Author's Note: Sorry for those of you who have been waiting for this chapter! I've been so busy with my Young Justice fic (No Risk, No Reward) that I've been completely neglecting this story, even though I have been intending to write a Smallville fic for quite some time. So without further ado, here is chapter three.

Disclaimer: I do not own Smallville.

Chapter Three: Chloe Sulivan: Ace Reporter

Pas de basque. Left foot, pas de chat. Left foot, pas de chat.

Miranda moved gracefully around her bedroom at the Kent's despite being exhausted from a long day of farm work. Her hand had been hurting all day, but Mr. Kent had assured her that it would be fine and that it was just one of the casualties of farm life.

Miranda didn't have her pointe shoes but that didn't mean she couldn't dance on the floor. Sure her dancing might not look the same, but it was a sort of mental reassurance for her that she could still dance.

She was in the middle of a petit jete when her cell phone trilled from on the bed, startling her.

"Shit," she swore, glancing at the caller id. Leslie was calling her? That was a first.

"Hello?"

"Miranda?" Leslie sounded confused.

Miranda sighed. "Who did you think you were calling?"

"I was just shocked you picked up the phone."

"We haven't even gotten so much as a Christmas card from you in three years, Leslie. What do you expect?"

Leslie sighed. "Mom said you were in a god awful mood."

Miranda blanched, hopping up onto her bed. "She pulled me from the Academy and sent me to a farm in the middle of nowhere. I have no friends, nothing to do except milk cows, and I can't dance."

Leslie whistled, but was otherwise silent.

"She didn't even let me keep my pointe shoes," Miranda added after a moment of silence.

"That's… extreme," Leslie allowed. "I am sorry Miranda."

Well that's another first: Leslie apologizing. "It's not your fault. I don't really think that it's anyone's really."

"Yeah. I get it."

The sisters were silent and for a brief moment, Miranda wondered what on earth they were supposed to talk about. Miranda hadn't seen her sister in three years, hadn't even spoken to her. What did they have in common now that Miranda was no longer allowed to dance?

Answer: Absolutely nothing, but Miranda was curious about Julliard.

"How's Julliard?" she asked.

"Nonexistent," Leslie answered gleefully.

"What do you mean nonexistent?"

"Well… don't tell Mom, but I'm not exactly there anymore."

Miranda's eyes widened. "Were you kicked out?"

Leslie snorted. "God, no. I just couldn't stand the place anymore. The teachers were awful Miranda. They wouldn't give me a single lead role in even the smallest productions. Because of well… you know."

Miranda's heart felt leaden in her chest. God did she know what Leslie was talking about.

"I get it," Miranda said uncomfortably.

"The Richardson name is so respected in American ballet," Leslie said flatly. "Which is why I dropped out. I'm in London right now."

"London?" Miranda asked.

"I flew in a few days ago and I'm still getting my bearings but…" Leslie trailed off and Miranda could tell her sister had news. "I had an audition with the London Ballet yesterday and I've been accepted!"

"Wow," Miranda said quietly. "That's—that's really cool. Y-you're going to dance professionally. Internationally, too."

"Yeah," Leslie sighed dreamily, completely oblivious to her younger sister's melancholy. "It's such an opportunity. The Director—his name is Hans, of all things—is really great, super talented. He didn't even care that I was a Richardson. Said that I was too talented to let go of."

"Wow," Miranda repeated, because really there was nothing else to say.

Miranda heard Leslie breathe out on the other line. "You know, this means there's hope for you too, Mir. You can come here, dance in a professional company when you're out of high school."

"I haven't danced in almost a month, Leslie," Miranda said flatly. "Even if I had a studio and shoes to practice with…With no coach, my form will become terribly sloppy."

Leslie snorted. "Come on, I know you better than that, Mir. You're form is impeccable."

Miranda swallowed. "Fair enough. But I have nothing to practice with and nowhere to practice anyways. And mom and my therapist probably have Mrs. Kent watching me like a—"

"Who cares about them?" Leslie interrupted.

"—so it's cows and hay bales for me," she finished, ignoring Leslie.

Leslie sighed. "Methinks you doth protest too much. But hey—don't' give up, okay?"

Miranda wanted to allow herself to hope that she could get back to dancing, but the fates were against her. "I-I have to go. It's really late here and I have to be up at five tomorrow."

"Well, okay." Leslie sounded disappointed but didn't push the issue. "I'm really glad I called, Mir. It's good to hear your voice."

"You too," Miranda said blankly. "Bye, Leslie."

"Kisses."

Miranda closed her phone with a sigh and dropped onto her back. She was happy to hear from her sister, despite the apparent awkwardness. And she was proud of her too. No doubt Leslie would be the star of the London Ballet in less than a year.

Her sister had always been the better of the two.

The next morning Miranda awoke at the butt crack of dawn and went down for breakfast, only to find that Jonathan and Clark were noticeably absent. Mrs. Kent was the only one sitting at the breakfast table, coffee mug in hand.

"Miranda!" Martha stood up and rushed over to the cabinets. "How about some coffee? And breakfast? Are you hungry?"

"Coffee would be nice," Miranda said. "I can get it though."

Martha smiled and handed her the mug. "I'll make you a plate."

"You don't have to—"

"I insist," Martha smiled. "No guest of mine will want for food. We need to fatten you up a little."

Logically, Miranda knew she was just being nice. But she still didn't like the idea of fattening up.

Miranda waited for the coffee maker to spit out the black liquid into her cup and she proceeded to skip the sugar and milk—it gave her cellulite—and took the seat across from Martha.

A steaming plate of pancakes stared up at her.

"Where are Clark and Jonathan?" Miranda asked, playing with her fork.

"Oh, they had to take care of some… things." Martha's voice sounded a bit strained but the smile on her face was genuine. "Guy things."

Miranda nodded, taking a small bit of the pancakes, feeling the delicious blueberries explode in her mouth. For a girl who didn't like food, Mrs. Kent's food sure was delicious.

"These are really good," Miranda commented. "You're a much better cook than my mom is."

Martha laughed. "Your mother's idea of cooking, when we were in college, was popping leftovers in the oven."

"That does sound like Mom."

Martha smiled and took a bite of her own pancakes as Miranda sipped her coffee.

"Anyways, I was wondering if you wanted to go into town with me today. You seem kind of worn out from the farm work."

"Oh its fine I—"

"You can help me out around the house," Martha smiled. "It's just as important as the farm work. Besides, we need to run down to the school and get you registered for the fall. Then maybe we can see about getting you some work clothes."

Miranda nodded, knowing resistance would be futile. Martha Kent seemed like a woman who wouldn't take no for an answer.

After eating breakfast, Martha had driven Miranda to the main street of Smallville where they first stopped off at the hardware shop to pick up a wrench that Jonathan needed to fix their other car. Then, they headed to the sporting goods store and bought Miranda some working boots and some sturdier t-shirts and jeans.

At least Miranda's mother had given her a credit card. It would've been too much to bear if Mrs. Kent had offered to pay. From there, the pair headed to Smallville high and got Miranda registered for the fall semester.

Before heading home however, Miranda and Martha stopped at the Talon—the cool hangout in town apparently—so that Mrs. Kent could do the payroll.

Miranda sat at the coffee bar while Mrs. Kent chatted animatedly with one of the employees.

She was secretly wondering what Clark and Mr. Kent were doing, and who would do the farm work while they were gone. Obviously it wasn't going to be Miranda, since she couldn't really do anything.

Besides milk a cow. Unfortunately, Miranda knew that cows did not produce milk in a day.

Turning her head towards the window, her eyes caught sight of something. She looked through the passersby and saw a dance store, its neon sign jumping out at her.

If there's a dance store here then maybe I could—

Miranda stopped herself there.

Even if they had pointe shoes, they wouldn't be quality dance shoes, nor would she be able to buy them with her mom's credit card. Her mom would see the purchase and send her to a reform school or something.

"You ready to head out?" Mrs. Kent said to Miranda as she finished up talking to her employee.

"Yeah, definitely," Miranda said distractedly.

"Where'd you guys go?" Miranda asked Clark as they washed dishes together later that night. Jonathan and Martha were currently camped out upstairs in the bedroom. The sounds of the movie they were playing barely wafted down to Miranda's ears.

"What do you mean?" Clark asked, nonplussed. "Oh! You mean today?" Miranda nodded, drying off a coffee mug. "Metropolis."

Miranda could tell from the tone of his voice that he was lying, but she decided she didn't really care. Whatever Clark and Mr. Kent did on their own time wasn't her business.

"I head Mom took you shopping," Clark commented.

"She did," Miranda confirmed.

"She bought you Wranglers and flannel, am I right?"

"Yep."

The two were silent as they finished up the dishes and started the laborious task of putting things away in the cabinets. Miranda grabbed a few plates as Clark wiped down the dishwasher.

Reaching up for the top shelf where the dishes were kept, she reached up on her tip toes to try and get it up there.

"Need some help?" Clark asked, startling her.

Miranda felt the plates slip from her grasp and she closed her eyes, bracing herself for the loud crash. But it never came. She opened her eyes and glanced at the stack of plates that were now in Clark's hands.

"How'd you do that?" Miranda asked.

"I was standing right behind you," Clark grinned, reaching over her to shove the plates onto the top shelf.

"F-fast reflexes," Miranda muttered, stepping out from under his large frame. She could've sworn Clark was over by the dishwasher, but what did she know?

Clark shrugged, walking over to close the dishwasher when the doorbell rang. Miranda raised an eyebrow at him and he opened his mouth to explain when Martha shouted down.

"Clark?"

"It's just Chloe!" He answered back. Turning to Miranda he said, "Chloe goes to Smallville high. I invited her over to watch a movie and I thought it would be good for you guys to meet—"

The door squeaked as it opened and Miranda could hear the clacking of someone's heels as they made their way across the wood floors.

"You know for someone who moves as quickly as you—"

"Chloe!" Clark exclaimed, though the cheerfulness seemed forced. "Did I forget to tell you about our guest?"

Chloe stopped in the middle of the kitchen, slapping her hand over her mouth. Miranda immediately gauged Chloe's appearance. Short—but taller than Miranda—with blonde hair, blue eyes, and slightly rotund—at least as far as ballerinas were concerned.

"I am so sorry," Chloe laughed. "I completely forgot." She walked quickly over to Miranda and shook her hand eagerly. "I'm Chloe Sullivan."

"M-Miranda Richardson," she replied, put off slightly by her enthusiasm.

"No!" Chloe gasped. "Really?"

Miranda furrowed her eyebrows and looked to Clark. He looked just as confounded as she did.

"Uh, yes?" Miranda didn't know what else to say.

"The Daily Planet has been looking all over for you!" Chloe told her. "Why didn't you mention it was the Miranda Richardson?"

Miranda almost groaned. She so didn't need this right now.

"I wasn't aware someone famous was living across the hall?" Clark raised an eyebrow. To Miranda he said, "Chloe's an intern at the Daily Planet."

Chloe shifted her weight onto one foot and crossed her arms. "You really didn't know?" Clark shook his head and Miranda looked away. "Miranda was featured in the Daily Planet's expose on young phenoms. It was put out last year."

"Wow," Clark whistled. "You never mentioned you're that great of a dancer."

"I was," Miranda shrugged, turning to glance at Chloe. "Past tense."

"Could I—" Chloe bit her lip, excitement clear in her body language. "Would you maybe let me interview you? My Editor wants to do a follow up on everyone who was featured and we couldn't—"

"Chloe," Clark warned.

Chloe broke off as she seemed to realize something. "What are you doing in Smallville exactly? That would explain why we couldn't find you—"

"I—I'm not dancing anymore," Miranda admitted, looking down.

"Oh," Chloe sobered up. "I—are you injured?"

"Not exactly. It's a long story." Miranda told her, suddenly wishing she was anywhere but here.

Chloe thought about this for a moment and seemed to decide something. "How about an exclusive? It could definitely be featured on the front page of the entertainment section. And if I got the story—"

"I'm not sure that's such a good—"

"I promise it would be super easy and hardly like an interview. Just two friends having coffee—"

"Chloe!" Clark groaned. "Why don't you just go put in the movie?"

"Fine, fine," Chloe muttered, rolling her eyes. She turned to Miranda. "Sorry, sometimes I forget to check my reporter persona at the door. Most of the time actually."

Miranda nodded, struggling to find an apt response when her caller id lit up.

Mom.

She glanced at Clark and Chloe, knowing that they would probably think she was an incredible snob for ditching out on a movie night with them. But her mother was just the excuse she needed to get away from them.

Someone in Smallville knew who she was. In the past, that might have brought a flutter of pride to Miranda's heart. But now, all she felt was great sadness for what she had lost.

"I have to take this," she said, feigning regret as she walked towards the stairs. "You can start the movie without me."

"You sure?" Clark asked.

She nodded and turned away, flipping open her phone.

"Hello?"