Author's note: This story takes place a right before heat. It's rated PG-
13 just because of a few naughty words.
Disclaimer: Please don't sue!! I need what little money I have to pay for my therapy.
*Please give me feedback. I want to know how to improve*
"I loved my friend
he went away from me.
There's nothing more to say.
This poem ends,
soft as it began-
I loved my friend."
-Langston Hughes-
Chloe sighed as she read through the page again. How ironic. Does the whole universe hate her? Or was it just her Literature teacher? It was just her luck that she gets assigned to dissect and analyze this particular poem only about a month or two after what she has begun to call the "prom incident", one of her bigger mistakes.
She wondered if Clark had ever realized that she never actually wanted to be "just friends" that that was simply her way of masking her pain. She also wondered if he had ever felt the same way about her as she had felt about him; madly, deeply, hopelessly in love.
"Miss Sullivan?" Chloe's head snapped up. "Miss Sullivan, do you know the answer?" Shit. Still in class. What were they talking about? She looked helplessly at Clark who, after first checking to make sure Mr. Bishop wasn't looking, mouthed the number 274.
"Two hundred and seventy-four?" Mr. Bishop looked upset at having lost the chance to publicly humiliate her.
"That is correct." He said through gritted teeth, his frown threatening to take over his face. Yes! Another point for the farm boy! She flashed him a thumbs-up sign and (what she hoped was) a brilliant smile. Then, she zoned back out as Mr. Bishop droned endlessly about the absolute value of inequalities. (How very exciting.)
A period later, (Lunch, Chloe's favorite!) she slid her tray down in front of Clark and Pete. "I'm seriously considering doing an expose about this." She said pointing to the mound of discolored meat heaped onto her plate. "I can see the headline now, 'The Reason the Meat is a Mystery: What the Lunch Ladies Aren't Telling You about the Food They Serve.'"
"Personally, I'd rather have it kept a mystery. If I knew what was in this, I doubt I could keep it down." Pete chimed in.
Chloe turned to face her other friend. "So, what do you think, Clark?" She waited for his response for a moment before speaking again. "Clark?"
Her efforts were in vain and she had a feeling that was because of a certain raven-haired beauty. She followed his gaze and, sure enough, there was Lana -the girl Clark's pined for ever since he stopped thinking girls had cooties. "Clark?" Nothing. "Clark, Pete really likes you and he wants to have hot sweaty sex in the backseat of your truck." That earned her a playful smack from Pete, but she still got no response from Clark; that boy was hopeless. Clark finally returned from Lana Land and caught sight of his two friends staring at him, obviously annoyed. He blushed furiously, his face a deep crimson, when he realized that he had been daydreaming, yet again. This one had seemed so real, though.
He and Chloe had been working late at the Torch when, all of a sudden, he had a lap-full of Chloe. He leaned in toward her, lips poised and-
"Clark?" But alas, it was only a dream; a wonderful dream, but just a dream, nonetheless. Chloe seemed a little angry with him; she hated it when her audience wasn't a captive one. He wondered if she would be as angry if she knew it was her he was dreaming about, before mentally kicking himself. 'Yes! Remember, genius? She wants to be just friends, I think she made that abundantly clear the day of the prom' Oh well, a boy could dream.
He joined in their conversation, staring at Chloe the whole time, thinking how beautiful she was. She was especially beautiful when she was excited about something, like how she was now. He loved the way her eyes glimmered, the way her hair bounced when she chattered excitedly, and the way she smiled that perfect, perky, energetic smile that melted his heart and made him feel compelled to smile back. He loved everything about her. He loved her. He only wished she felt the same way.
Disclaimer: Please don't sue!! I need what little money I have to pay for my therapy.
*Please give me feedback. I want to know how to improve*
"I loved my friend
he went away from me.
There's nothing more to say.
This poem ends,
soft as it began-
I loved my friend."
-Langston Hughes-
Chloe sighed as she read through the page again. How ironic. Does the whole universe hate her? Or was it just her Literature teacher? It was just her luck that she gets assigned to dissect and analyze this particular poem only about a month or two after what she has begun to call the "prom incident", one of her bigger mistakes.
She wondered if Clark had ever realized that she never actually wanted to be "just friends" that that was simply her way of masking her pain. She also wondered if he had ever felt the same way about her as she had felt about him; madly, deeply, hopelessly in love.
"Miss Sullivan?" Chloe's head snapped up. "Miss Sullivan, do you know the answer?" Shit. Still in class. What were they talking about? She looked helplessly at Clark who, after first checking to make sure Mr. Bishop wasn't looking, mouthed the number 274.
"Two hundred and seventy-four?" Mr. Bishop looked upset at having lost the chance to publicly humiliate her.
"That is correct." He said through gritted teeth, his frown threatening to take over his face. Yes! Another point for the farm boy! She flashed him a thumbs-up sign and (what she hoped was) a brilliant smile. Then, she zoned back out as Mr. Bishop droned endlessly about the absolute value of inequalities. (How very exciting.)
A period later, (Lunch, Chloe's favorite!) she slid her tray down in front of Clark and Pete. "I'm seriously considering doing an expose about this." She said pointing to the mound of discolored meat heaped onto her plate. "I can see the headline now, 'The Reason the Meat is a Mystery: What the Lunch Ladies Aren't Telling You about the Food They Serve.'"
"Personally, I'd rather have it kept a mystery. If I knew what was in this, I doubt I could keep it down." Pete chimed in.
Chloe turned to face her other friend. "So, what do you think, Clark?" She waited for his response for a moment before speaking again. "Clark?"
Her efforts were in vain and she had a feeling that was because of a certain raven-haired beauty. She followed his gaze and, sure enough, there was Lana -the girl Clark's pined for ever since he stopped thinking girls had cooties. "Clark?" Nothing. "Clark, Pete really likes you and he wants to have hot sweaty sex in the backseat of your truck." That earned her a playful smack from Pete, but she still got no response from Clark; that boy was hopeless. Clark finally returned from Lana Land and caught sight of his two friends staring at him, obviously annoyed. He blushed furiously, his face a deep crimson, when he realized that he had been daydreaming, yet again. This one had seemed so real, though.
He and Chloe had been working late at the Torch when, all of a sudden, he had a lap-full of Chloe. He leaned in toward her, lips poised and-
"Clark?" But alas, it was only a dream; a wonderful dream, but just a dream, nonetheless. Chloe seemed a little angry with him; she hated it when her audience wasn't a captive one. He wondered if she would be as angry if she knew it was her he was dreaming about, before mentally kicking himself. 'Yes! Remember, genius? She wants to be just friends, I think she made that abundantly clear the day of the prom' Oh well, a boy could dream.
He joined in their conversation, staring at Chloe the whole time, thinking how beautiful she was. She was especially beautiful when she was excited about something, like how she was now. He loved the way her eyes glimmered, the way her hair bounced when she chattered excitedly, and the way she smiled that perfect, perky, energetic smile that melted his heart and made him feel compelled to smile back. He loved everything about her. He loved her. He only wished she felt the same way.