VII.
"So how was the Talon's grand opening party last night?" Pete asked through a mouthful of BLT the next day. Clark and Chloe exchanged uneasy looks.
"It was OK," Clark conceded slowly.
"Um. Yeah. The food rocked."
"Uh oh." Pete raised his eyebrows and smirked knowingly. "What did I miss?"
Clark grinned. "Well, Whitney Fordman got trashed on too much wine."
"Candy ass!" Chloe cried, and grinned too.
"Then he went outside and bumped into Chloe—"
"Then Lana came outside, and then Ken and Barbie had a lover's quarrel." Chloe was positively crowing. "I unfortunately missed it. Clark told me all about it."
"Ohh, what was it about?" Pete leaned forward excitedly.
"Oh, for God's sake, you two are worse than a pair of old women!" she exclaimed, and the boys threw her a pair of abashed grins.
"You sure seem to be getting along pretty good with Whitney these days," Clark teased gently. But the way his eyes had darkened ever so slightly wasn't lost on her. "You two were in hysterics when we got outside."
Chloe ignored Pete's sky-high eyebrows in her direction just then. "OK, you're totally exaggerating."
"Am not," Clark said in mock-defensiveness. "He was grabbing your arm, and leaning into you, and you were giggling like crazy."
"Ohhh," Pete repeated, again ignored by her.
"I so was not giggling."
"You so were."
"What*ever*!"
"What is up with that, Sullivan?" Pete elbowed her too roughly in the rib. "Since when has Whitney Fordman been the soul of wit? I always thought there was a perfectly valid reason why all the geeks call him Whitless behind his back."
"Hmmm," Chloe chewed a French fry thoughtfully. "Not entirely true. He's got a very, very dry sense of humor."
Clark rolled his eyes. "I can't believe you guys are getting chummy."
"It's not like we're hanging out all the time!" she protested. "We're not chummy. We're just on civil speaking terms. Is that OK with you? Jeez."
"OK, OK, calm down!" Clark laughed.
"I guess Whitney can be OK, deep down inside," Pete admitted reluctantly.
"Way deep down," Clark added.
Pete nodded. "Way, *way* deep down."
"And be careful not to blink, because you might miss it."
Chloe rolled her eyes for what must have been the tenth time in the last twenty minutes. Sometimes these two were just incorrigible. "You guys are, like, twelve years old, right?"
Clark and Pete chuckled gleefully and high-fived across the table.
"So, what's the deal with after school today?" Chloe said, grateful for the subject change.
"I've got b-ball practice again," Pete shrugged.
"Great! Maybe they'll actually let you get off the bench one of these days," Chloe said innocently, and Clark hid a smile.
Pete's deadpan just made her smirk widen. "You suck, you know that, Sullivan?"
"Sullivan—one. Ross—zero! Ka-ching!" she turned to Clark. "How about you? Up for some trig reviewing?"
"I can't, I promised I'd help Lana with that food drive."
At the mention of her name, Chloe's eyes darted away. Her gaze wandered fitfully across the cafeteria before finally resting on the back of Lana's head a few tables across, sitting across from Whitney, of course. For a split second, he held her gaze, raising an eyebrow slightly at her in recognition before looking away again.
She ducked her head slightly, and cleared her throat. "Um. Cool. Who's sponsoring the food drive? Maybe I can do a piece for the paper about the organization; you know, maybe how people can keep on helping even after the food drive's over."
"That's a great idea, Chloe," Clark nodded enthusiastically. "I think it's sponsored by some agency called Good Samaritan Charities."
Chloe furrowed her eyebrows in thought. "They're not local, I don't think."
"No, they're based in Metropolis."
"Sounds great," Chloe nodded. "I'll see what I can find on their stats on the Internet during study period and come and do a full story on them. Maybe I can interview their rep, if there's going to be one there."
"That would be really great," Clark agreed. "Thanks a lot, Chloe. I know that would really mean a lot to Lana, too."
She only managed to smile wanly at him in response.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Google.com was Chloe's friend. Oh yes. A very dear, valuable, intimate friend, matter of fact. In the past year, she had become an expert on hunting down the most obscure facts about the most obtuse subjects with the aid of her favorite trusty search engine. She never ceased to be amazed at the endless minutiae of information that was so meticulously documented on the Internet for her delving enjoyment.
A search for a Metropolis charity, she knew, would reap endless results. She sat down at one of the library's ancient PCs, glancing over her shoulder to make sure no teacher was nearby enough to snoop and notice she wasn't actually studying during her study period, and she quickly pulled up the web site, typing in *Good Samaritan Charities Metropolis* at lightning speed.
It was with no small degree of shock, then, that she read the results of the search. With each click of a link, her eyes grew wider and her outrage expanded. With a determined set to her jaw, she clicked on the PRINT icon for the first of many times that day.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
"That's really nice of you to offer, Whitney, but I think Clark and I can handle it," Lana told Whitney sweetly before last period.
Whitney's nostrils flared slightly at the mention, but to his credit, he remained impressively controlled. "I said I would help you with the food drive, and… even if I can't help out as much as I said I would, I at least would like to stop by and lend a hand for a few minutes."
"It's just that—"
"I mean, I could help out moving a few boxes and things like that."
"I don't think that'll really—"
"What's the matter, don't you want me there?" And even he was taken aback by the bitterness in his own voice. Her eyes widened at him.
"Whitney! That's not it at all," she assured him. "You know I do."
Do I? He asked himself… but he stayed silent, watching her intently.
"It's just that I know you're stretched so thin lately."
"I can stop by after school before heading to Metropolis to see my Dad," he insisted. "He's not expecting me till after six, so I've got about a half hour to an hour to hang out and help."
Lana pressed her lips together before smiling uncertainly and nodding. "That would be great. Thanks, Whitney." The warning bell rang, and she gave him a quick peck on the cheek before darting off to her class.
Whitney watched her retreating back with no small degree of sullenness. He couldn't help remembering the spiteful, vehement words with which she had lashed out at him the week before.
*I'm only staying with you out of guilt.*
*I'm sick of your excuses.*
*It's over, Whitney.*
But then a few days later:
*I was so sick, Whitney.*
*I don't even remember what I said.*
*Whatever was wrong with me … it made you say crazy things you don't really mean.*
*Please believe me, Whitney. I want to be with you so much.*
And what had startled him most wasn't that (although he had finally relented and said otherwise) he did not, in fact believe her. At all.
It was that it hadn't hurt nearly as much as he thought it would. It was the quiet resignation with which he had been prepared to just walk away and nurse his wounds and get on with the rest of his life.
It was the fact that, although he had taken her back, ostensibly with all forgiven and forgotten, there was a very small part of him that was already sorry he had.
"So how was the Talon's grand opening party last night?" Pete asked through a mouthful of BLT the next day. Clark and Chloe exchanged uneasy looks.
"It was OK," Clark conceded slowly.
"Um. Yeah. The food rocked."
"Uh oh." Pete raised his eyebrows and smirked knowingly. "What did I miss?"
Clark grinned. "Well, Whitney Fordman got trashed on too much wine."
"Candy ass!" Chloe cried, and grinned too.
"Then he went outside and bumped into Chloe—"
"Then Lana came outside, and then Ken and Barbie had a lover's quarrel." Chloe was positively crowing. "I unfortunately missed it. Clark told me all about it."
"Ohh, what was it about?" Pete leaned forward excitedly.
"Oh, for God's sake, you two are worse than a pair of old women!" she exclaimed, and the boys threw her a pair of abashed grins.
"You sure seem to be getting along pretty good with Whitney these days," Clark teased gently. But the way his eyes had darkened ever so slightly wasn't lost on her. "You two were in hysterics when we got outside."
Chloe ignored Pete's sky-high eyebrows in her direction just then. "OK, you're totally exaggerating."
"Am not," Clark said in mock-defensiveness. "He was grabbing your arm, and leaning into you, and you were giggling like crazy."
"Ohhh," Pete repeated, again ignored by her.
"I so was not giggling."
"You so were."
"What*ever*!"
"What is up with that, Sullivan?" Pete elbowed her too roughly in the rib. "Since when has Whitney Fordman been the soul of wit? I always thought there was a perfectly valid reason why all the geeks call him Whitless behind his back."
"Hmmm," Chloe chewed a French fry thoughtfully. "Not entirely true. He's got a very, very dry sense of humor."
Clark rolled his eyes. "I can't believe you guys are getting chummy."
"It's not like we're hanging out all the time!" she protested. "We're not chummy. We're just on civil speaking terms. Is that OK with you? Jeez."
"OK, OK, calm down!" Clark laughed.
"I guess Whitney can be OK, deep down inside," Pete admitted reluctantly.
"Way deep down," Clark added.
Pete nodded. "Way, *way* deep down."
"And be careful not to blink, because you might miss it."
Chloe rolled her eyes for what must have been the tenth time in the last twenty minutes. Sometimes these two were just incorrigible. "You guys are, like, twelve years old, right?"
Clark and Pete chuckled gleefully and high-fived across the table.
"So, what's the deal with after school today?" Chloe said, grateful for the subject change.
"I've got b-ball practice again," Pete shrugged.
"Great! Maybe they'll actually let you get off the bench one of these days," Chloe said innocently, and Clark hid a smile.
Pete's deadpan just made her smirk widen. "You suck, you know that, Sullivan?"
"Sullivan—one. Ross—zero! Ka-ching!" she turned to Clark. "How about you? Up for some trig reviewing?"
"I can't, I promised I'd help Lana with that food drive."
At the mention of her name, Chloe's eyes darted away. Her gaze wandered fitfully across the cafeteria before finally resting on the back of Lana's head a few tables across, sitting across from Whitney, of course. For a split second, he held her gaze, raising an eyebrow slightly at her in recognition before looking away again.
She ducked her head slightly, and cleared her throat. "Um. Cool. Who's sponsoring the food drive? Maybe I can do a piece for the paper about the organization; you know, maybe how people can keep on helping even after the food drive's over."
"That's a great idea, Chloe," Clark nodded enthusiastically. "I think it's sponsored by some agency called Good Samaritan Charities."
Chloe furrowed her eyebrows in thought. "They're not local, I don't think."
"No, they're based in Metropolis."
"Sounds great," Chloe nodded. "I'll see what I can find on their stats on the Internet during study period and come and do a full story on them. Maybe I can interview their rep, if there's going to be one there."
"That would be really great," Clark agreed. "Thanks a lot, Chloe. I know that would really mean a lot to Lana, too."
She only managed to smile wanly at him in response.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Google.com was Chloe's friend. Oh yes. A very dear, valuable, intimate friend, matter of fact. In the past year, she had become an expert on hunting down the most obscure facts about the most obtuse subjects with the aid of her favorite trusty search engine. She never ceased to be amazed at the endless minutiae of information that was so meticulously documented on the Internet for her delving enjoyment.
A search for a Metropolis charity, she knew, would reap endless results. She sat down at one of the library's ancient PCs, glancing over her shoulder to make sure no teacher was nearby enough to snoop and notice she wasn't actually studying during her study period, and she quickly pulled up the web site, typing in *Good Samaritan Charities Metropolis* at lightning speed.
It was with no small degree of shock, then, that she read the results of the search. With each click of a link, her eyes grew wider and her outrage expanded. With a determined set to her jaw, she clicked on the PRINT icon for the first of many times that day.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
"That's really nice of you to offer, Whitney, but I think Clark and I can handle it," Lana told Whitney sweetly before last period.
Whitney's nostrils flared slightly at the mention, but to his credit, he remained impressively controlled. "I said I would help you with the food drive, and… even if I can't help out as much as I said I would, I at least would like to stop by and lend a hand for a few minutes."
"It's just that—"
"I mean, I could help out moving a few boxes and things like that."
"I don't think that'll really—"
"What's the matter, don't you want me there?" And even he was taken aback by the bitterness in his own voice. Her eyes widened at him.
"Whitney! That's not it at all," she assured him. "You know I do."
Do I? He asked himself… but he stayed silent, watching her intently.
"It's just that I know you're stretched so thin lately."
"I can stop by after school before heading to Metropolis to see my Dad," he insisted. "He's not expecting me till after six, so I've got about a half hour to an hour to hang out and help."
Lana pressed her lips together before smiling uncertainly and nodding. "That would be great. Thanks, Whitney." The warning bell rang, and she gave him a quick peck on the cheek before darting off to her class.
Whitney watched her retreating back with no small degree of sullenness. He couldn't help remembering the spiteful, vehement words with which she had lashed out at him the week before.
*I'm only staying with you out of guilt.*
*I'm sick of your excuses.*
*It's over, Whitney.*
But then a few days later:
*I was so sick, Whitney.*
*I don't even remember what I said.*
*Whatever was wrong with me … it made you say crazy things you don't really mean.*
*Please believe me, Whitney. I want to be with you so much.*
And what had startled him most wasn't that (although he had finally relented and said otherwise) he did not, in fact believe her. At all.
It was that it hadn't hurt nearly as much as he thought it would. It was the quiet resignation with which he had been prepared to just walk away and nurse his wounds and get on with the rest of his life.
It was the fact that, although he had taken her back, ostensibly with all forgiven and forgotten, there was a very small part of him that was already sorry he had.