Chapter 3 [Talon]

The mid-afternoon crowd buzzed about the counter. Customers sipped on mulled cider and coffee. Muffins and other pastries pleased palates. Humor lightened moods. Gossip piqued interest. News stirred debate.

Behind the counter, Lana spun like a possessed top. Her fingers danced across the register's keys. She scribbled orders onto the pad. In between greetings and some small talk, she worked magic on the Italian press. She left orders on the counter for Miranda to carry out to the floor. Occasionally she slipped away to touch base with the patrons herself.

All part of the café…work…and part of the burdens….

She rubbed her forehead. Too many things going on. School pressed with its AP courses. Chloe wanted her to write more for the Torch. Nell had discovered new love with some guy in Metropolis. That had led to more frequent absences…more distance between aunt and niece….

…Loneliness drained her further….

…Circumstance distracted from Priority….

She exhaled deeply. She'd neglected her parents' gravesite over that summer. She'd begun moving past Whitney. She made a few friends. She'd visited with Byron on several occasions. She'd become wrapped up in Clark's issues and distracted from the bigger truth.

Truth… Irony was having a field day, wasn't it? Especially given that it was all about Clark.

Clark….

She narrowed her eyes. She knew he cared. Over the previous fifteen months, he'd drifted into her orbit. His advice had proven vital on several occasions to Whitney and herself. He'd thrown himself into the abyss for her on several occasions. Amor, rather than Clumsiness, unsteadied his gait and confidence. Still she'd seen things. She looked around at the café recalling the chilled icy bee residue from the previous spring. She floated once again in Tornado's deadly clutches. She stewed over the failed date. Crimson streaked his vision and turned her stomach. Several times he'd restrained Byron in darkest moods and monstrous strength.

Secrets…. Lies….

He loves me. So why does he lie? I can deal with it. She exhaled sharply. He can admit to not liking poetry. He can say that he's working through issues. Still how is Clark always there? How does he manage those interventions? Still why won't he be honest? Is it his parents? They know and like me. Still they never let Clark do birthday parties or have people over. Is he like Byron? Is there something wrong with him? She bit her lip.

Issues hung in the air…

Her eyes spied their Plaid Knight. He poured over a hard covered book. His brow furrowed. He scribbled a few notes on a yellow legal pad. For several heartbeats, he sipped on a steaming ceramic mug. He tapped his pen against the table's oaken surface. Wonder what he's reading?

"Hey, Boss. Sorry but orders are backing up," Miranda interjected. She tapped the other teen on the shoulder.

"Hmm? Oh. Sorry, Miri." Lana blushed. She hustled off toward the counter.

Miranda glanced toward the corner. She noted the new exchange student speaking with Clark. She could tell that the two teens discussed his book very intently. She sighed. Hope caused her heart to skip a beat. Maybe Farm Boy might get the hint. Lana can have better. She rolled her eyes. Then she followed toward the counter.

[Five Minutes Earlier]

Clark set his copy of Thoreau on the table. He rubbed his temples to assuage Tension's grip on them. He still struggled with the poems' structure and the metaphors. Still Thoreau made better sense to him than Shakespeare had. He grasped Nature's beauty of course. He appreciated the American tropes even if they were kind of ancient to him. Still he'd persevere. He sipped from his coffee and brooded. His eyes wandered toward the counter. Why is Lana depressed? Is everything okay? He sighed. I just wish I could do more.

"Reading something interesting, Clark?"

Surprise jarred him to attention. His eyes sprang from the table upward. There he spied a tall Middle Eastern girl with long dark hair flowing down her back. She sipped a mulled cider. He recalled her being in English class. "Jasmine, right?"

"Indeed. Might I sit with you?" She motioned toward the seat across from him.

"Huh? Oh sure! Sorry. I should've asked." He motioned toward it. "Please."

"Thank you. I still struggle with your culture. Back home, it is customary to be invited before we sit. I do not want to seem forward." Appreciation beamed through her smile. She slid into the seat. "You seem to know what it means to be from somewhere else. No?"

He stiffened. "I'm adopted. Still I think I fit in pretty well."

"Ah yes. From what Lana, Chloe and Alex say, you have nice parents. I'm sure my father would respect them." She took another sip. "And you tread into unfamiliar prose. You had a good response in class today. You surprised the rest of us."

"I…I did?" Anxiety caused him to bite his lip. "I bombed with Shakespeare."

"Bombed? I don't understand." She furrowed her eyebrows. She read his body language. "Do you mean 'failed' perhaps?"

He sighed. "I've been reading some sonnets and poems lately. A classmate of ours likes them. I thought I'd try them too." He squirmed.

"Classmate?" She nodded. "Ah. I know who you mean. And no, you didn't fail or

'bomb' as you put it."

"I didn't?" Confusion narrowed his eyes. "Everyone laughed."

"Those who lack understanding or compassion did, Clark. Ms. Mathers did not. Chloe and Lana appreciated it. So did I. You asked a question and tried to explore a hidden corner of Shakespeare's work. We all have to progress. I am doing that as well in terms of your western culture. There is always more to learn. One should not be ashamed to admit that," she explained.

"Thanks. I felt kind of weird asking about that." He frowned. "Lana liked it?"

She nodded. Her eyes sparkled. "She did. You surprised her but it brought a smile. That is the true nature of poetry. We have our poets in Javalastan. Still some only read a few words. I search for meaning." She held up a paperback. "Rumi is wonderful for insight."

"Rumi? He's a Middle Eastern guy?" Seeing her chuckle, he winced. "Great."

"You said nothing wrong, Clark. He was one of our greatest poets. He pursues…how do you say it?...hidden truths?" Getting a nod from him, she continued. "Yes. Thank you. He expresses himself."

"Expresses himself." He sighed. Memoria brought painful memories back to him. He recalled how his father and Lana had expressed their inner alpha selves during the Nicodemus infestation. Regret also stabbed at him over how the red meteor rock had brought out his own uninhibited self. "I wish I could. My parents kind of don't want me to."

"Your parents don't want you to…what? Express yourself?" She took another draught. "Oh. Yes. Alex has said your parents have secrets." She sighed. "Secrets are like anchors dragging us down. Perhaps they may protect for a while. They never last. You are such a nice guy. I can't imagine anything to be serious as they would hold you back."

"You don't know my parents." He tried to maintain a poker face. Wonder how she'd take knowing my secret? Then again how would Lana deal with it?

"They are like my father. Being Princess of Javalastan is not easy. I have my secrets too. Still I choose what to bring out and what to hold back." She motioned toward the counter and then toward the two poetry books. "You are doing that too. You try to learn new things. That, Clark, is good."

"I'm seeing that it isn't so bad. I want to learn more. And…." He stopped suddenly. Inspiration struck him with a sudden idea.

"Clark? Are you all right?" She looked him over once again.

He nodded. "I'm okay. I just had an idea. Maybe a way I can give back to…well…you know?" He motioned toward the counter himself. "And everyone else as well. If it isn't too silly."

She smirked. "'You know' has a name, Clark. Tell me what you're thinking."

"Maybe a bunch of poetry being read together? Diverse stuff? Might give me some more understanding," he suggested. His shoulders shrugged off the thought.

She nodded. Respect and Admiration brightened her expression. "You are more than you seem, Clark. That is not silly. In fact, you have a great idea. Perhaps Alex would help us? I am sure Principal Reynolds would be most helpful."

That last thought confounded him. He felt leery about asking his antagonist for any help to be honest. "Mr. Reynolds would help? He'd shoot me down, Princess. I can't."

"Well why don't we ask him?" She pointed toward the counter. "He is here. And, Clark, please address me as Jasmine. We are not at Father's court. I want to be your friend not your superior or anything like that." She smiled once again. "I'll be back." She got up and hustled across the room.

"Pr…Jasmine! Wait!" Clark sulked. "Great. Here we go." He recalled the lecture and the essay from the previous month. He put his chin in his hands. He saw Jasmine leading Reynolds toward the booth. He sucked in a deep breath and put on his most resolute face. Let's hope this works. He glanced toward the counter again.

In that moment, Purpose shoved him forward. For a certain brunette barista, it'd go through anything…be it a meteor minefield or certain administrators….

"Mr. Kent?" Reynolds assessed him. "Are you all right?"

"Just thinking, Sir. Sorry. Are you having a good day?" Clark asked.

"It has been good. And from what Princess Jasmine tells me is correct, it is a most splendid turn of events." Reynolds took a sip from his own cup.

"I just talked about having people read poems from all over. Maybe we can learn something from each other? I know it's a big deal but…." Clark started.

"It is indeed a big deal. But not for the reasons you think." Reynolds nodded. "I am impressed, Mr. Kent."

"You…are?" Clark furrowed his brow. This was definitely not the reaction he expected.

"Yes, Mr. Kent, I am. Comparative examination of different cultures is something to be praised. It would benefit the community as a whole." Reynolds tipped his cup to Clark.

"So would you help us come up with some place then?" Clark supposed. Disbelief threatened to seize his brain at that point.

"Yes, Mr. Kent, if you can put something together, I will arrange for the auditorium to be open for the event," Reynolds offered.

"You…will?" Clark wondered.

"I don't do that for just anyone. This, however, is an endeavor worth promoting. You have risen to my challenge, Mr. Kent. It is an excellent step in the right direction. Do not disappoint me," Reynolds clarified. "I look forward to hearing of your progress. Have a good night, both of you." With that, he headed out the door.

"Wow." Clark slumped back in his seat. "He's the last person I'd expect to support me."

"And why not? You are showing initiative, Clark." Jasmine glanced toward Lana and Miranda at the counter again for a minute. Then her eyes returned to him. "Come. We go."

"We go? Where?"

"To see what Alex might suggest. Come." She led him toward the door.

Here goes. Let's hope Lex doesn't laugh me out of the mansion! Clark grimaced as they headed outside. There he spied a waiting Ford Taurus and a waiting Middle Eastern man in a dark suit. "Who?"

"This is Abdul, my bodyguard." She frowned and grimaced. "Father's idea." She walked over to him. "Abdul, this is Clark Kent. He is one of my classmates."

"I have seen him at the mansion, Princess. His mother and Mr. Luthor speak highly of you, Mr. Kent." Abdul opened the rear door. "Do not do anything to change that view." Suspicion narrowed his eyes.

"Abdul, Clark would not. Please do not make such aspersions. In fact, it is a matter of cultural exchange that we pursue," Jasmine scolded.

Contrition forced a bow. "Then I apologize, Mr. Kent."

"You're protecting her. It's okay." Clark stuck his hand out. "Shake hands and start over?"

"Yes." Abdul shook his hand. "Thank you. Please get in. I will take you to the mansion."

Clark nodded. One cultural connection had been made. Reynolds seemed supportive. Maybe Lana would be happy when this was finished.

Maybe wonders would never cease? One could never tell….