Wednesday's child is full of homework

*

Wednesday, Oct. 16

"Gotta run, Peter."

Pete looked up from his Wheaties. "Huh? Run where?"

"To school," Isis said, distracted, grabbing toast off a plate and pouring orange juice into a thermos. "Kwan's having some meeting or something, and there are things I need to get from the Records Room before class."

"I guess I can suffer the bus just this once," he said with a grin.

Isis stopped, digging into her pocket. "Actually, if Uncle Mark says yes, you can take the car. If Uncle Mark says yes. I'm carpooling." There was a loud honking outside. "Which is here." Isis dropped the keys next to his cereal, just missing his toast. "If Unc says no, I guess we'll be riding the bus home together. Bye Pete."
Pete said bye through a mouthful of toast. She rolled her eyes and sprinted out the house, bag sliding down her arm, toast dangling from her teeth, thermos in one hand and the garbage in the other.

*

Modern English 1 almost didn't notice their sub as they filed into the classroom, talking and laughing.

SLAP!

The class jumped.

"Hey guys," Isis said, standing up from behind the desk. "As you can see, I'm busy here," she indicated the paper strewn desk with a wide sweep of her hand, "so you're assignment's on the board. In related news, I was told by Principal Kwan that I have the power of Detention. Trust me, I am so itching to try it out. I.E. I really don't want to have to say anything else to you guys except 'Bye' at the end of class." With a wink she sat down.

Everyone turned their attention to the blackboard behind her. Hey guys. The rules are the same as they were yesterday: play but do it quietly, talk but do it quietly, et cetera. Now I believe you all have work for me. If you have it, pass it up to the first person in the last row. Come on people, I know it's Wednesday, but your brains can't have jellified already, can they? Pass it to the guy/girl sitting closest to the window. And if your brains have jellied, please keep the jelly to yourselves. I' rather not have to send one of you to the nurse for some unknown brain-jelly disease. Heck, I don't want to catch said unknown disease.

Now for those of you who haven't done the assignment, and I know you're out there, here's your chance to make it up. Write about Bloody Kansas for me. Fiction, personal essay, poem(s), whatever but it'd better be at least two whole pages, handwritten. And no monster handwriting. As for what I mean by two pages, I want two fronts, no backs. (It makes it harder to read) This rule does not apply, obviously, to poetry, but consider this: I might read it in class, or have your teacher read it in class, when he returns. This is English after all.

Have fun kiddies.

PS If you have any questions, please approach me at the desk. Thx. And Chloe, you have to ask permission first.

Clark and Pete snickered when Clark got to that part of his reading. "What are you writing about, anyway?" he asked her.

"Isis, of course."

"Isis?" Pete asked incredulously. "Why?"

"She's completely newsworthy! Gotham socialite comes to Smallville, Kansas to teach school? You don't see our other local billionaire giving lessons."

"I'm sure Lex is busy," Clark said, coming to his friend's defense.

"Because Isis isn't?" Pete asked.

Chloe hit them both as Isis stared daggers at the trio. "Okay, so Isis doesn't have her own business to run," she went on, conceding Clark's point, "but she is busy. Helping the school. Maybe she can get a grant for The Torch. Maybe she can snag me an internship."

"Uh oh."

Eyes narrowed she asked, "Uh oh, what, Clark?"

"You got that light in your eyes."

"What light in your-- my eyes?"

Clark looked to Peter for help. "You know, that one when you've got a plan," Pete said warily. "Don't hit me."

"I'm not gonna hit you!" she said, backhanding him across the chest. "Jeez. As if I were a violent person. Okay, fine, new topic," she said as the boys looked at her incredulously. They looked at her expectantly. "Well someone come up with something. I can't be the innovator all the time. Hasn't something interesting happened to Lana this week, Clark?"

"You don't have to sound all bitter."

"Bitter? Me bitter? Never. Hardly ever." She sighed. "Pete, you bring your cards?"

"My Tarot cards?"

"Pete!"

"Kidding! I'm kidding. Stop! That tickles. Do you want Isis to give us both detention!"

Chloe quickly stopped, citing not wanting to give Principal Kwan another excuse to terminate her editorship of The Torch. As if the whole thing had been choreographed, Isis' voice rang out: "Chloe, Pete, this is your first and last warning."

Their heads shot up, but Isis was still busy typing away. Clark nudged Pete. "You're cousin's eerie."

"Lately, yeah. I don't know what's different about her but--"

"You mean Isis wasn't always like this?" Chloe butted in.

"A little. I guess." Pete scratched his head. "It's been a long time."

Chloe shrugged. "Maybe its not eerie. Maybe you just don't know your cousin that well."

"There was that time she knew it was going to rain and it was clear blue day."

Clark rolled his eyes. "Pete, Isis was the only one of the three of us not playing in the hayloft." He turned to Chloe. "She was up in a tree which was how she saw the clouds before we did. Then she nearly fell out."

"Isis did fall out of the tree, Clark. Don't you remember?"

"No."

"How could you forget? You broke her fall."

"Oh," Clark blushed. "Right." He rubbed his shoulder as if nursing the old injury.

Chloe turned to Pete, "Sounds like Isis just, you know, matured."

Pete said something back, but Clark wasn't tracking the conversation anymore. He hadn't remembered Isis falling from the tree in the yard, just a few feet from the barn. Catching her on the other hand? Clark remembered catching Isis as she lost her grip, flailing and screaming, plummeting to Earth. Clark remembered wondering how she'd climbed so high. He remembered being afraid that, for the first time, his strength old fail him. Or he would miss. Then Isis might die. Then Pete would never come back to play with him. Clark's only two friends gone. And it would all be his fault. Then his parents would finally decide that he was more trouble than he was worth and send him back.

"Hey, Space Cadet Clark? You in there?" Chloe waved her hands in Clark's face. "Pete was asking you a question."

"What? Oh. Sorry Pete. What were you saying. I zoned out."

"Really? I hadn't noticed."

Clark punched Pete playfully on the shoulder.

"I was asking you how old we were."

"Seven," Clark said almost before Pete could finish.

"You sound pretty sure," Chloe noted.

Clark scratched his temple. "I remember we were going into second grade, is all. Or that we were in second grade when she went back to Gotham. . . Something like that."

Chloe rolled her eyes. "You're so consistent Clark. Remind me to exclude you from the interview process."

"One daydream session and I'm an unsuitable source? Who else is going to give you an unbiased opinion on Isis? We are talking about the article your doing on Isis, right?"

The class bell rang.

The volume in the room quickly skyrocketed from a rolling buzz, to nearly deafening. Isis didn't bother dismissing her class. They were doing a perfectly good job of that on their own. And they weren't hers anyway.

Clark hesitated just outside the door. "I'll catch up with you guys later," he said before dashing into the classroom before either Chloe or Pete could object. "Isis? Miss Ross?"

"Clark?" She looked up from her work owlishly. "Did you forget something? And 'Isis,' please. We've known each other too long for you to start making me sound all teacher-like."

"Uh, oh. Okay. And no. I've got everything. I, ooh, just wanted to talk to you. In private."

Isis shook her head slowly, as if to say she didn't exactly understand his motives, but whatever. "Close the door then. Is this going to be long because--"

"Oh. I'm interrupting your work. I'm sorry. I guess it can wait. . ."

"I was going to say that if it's gonna be a bit, I could write you a Late Pass for your next class. You know, so you won't get detention."

"Oh."

"Yeah. You say 'Oh' a lot, don't you. And blush. Quit it!" she exclaimed when he turned an even deeper shade of crimson. "You keep doing that and people are gonna put you in a two-dimensional pigeonhole. Now, what's on your mind, Clarky?"

His eyebrows climbed into his bangs. " 'Clarky?'"

Isis shrugged. "So it doesn't quite fit. Don't worry, I'll find a nickname for you. Now stop with the prevaricating and make with the stuff-telling."

"Do you remember that time you fell out of the tree in my yard by the barn?"

Isis stared at him blankly for a moment. Obviously that had not been the question she had been expecting. "Huh?"

"You know, my barn, it has a tree in front of it. Sorta. You fell out of it once when you and Pete were over one day."

"This is like years ago, right?"

"Uh huh."

"I think so. Jeez, I think I was thirteen then. How old were you guys: Seven? Eight?"

"Seven," he assured her, rushing on. "What do you remember about it?"

"About falling?"

Clark nodded.

"From your tree?"

Nod.

"Well, it was scary for one. I thought my stomach or my heart or some other vital internal organ was gonna come right out my mouth. And it hurt." Isis winced at the memory of pain. "A lot. You're a hard kid to fall on . . . Omigod! I fell on you." Her hands flew to her mouth, and for a moment Clark thought Isis might remember the truth.

But then a laugh leaked out from her fingers. "I thought you were dead, Clark-Bar. I remember thinking that Pete was gonna kill me and then your parents and then my aunt and uncle. And then I remembered I had still had to go home and face my parents. Just as I was about to keel over myself, you opened those bonny-blues and asked if I was okay." Isis let out another laugh at her own expense. "I was so happy I think I almost kissed you. Pete showing up saved you from your first kiss being with an older woman, Clark. If I were you I might want to hurt him," she said, a seductive smile teasing her lips.

She pulled a sheet of paper out the back of one of her notebooks and began scribbling. "So why did you want to know?"

"Oh, uh, no reason. Pete brought it up during class and I had kinda forgotten that you'd fallen on me so I wanted to ask you . . ."

"To see if he was pulling your leg? Cool. Here." She handed him the note paper.

"What's this?" Clark asked, not really seeing it through his haze of relief.

"Your Late Pass. The late bell rang about three minutes ago. They're probably wondering w--"

Clark dashed out the room.

"--where you are."