TWELVE YEARS LATER

Friday morning had a bright and sunny dawn. Several clouds moved at an ever so slow pace. The seven o'clock springtime sunlight warmed the open field that had healed after so many years ago. Jonathan took care of it by simply ordering many bags of dirt to fill it in and fertilizer to bring it back to its natural state of being an open field. Several months passed, and the front field only looked like it had a mild depression that would be easily mistaken for a sinkhole.

The child was assumed to be the Kents'. They were fortunate that Martha hadn't broken the news of her actual infertility after that day. It was also fortunate that the Kents have never been questioned by any government authority figure, who would be asking the whereabouts of a child in a rocket-like Jonathan had been suspecting for several weeks. Naturally, the Kents began to slowly over time accept that this child was their own.

Jonathan left it to his wife to name the child "Clark" after her father, whom she had deeply loved in her younger days. The years passed, and Clark grew older. The days of him obeying his parents' moralities that he had been taught over the years were diminishing, making way for a whole new identity. "This is only a phase," was what Jonathan and Martha would usually tell themselves. At the age of twelve—the typical onset of rebellion—it was crucial that they step in before he would make any rash decisions that a lot of other kids got in trouble for. All those years of preparing for a day like this was coming closer than ever before, and it was a matter of time before he would start his defiance.

Clark Kent hurried downstairs at the sound of his name being called. By the time he had reached the first floor, he saw his father reading the paper like always and his mother putting together the finishing touches on breakfast plates for all three of them. Jonathan had placed the newspaper down and folded it back to the chair next to him as he reached for his morning orange juice. Martha sat herself down just as Clark made it to the table.

"Did you comb your hair?" Martha asked Clark.

"Of course," Clark answered openly.

Martha made a feigned curious face. "Then why do I see at least three Alfalfa parts sticking up?"

Clark froze awkwardly and looked at Jonathan, who had a face that was curious, wondering what Clark's excuse would be.

"Well . . .," Clark began, "I meant 'yes', as in, 'yeah, I will comb it'. Like, yeah, it'll happen in the not-so-distant future."

"Uh-huh," Martha said all knowingly. "And don't skip out on your breakfast. It's the most important meal of the day."

Clark knew better not to roll his eyes in front of his parents while they were giving another "after-school special" talk. He was not a little kid anymore for crying out loud. He was old enough to make more decisions on his own accord. The other kids at school were starting to do the same, so why can't he?

"I won't," Clark assured with a smile, so he'd appear friendly. "And besides, I love a third consecutive breakfast of eggs again."

"Amen," Jonathan agreed brightly as Clark pointed towards him and nodding at Martha.

"Good protein, right?" Clark smirked in a way to make him appear sincere. "Could also up the ante on bacon, though."

Martha shot an unamused look at Clark.

"Just a thought, just a thought. . ." Clark muttered in defeat, looking back at his plate and resumed eating.

Martha dropped the unamused façade and returned to her natural tone. "Get ready soon, or you'll be late for the bus," she said as the three continued to eat.

Once he was done, Clark ran up the stairs and finished the rest of his school preparations that he mostly despised more than anything else. The bright side of the whole ordeal was that he wouldn't have to worry about that much longer. After all, the school year was ending as spring was reaching its close and onwards to the upcoming summer. Though, there would have to be more days and exams to get through, and more bus rides to be quiet during.

The bus rides to school never got better for Clark over the years, even in Junior High. He was hoping that he'd find a perfect friend that would match the same character like him, but he found that all the other kids were too occupied with their own lives. On the bus, kids were either too loud or playing with their Game Boys, which Clark didn't have to share; his parents told him that video games were just a waste of time. He just remained to himself, save for only one girl that would occasionally have more than a few words to say to him.

"Hi, Clark," a redheaded girl would say frequently when they crossed paths.

Clark responded with an awkward smile and wave. Lana Lang would usually sit with her friends and have only conversations that her other friends found interesting, like how hot some boy bands are as well as celebrities. When she wasn't surrounded by her crowd, she'd usually have something to say to Clark. Because of this, he thought for a long time that she'd might have a crush on him. Yet, he never knew how to return the favor. Then again, maybe it wasn't a crush; maybe it was just a simple friendly gesture. He at least appreciated that.

He never thought much about conversations with girls except when he'd overhear boys talking about Playboy magazines, sneaking into girls' locker rooms or other topics that his parents would no doubt have a heart attack over. As the words reached Clark's ears, he'd grimaced. Thankfully, he already had the dreaded and nausea-inducing 'talk'. As for Clark, he generally thought that girls were either nice or popular, who had always taken advantage of other students to further themselves. Clark had seen too many times of how cruel the popular boys and girls alike would treat their peers; thus, he deemed it necessary that isolation would spare him the humiliation.

Despite his limited social circle, Clark found himself doing fairly well in school. He wasn't a straight A or honors student, but he would frequently impress his parents with exceptionally high grades that would get him several awards that awaited at home. From what he could infer as he got older, Clark had always thought his parents were different from all the other parents; are his parents the same as any other parents? He remembered kids talking about late-night video game parties and sneaking in to watch R-rated movies in late-night showings. What kind of parents would allow their kids to do those? Did they forbid it, or were they not careful enough? Or was it just a group that Clark wasn't meant to be part of?

For a long time, he wondered if being alone was best. No harm, no burden. All those years spent by himself save for only with his parents were the only times he had felt safe and comfortable.

Today, it all changed.

As the day progressed, Clark kept his focus in classes. As per usual scenario in a lecture, he raised his hand when he had an answer or question. His concentration was as perfect as it always was, that is until he started having strange distractions.

While his teacher was talking, Clark started hearing more than one voice. It was almost as if he was in a room with talking ambiance like in a cafeteria or even recess. He looked around him confused to wonder why every student in the classroom would start talking at once. Do they not know that there is a lesson going on? However, he saw that none of the other students were moving their mouths. Some were either paying attention, passing dirty notes or asleep. He looked outside to the window, which was facing the playground for the elementary school kids. He witnessed two kids who were talking and fighting over the ball from a distance. His eyes widened as he could not believe what he was seeing, or most of all, hearing. He heard every word of their conversation as if he was standing right there with them. The voices he was hearing were impeccably matching the body language between the two bickering kids. He heard them arguing who had the ball. He shook his head wondering if he himself was feeling alright. But the talking didn't stop. His breathing accelerated as it soon drowned out what the teacher was saying.

"Clark . . . Clark . . . Clark!"

Clark snapped his attention to the teacher. Suddenly, the commotion of hearing the outside voices had ceased. There was only the sound of soft air conditioning blowing through the classroom.

"Am I boring you?" she asked, raising an eyebrow while still pointing at the chalkboard board, which had all the contents of what she was lecturing.

Clark nervously shifted his eyes to the window and the teacher. He sensed that other classmates were snickering. He felt his face flush.

"N-no," he stuttered, trying to sound innocent.

"Then pay attention," she said sternly. "You only have an hour left until the day's over. You'll live."

The other students giggled, and Clark lowered his face while his body slowly sank into his seat in the desperate hopes that no one would see his face. He always hated it when he was the center of attention that made him look goofy. Other students took pride in their troublemaking performances whilst Clark wanted little to no attention; he just wanted to get through a normal day and not be bothered.

Clark was then thankful that his attention to the teacher was now more in focus, as the previous sounds of children arguing over a ball outside were no longer heard. While he was more engaged in the teacher's topic, he couldn't help but think back. Not on the embarrassment as he always thought back on when called out, but that he fully understood what the kids were saying to each other despite that he was far away and behind brick walls and a glass window.

Thankfully, the rest of the school hours went by quite fast. Clark was grateful that it was at least a Friday. He had told his parents that he wanted to walk home that day, which took the longest time to convince them that it was alright for him to. He had always wanted to be on the outside and rather than observing it through the bus windows. He had always admired the outside scenery that sped by him as he only watched from a distance.

As he got outside after the stampede of students rushing to get outside of the school on a Friday afternoon, he noticed Lana running off to her friends. He was nearly disappointed to see her run off to her friends, who he never dreamed about nearing while saying something to her. He even noticed that Lana was looking at him while speaking with her giggling companions. Her friends then glanced at Clark and started laughing more. Even under the sunlight's warmth, he felt his own face warm on the outside, giving him even more heat. That was all Clark needed from that to get him moving on.

Clark started walking away further from the school grounds and started on the road that would take him away from the property.

"Clark!"

Clark spun around in surprise not just at the mention of his name, but that it came from someone that he knew would have the power to lighten things up.

Lana walked up to him, wearing a face that looked like she wanted to tell him something. "Hey."

Clark made an awkward attempt at sounding friendly. "Hey."

"Listen, we're gonna hang out this afternoon at the meadow. Wanna come?"

Clark's heart missed a beat. For the first time, an invitation had been extended to him personally. All other times, he had attended birthday parties and even then, he wasn't really all that close with the hosts or guests. At the same time, he knew that his parents were expecting him home. But he would be quick; it wouldn't last that long.

"We're not allowed on the soccer field after school. Just a little Friday afternoon thing," Lana further explained.

"Uh, sure. Yeah!" Clark said proudly, displaying a smile that made him feel like an idiot.

"Awesome!" she gleamed. "Just follow us," she said as she walked towards the crowd but slow enough to allow Clark to follow.

"Wait, uh . . .," Clark asked dumbfounded as he only now realized. "Um . . . where is the meadow?"

"It's not far. Just follow us. It's really nice."

"Oh. Okay, cool," Clark smiled casually. He was grateful that she didn't think he was stupid. What does she see in me? "So, who else is coming?"

"Just Pete Ross and some of my friends," she answered informatively.

Clark blinked at the mention of Pete Ross. Pete was more of the popular kid who neither had pure kindness or cruelty. He was fair among the other kids, though he had preferences of who to hang out with. It was surprising but assuring that he would've wanted Clark to join him in hanging out. Clark beamed with joy as he joined the walk with the other students.

The walk to the meadow had been a peaceful one, even if it was with a group of people he may or may not have seen before. The sound of musical cicadas gave the peaceful notion of a spring's afternoon. The sun's light passed a warming and inviting sensation while Clark continued to follow. He kept close to Lana, who was with her friends. He wanted to say something, but the other classmates were making it too difficult. He often wondered what Lana had said to her friends right before he was invited along. Was this a way for her to tell him that she likes him? What if she does like him?

"Hey, Clark!" Lana said looking back. Her friends dissipated away as she was calling to him.

Clark looked up and his face gave her attention.

She approached him, squinting from under the sun's brightness. "You okay?"

"Yeah," he answered as if to say why wouldn't he.

Her expression turned sincere. "Sorry if this was sudden," she said, her face seeming to be calculating the next words. "It's just . . . I don't know, like, I mean, you seem like a nice guy and we thought you'd like to come along."

Yep. She definitely liked him.

"No, I, uh," he cursed himself for not finding the right words, "I-I wanted to. Come along," he said, forcing the last two words out. God, it was hard enough talking!

"Yeah?" she said, her eyes softly rose.

"Yeah," he answered fast. At least that was honest. "I just . . . I never really, you know, hung out with . . . well, anyone," he forced a chuckle as if it sounded ridiculously comical.

"Oh," she answered in deep understanding. "Well, I talked to Pete, and he said he was okay if you came along."

"He did?" Clark asked fascinated.

"Yeah, I asked him, and he said 'sure'," she smiled.

Clark hesitated. He was flattered that a popular classmate would be open to someone like him. They never talked much, and even if they exchanged words, it would've been a head-motioning gesture of noticing.

"Awesome," Clark answered smiling brightly.

Lana reciprocated Clark's face. "Come on," she said walking faster to catch up with the others. "We're almost there."

Clark caught up with the rest of his shadowy classmates and was thankful that it wasn't a big crowd. He counted that it was at least eight or so, no more than ten people. If it had been any more, Clark would've been more inclined to say no even if it was a chance to be more social. He looked back on it and thought that it maybe had more to do with Lana being involved. After all, he remembered feeling more compelled to join after Lana extended the invitation to him. Nowadays, he wasn't sure what to feel. For a long time, he had wondered what it would've been like to hang out with the other kids, especially the popular ones. If this is what hanging out the popular kids was like, then it seemed like a great start. On a normal day, Clark would just spend his afternoons, weekends and summers with his parents, who would take him to carnival nights, the movies, or hiking through wooded areas around the state of Kansas. Other times, he would help his dad on the farmland. He would help cut the grass, water the strawberry fields when the rains weren't cooperating and care for the barn animals. He'd also ride his bike around the grasslands and other local areas of Smallville; those were always nice. This was feeling nice too.

The more he thought about this, he had wondered how his parents would react if he came home a little later. He could tell the truth. After all, it was going to take longer getting home due to walking instead of the usual bus or car rides.

Several minutes occurred, and Clark and his classmates' walk took them off the main road and onto a grassy plain that acted as the threshold to a massive meadow. Clark beamed at the sight.

It was unlike any other meadow he had seen on his way home from the bus, car rides and bike rides alike. It wasn't a completely naked field; there were several shrubs scattered in random places. The horizon's view was blocked by trees that curtained across the light green field. The sun reflected o the mounds of small hills hat rose from the earth, shining light through the swaying green grass blades.

"Alright!" Pete Ross announced as everyone else turned their attention towards him.

Pete sat his bookbag down next to one of the shrubs so the shade would protect it. The other classmates followed this motion as Clark did the same and sat his down very close to the other bags, convincing himself that he did belong with them.

One other male student gave a loud relieved sigh as he sat his bookbag down. "God, that felt better."

"Like stroking your eggroll," Pete answered.

Clark had understood that joke and chuckled softly.

The rest of the conversation had been an interesting experience for Clark. There were talks about what their weekends were, the criticisms they had for different teachers and how Alien 3 sucked when they saw it in theaters that somehow didn't catch their age. Clark just listened to them talk all around him. As he listened, the talking began to tune out and realize that it was just him on the bus all over again; he was hearing the same things he overheard as an observer.

As the conversations continued, he noticed that Lana would glance over at him occasionally. He would smile at her to ensure that all had been well. He darted his eyes around him to see that none had trained their eyes on him or approached him. He then looked at Pete, who had been tossing a football to his other friends back and forth.

Clark inhaled and decided that it was time for his loneliness to come to an end. Fighting the inner feelings, he wanted to evolve from an onlooker to a participant.

"Hey, Kent! Go long!"

Clark shot a look at Pete, who was holding the football from quite a distance. The mentioning of his name made his face light up.

Well, that was easy.

Pete excitedly patted the football with his palm, preparing the throw while waiting for Clark to get to the designated distance. Clark was already running far, knowing how far Pete can throw when he tossed it to other players.

As he ran out thinking that this would be the distance that Pete could throw at, he looked back and Pete had already tossed the ball.

Clark's adrenaline spiked as he saw the ball in the air, coming closer to him. Thankfully, he already had the practice from his dad from all those little baseball catching games he would have out in the yard.

Clark managed to catch the ball and was surprised by the impact. He had expected the leather along with the harsh smack against his palms would've left a very slight pain. Only it didn't. He must've been more physical for sports than he had thought. Smiling to himself, he looked back at Pete.

"C'mon, Kent!" he called back, holding his hands apart.

Giddily to himself, Clark cocked his arm back, holding the football and threw it back.

Clark widened his eyes as he watched the ball's trajectory. The ball was tossed back as Clark wanted, but it hadn't landed in Pete's hands. The ball had gone way over Pete's head. In fact, the ball had gone past the entire group and it went past the meadow's entrance which was at the beginning of the road. It continued even past the street and landed past a few trees on the other side of the road.

Clark's face had immediately flushed and felt his cheeks burn.

"Holy shit, Kent!" Pete exclaimed laughing.

The other kids had either laughed at how far it went, and some had their mouths gaped in amazement, including Lara.

"Sorry!" Clark said from the distance as he raised his shoulders closer to his head, withdrawing himself.

"That was awesome!" Pete cried out as he turned around to find where the ball had gone.

Clark felt the relief smother him from Pete's compliment. It felt good that he was interacting with a popular kid in school. He then thought ahead about other fantasies. Is this what hanging out with the other kids would be like? Maybe he could get into what the other kids were doing. He thought about sneaking into R-rated movies, playing video games until late at night on weekends and summer. Then he thought about what his parents would think . . . and grimaced to himself.

Pete returned to the field with the football in hand. Clark beamed and was ready for another toss.

"Do you play football often?" Pete asked.

"Uh. . . yeah," Clark responded quickly. "I, uh, play with my dad all the time," he added while nodding. Yeah, Clark thought grumbly, more like tossing the power tools on the farm.

"Cool," Pete answered. "Wanna try an end run?"

"What?" Clark asked dumbfounded.

Pete looked around him and saw the bookbags. "Try running to the bookbags."

Clark felt his face pale, and he was frozen in place. What was an end run—?

"Here!" Pete called as he threw his arm back, readying for a throw. "You ready?"

Without thinking, Clark nodded as held his hands open.

Pete tossed the ball and Clark got himself ready for that. He caught it once again with ease as his eyes dashed ahead of him to see that Pete had been sprinting out at him.

Oh. End run. That means tackling.

Thinking quick, Clark ran towards Pete's direction but decided he would go left where the bookbags were.

Then Pete had turned in that direction. Clark decided to go in the other direction, but Pete was anticipating that. Pete had closed in on Clark within about a couple of yards and closing fast. Clark tried to dash in an opposite direction and didn't notice it was a dumb move until Pete got in contact with him.

Pete had opened his arms out and laid into Clark, still clutching onto the football. As Pete's arms wrapped around him, Clark tried to hold himself firm so the landing on the ground would be softened. However, both he and Pete found that Clark wasn't going down that easily. Pete was holding onto Clark, who was still running, dragging Pete on the ground as his shoes were plowing into the grass.

Clark was surprised of his own stamina. He had always considered himself to be neither out of shape nor muscular; he saw himself as more run of the mill in strength. Never the first to be picked on sports teams during P.E.. However, he was surprised to see that Pete was having a difficult time in taking him down.

Pete strained through his teeth and tightened his grip. Pete tightened more and more until his arms were sore. On instinct, Pete changed his arms position and reached up for Clark's arm. As he grabbed it, that was enough for Clark to lose his balance.

Clark tried to hold on to the ball, but Pete's grip had gotten him to lose focus on his sprint. Clark gasped as he was swung around and he toppled onto the grassy floor with Pete underneath him, holding onto Clark's arm.

Pete let out a loud aggrieved cry that made Clark's spine tingle. Clark's eyes went wild as he heard Pete's painful scream. Clark let go of the football and quickly stood up. As he looked at Pete, he felt fear coursing through him.

"Shit!" Pete yelled through gritted teeth as he was holding onto his arm.

"Pete!" Lara called out in panic. "You okay?"

Several other kids stopped what they were doing and stood up, watching Pete writhe and wince on the ground.

He kept groaning in excruciating pain. "My arm!" he strained.

Clark felt his lungs burn white-hot letting out quick loud gasps as he saw Pete's face. "Oh, God!" he gasped. "I . . . I'm so sorry!"

"Pete?" Lara called out again as she approached him and Clark. "What's wrong?"

"My arm!" he cried out again.

"Oh, God," Lara gasped. Her eyes scanned Pete's arm. It was hard to tell what exactly was wrong with it as he kept holding onto it. It couldn't have been broken that easily just like that.

Turning around, she shouted, "go get help!"

The other kids shared shocked faces before turning around and returning to the road where they had once entered from.

Lara turned her head towards Clark, who was pale as snow and staring at Pete, who never ceased his groans.

"Clark?" Lara said.

Clark didn't answer. His eyes were paralyzed, and his erratic breathing wouldn't stop.

"Clark, are you okay?" Lara pressed.

Clark turned his head towards Lara, and she could see how terrified he was. "I . . .," he choked out. "I didn't mean to!"

The ambulance had arrived rather quickly. It was fortunate that the meadow wasn't too far from their school grounds and some of the school crossing guards were still on duty. All the kids had stayed close after their parents were called. One paramedic was examining Pete, who winced through some of the procedures he was undergoing.

Despite the aversion of something worse, it didn't bring peace to Clark. He had been sitting on the ground with a deep frown. On one hand, he wanted to go over and see if Pete's arm was broken as he had feared, but his legs were too jellied, let alone felt numbness. His face paled in dread at the mention of phoning his parents from the paramedics. He sat on the ground, hugging his knees as he stared into space. His head was a fast merry-go-round of different emotions and thoughts. Pete's shrill scream kept replaying over and over again in his head while he thought how this was all a big mistake. The additional thought of how much trouble he'd be in gave Clark less air in his lungs.

Don't cry, he told himself. Don't cry . . .

After answering several questions, Lara noticed that Clark hadn't moved in the same spot ever since they arrived. They asked if he had been bullying Pete, but Lara jumped to his rescue and tried getting a look at his face. She saw how incredibly pensive he was and wondered if he'd noticed her. "Hey," she said softly. "You okay?"

Clark didn't look up. He knew she was there, but he'd rather not face anyone right now.

"Clark?" she tried again.

Clark swallowed. "How is he?" he uttered without looking at her.

"Just a broken arm, but he's fine," she assured. "What about you?"

Clark shook his head, embracing his worst fear. "I don't know."

"What happened?" Lara asked coaxingly.

"I don't know," Clark answered again, this time more pressing. "I just landed and . . . I don't know."

"Clark!" Martha's voice came.

Clark's heart missed a beat and he looked up. Martha and Jonathan were approaching him and fast. They both looked as if they've seen a ghost. Not good.

"Honey, are you okay?" Martha said as she sat next to him.

"There was . . .," Clark began as his voice trailed off, unable to find the words. "We were playing and . . . I landed on his arm."

Martha glanced at Jonathan, who nodded at her.

"Alright," Jonathan said, "let's go home."

Clark swallowed. He recognized the discreet angry tone of his father's that always told him when he was in serious trouble. He nodded and sat himself up as Martha had her arm around his shoulder as Jonathan led the two to the truck that Jonathan drove. He then looked over at Pete, who was still being examined by the paramedic. Pete was looking better at least. Then he felt his entire world crumble as he looked over at the other kids. Several of them were staring at him, either in shock or horror; it was hard to tell. He tried his best to look away, but he couldn't stop sensing the dozens of eyes that were trained on him.

As the Kents got into the truck, Clark felt his face grow hot from guilt and shame as he was now in the company of his parents. The day had gone so well, so perfect.

"You told us you were going to walk home today," Jonathan said darkly. "You were supposed to come straight back home. Nowhere else."

"I know," Clark muttered as he hung his head. "I just," he sighed. He had to at least explain himself. ". . . I just wanted to . . ." his voice trailed off, losing his sentence. Maybe that was a bad idea.

Jonathan didn't respond. He kept a firm eye on the road, but Clark knew him long enough to know that he was not in the best of moods.

Clark searched for more words to explain. He proceeded carefully, "Dad, I've never hung out with them before, okay? I just didn't want to be alone—"

Jonathan turned his head so abruptly, it made Clark flinch. "You tell us right where you're going from now on, do you understand me?"

"Jonathan," Martha warned.

Clark let out a frustrated scoff. "So, I can't hang out with anyone?" Even as he felt right for defending himself, he already felt his throat swelling.

"Someone got hurt, Clark!" Jonathan exclaimed. "And it could've been you! You will not do that again," he finished lowering is voice.

Clark swallowed. "Yes, sir," he said breathily and looked out the window from where Martha was sitting, not bothering to know if she had a look.

He once again watched the outside world look back at him through a pane of glass. He dared himself not to face his father again. Any other time he disobeyed his parents would just be a talk of how disappointed his parents felt about his actions, prompting him that he's better than this. In all these years of discipline, it never got so harsh for something so little as accidentally horse playing. He knew his parents trusted him enough to not injure someone on purpose. This felt much more different than any time before.

Enough minutes passed. However, he did find the courage to get a glimpse at Jonathan. From what Clark could gather, Jonathan's face wasn't angry or firm. The inner ends of his brows had closed together. It was curious because it almost matched the same face Clark had been wearing for the past several minutes. It was almost as if Jonathan's expression indicated that he was feeling a sensation of worry. That wasn't entirely uncommon. On previous occasions, Jonathan did regret yelling whenever Clark was out of line, albeit knowing that was for his own good. Only this felt different—or at least it looked different . . .

The rest of the day had gone through in nearly silence. During dinnertime, not much was said with the exception of only short words. Clark did his best to avoid saying anything that would act as a segue to his actions.

Later that evening, the Kents' house had become a dimly lit candle in the spring evening. Inside, the living room's light was on, while Clark had gone to his room more than ready for the weekend.

Instead of spending another cloudless peaceful evening, he wanted to just sleep, hoping that today's events would stop replaying in his head. No matter where he turned, he could still hear Pete's screaming, the sight of the ambulance and his father's beratement.

As he lay in his comfortable bed, he looked above him and at least got a glimpse of the plastic glow-in-the-dark stars that he pasted on his ceiling. Its faint luminosity did bring some sort of ease which he was thankful for. As he gazed outside his lonely window just right above the side of his bed, he saw tiny twinkling dots of the real stars.

His bedroom door gradually creaked open.

Oh, great. More talk. Yeah, more and more 'sorry for the yelling'. Can't they just leave him alone?

"Hey," Jonathan's voice said softly.

Clark truly tried his hardest to make it seem like he wasn't so agitated with either parent coming up to talk to him after today. All he wanted was sleep and deluded himself into believing that sleep would make this stupid day go away.

Jonathan slowly approached him making soft creaking noises on the wooden floor. Clark felt him sit next to him on the bed, followed by a hand being placed on his shoulder. Not the touch. That wasn't making it better.

"I'm sorry about earlier," Jonathan whispered.

Clark's only response was a stifled sigh that he tried to keep quiet.

Jonathan sighed and said slowly, "I know you were just trying to make friends. And your mother and I are so happy for you . . . but you have to understand, we worry about you every day."

That made Clark turn his head. "Dad," he sighed, restraining himself from raising his voice. Good thing he was too tired anyway. "I'm not a little kid anymore."

"I know," Jonathan nodded humbly, "But you're still my son, no matter how old you get." He hesitated again, thinking.

This hesitation was stroking Clark's curiosity. Jonathan usually had an answer for a lot of things. "Then why were you angry earlier?" Clark asked.

Jonathan didn't answer right away. His head imagined so many scenarios of avoiding the truth. That is, until there was one undeniable truth.

"It's because we love you," he answered simply. "We get worried about you sometimes. And no matter what you think, and no matter how old you get, you're very special to us. You've always been."

"I know that, Dad," Clark said shaking his head. He had heard that before. "But, it's just . . . I just look at the other kids. And I want to be like them. And I really liked hanging out with them today. It felt good."

Jonathan's heart froze. I want to be like them. "I know," he responded calmly, concealing his inner emotion. "Just . . . let us know where you're going from now on, okay?"

"Okay," Clark tiredly.

Smiling, Jonathan rubbed his hand on Clark's shoulder. "I love you so much."

"Love you too, Dad," Clark said with a yawn before closing his eyes. He was beyond satisfied that it was coming to an end.

Jonathan left his son's bedside and walked back towards the doorway. He looked and saw that Clark had turned his head over once more on his way to sleep. Jonathan's smile had then morphed into a frown.

The rest of the night hadn't gone easier. Clark lied upstairs fast asleep while Jonathan and Martha remained downstairs. Martha was sitting on the couch with a cup of sweet evening tea that she always loved making, even in times of conflict. Today was frightening enough. It was becoming more terrifying that the day of young Clark learning the truth may be coming nearer than they would ever hope. They hoped it wouldn't ever come to this.

Jonathan kept pacing himself around the room with a look of uncertainty. "We can't keep pretending like everything is fine, Martha. He told me that he wanted to be just like them."

"What if he wants to, Jonathan?"

"But he isn't."

Martha's expression told Jonathan that he should immediately regret that sentiment.

He did. "I mean . . .," he lowered his tone and said, "sooner or later, we're gonna have to tell him."

"What are we supposed to say to him, Jonathan?" Martha said raising her voice. "That he's not even one of us?"

Jonathan's mouth squeezed tight before he hung his head and let out a solemn sigh. If it had to come to this, they might as well say that. That was the truth.

Martha had sensed her husband's inner predicament as she looked up at him. She, too, felt it and dropped her defense. Jonathan was right. A broken arm by little to no effort wouldn't be something so easily dismissed. It would be a first of inevitably more occurrences.

Jonathan sat himself beside her and folded his arms, resting them on his knees. "I'm worried about him, Martha. I'm worried about him, and I don't know what to do. We have to tell him soon."

Martha placed her teacup onto the table and rested herself onto her husband.

"I love you both," Martha said serenely. "And I trust you with all my heart and soul."

She paused herself before looking at her husband, who still looked lost.

"Remember when the doctor told me that I was infertile?" she asked. "I had never felt so lost in my whole life. And there was nothing anyone could do about it. But remember how you never left my side even if there was nothing you could do?"

Jonathan turned his head and looked into her eyes.

"There may not be an easy answer," she continued as her eyes glistened. "There may not be an answer at all. But I knew that you were there."

Jonathan turned his head and looked sincerely into her eyes. Those words were comforting enough. He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead before resting his head on it. "I love you," he whispered.

Martha sighed deeply in content. "I love you too," she replied.

Martha then paused again for a moment, unable to disregard their son's actions anymore. Conceding, she said, "you're right. We'll tell him soon. And when we do, we'll be there."

Jonathan and Martha spent at least the next half an hour on the couch. The perfect comfort they were giving each other and the sound of outside crickets singing them a soothing melody made it impossible for them to move from their spot. The couple didn't say anything more to each other as they leaned on each other. While they had been at ease, they had silently thought about Clark, tracing all the way back to when they first met him on that night just only fifty yards from where they were. How Jonathan remembered how Martha felt the happiest in her entire life since he'd known her.

It was about ten o'clock when Martha kept falling asleep. It was then when they had decided to head upstairs.

The rest of the weekend had seemed to go back to normal. Clark had stuck to his usual morning chores with Jonathan. The springtime had given Jonathan and Clark a lot less time to do anything else other than working outside. Luckily, they kept taking water breaks every now and then. Martha made heavily sure of that. That entire period would end at about noon when the three of them would head into a diner out in the downtown area.

The downtown area hadn't been all that large since Clark can remember. Its small-town attire had held a nostalgic charm in the memories of his childhood. Its main street consisted of several diners, pharmacies and small shops which ran parallel on opposite sides of the street. On a corner, there would be either a church or a car repair shop. Above everything else had been a cloudless bright blue sky that sent a spring warmth. On any other days, Clark would walk along the road glancing and browsing at the nearby shops that would occasionally grab his attention depending on what was displayed out of the front windows. He'd also play at the playground while Martha watched him and Jonathan either joined them or completed their shopping.

As the Kents went out to lunch, Jonathan and Martha had been normally greeted by so many town locals as they were one of the more respected farmers out in the countryside. Clark had also received that kind of attention from his parents' friends. They were anticipated about the child of the Kents despite that they were never told about their secret or Martha's disability to bear children.

When the Kents returned to the farm, they had continued their daily routine of caring for the fields, feeding the barn animals and of course, taking their water breaks that Martha refused to let them forget. However, one thing had seemed amiss lately.

Clark never got all that tired from staying under the hot sun while working for hours from what seemed like a lifetime for the Kents. Jonathan had admitted that his age was catching up to him, and he wouldn't have as much endurance as Clark, but both he and Martha were astounded by their son's fortitude. While he did certainly perspire under the sun's sizzling gaze, he wasn't tired. In fact, it barely felt like work to him. He had assumed that he would've been used to this since he has reached a time at his age where strength would've come naturally to him among other things. Clark already had been taught sexual education and did receive the ever so uncomfortable talk from his parents. He had assumed that this was part of this newfound stamina, to which his parents agreed.

The rest of the weekend went smoothly as it progressed to Sunday. Clark had finished his homework for the weekend whilst getting ready for those stupid exams that would be coming up. Thankfully, he had all the help he could get from teachers as well as his parents who would sometimes stay up late at night and help him memorize mathematical equations and scientific facts. Dinner went by smoothly that evening and the Kents shared a nice big meal as Martha felt like the men in her family deserved it for working so much around the house.

Hours passed, and dusk completely silenced the sunlight. The day was nearly over, but the memories of the incident with Pete that haunted Clark began to surface once again. All the other kids were there too. He never had a chance to watch their reactions about the whole incident, but it was obvious that any chance of having more social hangouts would be depleted. What would Lana think now? What would Pete think now? Pete would be terrified if he saw him again . . .

As the endless scenarios played in his head, exhaustion began to successfully affect him. It had seemed like a long weekend after all. He was so thankful for that, and sleep consumed him.