lurched. Clark was the only one who'd ever been able to render her speechless, and she noted with a self-reprimand that he did it with words like... "puke" . She smiled warmly at him, gathering her things to go. "Oh, don't worry, Clark. There's no danger of that happening."
His encouraging, brilliant smile was still behind her eyes as she trudged back towards her house, muttering miserably, "No danger at all."
Chloe had rehearsed the speech a hundred times in her head, but she still had absolutely no idea what she was going to say. The problem, she decided, was clearly that she'd changed it with each rehearsal.
She clearned her throat and began. "Yeah, so, man that trig test was a monster, huh? I mean who knew there'd be 30 questions on it? That Professor Garces is a complete slavedriver, and Whitney's writing for the Torch staff now, and do you think you and me and Pete should form a study group?" Chloe rolled her eyes at herself as she trudged along the path to the Kent farm. "Smooth, Sullivan. Real smooth." She breathed in what she desperately hoped was one of those "cleansing breaths" her mother talked about after her yoga classes at the Y, and tried again as Clark's barn loomed large on the horizon: "See, Clark, I believe very strongly in diversity among my staff. And before Whitney, we had a serious shortage of arrogant, violent assholes, so I had to take steps..." She sniggered at her own wit, and stopped short at Clark's barn door, staring at it apprehensively.
Time to channel Mom. (*Deep, cleansing breath, Chloe, honey. It'll do wonders, believe me.*)
"OK. He's going to be fine," she muttered to herself, still warily staring at the door as though it were set to viciously attack her at any moment. "He's not going to hate me. God, please don't make him hate me. I'll just casually say something like, `Clark, I just wanted to mention something that might be important--`"
"Like what?" A too-familiar tenor behind her stopped her heartbeat for entirely too long.
"Uh. Clark." She turned around slowly, her gaze suddenly intently studying a fascinating tuft of grass. "You snuck up on me."
"I live here, Chloe," Clark said, the sarcasm in his voice affectionate. "I saw you standing here and decided to come over, since I figured you weren't here to admire the livestock."
Oh, if only you knew, Clark, she thought. "Right. Actually yeah, I came over to see you, so--"
"So it's a good thing I snuck up on you." He grinned. She melted.
"Right." She searched his belovedly oblivious face for a moment before kicking the hapless grass tuft a few times. "Can we go inside and talk or something?"
"Sure," Clark cocked his head, indicating that she should follow him into the barn as he stepped inside. "I was just heading upstairs to tackle that `Tale of Two Cities' outline." As he rounded the corner into his loft, he glanced behind him to see Chloe looking very... pinched. "Hey... everything OK?"
"Oh... yeah. Everything's just... great!" She switched on her happiest grin, which quickly faded. "Actually, no. Actually, Clark... I need to know you're not going to kill me."
"What?!"
"If I tell you something."
"Oh..." Clark half-smiled at her with a question in his eyes. "I dunno, Chloe. Depends on what it is."
"You're going to hate it."
"Well, the more you build it up, the more horrible I'm going to expect it to be."
"It's... pretty horrible."
Her melodrama made his green eyes twinkle, as always. "Did you kill someone?"
"No, but--"
"Have someone killed?"
"No! Clark--"
"Then I'm sure I'll forgive you."
"Whitney Fordman's on my staff!" There. She had blurted it out all in one breath. WhitneyFordmansonmystaff. She watched Clark blink in rapid succession.
"..."
"Clark? Are you--"
"Your staff at the Torch."
A forlorn sigh. "Yeah."
"Doing *what*, Chloe? The guy's the missing link in human evolution!"
"He's... my new sports editor," she said, practically melting into the hardwood floor with guilt.
"Please tell me you're kidding." But her pout told him otherwise. He shook his head, his eyes still wide with incredulity. "Jesus, Chloe, of all the people at Smallville High!"
"Clark, you may not know this, but I was truly, truly getting a little desperate with the lack of staffing over there."
"Obviously!"
She sighed patiently, and tried again: "My sports columns are painfully bad even to me, you know that. I needed a sports editor, and--"
"Chloe, I could have done it if you were THAT hard up; I know about sports, for heaven's sake!"
"You're... you've been really *busy*, Clark." She shrugged haplessly. "Whitney volunteered. I mean, yeah, he's definitely got some anger issues there, and he's kind of a pain in the ass, but truthfully, he's not that bad of a wri--"
"Oh, God, spare me!" Clark jumped and crossed his loft to his window in two great strides, and began pacing. "You don't understand! How could you as my friend let that guy on your staff? Whitney Fordman *hates* me!"
"It's... mutual, I'm sure."
"*I* am justified! He's a jerk. A world class jerk. He's like the Supreme World Jerk! You look up JERK in the dictionary and there's a tiny picture of Whitney Fordman scowling back at you right next to the definition."
"He's... a little surly," she conceded. "But honestly, he's the best person I can find for this job right now, and..." And she decided to leave off the part where she was helping him not get suspended, choosing instead to exposit, "And besides, it's not going to affect you anyway."
"Great, now every time I visit you, I'm going to have Whitney giving me his Death Stare," Clark clicked his tongue. "It's bad enough that every time I turn around, his arrogant mug is right there to... to gloat."
"That's... a little melodramatic, Clark," Chloe patted his arm. "But don't worry. If he tries anything, I promise I'll protect you."
Clark laughed, an echoing hearty laugh that made her smile even wider. "*You'll* protect *me*?"
"Absolutely." And her smile faltered, just a dash of sad, before it returned full force. "Fordman already knows better than to try me. I've already given him TWO full dressing-downs, and he's only been on my staff four days."
"Hmm. Come to think of it, I kinda like the idea of having you breathe down Whitney's neck all the time," Clark's eyes narrowed playfully, and he rabbit punched her in the arm. "If anybody can knock him down a few pegs, I guess it'd be you."
"Gee, *thanks*, Clark," she said, and giggled. "So... you're not mad?"
Without dropping his half-hearted grin, Clark made a space between his thumb and forefinger about an inch long.
"A little?" she prompted, and he nodded slowly, like an adorable little kid.
"But... I'll get over it. I *guess*. Just..."
"What?"
"Just don't get yourself all moony eyed over him like all the other girls in school do. Cause seriously, I'd have to puke."
Her heart lurched. Clark was the only one who'd ever been able to render her speechless, and she noted with a self-reprimand that he did it with words like... "puke" . She smiled warmly at him, gathering her things to go. "Oh, don't worry, Clark. There's no danger of that happening."
His encouraging, brilliant smile was still behind her eyes as she trudged back towards her house, muttering miserably, "No danger at all."