Meteor Freak
Episode 11: Leech
Date: Monday, September 12, 2011.
Location: Smallville High, Smallville, Kansas
Pete stood beside the American Red Cross banner. He adjusted his backpack strap and glanced at Tyson, who seemed uncomfortable as Clark jogged toward them in gray sweats. Lana walked beside him, clipboard in hand, wearing a simple blue sweater and jeans.
"There's Clark," Pete said, nodding toward the gym entrance.
"So, how'd you get out of gym class?" Clark asked.
Lana smiled, tapping her clipboard with her pen. "I'm spared the sweats a couple of days, perk of chairing the blood drive."
Clark's eyebrows rose. "I'm sorry, aren't you the girl who skinned her knee in seventh grade and passed out when she saw the blood?"
A flush crept up Lana's neck. "I was hoping I'd live that one down, but yeah."
Pete checked his watch. "Clark, we're gonna be late. We gotta hit the showers."
Tyson's eyes met Lana's. How did you talk to someone you'd technically been intimate with but also technically hadn't? Someone whose body you remembered touching even though it had been someone else wearing her face? The wrongness lodged in his throat like every conversational skill he'd ever possessed had apparently evaporated overnight.
"Hey," Tyson said finally. The word came out rougher than he'd intended.
Lana's fingers tightened around her clipboard. "Hi."
The silence stretched. Tyson could hear Pete shifting behind him, Clark clearing his throat, distant students heading to class. Normal sounds from a normal day, except nothing about this felt normal. Lana's gaze kept flicking to his face and away, like she was reconciling the person standing before her with the memory of what Tina-as-her had done. He wanted to say something meaningful, something that would cut through the awkwardness. But what words existed for this particular flavor of fucked up?
Clark cleared his throat. "Uh, bye, Lana."
"Bye," she said, turning back toward the banner.
As they walked toward the gym, Tyson noticed a girl sitting alone on the metal bleachers, hunched over a spiral notebook. Her brown hair fell like a curtain around her face. Amy Palmer, he realized. The Luthors' housekeeper's daughter.
A shadow fell across her notebook; Troy Barnes, his letterman jacket unzipped. He snatched the notebook from her hands.
"Troy, give it back!" Amy lunged, but Troy held it high.
"Whoa, Amy. Just hang on. I just want to see if you wrote anything about me, that's all." Troy flipped through the pages. Another boy approached from the parking lot. "Oh, Jeff, did you know your sister's writing psycho love letters to Lex Luthor? It's always the quiet ones."
Jeff Palmer's jaw tightened as he climbed the bleacher steps. "Give it back to her."
Troy laughed. "Hey, it's not my fault you've got a weirdo for a sister."
Amy's cheeks burned red. "You're a child, Troy. It's because of boys like you that the girls want a man like Lex Luthor." She clutched it against her chest.
Troy's expression turned cruel. "Keep dreaming, Amy. Your parents clean their bathrooms. You may live there, but Luthor's not gonna slum up with the help."
Jeff stepped closer, hands clenched. "Just leave her alone."
"What are you gonna do about it?" Troy spread his arms wide.
Tyson called from the base of the stands, "Hey, Troy, quit it!"
"Losers," Troy mumbled, then sauntered off toward the gym.
Inside the locker room, steam rose from the showers as Pete and Clark emerged, wrapped in towels. The smell of soap mixed with muffled conversations as they joined Tyson by the lockers.
"So when are you donating blood?" Pete asked Clark.
Clark hesitated, running the towel through his dark hair. "I don't know."
"Come on, Clark, selflessly giving of yourself to save others. Girls love that." Pete grinned and elbowed Clark.
Clark groaned, his face scrunching up.
"You okay?" Pete's tone shifted to concern.
"Yeah, I'm fine," Clark said, though his voice sounded strained.
Pete turned to Tyson. "Speaking of girls, what's up with you and Lana? That was so awkward it was painful. Kinda like you not showering after gym."
Tyson groaned and sat heavily on the bench, head in his hands. "I didn't sweat, and we're going on that class trip for geology, and we have practice after school. I don't really want to talk about Lana."
On the other side of the locker row, Troy sat to tie his shoes. One sneaker slipped off the edge, clattering to the floor.
"Very funny, guys," Troy muttered.
As he bent to retrieve it, his locker door swung open with a loud clang. Troy straightened, looking around, but the locker room seemed normal, his row empty.
The shoe suddenly lifted from the floor, hovering before slamming against the metal locker. Troy stumbled backward.
"What the hell?"
The locker door swung shut, then flew open again, catching him square in the face. Blood spurted from his nose as he staggered.
A twenty-pound free weight rose from its rack, floating through the air. It struck Troy in the chest, sending him sprawling onto the concrete. The weight continued its assault, rising and falling repeatedly.
"Ah! Stop it!" Troy rolled on the floor, shielding himself.
"Troy, are you okay?" Clark's voice carried from around the corner, followed by running footsteps.
The weight dropped with a final thud, rolling away.
Clark, Pete, and Tyson rounded the corner to find Troy on the ground, face bloody, chest heaving. Purple bruises were already forming on his ribs.
"What happened?" Clark asked, kneeling beside him.
Troy's eyes darted around. "It attacked me. It was like a ghost."
A short while later, the Beanery buzzed with the lunch crowd. Clark stabbed at his salad, the lettuce crunching between his teeth.
Chloe leaned forward, notebook open beside her untouched sandwich. "So you didn't see anything?"
"By the time we got around the corner, Troy was already on the floor," Clark said.
"What about the voice he heard?"
Clark shrugged. "What are you thinking, Chloe, that the locker room's haunted?"
"Not unless the meteor rocks can conjure up the ghost of dearly departed jock straps, which I seriously doubt." Chloe's lips quirked as she scribbled notes.
Tyson picked at his burger, pulling off the pickles. "Couldn't have happened to a nicer guy. I had to stop him from picking on that girl, Amy, and her brother earlier. What's with the jocks in this town?"
"Big fish, small pond," Chloe said, tapping her pen against the table. "And seems like you're the fisherman."
Tyson rolled his eyes and took a large bite of his burger, sauce dripping onto his fingers.
A waitress approached, stacking their empty plates. "Here you go."
"Thank you," Clark said.
Near the entrance, Whitney stood with his back to them, letterman jacket stretched tight across his shoulders. Lana faced him, clipboard clutched, but her attention kept sliding sideways to the booth where Tyson sat. She could hear fragments of their conversation, Chloe's bright laugh cutting through the ambient noise. She watched Tyson lean back in his chair, the movement pulling his t-shirt taut across his shoulders. She watched his hands wrap around his water glass, fingers curling against the condensation, and something uncomfortable twisted in her stomach. Those hands. Those hands had touched her face, her skin, her body, except they hadn't. Not really. He knew things about her body that she'd never shared with him. Tina had given him access to an intimacy Lana herself had never experienced, and now every time she looked at him, she had to confront that violation. He'd seen "her" naked. Touched "her" skin. Been inside "her." Except it hadn't been her at all. Tina had stolen that experience, had let those hands touch her while wearing Lana's face, and now Tyson carried memories of intimacy with her that she had never consented to, never experienced, never even knew about until it was too late. She had no memories to process, no experiences to reconcile, just the sickening awareness that someone had stolen her identity for sex, and she could never reclaim that violation.
Whitney's voice snapped her back into the conversation and carried over the ambient noise to the group at their table.
"I don't have time right now," Whitney said, his tone clipped.
"Look, if you don't want to help me with this blood drive, then just say so."
"That's not it," Whitney replied, but his words lacked conviction.
Chloe nudged Clark. "That doesn't look pretty."
"Then what is it?"
Whitney's jaw worked. "I really don't want to talk about this right now, okay?"
"No, it's not okay!" Lana's clipboard trembled. "You have been avoiding me for a week! Every time I ask you what's wrong, you push me away. I'm worried about you."
Whitney's shoulders sagged. "Don't be. We're not together, remember? I just need some space."
Lana lifted her chin. "If that's what you want, fine."
She turned on her heel and walked away, footsteps sharp against the tile. Whitney remained by the entrance, hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets.
Chloe frantically gestured to Clark and Tyson. "Oh, quick! Pretend we weren't watching."
Clark straightened. "Hey, Lana, how's it going?"
Lana's smile was brittle. "Not great, but thanks for the 'courtesy clueless.'"
Chloe's expression brightened. "Would it cheer you up if we offered to volunteer a pint for tomorrow?"
Lana consulted her clipboard. "Let's find out. How about 9:45? That's open."
"Cool," Chloe said.
Lana's pen hovered over the paper as she looked at Clark. "There, better already. Clark? What time can we schedule you?" When he didn't respond immediately, she continued, "We didn't pick a time for you yet. When can I put you down?"
"Actually..." Clark began, then stopped, searching for an excuse.
Tyson swallowed his bite of burger. "Clark is anemic. He can't donate blood."
Everyone turned to stare at Tyson. He continued eating.
Chloe's eyebrows shot up. "Since when have you been anemic?"
Tyson shrugged, reaching for a french fry, answering for Clark, covering for him. "I'm surprised you haven't noticed. Lana, never clued in to why he gets weak around you at weird times?"
"That's why?!" Chloe asked.
"You thought it was because Lana's just that pretty? I mean, she is, but..." Tyson trailed off, his eyes meeting Lana's across the table. The air between them thickened. He'd said it without thinking, the compliment slipping out before his brain could catch up. Now Lana stared at him, lips slightly parted, something vulnerable and confused flickering across her face. This was too much. Sitting here at this table while Clark's secret hung between them and Lana's hurt radiated across three feet of distance, and Chloe watched everything, her reporter's instinct probably already realizing there was some hidden story at play. The walls of the Beanery suddenly felt too close; he needed to move, to put distance between himself and this suffocating awkwardness before he said something else stupid.
At least it had created a good cover for Clark.
"Sorry, I'm gonna head back to school." He stood abruptly, grabbing his backpack. His chair scraped against the tile. Without another word, he walked toward the exit, paid for everyone's lunch, and headed out. Behind him, he could feel Lana's eyes tracking his retreat, could sense the questions forming in Chloe's mind, could hear Pete's confused exhale. But he couldn't stay there another second, sitting across from Lana while his body remembered things that had never actually happened between them. While she looked at him with that mixture of anger and something else he couldn't name. It was cowardice, probably, this running away. But he'd faced enough impossible things this week without adding navigating feelings with Lana to the list.
Lana watched him go, lips parted as if she wanted to call after him, but couldn't find the words. The truth was, she did want to call after him. Wanted to demand they actually talk about what happened instead of dancing around it with awkward silences and aborted conversations. But what would she even say? That she was angry he'd been fooled so easily? She'd already made that clear. That she was angrier at herself for caring so much? That sometimes, late at night, she caught herself wondering what that afternoon had actually been like, and then hated herself for the curiosity? The contradictions exhausted her. So she let him go, watching the door swing shut behind him, feeling the distance between them stretch like taffy.
Chloe looked between Lana and the door. "Okay, what was that about? I haven't seen him like that since Kara broke his heart." She paused. "Oh, uh, you guys?"
Lana shook her head quickly. "It isn't like that. But we had a disagreement last week, and we're still finding ways to get past it."
"It must have been some disagreement to get him like that," Chloe observed, her voice gentle but probing.
Clark cleared his throat. "He'll be fine. Lana, I figure since I can't give blood, I could help out in another way. You know, sign people up, pass out cookies."
Lana's expression softened. "That'd be great. Thanks."
She gathered her clipboard and pen, movements more composed now that she had something concrete to focus on. With a small wave, she headed toward the door.
— Meteor Freak —
The yellow school buses rumbled through the winding roads leading to Crater Lake, engines straining against the steep inclines. Tyson pressed his face against the cool window, watching the dense forest blur past. The overcast sky threatened rain.
"This is gonna suck," Pete muttered from the seat behind him, tossing a crumpled piece of paper at Clark's head.
Clark caught it without looking back. "Come on, it's not that bad. Fresh air, exercise..."
"Rocks," Chloe added dryly from across the aisle. "Don't forget the rocks."
The bus lurched to a stop in a gravel parking area surrounded by towering pines. Mr. Summers stood at the front, clipboard in hand, weathered face creased with concern as he glanced at the darkening clouds.
"Okay, people, you've got 45 minutes. A storm's on its way, and I want to be on the road before it hits."
Students groaned and shuffled toward the exit. Tyson grabbed his backpack and followed, grateful for the distraction from his thoughts. The past week had been a minefield of awkward encounters with Lana, stolen glances, and conversations that died before they started.
Half an hour later, Tyson could hear Pete's voice carrying through the woods.
"How many more rocks do we have to find?"
"Two," Clark called back. "Rose quartz and meteor rock."
"All right. Let's see who can find it first."
Pete disappeared behind a cluster of birch trees. Tyson watched Clark scan the ground with unusual intensity. Within moments, he was kneeling by a fallen log, hand disappearing into the earth.
"Make that one," Clark announced, holding up a pale pink crystal.
"You're a regular rockhound, Clark," Pete said, emerging from the underbrush empty-handed. But Tyson knew the truth. Clark was cheating with his x-ray vision. He didn't fault him for it, what was the point of superpowers if you couldn't use them to breeze through school?
Tyson noticed Clark's expression change, face paling as he stared at his hand. The veins along his forearm seemed more prominent, darker somehow. Before Tyson could ask if he was okay, Lana appeared through the trees.
"Hey, Clark."
The meteor rock necklace around her neck glowed softly as she neared. Clark's discomfort became more obvious, though he attempted to hide it.
"Hey, Lana."
Chloe trudged over, designer boots clearly not meant for hiking. "When is this whole geological scavenger hunt over?"
"Not having much luck?" Pete asked, noting her empty collection bag.
Lana gestured toward Chloe. "Someone's doing a little more ranting than digging."
"I'm sorry, but I find geology even more pointless than algebra," Chloe declared, brushing dirt off her jacket. "I mean, I could just order these rocks online and have them delivered vacuum-sealed."
Tyson had wandered away from the group as the girls approached, finding himself in a small clearing where the trees formed a natural circle.
"Hey." Clark broke off from the others, following. "Do you want to talk about what happened last week?"
The question caught Tyson off guard. "You mean with Kyla? How is she?"
"She's fine, thanks to you. I don't know if she would've made it without your healing."
Tyson shrugged. "It's all good. What happened anyway?"
"She was trying to get Lex to back off from the office park construction site. She's uh... a wolf shifter. Her tribe calls them skinwalkers."
"Huh, a werewolf? That's pretty cool." Tyson processed this, adding it to his growing catalog of Smallville's strangeness.
"But the Lex thing, how are you taking that?"
Clark leaned against a tree trunk. "Well, I'd brought Lex down into the caves, and he was intrigued. He's actually paused the construction while they look for another site for the office park. Because the caves need to be preserved, LuthorCorp can get a big tax break. It's not enough to offset their investment, but it was enough to get Lex to convince his father to accept relocating."
"That's good. So you guys are still a thing? Did she actually kill that guy?"
"She said that she was just there to scare the worker. His death was completely accidental. She says she didn't kill him, and the bite marks were from her dragging him away from the explosion. I believe her."
"Then it's all good, man. If you're satisfied she's not a crazed killer werewolf, I'm satisfied too."
Clark studied Tyson's face carefully. "So, you wanna tell me what happened with Lana? She's not talking about it, and it seems like you don't want to say anything in front of the others."
Tyson sighed, but he took the opening, and the word vomit started. "You know how Tina Greer got arrested for killing her mother? Well, Tina was a shapeshifter too, not like Kyla, but she could appear as other people. When you saw Lex rob the bank, it was Tina posing as him. Tina and Lana were good friends, right? Well, she got it in her head that she wanted Lana's life and started posing as her. She approached me, and we went to the theater to do some work. But she started coming on to me, and one thing led to another..." The words tasted bitter. But Clark was asking as a friend, and maybe Tyson needed to say it out loud to someone who might understand the impossible situation. "I thought it was her, Clark. Lana and I had been building toward something since Kara left. The looks, the conversations, the way she'd touch my arm when she laughed, how she worked to cheer me up after I was heartbroken. So when she showed up and started flirting, it felt natural. Like something that had been inevitable, finally happening." He kicked at a loose stone, watching it skitter across the forest floor. "I didn't question it because I wanted it to be real. And that's what makes it so fucked up. Part of me knew something felt slightly off, the way she kissed, the things she said, but I ignored those doubts."
Clark's eyes widened. "No way..."
"Yeah. So Tina sleeps with me as Lana, then I walk her home, and we run into the real Lana. Tina attempts to convince me that everything will be good if we get rid of her and she takes her place. So, I stole Tina's power and turned her in to the police. Lana knows about me being a meteor freak. But she wasn't happy about me sleeping with 'her' so easily. And I get it. She's mad at me for having sex with her imposter, but she's only so mad because I saved her life, too. And I want to respect her feelings, but I thought we shared something special. Turns out we didn't. We might have had something, but ultimately, I slept with another girl. And now things are super awkward."
Tyson's voice dropped lower, raw with frustration. "The worst part is, I can tell she's sorting through her own feelings about it. Like part of her wants to forgive me because intellectually she knows I was deceived. But another part of her can't get past the fact that I was intimate with someone wearing her face, her body, without her consent. And I don't know how to fix it. How do you apologize for being fooled? How do you reassure someone when you have memories of being with them that they don't share?" He met Clark's eyes, and his usual confident mask was gone. "I have memories of being with Lana that she's never going to have. I know things about her body that she never chose to share with me. Every time I see her, I'm carrying this intimate knowledge, and she knows I'm carrying it. How do we move past that?"
Clark stared at him, processing the revelation. "I don't know what to say."
"Neither do either of us, which is why things are like this. We talked about it and everything. Hasn't made much of a difference."
Clark kicked at a loose stone, sending it skittering across the forest floor. The silence stretched between them, filled only by the distant voices of their classmates and the rustling of leaves overhead.
"That's really messed up," Clark finally said. "I mean, what Tina did to both of you."
Tyson nodded. "Yeah, it was. But Lana still sees me sleeping with someone who looked exactly like her."
"But you didn't know."
"Doesn't matter. The damage is done."
Clark leaned against a moss-covered boulder. "You know, I've been thinking about secrets lately. About how they affect relationships."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, you told Lana about your abilities. That took guts." Clark's voice carried admiration mixed with something else. Envy, maybe. "I can't imagine what that conversation was like."
"It wasn't planned. Whatever infected your dad infected her, too, and I had to heal her. Kind of hard to explain that away."
"Still, you were honest with her. That counts for something."
Tyson studied Clark's face, noting the tension around his eyes. "You thinking about telling someone? About your abilities?"
Clark's laugh came out hollow. "Every day. But it's complicated."
"How so?"
"My parents made me promise to keep it secret. They're terrified of what would happen if people found out. And they're probably right. Look at what happened to everyone else who has powers."
"That's gotta be hard."
"It is. And watching what happened between you two, seeing how the truth can hurt even when it's not your fault..." Clark shook his head. "It makes me wonder if honesty is always the best policy."
"You think I should have lied to her?"
"No, that's not what I mean. I think you did the right thing. But it's scary, you know? Opening yourself up like that, knowing it might push someone away."
Tyson understood. The vulnerability that came with revealing your true self was terrifying, especially when that self included abilities that defied explanation.
"Well, Kyla knows, right? And I know. So you're not alone at least."
"Neither are you." Clark pointed out.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, closer now. The first drops of rain began to fall, pattering against the leaves above them.
"We should probably head back," Tyson said.
Clark nodded but didn't move immediately. "Thanks for listening. And for being honest about what happened with Lana. I know that wasn't easy."
"Thanks for not judging. I get the sense that you have a thing for Lana, and I thought with Kyla in the picture that it wouldn't be a problem. But I probably should have talked to you about it first. That was pretty shitty of me. Definitely against bro code. Probably best in the end that things turned out this way."
"We all make mistakes. The important thing is learning from them. I have Kyla, and I can be myself with her. It was never like that with Lana. I'm happy, now. I can't be mad at you after saving my maybe-girlfriend's life."
As they started walking back toward the group, Tyson and Clark heard the rhythmic crack of metal against stone. They found a boy in thick glasses methodically breaking open a rock with his hammer. The rock split cleanly, revealing glittering green fragments nestled in the stone's heart. Eric Summers carefully extracted the meteor pieces with large tweezers, placing them in a collection bag. Clark kept his distance.
"Hey, Holly, do you want a piece of meteor rock?" Eric called to a girl examining specimens near a fallen log.
Holly looked up from her own collection, brushing auburn hair from her face. "Oh, I've got it checked off already. Thanks anyway."
"No problem. Any time."
Eric's voice carried a hopeful note that made Tyson wince. The kid clearly had a crush, and just as clearly, was out of his league. Holly was pretty in that effortless way some girls managed.
A boy in a letterman's jacket approached; Brent Myers, whom Tyson recognized from the football team. Supposedly, he was a star wrestler, but he couldn't say because it was still football season. But he did know Brent was a mediocre student, and apparently, Holly's boyfriend, based on the possessive scowl he wore.
"Hey, loser. Stop hitting on my girlfriend, all right? Next time, I'm going to knock your rocks into the next county."
"I'd like to see you try," Eric shot back.
Tyson felt Clark tense beside him, ready to intervene. But before either of them could move, Mr. Summers emerged from behind a cluster of pine trees, his teacher radar apparently picked up on the brewing conflict involving one of his students and his son.
"Oh yeah?" Brent's fists clenched, but he caught sight of the approaching adult. His expression shifted to mock innocence. "Lucky your daddy's a teacher." He shot Eric a final glare before stalking away.
Mr. Summers reached his son, face creased with disapproval. "Eric, how many samples have you collected?"
Eric's shoulders sagged. "Just a couple. My glasses keep fogging up."
"Get with the program, Eric!"
"Dad—"
"It's Mr. Summers at school." The correction came sharp and cold. "You have ten minutes to complete this assignment. You'd better find every rock."
Eric's face flushed red behind his glasses. He stuffed his collection bag into his backpack and trudged deeper into the woods.
Clark's expression darkened. "That was harsh." Tyson agreed.
The rain began in earnest now, fat drops that splattered against leaves and sent students scrambling for the buses. Thunder rolled across the sky, closer than before. Students filed onto the yellow buses in chattering clusters, shaking water from their hair and comparing their geological treasures. Tyson climbed aboard, settling into a seat near the middle. Mr. Summers hauled himself up the bus steps, water dripping from his jacket as thunder rumbled overhead. He pulled out his clipboard and began counting heads.
"Eighteen, nineteen, twenty..." His count faltered as he reached the back of the bus. He started over, more carefully this time. "Has anyone seen Eric? Apparently, he's got himself lost."
Clark stood without hesitation. "I'll find him."
"Clark, you can't go out there," Chloe protested. "The storm's getting worse."
But Clark was already moving toward the front of the bus, jaw set with determination. "I'll be quick."
Mr. Summers looked torn between relief and responsibility. "Five minutes, Kent. If you're not back by then, I'm calling search and rescue."
Clark nodded and stepped off the bus into the driving rain. Tyson watched through the window as his friend jogged toward the tree line, then seemed to simply vanish between one step and the next. Tyson felt a hint of concern. A kid alone in the woods during a thunderstorm wasn't a big deal, but Eric had been carrying meteor rocks.
In Smallville, that never seemed to end well.
Clark stepped off the bus into the driving rain, cold droplets immediately soaking through his jacket. The moment his feet hit the gravel, he glanced back to ensure no one was watching, then burst into super-speed. The world blurred around him as he raced through the forest, dodging trees and leaping over fallen logs. Rain pelted his face like tiny bullets as he searched for any sign of Eric. The storm had intensified, turning the forest into a maze of shadows and shifting branches. Lightning illuminated the landscape in stark, white flashes, followed by thunder. No sign of Eric among the trees or near the collection sites. He expanded his search, moving deeper into the wilderness. The kid could be anywhere, possibly injured or lost in the maze of pine and birch.
Then he saw it. High above, silhouetted against the storm-darkened sky, a figure stood on the narrow railing of the old concrete dam that held back Crater Lake.
"Eric!" Clark shouted, his voice barely audible over the howling wind and crashing thunder.
He super-sped up the steep embankment. Eric stood precariously on the metal railing, swaying slightly in the fierce wind.
"Eric!" Clark called again as he reached the top of the dam.
Eric turned at the sound, and Clark could see that the boy's face was streaked with tears that mixed with the rain. In one hand, Eric clutched a large piece of meteor rock. His collection bag dangled from his other hand, heavy with specimens. Clark started forward, then stopped short as the familiar weakness washed over him. The meteor rock in Eric's grip pulsed with that sickening green glow, and Clark's knees nearly buckled. He forced himself to stay upright, fighting against the nausea that threatened to overwhelm him.
"Would you just—"
A brilliant flash of lightning split the sky, striking the concrete dam mere feet from where Eric stood. The thunder was deafening. The electrical discharge sent sparks flying across the wet surface, and Eric lost his balance, arms windmilling frantically as he teetered on the edge.
He fell.
Clark lunged forward despite his weakness, hand shooting out to catch the strap of Eric's bag just as the boy plummeted toward the churning water far below. Eric's weight jerked against Clark's grip, leaving him suspended over the abyss.
Another lightning bolt lanced down from the storm clouds, striking Clark squarely in the chest. The electrical current coursed through his body with tremendous force, traveling down his arm and into Eric through their connection. The meteor rocks in Eric's bag began to glow with an eerie green light, pulsing in rhythm with the lightning's energy.
Clark gritted his teeth and hauled Eric up onto the dam's surface, muscles straining against both the boy's weight and the meteor rock's debilitating effects. Eric collapsed onto the concrete, gasping and shaking.
Clark reached out to check if Eric was okay, but pulled his hand back sharply. As he made contact with Eric's jacket, it burned his fingertips where the fabric smoldered in several places from the lightning.
— Meteor Freak —
Jonathan Kent's truck sat buried in thick mud outside the Kent farmhouse, rear wheels spinning uselessly as he gunned the engine.
"Clark! I could really use your help."
Clark emerged from the house, movements slower than usual. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and his normally perfect posture sagged.
Jonathan climbed out of the truck cab, wiping his hands on his jeans. "I loaded all the hay my... hey! You all right?"
"Yeah, I'm just a little tired."
Jonathan studied his son's pale complexion with growing concern. "The truck's stuck up to its axle in the mud and the—"
"The cows aren't gonna feed themselves. Don't worry, I know."
The familiar routine should have been simple. Jonathan had watched Clark lift tractors and move boulders without breaking a sweat. Today felt different.
"Yeah, can you give me a hand, please?"
Jonathan climbed back into the driver's seat while Clark positioned himself behind the tailgate. The truck's engine rumbled to life, exhaust mixing with the crisp morning air.
"Ready?"
Clark gripped the truck's bumper with both hands. "Ready."
Jonathan pressed the accelerator. The engine revved, wheels spinning frantically, but the truck remained motionless. Mud sprayed in all directions as the tires fought for purchase against the slick earth.
"Hang on!"
Clark dropped his backpack onto the wet ground and wrapped both arms around the truck's frame. His muscles tensed as he planted his feet in the mud.
"Okay."
"Clark, are you pushing?"
Sweat beaded on Clark's forehead despite the cool morning temperature. His face reddened with effort as he strained against the vehicle's weight.
"Yeah."
The truck lurched slightly but remained trapped. Clark's feet slipped in the mud, and he stumbled backward, losing his grip entirely. His body hit the ground with a wet thud, mud splattering across his jacket.
Jonathan killed the engine and jumped out. "Clark. Come on, son, we don't have time to—"
He stopped mid-sentence when he saw Clark sprawled in the mud. A thin stream of bright red blood trickled from his son's nose.
"What happened?"
Clark touched his nose, staring at the blood on his fingertips with confusion. "I-I don't know."
They walked slowly toward the farmhouse porch, Clark's steps unsteady. Jonathan's protective instincts kicked in as he guided his son up the wooden steps.
"Martha!"
The screen door banged open as Martha Kent rushed outside, dish towel still in her hands.
"Here's a clean coat, sweetie." She pressed a paper towel against Clark's nose. "Are you feeling better?"
Clark accepted the clean jacket she offered, movements mechanical. "I just don't understand what's wrong with me. Why am I bleeding?"
Martha exchanged a worried glance with Jonathan over Clark's head. Neither had ever seen their invulnerable son injured by something as mundane as physical exertion.
"Maybe it's just part of your development, like x-ray vision. Or maybe the lightning had something to do with it. I don't know."
The uncertainty in her voice betrayed her calm exterior. They had navigated Clark's emerging abilities together, but this felt different.
"I am going to be okay, right?"
Jonathan placed a reassuring hand on Clark's shoulder, though his own confidence wavered. "What you ought to do right now is go to school, and if anything else happens or if it gets worse, give us a call."
Clark nodded, though doubt clouded his features. "You know, it's weird. I never worried about being sick before."
"You're not sick, Clark. You're just... not yourself."
The distant rumble of the school bus engine carried across the fields. Jonathan spotted the yellow vehicle disappearing around the bend, taillights fading into the morning haze.
"You just missed your bus. You'd better hurry."
Clark jogged toward the road with his usual determination, but after only a few steps, he stopped abruptly.
"Something wrong?"
Clark turned back toward his parents, face pale with realization. "My speed is gone, too."
A short while later, the truck's engine hummed steadily as Jonathan drove toward Smallville High. Clark sat slumped in the passenger seat, his usual confident posture replaced by something Jonathan had never seen before. Vulnerability.
"You sure you're up for school today?"
Clark nodded, though his pale complexion suggested otherwise. "I can't miss any more classes. Besides, maybe being around people will help me feel normal again."
Jonathan pulled into the school parking lot, watching as students streamed toward the building. "Call if you need anything. Your mother and I will figure this out."
The gymnasium echoed with the sharp blast of Coach Teague's whistle and the rhythmic pounding of sneakers against the bleacher steps. Third-period physical education had always been Clark's easiest class. Today, it felt like torture.
Clark's legs burned as he climbed the metal steps for the twentieth time. Sweat poured down his face, soaking through his gray t-shirt. His lungs screamed for oxygen with each labored breath.
Pete Ross jogged up just as they reached the locker room, barely winded despite matching Clark's pace. "You feeling okay?"
Clark wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. "Yeah, why?"
"Usually, you run the bleachers without breaking a sweat. Today, you look like you're about to die."
The observation stung because it was true. Clark had always been careful to appear slightly winded after physical exertion, maintaining his human facade. This genuine exhaustion felt foreign and terrifying.
"No, I'm fine. Oh! Ah!"
Sharp pain shot through Clark's right calf like a lightning bolt. His leg seized up completely, sending him crashing onto the metal bench with a loud clang that echoed through the gymnasium.
Pete jogged back down the steps, concern etched across his features. "What's wrong?"
Clark gripped his leg, feeling the muscle contract painfully beneath his fingers. "My leg, it hurts."
"It's a cramp. Walk it off. You're falling apart today, Clark."
Pete shook his head and walked away, leaving Clark alone on the bleachers. The muscle spasm intensified, radiating pain up his entire leg.
Tyson appeared at Clark's side, having noticed the commotion. He glanced around, ensuring they were alone.
"Hold still."
Golden light streamed from Tyson's palms. The warm energy flowed into Clark's leg, and the cramping sensation immediately disappeared.
Clark flexed his calf experimentally, amazed by the instant relief. "Thanks. That was..."
"What's going on with you?"
Clark lowered his voice. "My powers are gone."
Tyson's eyebrows shot up. "How? Why?"
"Yesterday, when Eric was on the bridge, he almost fell off, and I grabbed him, but then I was struck by lightning. And afterward, I got burned just touching the fire. I've been weak since, and my speed is gone."
Tyson processed this, expression growing thoughtful. "He pulled my trick. Damned biter." He paused, connecting the dots. "We were collecting rocks, including meteor rocks. You got struck by lightning, I use electricity to steal powers. Eric must have done what I do."
The locker room door banged open, interrupting their conversation. Eric Summers walked in, his usual awkward demeanor replaced by something more confident.
"Eric. Hey, you got a minute?"
Eric approached them with a spring in his step that hadn't been there before. "Yeah, sure. What's up?"
"We really didn't get a chance to talk after what happened yesterday."
"Yeah, thanks for grabbing me. That was a pretty stupid move on my part."
Clark studied Eric's face, searching for any sign of change. "So, you feeling all right?"
Eric's smile widened, and his posture straightened with newfound confidence. "Actually, I feel great."
"But there's nothing different about you?"
"Why? Should there be?"
Clark forced a casual shrug. "No, um, I'm just glad you're okay."
Eric tilted his head, gaze focusing on Clark's face with sudden concern. "Clark, your, uh, your nose is bleeding."
Clark's hand flew to his nose, feeling the warm trickle of blood. He caught it with his palm and walked away quickly, leaving Eric standing by the lockers.
Tyson asked, "You want me to confront him?" as they walked away.
"No, not right now."
Still, Tyson lingered behind, pretending to organize his gym bag while keeping Eric in his peripheral vision. He ducked around the corner of the locker bank, positioning himself where he could observe without being seen.
Eric moved to the bench press machine in the corner of the weight room. His fingers traced along the weight selection, stopping at the heaviest setting. 600 pounds. The weight would challenge even the strongest athletes in the school. He lay back on the bench, gripping the bar with steady hands. He smiled as he lifted the massive weight with ease, pressing it up and down as if it weighed nothing at all.
Tyson mumbled, "Goddamed biter."
Hours later, Eric stood outside Henderson's Electronics, hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets. Across the street, Holly Barker laughed at something her boyfriend said as they approached Brent's red Honda Civic.
Eric's eyes tracked their every movement. Holly tossed her blonde hair over her shoulder, the same gesture that had captivated him in biology class for months. Her boyfriend opened the passenger door with an exaggerated flourish, earning another giggle.
The familiar ache of longing twisted in Eric's chest.
"Apparently, Clark is still doing his chores, and that's why he blew us off," Chloe Sullivan said as she walked past him with Pete Ross, cell phone pressed against her ear. Neither noticed Eric standing in the shadowed doorway.
Pete adjusted his backpack strap, shaking his head. "He's been acting weird lately."
"Well, okay, Clark's always acting weird. Why don't you give me a gauge?"
"He was so tired in math class today, he face-planted on his desk."
Chloe laughed. "I have two words for him. Power bar."
A figure emerged from the alley between Henderson's Electronics and the pharmacy next door. The man wore a dark hoodie pulled low over his face as he fell into step behind Chloe and Pete.
The man lunged forward, hands grasping for Chloe's messenger bag.
"Oh my God!" Chloe spun around, clutching her bag against her chest as the man yanked at the strap. Pete immediately jumped between them, hands pushing against the attacker's shoulders.
"What— get off!"
The man's grip tightened on the bag's leather handle. Chloe pulled back with all her strength, voice rising in desperation. "Give me my laptop!"
Pete threw a wild punch that connected with the man's shoulder, but the attacker barely flinched. With a violent shove, he sent both teenagers sprawling onto the sidewalk. Chloe's hands scraped against the rough concrete as she hit the ground hard.
The man turned and sprinted down the street with Chloe's bag.
Eric moved without conscious thought. One moment, he stood in the doorway; the next, he materialized directly in front of the fleeing thief. The world had blurred past him in a rush of wind and motion, but he felt no strain, no exhaustion from the impossible speed.
"Give it back."
The man skidded to a halt, eyes wide with shock at Eric's sudden appearance.
Sweat beaded on his forehead beneath the hoodie, and his breathing came in sharp gasps. "Get out of my way, kid."
The man pulled a switchblade from his jacket pocket. The blade snapped open with a sharp click. He raised the weapon, pointing it directly at Eric's chest.
Eric stared at the knife without flinching. The fear that should have flooded his system never came. Instead, a strange calm settled over him as he reached out with his bare hand.
The man stabbed forward, but his eyes widened in disbelief as the metal shattered like glass against Eric's palm, fragments scattering across the asphalt with tiny ringing sounds. Eric's other hand shot out, grasping the messenger bag. With a casual motion, he lifted the man completely off his feet and hurled him across the street. The attacker's body sailed through the air in a perfect arc before crashing down directly at Holly and her boyfriend's feet.
Holly screamed, stumbling backward against the Honda's hood. Her boyfriend stared in shock at the groaning man sprawled across the sidewalk.
"Did you see that?" Chloe asked in disbelief as she and Pete picked themselves up from the concrete. They brushed dirt from their clothes while staring at Eric with wide eyes.
Pete shook his head slowly. "Yeah. Unbelievable."
A small crowd began to gather as passersby witnessed the aftermath. Several people approached Eric, patting him on the back and offering congratulations for stopping the thief.
Chloe jogged over, face flushed with gratitude and excitement. "Thank you. That was amazing."
Eric handed her the messenger bag with a satisfied smile. "Any time."
Meanwhile, on the Kent farm, Clark secured the last bale of hay in the barn. Sweat dripped from his forehead despite the cool air around sunset, and his muscles ached in ways he'd never experienced before. Every movement felt labored, as if he were carrying invisible weights.
Jonathan emerged from the farmhouse, wiping his hands on a worn dish towel.
"Finished with the hay." Clark announced.
"How are you holding up?" his father asked. The boy who once completed farm chores in minutes now struggled through tasks like any normal teenager.
Clark leaned against the barn door frame, chest rising and falling with deep breaths. "Considering my chores used to take me five minutes, and now they take two hours, I'm all right."
Jonathan nodded, forcing optimism into his voice despite his growing worry. "Well, as long as you don't get any worse, I guess we can count our blessings."
Clark straightened his shoulders, steeling himself for another round of physical labor that would have been effortless just days ago. "I better get to that fence before dinner."
"Ah, don't worry about it. You need your rest. I'll take care of it in the morning."
"Dad, I can do it."
"I know you can, Clark. It took you 12 years to get used to your abilities. Nobody expects you to adjust in 24 hours. Instead of that, why don't you do the delivery to the Luthor mansion instead?"
"Alright. Hey, dad?"
Jonathan paused in gathering the scattered tools. "Yeah?"
"How do you find the strength to do this every day?"
Jonathan understood that Clark wasn't just asking about physical endurance. He was questioning how ordinary humans managed to persist. "Years of practice."
Night had fallen by the time Clark reached Luthor Manor. He carried a wooden crate filled with Martha's tulips. Inside the mansion's opulent living room, Lex Luthor lifted couch cushions and checked beneath furniture. His expensive shirt was slightly wrinkled from his search. The heavy wooden door creaked open behind him, and Lex froze mid-motion, hands still gripping a burgundy cushion.
"Looking for something?"
Lex turned to see Clark standing in the doorway with the wooden crate balanced in his arms.
"My watch. The tulips look great."
"Yeah, you clean us out. Mom said if you want some more, you'll have to call Holland."
Clark moved toward the coffee table, setting the crate down.
"They're Victoria's favorite."
The crate shifted unexpectedly, sliding toward the table's edge seemingly of its own accord, and spilled onto the ground.
"What was that?"
Upstairs, fingers moved across laptop keys. The LuthorCorp logo filled the screen, followed by a security login prompt. "Lex Luthor" appeared in the username field, followed by a series of asterisks as the password was entered.
Clark knelt to gather the scattered tulips, their petals soft against his fingers. "You and Victoria must be getting pretty close."
"You seem surprised."
Clark arranged the flowers back in their crate. "She just doesn't seem like your type."
"Relationships aren't always about love, Clark. Sometimes they're about mutual goals. Not every girl is Lana Lang or Kyla Willowbrook."
The observation stung more than Clark expected, reminding him of his own complicated feelings and recent relationship. "Yeah, sorry. It's none of my business, really."
"It's okay. I admire your standards. Don't lose that." Lex resumed his search, running his hands along the couch's frame.
"Don't you have another watch?"
"I've got hundreds. This one's special. My mother gave it to me right before she died."
Clark's expression softened with understanding. Normally, he'd scan the room with x-ray vision, but that, along with his other powers, was gone.
"I don't see it. How about I go check the library?"
Clark headed toward the mansion's library. He pushed open the heavy wooden doors to find Victoria seated at Lex's laptop. The LuthorCorp interface filled the screen with a report on 'Cadmus Labs' until she quickly logged out of the program.
A pounding suddenly erupted from somewhere above them, the sound reverberating through the mansion's stone walls. Victoria's eyes widened with alarm as she rose from the desk. They rushed from the library to find Lex in the hallway. At the top of the stairs, a door rattled violently on its hinges. White light leaked through the edges.
Victoria pressed herself against the hallway wall. "What's going on?"
"Wait here." Lex moved toward the door with Clark close behind, both men drawn by curiosity despite the obvious strangeness. Lex reached for the brass doorknob just as the pounding and light stopped abruptly.
The sudden silence felt more ominous than the chaos that preceded it. Lex turned the handle and pulled the door open, only to be thrown backward by an invisible force that sent him crashing into Clark.
They stumbled into the room together, Lex's hand finding the light switch. Lights flickered to life, illuminating fluorescent letters painted across the walls in stark, threatening messages.
"Leave,"
"Get out,"
"Go now."
— Meteor Freak —
The following morning, Martha sat at the kitchen table, her coffee growing cold as she read the Smallville Ledger. Jonathan buttered his toast while Clark pushed scrambled eggs around his plate, appetite nonexistent. Martha held up the front page. A large photograph of Eric Summers dominated the space, under a bold headline, his arms crossed confidently as he stood outside the Smallville Savings and Loan.
SUPER BOY: Smallville's Newest Hero.
"I guess we know what happened to your powers."
Jonathan set down his knife and leaned back in his chair. "Must have been the lightning strike. You said that Eric was holding a meteor rock. It must have transferred your powers somehow."
Clark stared at the newspaper photo. Eric looked comfortable in the spotlight, almost natural. "That's what Tyson thought. You know, all these years of hiding. I wonder if it was worth it. Everyone's fine with Eric."
"Well, that's just for now, Clark."
Clark pushed his plate away. "The question is whether it's temporary or permanent."
Jonathan reached across the table and squeezed his son's shoulder. "You know what they say. Lightning never strikes twice in the same place. Look, my guess is that your powers aren't coming back."
The words hung in the air like a verdict. Clark absorbed them, rolling the possibility around in his mind. "Maybe being normal won't be so bad. I mean, it works for you and Mom."
Martha raised an eyebrow. "Oh, thanks."
"You don't feel any differently about me now, do you?"
"Clark! You're our son. Whether you can bench press the tractor or not."
The warmth in her voice eased some of the tension in Clark's shoulders, but uncertainty still clouded his features. "What do I do now?"
"Well, life isn't easy for anybody, whether you're normal or super. But you're still Clark Kent. You were raised a certain way, and that's never gonna change. Sure, your abilities were part of you, but they didn't define you."
Martha folded the newspaper and smiled at her son. "Look on the bright side, Clark. You don't have to hide anymore. Try to have some fun."
Clark nodded slowly. He pushed back from the table and headed toward the door, grabbing his backpack from the counter. After the screen door closed behind him, Martha turned to Jonathan. "You're kind of relieved, aren't you?"
Jonathan sipped his coffee thoughtfully. "Well, he always said he wanted to be normal. I guess he got his wish."
Clark made sure he was on time to catch the bus that morning. He stared out the window at the passing cornfields, feeling oddly disconnected. When he arrived at Smallville High, he descended the main staircase along with Chloe, Tyson, and Pete. The hallways were filled with discussion of the previous night's excitement. Pete's eyes lit up as he gestured animatedly. "Clark, you should have seen it. Eric threw the guy like 30 feet."
Chloe clutched a copy of the Ledger, beaming. "Not only did he recover my laptop, but I got my first byline in the Smallville Ledger."
Clark managed a smile. "That's great, Chloe."
Chloe stopped walking and stared at him incredulously. "Come on, Clark! How can you be so blasé about this?"
Clark shrugged, adjusting his backpack strap. "The guy stopped a purse snatcher. It's not that big a deal."
"I'm with Clark on this one," Tyson said with a smirk. "I did save you from a fire, isn't that more impressive?"
Chloe laughed and nudged him playfully. "That's why you got a kiss, and Eric only got an article."
"Fair enough. I'll take it."
She winked at him.
Eric appeared at the top of the staircase, his confident stride drawing attention from passing students. Several girls whispered and pointed as he approached their group.
"Chloe." Eric's smile was warm and genuine. "Hey, thanks for getting that story in the paper."
She tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "Thanks for saving my computer. It's my life. Okay, how pathetic did that just sound?"
"So, uh, who came up with Super Boy?" Eric asked.
"I did." Chloe's cheeks flushed pink.
Eric nodded approvingly. "Really? I like that."
"Thanks."
As Eric walked away, several students called out greetings as he passed, and he waved back like a celebrity acknowledging fans.
Clark watched the display with growing irritation. "I thought it was kind of lame."
"I don't remember asking you," Chloe shot back.
Pete chuckled and elbowed Clark. "Clark's just jealous."
"I hope all this attention doesn't go to his head. He needs to be careful."
Chloe crossed her arms defensively. "Well, you know what, Clark? The second you start throwing people 30 feet, I'll write nice things about you too."
Tyson laughed at the irony. "It was super-lame, and Chloe school-girled all over him. Where's my hero worship at?"
She rolled her eyes before spinning on her heel and marching away. As she disappeared into the crowd, Whitney and Lana approached from the opposite direction, smiling when she spotted the group. The familiar green meteor rock necklace hung around her neck.
"Hey, guys."
"Hey," Pete replied.
Clark's eyes immediately went to the necklace. He braced himself for the familiar wave of weakness, the burning sensation that always accompanied exposure to meteor rock. Nothing happened. He felt completely normal.
Lana studied his face with concern. "Clark, are you okay?"
A genuine smile spread across his face. "I'm great."
"Ross, I'm getting a pick-up game together in the gym. You and Kent versus me and Brent. What do you say?" Whitney offered.
"Clark doesn't really play."
Clark's response surprised everyone. "No, I play."
Whitney's eyebrows shot up, but his competitive grin widened. "Great. Bring it on."
Pete turned to stare at his friend. "Since when do you play?"
"Since now."
"Hey, Whitney, should you be playing? You're still not cleared for football." Tyson interrupted.
Whitney's jaw tightened. "Mind your own business."
"Aight, man, whatever."
Lana and Holly had claimed spots in the bleachers, voices carrying encouragement. Tyson sat a few rows behind them, watching with obvious skepticism. Whitney dribbled at center court. Lana attempted to focus on Whitney, but her attention kept drifting to the bleachers where Tyson sat. She could feel his presence. When she glanced back, she found him watching the game, not watching her. Somehow, that bothered her more than if he had been staring.
"The first one to 15 wins," Whitney announced.
"Who plays to 15? Is that how you roll in Kansas? Game's to eleven, win by two. Threes are Twos, and Twos are Ones."
Whitney checked the ball at Clark with more force than necessary. Clark caught it cleanly. When he squared up for his first shot, the ball left his hands with perfect form, arcing through the air before clanging off the rim. He winced as Whitney retrieved the rebound with a smug expression.
"Rusty?" Whitney called out before sinking his shot.
The game continued with predictable results. Whitney dominated the court. When Clark attempted to drive to the basket, Whitney stepped into his path, shoulder-checking him hard enough to send Clark sprawling across the hardwood. The impact knocked the wind from his lungs.
"Sorry, man." Whitney extended his hand with mock concern. "You okay?"
Clark accepted the help up, rubbing his elbow where it had struck the floor. The pain was sharp, but he found himself smiling. "Yeah, I'm good."
Pete managed to sink a three-pointer, drawing cheers from the girls in the bleachers. Clark's next attempt bounced off the backboard entirely. Whitney snatched the rebound and fired a pass to Brent, who scored. On the next possession, Clark finally connected. The ball swished through the net, and he pumped his fist as Lana and Holly applauded enthusiastically. The simple pleasure of making a basket without superhuman abilities felt like a genuine accomplishment.
The score climbed steadily in Whitney's favor. Pete did his best to keep them competitive, but Clark's inexperience showed with every missed shot and defensive mistake. Still, his enthusiasm never wavered. Each stumble, each bruise, each moment of genuine human experience felt like freedom.
With the score at 10-8, Pete drove hard toward the basket. Whitney stepped up to defend, crouched, reaching for the ball, but Pete's momentum carried him forward. The collision wasn't particularly violent, just Pete's shoulder bumping into Whitney's chin. But Whitney's reaction was immediate and severe. He staggered backward, face draining of color. His eyes lost focus, and he swayed on his feet before collapsing to one knee. He hung his head, breathing heavily.
"Whoa, you okay?" Pete asked, genuine concern replacing his competitive spirit.
Whitney attempted to stand but immediately doubled over. He stumbled toward the nearest trash can, legs unsteady. The retching sounds that followed echoed through the gymnasium.
Heavy footsteps entered the gym; Coach Teague had been drawn by the commotion. His eyes took in the scene quickly, focusing on Whitney's hunched form by the garbage can.
"What happened?" Jason demanded.
Pete held up his hands defensively. "I just bumped him, I didn't mean to."
Jason moved to Whitney's side, placing a steadying hand on the quarterback's back. "We're gonna get you to the nurse's office." He turned and singled out Tyson with a stern look. "You."
Tyson immediately threw up his hands in protest. "I'm innocent. I had nothing to do with this one. I even warned him."
"That's your teammate. You should've worked harder."
"I'm not his dad—"
Lana interrupted, "Tyson did attempt to warn Whitney not to play."
Jason didn't respond to the defense. He simply helped Whitney to his feet and guided him toward the exit, Whitney's arm draped over the coach's shoulder.
Pete bounced the ball absently as they watched the pair leave. "He'll be alright, right? He was almost recovered from his concussion. Game point, we were almost done. Tyson, wanna step in?"
Tyson shrugged and jogged onto the court. "Why not. Coach Teague is going to make me run extra today regardless."
Lana found herself watching how Tyson moved, the casual athleticism in his posture. He'd been intimate with "her." That thought kept circling through her mind like a vulture. He had memories of her body that she didn't share, knowledge of her that came from theft rather than trust. It made her hyperaware of her physical self in ways she'd never been before. Did he look at her now and remember? When their eyes met across a room, was he seeing the real her or the version Tina had imitated? The violation wasn't in her body, nothing had actually happened to her, but in her identity, her autonomy, her right to choose when and how to be intimate with someone.
The final point played out quickly. Tyson checked the ball to Brent, who immediately drove to the basket and scored the winning point. The game ended with a score of 11-8.
Pete walked over to shake hands with their opponents. "Good game." He turned to Brent with genuine sportsmanship. "Good game, man." Finally, he approached Clark, who was still grinning despite their decisive loss. "Why are you grinning? We lost."
Clark wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. "I know. Pretty cool, huh?"