VIII.
"OK, so where do I put this box?" Clark asked, his face peeking out from behind the enormous box of cans he carried with surprising ease in his arms. Lana stared briefly before pointing to an empty spot on the nearby platform.
"Over there's fine," she told him. "Wow, you are *strong*."
She watched him get flustered and actually shrug with the box still in his arms. "Farm work," he called back simply, by virtue of an explanation. It was amazing, nonetheless. That box must have weighed well over a hundred pounds, and Clark was practically skipping up the stairs with it onto the platform.
The food drive, much to Lana's extreme pleasure, was a huge hit. All of their hand-painted signs, the personal speeches she'd given in each of her classes, flyers, and phone call reminders to individual students' homes had really paid off. Some teachers brought in entire boxes of nonperishables all by themselves. One student brought in bags of cornmeal from her family's mills on her pick up truck. There were so many donations that, half an hour into the drive, they were quickly running out of ground in front of the library to put it all.
She surveyed the hustle and bustle before her, contemplating the mammoth amount of effort that had gone into organizing such an event, and smiled with pride at the way that Clark was so easily able to handle so many of the organizational details today. She was eternally grateful that he'd picked up her slack on so many particulars.
Lana scribbled notes and greeted and directed incoming students with armfuls of donations as she watched Clark make run after run up the stone steps. He had a remarkable agility for such a tall boy. She found herself wondering if she'd ever noticed how truly graceful and quick Clark was; how lithe his movements were despite his large frame, how very powerful he-- -
"Hey, sorry I'm late." Whitney's voice flatly snapped her out of her thoughtful reverie.
"Oh! Hey, you!" Lana gave him her best cheerleader smile. He smiled back at her after a moment.
"Hi. I can't stay for long, but as long as I'm here… where do you need me?"
"Well, I think Clark could probably use a little help piling up the boxes as they get filled." She gestured to several large boxes practically brimming with boxes, cans and bags of legumes.
Whitney watched, faintly dismayed, as Clark heaved up one of the boxes without even breaking a sweat. He nodded briskly and headed over to one of the boxes. He was positively disgusted with himself when he had to put both knees into lifting one, and he was quite sure he was rather red and sweaty by the time he had managed to get fully upright with one. Even then, the box slipped momentarily, and once he'd steadied it with the aid of one knee, his fingers ached in protest all the way up the stairs. It was the same with all of the boxes. Clark passed him easily, putting away two boxes for every one Whitney managed. Damn, but he was out of shape. Whitney cursed his lack of time and resolved to sleep considerably less than he already was just to get in some extra training. He'd be damned if a freshman could show him up in any display of strength or speed.
On tucking in the top of his fourth box, Whitney noticed a colorful purple blur out of the corner of his left eye. He turned to spot Chloe chasing after a hapless looking middle aged man, who looked as though he were currently in the midst of physically restraining himself from throttling Chloe full-on. Nonplussed by the man's reddening neck and forehead, she thrust her tiny tape recorder at him insistently. Whitney cocked his ear to eavesdrop as he neared them on the way back to Lana's table.
"—aware that your organization has instituted these policies? Do you personally support them?" she was asking him, earnest determination setting her features. The man rolled his eyes and faced her, and it was only then that Whitney saw that the man's name tag bore the Good Samaritan Charities logo. Whitney slowed to a halt, poking Chloe in the ribs with his finger as a greeting.
"Hey, what's up," she muttered, without turning around.
"What's up," he muttered in response, watching the older man scowl at Chloe with all his might.
"Look, Missy, I've had just about enough out of you and your questions," he fumed. "You're getting underfoot while we're trying to do some real work here, and I most certainly do not appreciate—"
"Hey, what's going on here?" Clark asked, his face a mask of wary concern.
"What's going on is that this—" the man, whose name tag identified him as Bob Niven, jabbed a finger in Chloe's direction with great contempt—"this young *lady* here has been harassing me for a good quarter of an hour about her newspaper, and I've plainly told her I'm not interested."
"It's OK, Mr. Niven, I'll take care of this," Clark told him reassuringly with a pat on his arm. Mr. Niven stormed off in disgust as Clark turned to Chloe, watching Whitney walk down the stairs ever so slowly.
"Chloe, what are you doing?" Clark asked her. "You completely ticked that guy off."
"I'm doing an expose on Good Samaritan Charities' policies," Chloe reported cheerfully.
"You're doing a what?!" Clark asked. He crossed his arms and stared down at Chloe down the bridge of his nose, and Chloe seemed to cringe slightly. She began again, considerably less sure of herself this time.
"Well, I was… I looked them up on the Internet and apparently they've been pretty controversial all over the country," she said, gaining confidence with every word. "Apparently they're an extreme right-wing religious group that requires people to take a copy of the New Testament before they're given anything from the pantry."
"So?"
"So! They won't feed anyone who believes any differently than they do!" Chloe went on, her words tumbling out of her with trademark conspiratorial zeal. "But the fact that's caused the most controversy is that they also have a clear cut policy of not hiring anyone who is openly gay, lesbian, bisexual, or living with someone extramaritally. They also reserve the right to fire anyone who lies about it on their application! I mean, can you believe that?" By this time, Lana had come over to see what the commotion was about, her apprehension made plain in her expression.
"Chloe, they spend every day feeding hungry people," Clark explained slowly, as though he were speaking to a very, very petulant child. "Who cares how they run their hiring practices?"
"I do," Chloe said, nervously glancing between Lana and Clark. "And you should too! They're getting hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of donations and cash, and they spend every day perpetuating bigotry and hatemongering. It's kind of our moral obligation to not support these people. I'm going to write about this in my editorial."
"Chloe! I'll look like a fool for supporting them!" Lana cried out, appalled. "I—I didn't know they were like that—you believe me, right, Clark?"
"No, I know that," Clark nodded, and put his hand on her shoulder sympathetically. Whitney, passing behind Chloe with another box in his arm, saw the scene and turned his face away just quick enough to hide his eye-rolling. Another plop of the box on the platform, and Whitney was heading towards them once again.
"Well, I'm sorry, Lana, but you chose to become involved with a charity without researching its internal policies," Chloe shook her head slowly. "I'm not doing this to embarrass you, but these policies are archaic and hateful and people have a right to know what they're really contributing to."
"Chloe, how could you do this to Lana after she's worked so hard on this food drive?"
"That's another thing, Clark," Chloe began, pocketing her tape recorder. "Did you know that none of this food is going to any indigent families in Smallville? It's going to the GSC-run shelters in Metropolis, where they can control the output and who gets to be fed. It's totally fascist!"
Whitney whistled behind her. "Damn, that's pretty harsh." He nodded in sympathy, ignoring the glowers from both Lana and Clark.
"Whitney, stay out of this," Lana snapped, and turned back to Chloe. "Chloe, I can't believe you're even considering doing this story and humiliating me in front of the whole school."
"Lana, this has nothing to do with you," Chloe exclaimed, amazed at how practiced the other girl was at making herself the center of every conversation. "I wasn't even planning on mentioning your name, I was just—"
"Well, hello, everyone is here to see Lana heading this," Clark pointed out, his eyes blazing. "It's not exactly a secret."
"These are major civil rights issues that deserve—"
"No, Chloe, these are your friends that you're going to humiliate just to get some pointless story for your stupid paper!" Clark shouted, instantly regretting his words with a sharp intake of breath. He sighed tensely into the shocked silence that had slammed down on all of them, the guilt immediately tugging at him as he watched Chloe's eyes spring with tears.
"M—my stupid—right." She nodded, willing her chin to stop quivering, and the next moment she was fleeing as fast as her feet would take her.
In silence, Whitney watched her lavender boa-scarf sail behind her until she disappeared into the school, barely listening to his now-hysterical girlfriend being consoled by Kent.
"I can't believe you treated her like that," Whitney muttered, shaking his head in disgust.
"What?" Clark stared at him, taken aback.
"I said," he repeated, enunciating every word with pointed sarcasm, "That I can't believe you treated her like that."
Clark's eyes narrowed resentfully. "You know, you can just feel free to stay out of this, OK, Whitney?"
"No, I won't," Whitney retorted. "She's totally right. These people are bigots. Why would you want to give them any good PR?"
"Whitney! I can't believe you're defending what she was trying to do to me!" Lana said, blinking back her own hurt tears. Whitney noted with faint surprise that for once, he found her distress not remotely poignant.
"Like she said, it wasn't about you, Lana," he told her, an edge of disdain unwittingly creeping into his voice. "It was about something that needed protesting and she just wanted to use her paper to bring awareness to it. Weren't either of you even listening? Jesus! It was a good cause!"
By this point, Clark was positively livid—sputtering even. "Great, see, I forgot you're Chloe's new best friend!"
"Oh, right, see, I forgot you turn into a pushy prick when it comes to my girlfriend," Whitney shot back. He noted with great rancor that Clark blushed tellingly.
"I am getting really sick of your bad attitude, Fordman."
"Yeah? I'm getting really sick of your sanctimony."
"Oh, nice, did Chloe teach you a new word?"
And that's all it took for Whitney to shove Clark roughly with both palms. Within two seconds they were glaring at each other virtually nose to nose.
"Whitney! Stop it!" Horrified, Lana rushed between them, staring Whitney down with all her might. "What is wrong with you!? How can you act this way? I mean, God, at least Clark appreciates all the hard work I've put into this!"
Whitney opened his mouth to respond… then thought better of it. He regarded them both briefly before saying, "You know what? Screw this. I'm leaving before I puke." Whitney shoved his way past Clark and stomped down the stairs. Without even consciously deciding to do it, he found himself heading toward the main building in no particular hurry, realizing with a dull pang that no one was following after him or trying to stop him.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
She was exactly where he thought he'd find her, on the dilapidated couch in the farthest corner of the Torch's office, Kleenex box firmly in her lap as she sobbed softly.
But Chloe composed herself in a split second the instant she saw him, tossing the tissue box aside and the small pile of used Kleenex into the nearest garbage pail, though she refused to meet his eyes. She was cursed with the kind of complexion that gifted her with red noses and puffy eyes the instant she shed single tear, and the last thing she wanted was to be humiliated yet again in front of anyone.
Chloe sniffed audibly and cleared her throat. "Hey."
He opened the door a little wider, but didn't step inside. "Hey. You OK?"
"Sure. I'm fine. I was—" she drew a shaky breath and tried again. "I was just leaving." She began gathering her things for good measure, her gaze still glued to the floor tiles.
"No—hey, don't." He sighed, and leaned against the doorframe. "They were jerks, and you were right."
She looked up at him gratefully, red-rimmed eyes and all, her face a sudden landscape of surprised vulnerability. Then the next minute, her expression was shuttered once more.
"Yeah, thanks," she said flatly. "I think I should just go home before I make an even bigger mess of things."
And he blurted out suddenly, "I just got into a huge fight with both of them."
That stopped her in her tracks, and she knit her eyebrows together. "You're kidding."
"Nope."
"Over m—" she blushed and stopped herself. "Over what just happened?"
"Yep."
"Wow." She was taken aback, but he also saw that she was pleased. Touched. "Thanks, Fordman. You didn't have to do that."
"I know I didn't," Whitney shrugged. "But they were acting like assholes."
Her eyebrows crept upward in question, but she just blinked, finally dry- eyed.
"Listen-- what are you doing right now?" he asked, suddenly considerably more animated.
"I'm… going home, I guess," Chloe answered cautiously. "Why?"
"I dunno. Come with me to Metropolis."
"What? Like, now?!"
"Yeah."
"Are you insane?"
"Look… I have to go drop stuff off for my dad. You don't have to be anywhere. Why not? I mean, we're kinda like… almost friends, right?"
"I… guess," she conceded, cursing a complexion that blushed so damn readily.
"So-o-o…. friends hang out sometimes," he added.
A curious smile crept slowly across Chloe's face. "Metropolis? I don't know…"
"Oh, come on. Hey… there's this great drive-through donut shop I go to on the way," he said, keeping his tone and expression neutral. "I'll get a dozen and we can pig out."
That prompted a full-on thousand-watt grin from Chloe, the kind that made her eyes virtually disappear. He had to grin back.
"Free donuts, huh?"
"Free donuts!" he nodded with mock-finality. "Come on." He started toward the door, tugging gently on her coat sleeve.
She peered at him, her face a cross between suspicion and amusement, before finally relenting and stumbling after him. "I have to call my dad…"
"You can use Lana's cell phone," Whitney crowed happily. "She left it in my truck!"
Chloe's laughter resonated down the entire hallway.
*To Be Continued*………………………………..
+++++++++++++++++++++
AUTHORS NOTES:
wookie in da haaaaouuuuuuuuussssse!! Seriously without wookie1013, this chapter would have made ZERO sense. Go read her awesome Ch/W fic now!!! She's in my favorites and a real talent. (
"OK, so where do I put this box?" Clark asked, his face peeking out from behind the enormous box of cans he carried with surprising ease in his arms. Lana stared briefly before pointing to an empty spot on the nearby platform.
"Over there's fine," she told him. "Wow, you are *strong*."
She watched him get flustered and actually shrug with the box still in his arms. "Farm work," he called back simply, by virtue of an explanation. It was amazing, nonetheless. That box must have weighed well over a hundred pounds, and Clark was practically skipping up the stairs with it onto the platform.
The food drive, much to Lana's extreme pleasure, was a huge hit. All of their hand-painted signs, the personal speeches she'd given in each of her classes, flyers, and phone call reminders to individual students' homes had really paid off. Some teachers brought in entire boxes of nonperishables all by themselves. One student brought in bags of cornmeal from her family's mills on her pick up truck. There were so many donations that, half an hour into the drive, they were quickly running out of ground in front of the library to put it all.
She surveyed the hustle and bustle before her, contemplating the mammoth amount of effort that had gone into organizing such an event, and smiled with pride at the way that Clark was so easily able to handle so many of the organizational details today. She was eternally grateful that he'd picked up her slack on so many particulars.
Lana scribbled notes and greeted and directed incoming students with armfuls of donations as she watched Clark make run after run up the stone steps. He had a remarkable agility for such a tall boy. She found herself wondering if she'd ever noticed how truly graceful and quick Clark was; how lithe his movements were despite his large frame, how very powerful he-- -
"Hey, sorry I'm late." Whitney's voice flatly snapped her out of her thoughtful reverie.
"Oh! Hey, you!" Lana gave him her best cheerleader smile. He smiled back at her after a moment.
"Hi. I can't stay for long, but as long as I'm here… where do you need me?"
"Well, I think Clark could probably use a little help piling up the boxes as they get filled." She gestured to several large boxes practically brimming with boxes, cans and bags of legumes.
Whitney watched, faintly dismayed, as Clark heaved up one of the boxes without even breaking a sweat. He nodded briskly and headed over to one of the boxes. He was positively disgusted with himself when he had to put both knees into lifting one, and he was quite sure he was rather red and sweaty by the time he had managed to get fully upright with one. Even then, the box slipped momentarily, and once he'd steadied it with the aid of one knee, his fingers ached in protest all the way up the stairs. It was the same with all of the boxes. Clark passed him easily, putting away two boxes for every one Whitney managed. Damn, but he was out of shape. Whitney cursed his lack of time and resolved to sleep considerably less than he already was just to get in some extra training. He'd be damned if a freshman could show him up in any display of strength or speed.
On tucking in the top of his fourth box, Whitney noticed a colorful purple blur out of the corner of his left eye. He turned to spot Chloe chasing after a hapless looking middle aged man, who looked as though he were currently in the midst of physically restraining himself from throttling Chloe full-on. Nonplussed by the man's reddening neck and forehead, she thrust her tiny tape recorder at him insistently. Whitney cocked his ear to eavesdrop as he neared them on the way back to Lana's table.
"—aware that your organization has instituted these policies? Do you personally support them?" she was asking him, earnest determination setting her features. The man rolled his eyes and faced her, and it was only then that Whitney saw that the man's name tag bore the Good Samaritan Charities logo. Whitney slowed to a halt, poking Chloe in the ribs with his finger as a greeting.
"Hey, what's up," she muttered, without turning around.
"What's up," he muttered in response, watching the older man scowl at Chloe with all his might.
"Look, Missy, I've had just about enough out of you and your questions," he fumed. "You're getting underfoot while we're trying to do some real work here, and I most certainly do not appreciate—"
"Hey, what's going on here?" Clark asked, his face a mask of wary concern.
"What's going on is that this—" the man, whose name tag identified him as Bob Niven, jabbed a finger in Chloe's direction with great contempt—"this young *lady* here has been harassing me for a good quarter of an hour about her newspaper, and I've plainly told her I'm not interested."
"It's OK, Mr. Niven, I'll take care of this," Clark told him reassuringly with a pat on his arm. Mr. Niven stormed off in disgust as Clark turned to Chloe, watching Whitney walk down the stairs ever so slowly.
"Chloe, what are you doing?" Clark asked her. "You completely ticked that guy off."
"I'm doing an expose on Good Samaritan Charities' policies," Chloe reported cheerfully.
"You're doing a what?!" Clark asked. He crossed his arms and stared down at Chloe down the bridge of his nose, and Chloe seemed to cringe slightly. She began again, considerably less sure of herself this time.
"Well, I was… I looked them up on the Internet and apparently they've been pretty controversial all over the country," she said, gaining confidence with every word. "Apparently they're an extreme right-wing religious group that requires people to take a copy of the New Testament before they're given anything from the pantry."
"So?"
"So! They won't feed anyone who believes any differently than they do!" Chloe went on, her words tumbling out of her with trademark conspiratorial zeal. "But the fact that's caused the most controversy is that they also have a clear cut policy of not hiring anyone who is openly gay, lesbian, bisexual, or living with someone extramaritally. They also reserve the right to fire anyone who lies about it on their application! I mean, can you believe that?" By this time, Lana had come over to see what the commotion was about, her apprehension made plain in her expression.
"Chloe, they spend every day feeding hungry people," Clark explained slowly, as though he were speaking to a very, very petulant child. "Who cares how they run their hiring practices?"
"I do," Chloe said, nervously glancing between Lana and Clark. "And you should too! They're getting hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of donations and cash, and they spend every day perpetuating bigotry and hatemongering. It's kind of our moral obligation to not support these people. I'm going to write about this in my editorial."
"Chloe! I'll look like a fool for supporting them!" Lana cried out, appalled. "I—I didn't know they were like that—you believe me, right, Clark?"
"No, I know that," Clark nodded, and put his hand on her shoulder sympathetically. Whitney, passing behind Chloe with another box in his arm, saw the scene and turned his face away just quick enough to hide his eye-rolling. Another plop of the box on the platform, and Whitney was heading towards them once again.
"Well, I'm sorry, Lana, but you chose to become involved with a charity without researching its internal policies," Chloe shook her head slowly. "I'm not doing this to embarrass you, but these policies are archaic and hateful and people have a right to know what they're really contributing to."
"Chloe, how could you do this to Lana after she's worked so hard on this food drive?"
"That's another thing, Clark," Chloe began, pocketing her tape recorder. "Did you know that none of this food is going to any indigent families in Smallville? It's going to the GSC-run shelters in Metropolis, where they can control the output and who gets to be fed. It's totally fascist!"
Whitney whistled behind her. "Damn, that's pretty harsh." He nodded in sympathy, ignoring the glowers from both Lana and Clark.
"Whitney, stay out of this," Lana snapped, and turned back to Chloe. "Chloe, I can't believe you're even considering doing this story and humiliating me in front of the whole school."
"Lana, this has nothing to do with you," Chloe exclaimed, amazed at how practiced the other girl was at making herself the center of every conversation. "I wasn't even planning on mentioning your name, I was just—"
"Well, hello, everyone is here to see Lana heading this," Clark pointed out, his eyes blazing. "It's not exactly a secret."
"These are major civil rights issues that deserve—"
"No, Chloe, these are your friends that you're going to humiliate just to get some pointless story for your stupid paper!" Clark shouted, instantly regretting his words with a sharp intake of breath. He sighed tensely into the shocked silence that had slammed down on all of them, the guilt immediately tugging at him as he watched Chloe's eyes spring with tears.
"M—my stupid—right." She nodded, willing her chin to stop quivering, and the next moment she was fleeing as fast as her feet would take her.
In silence, Whitney watched her lavender boa-scarf sail behind her until she disappeared into the school, barely listening to his now-hysterical girlfriend being consoled by Kent.
"I can't believe you treated her like that," Whitney muttered, shaking his head in disgust.
"What?" Clark stared at him, taken aback.
"I said," he repeated, enunciating every word with pointed sarcasm, "That I can't believe you treated her like that."
Clark's eyes narrowed resentfully. "You know, you can just feel free to stay out of this, OK, Whitney?"
"No, I won't," Whitney retorted. "She's totally right. These people are bigots. Why would you want to give them any good PR?"
"Whitney! I can't believe you're defending what she was trying to do to me!" Lana said, blinking back her own hurt tears. Whitney noted with faint surprise that for once, he found her distress not remotely poignant.
"Like she said, it wasn't about you, Lana," he told her, an edge of disdain unwittingly creeping into his voice. "It was about something that needed protesting and she just wanted to use her paper to bring awareness to it. Weren't either of you even listening? Jesus! It was a good cause!"
By this point, Clark was positively livid—sputtering even. "Great, see, I forgot you're Chloe's new best friend!"
"Oh, right, see, I forgot you turn into a pushy prick when it comes to my girlfriend," Whitney shot back. He noted with great rancor that Clark blushed tellingly.
"I am getting really sick of your bad attitude, Fordman."
"Yeah? I'm getting really sick of your sanctimony."
"Oh, nice, did Chloe teach you a new word?"
And that's all it took for Whitney to shove Clark roughly with both palms. Within two seconds they were glaring at each other virtually nose to nose.
"Whitney! Stop it!" Horrified, Lana rushed between them, staring Whitney down with all her might. "What is wrong with you!? How can you act this way? I mean, God, at least Clark appreciates all the hard work I've put into this!"
Whitney opened his mouth to respond… then thought better of it. He regarded them both briefly before saying, "You know what? Screw this. I'm leaving before I puke." Whitney shoved his way past Clark and stomped down the stairs. Without even consciously deciding to do it, he found himself heading toward the main building in no particular hurry, realizing with a dull pang that no one was following after him or trying to stop him.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
She was exactly where he thought he'd find her, on the dilapidated couch in the farthest corner of the Torch's office, Kleenex box firmly in her lap as she sobbed softly.
But Chloe composed herself in a split second the instant she saw him, tossing the tissue box aside and the small pile of used Kleenex into the nearest garbage pail, though she refused to meet his eyes. She was cursed with the kind of complexion that gifted her with red noses and puffy eyes the instant she shed single tear, and the last thing she wanted was to be humiliated yet again in front of anyone.
Chloe sniffed audibly and cleared her throat. "Hey."
He opened the door a little wider, but didn't step inside. "Hey. You OK?"
"Sure. I'm fine. I was—" she drew a shaky breath and tried again. "I was just leaving." She began gathering her things for good measure, her gaze still glued to the floor tiles.
"No—hey, don't." He sighed, and leaned against the doorframe. "They were jerks, and you were right."
She looked up at him gratefully, red-rimmed eyes and all, her face a sudden landscape of surprised vulnerability. Then the next minute, her expression was shuttered once more.
"Yeah, thanks," she said flatly. "I think I should just go home before I make an even bigger mess of things."
And he blurted out suddenly, "I just got into a huge fight with both of them."
That stopped her in her tracks, and she knit her eyebrows together. "You're kidding."
"Nope."
"Over m—" she blushed and stopped herself. "Over what just happened?"
"Yep."
"Wow." She was taken aback, but he also saw that she was pleased. Touched. "Thanks, Fordman. You didn't have to do that."
"I know I didn't," Whitney shrugged. "But they were acting like assholes."
Her eyebrows crept upward in question, but she just blinked, finally dry- eyed.
"Listen-- what are you doing right now?" he asked, suddenly considerably more animated.
"I'm… going home, I guess," Chloe answered cautiously. "Why?"
"I dunno. Come with me to Metropolis."
"What? Like, now?!"
"Yeah."
"Are you insane?"
"Look… I have to go drop stuff off for my dad. You don't have to be anywhere. Why not? I mean, we're kinda like… almost friends, right?"
"I… guess," she conceded, cursing a complexion that blushed so damn readily.
"So-o-o…. friends hang out sometimes," he added.
A curious smile crept slowly across Chloe's face. "Metropolis? I don't know…"
"Oh, come on. Hey… there's this great drive-through donut shop I go to on the way," he said, keeping his tone and expression neutral. "I'll get a dozen and we can pig out."
That prompted a full-on thousand-watt grin from Chloe, the kind that made her eyes virtually disappear. He had to grin back.
"Free donuts, huh?"
"Free donuts!" he nodded with mock-finality. "Come on." He started toward the door, tugging gently on her coat sleeve.
She peered at him, her face a cross between suspicion and amusement, before finally relenting and stumbling after him. "I have to call my dad…"
"You can use Lana's cell phone," Whitney crowed happily. "She left it in my truck!"
Chloe's laughter resonated down the entire hallway.
*To Be Continued*………………………………..
+++++++++++++++++++++
AUTHORS NOTES:
wookie in da haaaaouuuuuuuuussssse!! Seriously without wookie1013, this chapter would have made ZERO sense. Go read her awesome Ch/W fic now!!! She's in my favorites and a real talent. (