FicWad

"It's a Homecoming tradition," Pete is explaining to Chloe in a hushed voice. "Every year before the big game, the football players select a freshman, take him off to Reilly Field, strip him down to his boxers, and then paint an "S" on his chest."

"And then string him up like a scarecrow," I interject. Dang, Pete, you forgot the worst part of it! I can see the disgusted surprise on Chloe's face.

"Jeez, that sounds like years of therapy waiting to happen!" she says, crinkling her nose at the thought. I can't help but smile at her expression as I turn my gaze away and out over the school grounds. It's then that she catches my eye, standing several feet away with her friends, laughing with them about something most likely girl-related.

Pete has continued talking. "That's why we're joining..." But I don't hear the rest. Her infinite beauty has completely taken over my full attention. I can't take my eyes off of her. Even the fact that, around her neck, she wears the one thing on this Earth that can harm me... Yes, even this vital fact is forgotten as I begin to walk toward her as if drawn by some outside force. "I'll see you guys in class," I mumble absently as my feet begin to move of their own accord.

I can hear my friends snickering behind my back, but it barely registers in my brain. There's no room for any thoughts except her. As I draw steadily nearer, I can hear my feelings play themselves out in my head, begging to be let out. Maybe this time I'll tell her. Maybe this time I'll say all the things I've wanted to say.

And now she's looking right at me. Good gracious, she's beautiful. Gorgeous, even. In fact, there aren't even words in my vocabulary to explain how incredibly beautiful she is. Her emerald eyes shine brighter and clearer than the green stone about her neck, though still with the power to bring me to my knees. Her long, dark, silky hair burns a fiery red in the sunlight that seems to shine only for her. Her radiant smile, however, shines bright enough to rival that very sun.

I have to talk to her. I have to say /something/, tell her... how I feel maybe? I'm not sure. But I have to say something, or else I'll just look like an idiot for walking over here and then just standing and gawking at her. So I begin to run things through my head, trying different sentences, listening to how they sound. I'm thankful that my brain works at such fast speeds. I'm sure not more than two seconds have gone by, and I'll be right next to her in another three or four.

Lana, I'm in love with you. I always have been, since the moment I first saw you. Could you tell? Can you read my mind? Do you know what you do to me? You're like an angel come down from the heavens to this dismal planet for divine reasons unfathomable. I can feel my heart rate increase drastically the closer I get to you. Is it those beautiful jade-green eyes of yours that have this effect on me? Or is it just the fragment of solid green poison that dangles from your neck, taunting me as it seems to absorb the sunlight around it and transform it into a sickly glow that fills my vision and attempts to distract my attention from you?

I get my answer as I get within a five-foot-radius. I feel my legs simply give out beneath me, and then I feel the concrete as it rushes up quickly to meet me. My books scatter in all directions, and as I hurriedly go to pick them up, I can hear snickers all around me. I seem to have drawn a small crowd with that bit of pure genious.Quickly, I go back to picking up my books.

As I begin to gather them up, I see a hand stretched out towards me, holding one of them out. It's her. "Nietzshe," she's saying. I look up, directly into her necklace, then back down to the profferred book. I reach out and take it, snatching my hand back as it begins to burn from the close proximity to the meteor fragment. "Didn't realize you had a dark side, Clark," she continues, slightly surprised by the sudden movement.

I realize my reaction must have seemed cold to her. "Doesn't everybody?" I reply, my voice coming out in low and weak, strained by the sick feeling these meteors bring me.

"Yeah, I guess so," she says thoughtfully. Then after a second's hesitation, "So what are you? Man or superman?"

I try to grin through the intense pain that sears through every cell in my body. "I haven't figured it out yet." She can't see the double truth behind my answer. I'm still trying to figure out why I'm different from everybody else, how I can do things that no one else on Earth can do. I want to be normal, but somehow I got myself caught in between. Man or superman? I wish I knew. I bring my eyes back up to hers and once again find myself wondering. Can she read my mind? Does she know what I'm thinking, just by looking at me? Am I that transparent?

Another voice coming up behind her. "Lana, there you are!" Whitney Fordman, star quarterback, captain of the football team, and Lana Lang's boyfriend. His presence is like that of the meteor rocks, bringing a sick feeling to the pit of my stomach. If it weren't for him, perhaps I'd have a chance with her. The nausea increases as I see them kiss, right here in front of me. Sometimes I wonder if he does it on purpose, displays his affection for her when he knows I'm watching. He knows I have feelings for her, he always has. "Hey, Clark," he says, as if just noticing me. I know that is not the case. He saw us talking together and probably figured it was time he rushed over to protect his girlfriend.

With my books finally collected haphazardly in my arms, I hoist myself up unsteadily to my feet. Dizziness threatens to pull me back down to the ground again, so I slowly lower myself to the metal railing that runs parallel to the sidewalk, using it as support lest I plunge back to the concrete, this time causing scrapes which will no doubt heal quickly enough to arouse suspicion. Lana and Whitney continue talking, but I hear none of it. I've blocked everything out in a failing attempt to remain upright.

My awareness returns as I hear someone is speaking to me. "...feeling all right?" It's Whitney again. How long has he been taunting me for? "You look like you're about to... to hurl." Not that you wouldn't love to see that, right Whitney?

I'm sure my pained expression intensifies as I try to speak. "I'm fine," I manage to get out, all the while trying not to just drop to my knees and beg for the torment to stop. At last, they turn to walk away, and some of the pain goes away. I relax slightly and release my death grip on the books in my arms.

Big mistake. Whitney turns back around and picks a forgotten book up off the ground, tossing it to me. "You forgot one, Clark!" he calls out mockingly. I move to catch it, but in the process lose my grip on the other books. I end up back on the ground anyway, despite my best attempts to remain more or less on my feet. Back to square one, with all my books once again scattered all around me. I glance up to see Lana's sympathetic glance in sharp contrast to Whitney's amused grin as they turn once again and walk away, leaving me this time to pick up my books on my own.

As I see them leave, my strength returns, but something else takes the place of the pain. This one is worse, deep in my chest, tightening and suffocating me until I just want to curl up and cry. It's the same feeling I get every time I see Lana and Whitney together, and it brings thoughts that I know I should never allow in my head. But I can't stop them. I can't stop thinking that, if I had only been different than I am now, if I could just be normal, not a freak, then I might have a chance with her. I might be able to finally get close enough to her to tell her how I feel. I might finally be satisfied with my life, instead of wishing I was someone different.

But then I hear my dad's voice in my head. You can't change who you are. You just have to learn to live with it and be happy. Your mother and I wouldn't have you any other way. The bell is ringing, which means I'll have to hurry if I want to make it to class. I pick up my books and rush off to the door. Maybe Dad's right. Maybe I can learn to be happy with who I am. But I still can't help the sick feeling in my stomach every time I see Lana Lang with Whitney Fordman instead of me.