Schmoop

by Caroline

http://linabean4.tripod.com

NOTES: Takes into account canon up through X-Ray.

WARNINGS: It's Clark with...Whitney. And there's a lot of talk about books. And the whole thing is pretty much a 158-page PWP.

But give it a try, eh?

It's got sex in it. Awkward, teenaged, fumbling sex, but, oh, you remember how much fun that was, right?

Schmoop
by Caroline

Jonathan opened the door. "Whitney," he said, surprised. "Come in."

Whitney opened the screen door and came in. He shook Jonathan's hand. "Hi, Mr. Kent."

At Jonathan's questioning look, he said, "I was wondering if I could see Clark."

"Yeah, sure," Jonathan said. "He's just doing his homework. I'll go get him--"

Martha came in, also surprised to see him. "Hi, Whitney."

Whitney smiled. "Hello, Mrs. Kent."

"I'll get Clark," Jonathan said and left.

"Would you like some roast chicken?" Martha asked. "We have some left over from supper."

"Oh, no, thanks," Whitney said. "I already ate."

Martha nodded.

They stood there in silence.

Clark appeared and looked at Whitney strangely. "...Hi."

Whitney rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Hey."

Martha looked at the two of them, then said, "Well, I'll leave you boys alone." She left.

Clark went over to the refrigerator and took a drink of milk from the bottle. "What are you doing here?" he asked, a little rudely, but mostly just curiously.

Whitney shrugged. "I was hoping I could talk to you."

Clark blinked. "Okay..."

Whitney looked at him and smiled.

"What?" Clark said.

He followed the direction of Whitney's gaze and wiped his mouth with his fingers, erasing the milk mustache.

Whitney shifted from foot to foot and fiddled with the zipper of his jacket.

"Do you want to go for a walk?" Clark asked.

"That would be great," Whitney said.

Clark went over to the rack and got his jacket. "Mom," he called. "Whitney and I are going for a walk."

"Okay," his mom called back. "Don't forget your jacket."

Clark rolled his eyes. "Got it," he called.

"Come on," he said to Whitney, and they stepped outside.

They walked a little while in silence, Clark repeatedly glancing sideways at Whitney.

Finally, Whitney sighed. "So Lana broke up with me."

Clark raised his eyebrows. "Just now?"

"Yeah, tonight," Whitney said.

"Why aren't you with...you know, your friends?" Clark asked.

Whitney shrugged. "They'd just be all, 'Oh, that sucks, man; don't worry about it, she's a bitch anyway; c'mon, we'll get you drunk.'"

"Oh," Clark said.

"Not that there's anything wrong with getting drunk," Whitney said. "But I like to do it for fun. I don't think drowning my sorrows would be a good habit to get into."

"Yeah," Clark said.

Whitney glanced over at him. "You don't drink, do you." It wasn't really a question.

"Well...not yet."

Whitney smiled. "You're a pretty good kid, huh?"

Clark shrugged. "I guess."

They walked a while farther. "So what happened?" Clark asked.

"I..." Whitney started. "She just doesn't want to be in a relationship right now. She feels like she's 'changing,' she wants to 'explore who she is'... I guess I'd be in the way of that. I'm too much a part of her old...princess mentality."

"She said that?" Clark asked.

"No," Whitney said. "But I think it's what she meant. She doesn't get that same thrill from cheering for me from the sidelines, I guess. ...Though she was careful to say that it wasn't me, it was her."

"Ah." Clark nodded.

"She doesn't think she should have a boyfriend at all right now--she wants to be on her own."

Clark nodded again.

Whitney glanced at him. "That ruin your plans?"

"What?" Clark said. "Oh, no, I don't have...plans, or anything."

"It's okay," Whitney said. "It's hard not to like her."

"I suppose it's pretty obvious I have a crush on her," Clark said.

"A little," Whitney said.

Clark stopped and leaned against a fence post. "...You feel like crying?"

Whitney inhaled deeply. "Nah."

"I would," Clark said.

"I think I'll just wait till late tonight," Whitney said. "I can bury my head under the pillow, and then tomorrow morning when my mom asks why my eyes are all red, I can just say, 'Oh, you know, I was up late reading.'"

"That's not a bad plan, actually," Clark said.

"Yeah," Whitney said.

He scuffed at the ground a little with his foot.

After a moment, Clark said, "There's a place we can go sit down."

"Okay," Whitney said.

Clark led him over to the loft.

Inside, Whitney looked up. "This is a nice space." He noticed the various scattered objects that seemed like they'd belong to a teenager. "You've got this to yourself?"

"Yeah," Clark said, leading the way up. "My dad doesn't always get my need for privacy, but he can be nice about it when he wants to."

Whitney took in the view. "This is really great. You can see all the stars scattered out like this..."

"Yeah," Clark said, crouching down and fiddling with the telescope.

Whitney looked down at him, then back out at the view.

"You can also see Lana's house," he said.

Clark glanced up. "Oh, really?"

Whitney snorted.

"No, okay, I know," Clark said. "But I'm not a creepy stalker or something."

Whitney nodded.

"Really," Clark said. "I mean, with the telescope... I'm interested in astronomy."

Whitney sat down on the ledge, letting his legs dangle down. "This is definitely a good place for stargazing."

Clark sat down next to him.

"So you study astronomy and stuff?" Whitney asked.

"A little bit," Clark said.

"Hm," Whitney said. "You like school, don't you?"

"School?" Clark shrugged. "Not that much."

Whitney regarded him, then nodded. "I get that. But you like to learn, right?"

"I guess so," Clark said. "I like science, and English class."

"I am a big fan of literature class," Whitney said.

"Really?" Clark said.

"Yeah," Whitney said. "I always get A's in that class."

"But I figured that was because you're an athlete and the teachers..." Clark trailed off. "No offense."

Whitney shrugged. "Well, that's true for some of the football players. But I kind of resent it, because I really do like lit. And I earn my grades in there."

"You have any favorite authors?" Clark asked.

"I like American literature," Whitney said. "Big time into Walt Whitman."

"Huh," Clark said. "Is that why you're named Whitney? Because of Whitman?"

Whitney shook his head. "Man, I don't know why my parents named me Whitney."

Clark laughed. "Come on, it's not that bad. It's not like 'Clark' is such a macho name."

"Yeah, but it's not Whitney."

Clark smiled, then said, "I'm not really familiar with Whitman. I mean, I know 'O Captain! My Captain!', but..."

"You gotta read him," Whitney said. His eyes got a faraway look as he recited, "'I am with you, you men and women of a generation, or ever so many generations hence. Just as you feel when you look on the river and sky, so I felt. Just as any of you is one of a living crowd, I was one of a crowd...'"

Clark tilted his head, getting a better look at Whitney's profile.

"'What is then between us?'" Whitney said. "'What is the count of the scores or hundreds of years between us? Whatever it is, it avails not--distance avails not, and place avails not...'"

"I like that," Clark said. "Being part of a crowd, belonging... sounds pretty good."

"Well, I think it speaks more to the immortality of poetry, though," Whitney said. "He looks at the river and sky and knows people after him will see them, the same way he writes the words and knows that people after him will understand them."

"Yeah," Clark said.

"Because even though he's one of the crowd..." Whitney said. "I mean, he's sharing an experience with other people, but at the same time, he's kind of distant from it. He's made himself an observer."

Clark wrinkled his brow. "Okay."

"I don't know how he'd feel about the whole crowd thing. In another poem, he says that nothing, not even God, is 'greater to one than one's self is.'"

"So he was a loner?" Clark said.

Whitney shook his head. "One of my favorite poems... 'I saw in Louisiana a live-oak growing, all alone it stood and the moss hung down from the branches'--" He interrupted himself. "You know what a live-oak looks like, right?"

"They're the ones...with the Spanish moss?" Clark said.

"Right, they're pretty much the most beautiful of the oaks. The branches twist and spread, making the tree look like a sculpture, pretty much. But they're really hardy and durable too."

"Yeah, I think I know the one you mean," Clark said.

"Okay," Whitney said. "'...Without any companion it grew there uttering joyous leaves of dark green, and its look, rude, unbending, lusty, made me think of myself. But I wondered how it could utter joyous leaves standing alone there without its friend near, for I knew I could not.'"

"'Uttering joyous leaves,'" Clark said. "That's cool."

"Yeah, Whitman's full of phrases like that," Whitney said. "...'And I broke off a twig with a certain number of leaves upon it, and twined around it a little moss, and brought it away, and I have placed it in sight in my room. It is not needed to remind me as of my own dear friends, for I believe lately I think of little else than of them, yet it remains to me a curious token, it makes me think of manly love.'"

Whitney licked his lips.

"'For all that, and though the live-oak glistens there in Louisiana, solitary in a wide flat space, uttering joyous leaves without a friend a lover near, I know very well I could not.'"

Clark blinked. "...'Manly love'?"

Whitney smiled. "Yeah."

"I didn't know Whitman was into that," Clark said.

"Oh, yeah," Whitney said.

"They never said anything about that in Dead Poets' Society," Clark said.

Whitney laughed. "Whitman is a very sexy poet."

Clark squinted. "Oh, yeah, in Bull Durham, wasn't it him with the...the 'limitless limpid...'"

"'Limitless limpid jets of love,' yeah," Whitney laughed. "That's a good movie, Bull Durham."

"It's a great movie," Clark said.

"You like baseball?" Whitney asked.

"Yeah, a lot," Clark said.

"I've never seen you play, like back when we were doing the Little League games and stuff."

"Well..." Clark shrugged. "My dad needs help on the farm, that kind of thing. There's not that much time for organized sports."

"But your dad grew up on the farm, didn't he?" Whitney asked. "He played plenty of sports in his day."

"Yeah, but..." Clark said. "Also, I'm not that coordinated."

"Well, that just takes practice," Whitney said. "And you probably just grew a lot recently, right?"

"Yeah," Clark said.

"You just have to get used to your body," Whitney said. "I bet you've got a lot of power."

Clark shrugged.

"So Bull Durham," Whitney said. "That your favorite movie?"

"No," Clark said. "I think my favorite movie is..." He thought. "Probably Dr. Strangelove."

"I haven't seen that one," Whitney said.

"Oh, it's really funny," Clark said. "Though a little dark."

"Yeah?" Whitney said.

"Yeah, it ends in nuclear holocaust."

Whitney quirked half a smile. "You are kind of dark, aren't you?"

Clark paused. "No one's ever said that about me."

"Well, that's because your face is so cute," Whitney said. "You smile and your eyes get all lit-up and you look like it's Christmas morning."

"I do not," Clark said.

Whitney laughed. "Anyway, I bet you've got deep, dark secrets, hidden away from the world. It's always the quiet ones."

"Nah," Clark said.

"If you say so," Whitney said. He looked out to Lana's house. "Have you read The Great Gatsby?"

"No," Clark said.

"Yeah, they save that one for eleventh grade," Whitney said. "You should read it before then, though."

"I suppose so; the great American novel and all that," Clark said.

"Right," Whitney said. "I mean, it's about this guy who completely re-invents himself. Makes his fortune."

"Oh, so the great American dream," Clark said.

"Yeah," Whitney said. "But the girl he likes, Daisy...he can only pine after her. But every night, from his house, he can see a green light from her house, and he knows she's there."

"Hm," Clark said.

"Okay, well, it sounds incredibly simplistic when I talk about it," Whitney said. "But it's really very complex."

"Okay," Clark said.

"In fact, the first time you read it, it'll probably seem too simple. You have to read it more than once to get it."

"Okay," Clark said. "...You know, I'm getting the feeling that Lana didn't break up with you because you're a dumb jock."

"Yeah, well," Whitney said. "She's got her reasons, I guess."

"So do you do any writing yourself? I mean, you seem so passionate about literature..."

"No," Whitney said. "I write good essays, but I don't really have any creative moments. What about you?"

Clark laughed. "Uh, no."

"Why not?"

"I just...I don't want to expose myself like that, you know? I mean, I'm supposed to dredge up all this emotion and feeling, and then I have to show it to people, and make sure they're entertained by it?"

Whitney looked at him. "I bet you've got some good things to say, though."

Clark blushed. "I don't know."

"Um," Whitney said. "I feel really awful about this. And I tried to apologize before, but with the insect kid abducting Lana and everything...just, I'm sorry about the scarecrow thing."

Clark looked down. "Yeah."

"Just, you know, Coach had us so pumped up about it, like it was our right and duty to go beat up a freshman..."

Clark nodded.

"And Lana was already getting more distant from me, and then I saw her kiss you and...I'm not saying there's an excuse. I just...I'm really sorry."

Clark looked up. "Yeah, it was really pretty...degrading. And horrible."

"I know," Whitney said. "All it would take is, one year, for someone to say, 'I'm not doing this shit.' And I had that chance, the other guys wouldn't have done it if I'd told them not to. And I did it anyway. It's really...disappointing, to know that about myself."

Clark shrugged. "Well, you learned something, anyway."

"Yeah, but at your expense," Whitney said. He scratched his neck and looked down. "Your parents are awfully nice to me, by the way, considering what I did to you."

"They don't know about it," Clark said.

Whitney looked up. "You didn't tell them?"

"What would I tell them?" Clark asked.

"I don't know, 'Hey, Dad, the football team tried to crucify me; could you please have them arrested?'"

Clark shook his head. "It doesn't work that way."

"I guess not," Whitney said. "So nobody knows?"

"Well, you told Lana, right?" Clark asked.

"Yeah," Whitney said.

"And Lex Luthor is the one who got me down from the post."

Whitney blinked. "What was Lex Luthor doing in the middle of a cornfield? I mean, I'm glad he found you, but..."

Clark shrugged. "I have no idea."

"Weird," Whitney said. "So did you really have Lana's necklace that whole time?"

"No, it really did get dropped in the field. Lex picked it up and gave it to me later. He told me I should give it to Lana." Clark paused. "He wanted you two to break up and fix it so I was with Lana."

"...Why?" Whitney asked.

"I guess he wanted to repay me for fishing him out of the river?" Clark said. "He tried to give me a truck, but my dad wouldn't let me keep it."

"So he considers Lana to be the equivalent of a truck."

Clark shrugged. "I dunno."

Whitney shook his head. "Man, I will never understand rich people."

"Yeah," Clark said.

Whitney gazed at him.

Clark met his eyes, then glanced away.

"Clark..." Whitney said quietly.

Clark looked up at him again from under his lashes.

Whitney leaned in and cupped Clark's cheek. His mouth was gentle but insistent.

Clark made a surprised noise and let his hands settle on Whitney's shoulders. He shifted a little, kissing Whitney more deeply.

As Whitney began to suck on his lower lip, Clark pulled back a little. "Whitney," he said a little breathlessly.

"Yes," Whitney said, kissing him again.

"Um..." Clark broke away from another kiss. "You don't have to apologize like this."

"I know," Whitney said against his lips. "Can this be more than an apology?"

Clark blinked. "Given..." He sighed into Whitney's mouth. "Given your situation, this probably isn't the best time for you to be..." He let Whitney trace his lips with his tongue. "...Experimenting."

"I'm not experimenting," Whitney mumbled. "I've done this before."

He drew Clark closer.

"Really?" Clark said.

"Mm," Whitney said. "At water polo camp."

"But..." Clark said. He was kissed again. "You just broke up. This is a rebound thing."

Whitney kissed him once more, then backed off. "You're right. That's not fair to you."

Clark nodded.

Whitney swung his feet a little from the ledge.

"So how long do you think I'd have to wait for it not to be a rebound thing anymore?" he asked.

"Whitney!" Clark said, trying not to laugh. "Are you serious?"

Whitney moved in to kiss him again. "Yeah. I really like you."

"This is something I didn't know about you," Clark said.

"Shh," Whitney said, then slowly pushed his tongue into Clark's mouth.

Clark took in a quick breath. He kissed Whitney back, figuring out how to tilt his head so his nose didn't get in the way. He drew back and whispered, "You know, if Lana has a telescope..."

Whitney laughed against his mouth. He kissed Clark, once, rather chastely. "So I guess I should go...?"

"Yeah," Clark said. He stood and gave Whitney a hand up.

Whitney stood close to him and put his arm around Clark's waist. "Thanks, Clark," he said quietly.

Clark nodded.

"I'll see you tomorrow at school, right?" Whitney said more brightly.

"Yeah," Clark said.

"All right," Whitney said. He tapped Clark on the shoulder with his fist. "Good night."

"Night," Clark said.

He watched Whitney get into his truck and pull away.

Clark went back to the house.

"Hey," Martha said.

"Hi," Clark said, opening the cookie jar.

"How's Whitney?" she asked.

"Okay," Clark said, his mouth full. "Just wanted a...sympathetic ear, I guess."

"Chew your food, Clark," his mom said.

"Mm," Clark agreed.

"I didn't know you were such good friends with him."

Clark swallowed and shrugged. "I guess he...wants some new friends. I'm gonna go finish my homework."

"Okay," Martha said.

Clark took another cookie and went up to his room.

Chloe adjusted her backpack as she and Clark walked and said, "You don't know what you're talking about."

"I'm just saying, a little bit of restraint with the punctuation, Chloe," Clark said.

"I need to grab the reader's attention right away," Chloe said.

"But you do that with interesting headlines," Clark said. "If you abuse the exclamation point, it becomes meaningless."

"That's a good point, except for that you're wrong, and--"

Clark nearly bumped into a cluster of athletes.

"Watch out, jockstrap alert," Chloe muttered.

"Oh, sorry," Clark said to them.

"Look where you're going," one of them grumbled.

"Hey, Clark!" Whitney said.

Clark cleared his throat. "Um. Hi."

"Guys, this is Clark Kent," Whitney told his friends.

They nodded slightly, looking at him.

Clark flashed a quick, nervous smile. "Hey."

Whitney looked at Chloe.

"Oh, and, sorry," Clark said, "this is Chloe Sullivan."

"Right, the editor of The Torch," Whitney said.

Chloe brushed her hair off her face. "That's right."

"You do an impressive job," Whitney said.

"But with too many exclamation points, right?" Clark said.

Whitney looked to Clark, then Chloe. "Well, it's more than I would personally use. But you have to grab the reader's attention, right?"

"Yeah," Chloe said. She raised her eyebrows. "Well, I'm going to go...do my thing. I'll leave you here with your new friends, Clark."

"Chloe, I'll give you a call about the geography stuff, right?" Clark called after her.

"Whatever," she called, not looking back.

Clark bit his lower lip.

"So, Clark, are you gonna try out for the basketball team?" Whitney asked. "Because we really need new players, and your height would be a big help."

"Um, I haven't thought about it..." Clark said.

"Well, you got two weeks to get ready," Whitney said. "You want to play with us?"

"I'm really...a pretty mediocre player," Clark said. "I mean, I'm quick, but I'm not that good with the...making of baskets."

"Mediocre's okay," Whitney said. "Better than Dave here, who just sucks."

"Dude, shut up," Dave said, without rancor.

"Oh, we like little Davey," one of the guys said, putting him in a headlock and giving him a noogie.

"Dude, shut up," Dave said.

Most of the guys were on the blacktop, taking practice shots. Clark took off his jacket and sweater, leaving on his T-shirt, and glanced at Whitney. Whitney smiled at him.

"Um, Whitney, I'm really not that good at shooting..." Clark said.

"Don't worry about it; you can help us with the assists," Whitney said. "And the, you know...rebounds."

Clark looked at his feet and tried not to smile.

"You all right?" Whitney asked after Clark got an elbow in the face.

"Yeah, fine," Clark nodded.

"Okay. You're doing great," Whitney said. "Take your shots."

Clark dribbled the ball, and glanced around at all the guys looking at him. He concentrated on the basket, paused, then shot. The ball bounced off the backboard.

Clark looked down and scratched the back of his leg with his sneaker. He caught the ball when someone threw it to him.

He dribbled again and looked at the basket.

"Wait, hold up," Whitney said. He approached Clark.

"What, you're gonna show him how to shoot now?" one of the guys asked.

"Guys, come on, he's a freshman. He hasn't really played before," Whitney said.

"You're a freshman?" a guy in a red shirt said to Clark.

"Yeah," Clark said.

"You're kind of big for a freshman," he said. "You're, what, fifteen?"

Clark nodded.

The guy raised his eyebrows. "Shit. That mean you still have another growth spurt coming to you?"

Clark shrugged.

"Okay, Clark, act like you're about to throw the ball," Whitney said.

Clark crouched and held the ball in front of him.

"Okay...just hang on," Whitney said. He positioned himself behind Clark, putting his arms on top of Clark's. "All right, just move your hands...here."

Clark did, and Whitney stepped back.

"Go for it," Whitney said.

The ball went in.

"Hey, that was Clark," the guy in the red shirt said.

Clark smiled quickly, then schooled his face back into a solemn expression.

"You did pretty good out there, Clark," one of the guys said.

"Oh, thanks," Clark said. "I'm sorry; what's your name?"

"I'm Morgan," the guy said, sticking out his hand. "This is Bones," he said, indicating the guy in the red shirt.

"Bones?" Clark said.

"Heh," Morgan said. "His real name is--"

"Zzt," Bones said. "Kid's a fucking freshman. He doesn't need to know my name."

"Call him Bones," Morgan said conspiratorially. "He gets mad otherwise."

"Nice to meet you, Bones," Clark said.

"Look, Morgan, he's got manners, too," Bones said. "Learn from him."

Clark spotted a guy pulling off his T-shirt and putting on a fresh one. Clark walked up to him.

"Hey, Trevor," he said.

Trevor looked up at him, wide-eyed, then looked away. "Hi, Clark."

"How are you?" Clark asked quietly.

Trevor nodded. "I'm good."

Clark glanced at Trevor's arm. Some of the skin was still pink and a little shiny. Trevor held his other hand over the arm.

"So you should try out for basketball," Trevor said. "The coach is really good. And not, you know..."

"...Psycho?" Clark said.

"Yeah," Trevor said.

They looked over where most of the other kids were. Whitney's voice was carrying over the other chatter.

"No, she did not throw all my stuff out her window and into the yard," Whitney was saying. "It was an amicable thing."

"Ooh, 'amicable,'" Morgan said. "Nice word, Webster."

"Anyway," Whitney said. "We mutually agreed to see other people."

"Because she wouldn't put out anymore, right?" one of the guys said.

"Hey," Whitney said, getting in the guy's face. "Shut up. I'm serious."

"No, come on, Whit, what'd you do?" Bones asked. "You forget her birthday or something?"

"No," Whitney said. "Sometimes...things just end. It's a law of nature. All right?"

"So I can ask her out, then, right?" Morgan asked.

"Heh," Whitney said. "You can try. But, you know, once she's had me, I don't see how you'd have a chance..."

"Ooh," the guys said.

Whitney grinned at them as he jogged backwards toward Clark and Trevor. He turned around and put his arm over Clark's shoulders. He chugged from a water bottle. "Good game, you guys."

"Thanks," Trevor said.

Whitney said to Clark, "You have any water with you?"

"Uh, no," Clark said. "But I don't need--"

Whitney passed him the bottle. "Drink up."

Clark took a long drink, then passed the bottle back. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Well, I should get going," Whitney said. "How you getting home, Clark?"

Clark shrugged. "I'll just...um..."

"I'll give you a ride," Whitney said. "Come on."

"This is a nice truck," Clark said, buckling himself in.

"It's just as well the other one blew up," Whitney said. "It was kind of crunched from Homecoming."

"Oh, yeah," Clark said.

Whitney made his eyes twitch and clenched the hand that wasn't on the wheel, shaking it in the air. "When I find the bastards who..." He glanced at Clark. "I don't suppose you know anything about that."

"Me?" Clark said. He held out his hands. "I...no."

Whitney snickered, then said, "Thanks, by the way, for keeping me from exploding along with the truck."

"Oh, well..." Clark shrugged. "I happened to be there."

"Not everyone would approach a burning vehicle, though," Whitney said.

Clark shrugged. "So the guys call you Webster?"

"Yeah, you know, like the dictionary?" Whitney said.

"Right," Clark said. "The hazards of using polysyllabic words, huh?"

Whitney smiled. "They're good guys. Most of 'em aren't as dumb as they pretend to be. It's like the cheerleaders. A lot of them just act like airheads, because they think it makes them more attractive or something."

"Lana doesn't," Clark said.

"Nope," Whitney said. "She's also not a cheerleader anymore."

"Yeah," Clark said. He glanced over at Whitney.

"It's okay to say her name around me," Whitney said.

"All right," Clark said.

"It's not out of line for me to go around saying it was a mutual break-up, is it?" Whitney asked. "I know it's just for the sake of my ego, but Lana shouldn't mind that, right?"

"Well, in a sense, it was a mutual break-up," Clark said. "I mean, you could still be hanging around her front porch, singing ballads."

Whitney laughed. "Exactly. I like the way you think." Whitney tried on a deeper voice. "'No, she didn't dump me. It was a mutual break-up.'" He nodded. "That sounds a lot better."

Clark nodded. "So you're..." he started. "You're being really nice to me, kind of...all of a sudden."

"Yeah," Whitney said. "I know I was an asshole before."

"Well, just..." Clark said. "We didn't really get along. I mean, I'm a geek, and you're...not."

Whitney looked at him, then looked back at the road. "You're not a geek."

"Ha," Clark said.

"Not in a bad way, anyway," Whitney said.

Clark smiled. "I guess I'm curious about the change of heart."

"Well..." Whitney said. "You know how sometimes some kinds of energy are redirected as aggression?"

"Um," Clark said.

"It's like that," Whitney said.

"...Oh," Clark said.

Whitney let the car coast to a stop at the drive to the Kents' farm. "I'd drop you off at your door, but I wanted to...well..."

Clark looked at him.

Whitney leaned in and kissed him gently. He smiled and rubbed his thumb over Clark's cheek. "See you later," he said.

"Okay," Clark said unsteadily. "Thanks for the ride."

Whitney nodded.

Clark unfastened his seat belt and turned to open the door, then turned back and kissed Whitney, fast and hard. "Bye," he said.

"...Bye," Whitney said.

Clark hopped out of the cab and shut the door. Whitney waved as he drove away.

Clark's mom was washing a huge pile of vegetables in the kitchen.

"Hi, Clark," she said. "How was school?"

"Good," Clark said, getting a soda out of the fridge.

She turned around to look at him. "How'd you get so sweaty?"

"I was playing some basketball with the guys," Clark said.

Martha raised her eyebrows. "Clark, are you sure that was--"

Clark rolled his eyes. "I only flattened one guy, okay? And the EMTs were prompt, and, yeah, they couldn't save his arm, but he got a transfusion in plenty of time. He should be able to walk again in eight or nine months."

"Clark," Martha said.

"I'm gonna go change," Clark said.

Clark was kneeling in the dirt, concentrating on repairing a fence. He glanced up and saw his dad standing beside him.

Jonathan crouched down next to him.

Clark sighed. "It was just a game, okay? I got fouled a few times, but I didn't touch anyone, and it was just nice to feel like I had more than two friends, all right?"

"All right," Jonathan said mildly.

"...Yeah?" Clark said.

"Yes," Jonathan said. "You owe your mother an apology for the sarcasm, you know."

"Yeah," Clark said, not taking his eyes off his work on the fence.

"Okay," Jonathan said, standing up. He patted Clark's shoulder.

Clark sat back on his heels. "Oh shoot. I need to call Chloe."

"Just take care of the hens first," Jonathan said.

"Okay," Clark said.

Clark brushed off his pants. He stomped his boots a few times, then took them off. He walked into the kitchen in his socks.

"Hi, Mom," he said.

She was crumbling some blue cheese into a spinach salad.

"Hello, Clark," she said.

He came up to her and kissed her on the cheek. "It smells good in here."

She smiled. "Yeah, I'm making bacon bits to go in the salad."

"I'm sorry about before," Clark said. "The...being rude thing."

"'S okay, kiddo," she said. "Believe it or not, I remember being a teenager."

Clark smiled.

"Go take a shower," she said.

"You don't like the way I smell?" Clark said in a hurt voice.

"Go now," she said.

Jonathan and Martha could hear Clark in the other room.

"Chloe, it really isn't that big a deal--" he was saying into the phone. "No, I wasn't trying to-- No. That's not what it meant. ...You're insane! What's wrong with--"

They glanced at each other.

"Hey, Clark," Jonathan called. "It's time for supper."

"Chloe, I have to go," they could hear Clark say. "No, I have to eat supper. Do you want me to call you after--all right, then I'll see you at school tomorrow. ...Well, fine."

Clark came into the kitchen and sat down at the table.

"So," Jonathan said, passing the salad around. "I saw Robby McIntyre at the feed store today. LuthorCorp's offered to buy his land."

Clark glanced up from his plate. "Really?" he said.

"Clark, honey," Martha said quietly. "Not with your mouth full."

Clark swallowed. "Sorry."

"Was it a reasonable offer?" Martha asked.

Jonathan shrugged. "Robby said it was actually pretty generous."

"Is he gonna sell?" Clark asked.

"No, he's not even considering it," Jonathan said. "But LuthorCorp has already expanded so much recently...I'm surprised they still want to acquire land."

Martha raised her eyebrows and shrugged. "I guess that's the Luthor way."

"Lex Luthor isn't really that bad a guy," Clark said. "...I mean, from what I know of him."

"Yeah," Jonathan said. "But I don't think he's the kind of person you can get to know very well."

"Probably," Clark agreed.

"Oh, and Clark," Jonathan said. "Robby's cat had kittens. They'll be weaned in maybe five weeks. You want one?"

"Sure," Clark said. "Especially since Sammy spends all her time catching mice now."

"That's what I like about Sammy," Jonathan said.

"Yeah, but I don't get to play with her anymore," Clark said.

"So you want a kitten," Jonathan said.

"Yeah," Clark said.

After a pause, Martha asked, "Everything okay with Chloe?"

Clark made a face. "She's mad because some of the jocks were nice to me."

"That's the only reason?" Jonathan asked.

"Yeah, she hates all the school athletes," Clark said. "Pete's the only one she's nice to, and that's because they're already friends. And probably also because he's not very good."

"But why did that make her mad at you?" Martha asked.

"Well..." Clark said. "Okay, we were arguing about how much she uses exclamation points in The Torch. We argue about stuff like that all the time, right? So we run into Whitney and his friends, and Whitney says to Chloe, 'Oh, yeah, I know you from The Torch; it's good.' And I say, 'But it has too many exclamation points, right?' And that's all I said. It's just punctuation, and she's all mad at me."

"Clark," Martha said.

"...Yeah?" Clark said.

"The Torch is pretty important to Chloe, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Clark said.

"It's probably a big part of her identity at school, wouldn't you say?"

"I guess," Clark said.

"So what you did," Martha said, "was criticize her identity in front of a group of people she's already not comfortable with."

"Wait, no, I didn't," Clark said. "I was talking about exclamation marks."

Jonathan looked at Clark sympathetically. "Your mom has a point."

Clark made a disbelieving face. "This is not something I should have to think about! Right, Dad? Men don't worry about these things."

Jonathan fought a smile. "I'm not getting involved in this."

"Oh, man," Clark said.

Martha smiled. "Clark, you don't have to understand them. But now's a good time for you to start learning how to at least get along with girls."

Clark grunted.

"So I should apologize," he said.

"Yes, dear," Martha said.

"She just called me a 'giant doofus jockstrap wanna-be,'" Clark said.

Jonathan covered his mouth as his shoulders shook.

"Well, then I suppose she owes you an apology too," Martha said. "But I think it would be nice if you made the first overture."

After a moment, Clark said, "So how am I supposed to do that? I don't think Chloe would appreciate flowers."

Jonathan shrugged. "You'll have to think of something."

Clark glared at his steak.

"Chloe really likes brownies, doesn't she?" Martha asked.

"She likes your brownies," Clark said.

"Well, you can borrow my recipe," she said.

"You think this is bad enough that I have to bake to make up for it?" Clark said.

"It wouldn't be a bad idea," Jonathan said.

"Jeez," Clark said. "Teach me to argue with Chloe."

"Hey, Chloe," Clark said with a big smile.

Chloe glanced at him, then turned back to her locker and sighed. "Hey, Clark."

Clark leaned against the lockers. "I'm sorry about being a jerk yesterday."

Chloe shook her head.

"What?" Clark said.

"Clark, don't try to show off in front of the jocks, okay? It's unbecoming."

"I'm really sorry," Clark said.

Chloe shrugged. "All right."

"Look, I brought you this." He took out a bundle wrapped in green Saran Wrap.

Chloe glanced at him, took the package, and partially unwrapped it. She stared back up at Clark. "You had your mom make me brownies?"

"No," Clark said. "I made them."

"You did," Chloe said. "You made brownies."

"What, like I can't make brownies for my friends?"

Chloe looked at him doubtfully, then took one out. She tasted it cautiously. She chewed thoughtfully. "This is good," she said.

"Well, there you go," Clark said.

"This is really good," Chloe said.

Clark held up his hands. "I am a talented young man."

Chloe smiled at him. "You know what's embarrassing about this?"

"...That I wore my mother's purple apron to make those?"

Chloe laughed. "No. But that's pretty funny."

"Okay, well, other people don't need to know about that," Clark said.

Chloe smirked.

Clark shook his head. "So what is it?"

Chloe sucked the crumbs off her thumb. "I actually do use too many exclamation points in The Torch."

Clark smiled. "So we're okay, right?"

"Clark, you've found me out," Chloe said. "Brownies make everything right."

Clark asked, "Hey, are you sorry you called me a 'giant doofus...?'"

"'...Jockstrap wanna-be?'"

"Yeah," Clark said.

"Yes, I take it back," Chloe said. She looked him up and down. "You are a giant, though."

"All right." Clark smiled. "So I'll see you in geography."

"Yep," Chloe said. She smiled satisfiedly. "Mm, now I know what I'm having for lunch."

Clark, who had been headed away, came back. "Chloe, don't eat just the brownies for lunch."

"If I've interpreted this exchange correctly," Chloe said, "these are my brownies."

"At least have some milk with them," Clark said.

Chloe laughed. "You're such a mother-hen. It's adorable."

Clark just stood there.

"I promise to have some fruit," Chloe said in a dopey voice.

Clark gave her a narrow look.

"And milk," Chloe said.

"...All right," Clark said.

"Clark, man, let's go," Pete said. "School's over."

Clark stayed at his desk, staring at his textbook. "I don't understand why I'm in this class."

"Because you passed a test that said you could handle more advanced math," Pete said.

"I don't see how I can be in Algebra II," Clark said, "when I didn't even understand Algebra I."

Pete stared at him. "You got an A in Algebra I."

Clark shook his head. "But I don't understand how I got it. All I can remember is this swirl of slope-intercepts and...what're the whozit? Polynomials? I don't know what these things are. They're just syllables I've heard before."

Pete sighed and came to stand next to Clark's desk. "Do you read the words that are on the page there?"

"Yes," Clark said.

"I don't think you do," Pete said. "Lemme see what you're doing."

Clark handed Pete the sheet of paper.

Pete sighed again and put it down on top of the book. "Clark, this is first-week-of-Algebra-I stuff here."

"I didn't understand Algebra I!"

Pete pointed to the paper. "Okay, what's this thing called right here?"

Clark glanced down at it, then looked at Pete. "X squared plus seven xy plus..."

"No, the whole thing," Pete said. "Right there. What's the general term for it?"

"...An equation," Clark said.

"Riiiight," Pete said. "And what does the word 'equation' mean to you? The stuff on one side of the equals sign has to be...what to the other side."

"...Equal?" Clark said.

"Uh-huh," Pete said.

"Okay," Clark said.

He waited.

Pete rolled his eyes. "So if you add something to one side, you have to add it to the other side, so both sides stay equal."

"Oh. Yeah," Clark said.

He crossed out most of his work and rewrote it.

"See?" Pete said. "That's right now. It's easy."

"I'm writing that down," Clark said.

He penciled, "Both sides have to stay equal" at the top of his page.

"Clark, it's called an equaaaation," Pete said. "That should be a pretty good mnemonic right there."

"Don't make fun of me," Clark said. "I shouldn't be in this class."

"You passed the test, man," Pete said.

"Why isn't Chloe in this class?" Clark asked. "She's smarter than me."

"Math's not her thing," Pete said.

"Mine either," Clark muttered.

"Hey, Chloe said you made her brownies," Pete said.

"Yeah," Clark said. He stuck his tongue out a little as he tried another problem.

"What's up with that?" Pete said.

"I was mean to her," Clark said. "So I made her brownies."

"You're mean to me all the time," Pete said. "You never make me brownies."

Clark laughed, still concentrating on the problem in front of him. "I bet if you ask really nicely, she'll give you one. Or half of one, anyway."

"Are they good brownies?" Pete asked.

"Yep," Clark said, glancing from his book to his paper.

"All right, I'm gonna go see about that," Pete said. "She in The Torch office?"

"Probably," Clark said.

"Right," Pete said. "See ya."

"Bye," Clark said without looking up.

He jumped a little while later when he heard Lana's voice say, "Hi, Clark."

He looked up and smiled. "Hey."

"Didn't mean to startle you," Lana said, smiling.

"Well, you know how it is," Clark said. "Once I start with the math, there's no stopping me."

"Heh," Lana said. "I actually like math."

"Really?" Clark said.

She sat on the desk in front of him, her feet on the chair. "Yeah, I like English a lot, but math's my favorite subject."

"I don't get it. You and Pete." Clark shook his head. "Did you know that something on one side of the equals sign has to be equal to what's on the other side?"

Lana smiled.

"I just saw Chloe in The Torch office," she said.

Clark leaned back, a faintly surprised expression on his face. "I didn't know you guys hung out."

"She helped me find some information I wanted," Lana said. "She's a good investigator."

"She is," Clark agreed.

"She's also pretty funny," Lana said.

Clark smiled. "Yeah."

"She let me have part of a brownie--she said you made them."

"Yeah," Clark said.

"They're really good."

"Thanks," Clark said, rather obviously pleased.

Lana tilted her head, looking at him. "Do you cook a lot?"

"Oh, no," Clark said. "Actually, I'd never baked anything before."

"Really," Lana said. "That's pretty impressive. I tried making brownies once, in fifth grade."

Clark tapped his pencil lightly on the desk. "It sounds like there's a story there."

"I was at my friend Autumn's house for a sleepover," Lana said. "And we were having fun, you know, giggling and chattering while we're measuring out the ingredients..."

"Uh-huh," Clark said.

"So I didn't notice when I measured out cups of salt instead of teaspoons."

"Oh man," Clark said. "How did you not notice?"

"I was distracted!" Lana said. "And, you know, salt looks a lot like sugar; it didn't look that odd in the bowl."

"Right," Clark said.

"But then I figured it out, looking down at the bowl while I'm still holding the Morton's can in my hand..."

"Uh-huh..." Clark said.

"There was great distress," Lana said. "But then I was like, 'Oh, Autumn, it's okay, we'll just...We'll just multiply everything in the recipe by forty-eight!'"

Clark cracked up. "You didn't really have that much of the ingredients, did you?"

"No, of course not," Lana said. "But we did what we could."

"There are forty-eight teaspoons in a cup?" Clark asked.

"I told you, I like math," Lana said. "There are fifteen milliliters in a teaspoon, if you were curious."

"...So how'd they turn out?" Clark said.

"They were salty," Lana said matter-of-factly.

"Yeah," Clark said.

"Oh my God, the goat wouldn't eat them," Lana said.

Clark snickered.

"But that was one unusually picky goat," Lana said.

"Yes, of course," Clark said, nodding.

"Strangely enough, though," Lana said, "Autumn's four-year-old sister loved them. She just sat there on the floor, eating them out of the pan with a spoon."

Clark shook his head. "She didn't get sick, did she?"

"Nah," Lana said. "She was just thirsty all night."

Clark grinned.

"The funny part, though," Lana said, "is that the next morning Autumn's mom was going to make us pancakes. But there were no more eggs in the house."

"Aw," Clark said. "So you didn't get to have brownies or pancakes."

"We had to eat toast," Lana said. "...And there was no butter for the toast."

Clark laughed. "That's so sad."

"Yeah," Lana said. "And that's why I don't really bake much."

"I guess the real trick is just to watch out for measurements next year when we have to take chemistry," Clark said.

"Yeah, no kidding," Lana said. "That would be a good headline for The Torch: 'Lana Lang blows up school.' So...yeah. I'm really impressed by the brownies."

Clark smiled wryly. "Maybe I can see about switching out of gym into home ec."

Lana winced. "I heard you fell off the rope from pretty high up."

"Yeah. No big deal, though. I've pretty much taught myself to fall so I won't get hurt," Clark said.

"How do you do that?" Lana asked.

"Well, you mainly have to keep from landing on your head," Clark said.

Lana smiled.

"So how come you're not wearing your necklace?" Clark asked. "It seemed like it means so much to you."

"You know, I thought about it," Lana said. "Before, I thought that because so many bad things had come from the meteorite, it had to have been...turned around or something, karma-wise."

"Right," Clark said.

"But then I realized...that doesn't make sense," Lana said. "There's no reason for it to be good luck now. And also...I mean, I always want to keep my parents in my mind. The necklace was good for that. But, really, what the necklace did was constantly remind me of how they died. I'd rather find out more about who they were when they were alive, you know?"

Clark nodded.

After a moment, he asked, "So you're doing all right?"

Lana smiled. "A lot of people have been asking me that since Whitney and I broke up."

"Right, sorry," Clark said.

"It's okay," Lana said. "I'm doing really well, I think. I'm enjoying...not having to think about someone else when I'm planning out my day. Not that Whitney was demanding or anything--he's a great guy. It wasn't Whitney; it was just the fact of a boyfriend, you know?"

"Yeah," Clark said.

"I feel like...I just want a chance to be more selfish. Be able to go home and not worry that I'm hurting somebody's feelings if I don't call. ...Is that bad?"

"No, it makes a lot of sense," Clark said.

Lana tugged on her earlobe and said, "I've also had a lot of people ask me out since Whitney and I broke up."

"Oh, I'm sure," Clark said.

He looked at Lana for a moment.

"I won't ask you out," he said.

Lana smiled. "I appreciate it." She considered Clark. "You know, we don't know each other that well, but I feel like...we're good friends."

Clark nodded and smiled.

"Why don't we know each other that well, anyway?" he asked. "We're next-door neighbors. You'd think we would've been playing at each other's houses all the time when we were kids."

"I don't know," Lana said. "I get the feeling there's some bad blood between my aunt and your parents."

"Really?" Clark said.

"Yeah, haven't you noticed, when Nell and I meet your family like at the market or something, this...tension just starts sparking between them?"

"Um, not really," Clark said. "But usually, when we run into you and your aunt, I'm, uh. Paying attention to you."

Lana smiled. "You're really good for my ego, Clark."

"Well, that is...that is why I'm here," Clark said seriously.

Lana laughed. "Listen, do you think it's too late in the year for me to join the math team?"

Clark blinked. "Um, I wouldn't think so. You should ask Pete."

"Okay," Lana said. She got down from the desk. "It was good to talk to you, Clark."

"You too," Clark said.

He watched her go.

He finished the problem set, then packed up his stuff.

He passed by the basketball court on his way to the bus the school ran for kids who stayed after for extracurriculars.

"Hey, Clark!" Whitney called.

Clark turned around and smiled. "Hey," he called.

"C'mere, we need your opinion on something," Whitney said.

"Really?" Clark said, jogging up.

"Davey here hurt his finger," Whitney said.

"It's not that hurt," Dave said.

"What'd you do?" Clark said.

Dave rolled his eyes. "Okay, Phil here's on the ground, on his back, so I grab him by the shirt so I can throw him over my shoulder."

"...What?" Clark said.

"Dave's got a brown belt in judo," Phil explained.

"Anyway," Whitney said, "it did something to his finger."

"I don't see how I could have hurt my finger just doing a grab," Dave said. "I make grabs all the time."

"And yet you can't bend the finger," Whitney said.

"I can," Dave said, demonstrating and wincing.

"Wait, if it's broken, that'll make it worse," Clark said.

"How's Clark supposed to know whether it's broken?" Dave asked Whitney.

"Because he lives on a farm," Whitney said. "Animals get injured all the time, right?" he asked Clark.

"Uh, yeah, right," Clark said. "Lemme see."

Dave held up his hand.

Clark lightly ran his thumb over Dave's ring finger, staring at it. "Yeah, I'd say it's broken."

"How can you tell from that?" Phil said.

"I can't," Clark said. "I'm just guessing. But Dave, you should get a doctor to look at it and put it in a splint. If you don't and it's broken, it'll probably heal all crooked and hurt like a bitch whenever the weather gets bad."

"That's true, man," Phil said. "That's what happened when I broke my toe."

"You didn't break your toe; you just stubbed your toe and walked around funny for a while," Whitney said.

"Well, that's what I thought," Phil said. "But now it's all crooked and hurts like a bitch whenever the weather gets bad."

"My finger's fine," Dave said.

"It's swelling on the bottom there," Clark said.

"C'mon, Dave," Phil said. "I'll take you to the doctor."

"I don't need a doctor--" Dave started.

"Come on," Phil said. "We'll get French fries for while we're in the waiting room."

"Oh well, if we're getting French fries..."

Dave and Phil walked off.

Whitney smiled at Clark. "I thought you went home right after school. How come you didn't come out to play with us?"

"I didn't--" Clark started. "I was doing homework."

"Well, listen, we're out here every day. You should come play. Seriously, we could use you on the team."

"Oh," Clark said. "Um, okay."

"Lemme give you a ride," Whitney said.

He glanced over at Clark as they walked to the parking lot. "So you seem...I dunno. Kind of light-hearted. Fancy-free. It's nice."

Clark smiled. "Yeah, I had a pretty good day. Except for damned math."

"Oh, man, don't get me started on math," Whitney said.

"You're taking calculus, aren't you?" Clark said.

Whitney shook his head. "Doesn't mean I understand it."

"Yeah," Clark said.

"I mean, the teacher says all this stuff I'm supposed to be learning is actually used by people. She says, 'Oh, this is how you figure out the area under a curved line, this is how you figure out the velocity of something when the something's going...something...' And I'm like, 'Jesus, I'm just moving the strange symbols around until I get to a good stopping place.'"

"Right, that's what I'm talking about," Clark said. "People say I must understand math because I get pretty good grades, but I don't understand the math at all. I'm just following patterns."

"I hate the fact that we're expected to use graphing calculators," Whitney said.

"Oh, I know," Clark said. "What's wrong with my TI-36? I've had it since kindergarten and it's solar-powered and works just fine."

Whitney shrugged. "Well, apparently, you can program games into the graphing calculator, but I don't see how that makes them worth it."

They settled into the truck. Before turning the ignition, Whitney turned to Clark and said, "Listen, my parents are gonna be at work for a few more hours, at least. You wanna come over and...hang out?"

Clark licked his lips and looked down. "Oh. Um." He cleared his throat. "I have to be home to do my chores."

"Oh, right," Whitney said, nodding as he started up the truck. "Of course."

Clark sat for a moment, looking out the window, then turned and lightly touched Whitney's knee. "Hey," he said. "You want to come over after supper? I'll be done with my chores by then."

Whitney looked over at him and smiled. "Yeah. That sounds good."

"You can, uh..." Clark shrugged. "Help me with my lay-up."

Whitney grinned. "Sure."

Jonathan watched as Whitney talked to Clark, gesturing with the ball in his hand, then as Clark dribbled up to the basket and laid it up.

"That's really looking a lot better, Clark," Jonathan called.

Clark and Whitney turned at his voice.

"Clark's a natural athlete, Mr. Kent," Whitney said.

Clark grinned and looked down at his feet. "Yeah, just a little klutzy."

"No, no," Whitney said. "You're good. Just gotta play with confidence."

Jonathan smiled.

"So do you think I could try out for the team, Dad?" Clark asked.

Jonathan glanced over at Whitney, then looked back at Clark.

"Coach Mizell is really understanding about family obligations when it comes to practices and stuff," Whitney said. "We get lots of farm kids on the team."

Jonathan nodded. "And the sport's a lot less violent than football."

"Oh yeah," Whitney said. "Coach likes us to play a clean game. Although..." He looked over at Clark. "I don't know how worried you have to be about Clark. When we were just playing around at school, he got a couple of flagrant fouls, and he just shook 'em off like they didn't happen."

"Yeah, Clark's a pretty tough kid," Jonathan said. "What'd you do to the guys who fouled you, Clark?"

"Nothing," Clark said.

Whitney shook his head. "Nothing. He was a better sport about it than I would have been."

"Okay," Jonathan said. "Well, I don't see why you shouldn't be on the team, Clark." He smiled. "Especially if your game keeps improving like this."

Clark smiled. "Whitney's a good teacher."

Jonathan nodded to Whitney. "I don't suppose you do any math tutoring?"

"Aw, I'm afraid I can't help you there," Whitney said. "I should probably get a tutor myself. The only math advice I can give is: go ahead and study for the SATs. It sounds stupid, studying for the SAT, but it can make a big difference."

"Did you use any of those study guides?" Clark asked.

"No," Whitney said. "And I got a 500 on the math section. So studying probably wouldn't have hurt."

"500 isn't bad, is it?" Clark asked.

"It's not very good," Whitney said.

"How'd you do on the verbal?" Jonathan asked.

Whitney coughed.

"What?" Clark asked, amused.

"790," Whitney mumbled.

"Hey," Clark said. "Way to go, Webster."

Whitney pointed to him. "Don't you start."

Jonathan smiled and shook his head. "I'll let you guys get back to it."

"Okay, Dad," Clark said.

"Good to see you, Mr. Kent," Whitney said.

Whitney and Clark turned back away from the porch.

"Okay, run toward the basket," Whitney said. "I'll pass it to you."

"Every year," Whitney said as they walked around the farm property, "I'm amazed at how the November air feels at night."

Clark nodded. "It has a particular smell. A good smell."

Whitney tucked his hands under his arms. "You're not cold?"

Clark shook his head. "C'mere."

He took Whitney's hands in his.

"Christ," Whitney smiled, shaking his head.

"What?" Clark said.

"Your hands are a lot bigger than what I'm generally used to."

"But I thought you..." Clark said, rubbing Whitney's hands. "With water polo camp."

"Yeah, a little bit," Whitney said.

He saw a log and pulled Clark down to sit on it with him.

"You really are warm," Whitney said.

Clark shrugged, smiling faintly.

"Can I...?" Whitney started. He brushed the back of his hand over Clark's cheek.

Clark closed his eyes and let out a long, slow breath. He opened them again when he felt Whitney pull him close, kissing him.

Clark made a small sound of approval and ran his fingers through Whitney's hair, cupping the back of his head, holding him in place.

Whitney pressed small kisses around Clark's mouth, then bent his neck to tease Clark's throat with his tongue.

Clark gasped at that, and Whitney sucked lightly, then scraped with his teeth.

"Ah..." Clark said quietly. "Harder..."

Whitney moved his mouth more firmly against Clark's neck, flicking his tongue against the skin.

"Use your..." Clark gasped. "...Please...your teeth..."

"I don't want to leave any marks," Whitney murmured against Clark's throat. "That could be embarrassing to explain, hm?"

"No, don't stop," Clark said as Whitney left his neck.

"Shh," Whitney said, then took Clark's mouth again.

Clark moaned as Whitney's tongue slid against his, and he insinuated a hand between their bodies and began to work his hand against Whitney's cock through his jeans.

"Mm," Whitney said, deep in his throat. He pulled Clark closer, his arm around Clark's waist, then let his hand roam a little farther down to grip Clark's ass.

Clark breathed hard around the kiss, then pulled back, licking his lips.

"Hm?" Whitney asked, his hand on Clark's hip.

Clark scrubbed the palm of his hand against his leg. He looked at Whitney from under his eyelashes. "I guess this is the part where you're surprised at how easy I am?"

"What?" Whitney blinked. "Clark, I don't think--"

Clark nodded. "I guess I mean...I'm surprised at how easy I am."

Whitney bit his lower lip and nodded. "You haven't made out with a guy before?"

Clark cleared his throat. "Not really with...anyone, before."

Whitney smiled and traced Clark's cheekbone with his thumb. "We should slow down, anyway."

He leaned forward and kissed Clark's cheek, then jaw.

"Um..." Clark closed his eyes as if to concentrate on what he was saying. "Sorry that I don't--"

"Don't apologize," Whitney said quietly. He kissed the corner of Clark's mouth. "You have--" He interrupted himself with a laugh.

"What?" Clark said.

"I can't say it; it'll sound too stupid," Whitney said.

"No, what?" Clark asked.

"Okay," Whitney said. He grinned, shook his head, then said, "You have...an incredible mouth."

Clark let out half a laugh and looked down at his lap, blushing.

"Yeah, I know, it sounds like a bad line," Whitney said. "But...Jesus..." He rubbed his thumb against Clark's lower lip.

Clark smiled, then sucked the tip of Whitney's thumb.

"Mm," Whitney said, leaning in to kiss Clark a final time.

He got up and pulled Clark to his feet.

Clark stood next to him, his hand on Whitney's waist. He leaned his forehead against Whitney's. "You like my mouth?" he murmured.

Whitney smiled and kissed him quickly. "Yeah." He ruffled Clark's hair. "You probably have to go do your homework now, right?"

"I already did my math at school..." Clark said.

"Oh, you're so studious," Whitney murmured, pulling Clark closer and slowly grinding against him.

Clark sighed, then turned his head, tucking his face against Whitney's neck.

"Clark?" they heard Jonathan call. "You out here?"

Whitney pulled away. "I think that's your cue."

Clark nodded. "Yeah, Dad," he called. "I'll be right there."

"I'll let you go," Whitney said.

"Wait," Clark said. He brushed his hand over Whitney's face, then kissed him, slowly. He smiled. "Okay."

"Clark?" Jonathan called.

"Coming, Dad," Clark called.

Whitney smiled at him. "See you later."

Clark nodded.

"Good morning, Clark," Martha said.

Clark yawned. "Hi."

"Didn't you get enough sleep?" Jonathan asked.

"Yeah," Clark said. "I had the weirdest dream, though."

"Really," Martha said.

"Yeah," Clark said, pouring himself a bowl of cereal. "I was playing in the NovAgra Dome, against the Lakers, doing a pretty good job, too, I have to say...and then parts of my bedroom start showing up on the court. And then I realized that, even though my eyes were closed, I was seeing my bedroom through my eyelids while I was dreaming. When I woke up, I wasn't sure if my eyes were open or not. I had to touch them to make sure."

"That's pretty weird," Jonathan said.

"I think the weirdest dream I ever had," Martha said, "was when I dreamed I was in a room, talking to various people and doing various dream-type things, and I made a rope out of bed sheets and climbed up through the ceiling, into another room, where I started to analyze the dream with a bunch of doctors."

"Analyze the dream you had in the first room?" Clark said. "Or were you analyzing the analysis?"

"Both," Martha said.

"Meta," Clark commented.

"I don't have dreams," Jonathan said.

"Everyone dreams, Dad," Clark said.

"I don't," Jonathan said.

"If you don't dream, dear," Martha said, "then why do you kick?"

Jonathan cleared his throat. "Finish up there, son. We've got chores to do."

"So the first-grade teacher says, 'Susie, what did you do at recess?'" Chloe said. "And Susie says, 'I played in the sandbox.' And the teacher says, 'Well, Susie, if you can come up to the blackboard and spell "sand," you can have a fresh-baked cookie.'

"So Susie goes up to the blackboard and writes out 'S-A-N-D.' The teacher says, 'Very good, Susie,' and gives her a fresh-baked cookie.

"Then the teacher says, 'Tommy, what did you do at recess?' And Tommy says, 'I played in the sandbox with Susie.' So the teacher says, 'Well, Tommy, if you can come up to the blackboard and spell "box," you can have a fresh-baked cookie.'

"So Tommy goes up to the board and writes out 'B-O-X.' The teacher says, 'Very good, Tommy,' and gives him a fresh-baked cookie.

"Then she turns to Firoozeh and says, 'What did you do at recess?' And Firoozeh says, 'Oh, well, I wanted to play in the sandbox with Susie and Tommy, but they wouldn't let me.'

"So the teacher says, 'Oh, I'm sorry to hear that, Firoozeh. If you can come up to the board and spell "racial discrimination," you can have a fresh-baked cookie.'"

Clark and Pete cracked up.

"Chloe, that's terrible," Clark said as they got off the bus.

"Really, Chloe," Pete said.

Clark snickered. "That's bad."

As they approached the school entrance, Whitney called, "Hey, Clark!" He jogged up to them.

Clark smiled. "Hi, Whitney."

"Hey, Pete," Whitney said. He smiled at Chloe. "Chloe."

"Hey, Whitney," Pete said.

Chloe just nodded to him.

"So you're gonna play with us after school, right?" Whitney said to Clark.

"Yeah," Clark said. "Yeah, sounds good."

"Okay," Whitney said. He looked at Pete. "Pete, are you trying out for basketball?"

"Naw," Pete said. "It'd just be embarrassing for me and everyone related to me."

Whitney smiled. "Okay. See you later, Clark."

They watched him jog off.

"Since when are you such great friends with Whitless?" Chloe said.

Clark made a face. "Come on, Chloe, don't call him that."

Chloe rolled her eyes. "I'm sorry; since when are you such good friends with the jockstraps?"

"Chloe," Clark said. "He's a good guy. He's actually pretty smart."

"Really," Chloe said.

"He got a 790 on his SAT," Clark said.

Chloe snorted. "What, total?"

"No, on the verbal," Clark said.

Chloe raised her eyebrows. "That's not bad."

"I know," Clark said. "Leave him alone, okay?"

"He really is pretty decent, Chloe," Pete said.

Chloe shrugged. "Okay. If you say so."

"It is kind of weird, though, Clark," Pete said.

"What?" Clark said.

"Well, he was Lana's boyfriend for a long time, right?" Pete said.

"Yeah..." Clark said.

"And you have a crush on Lana," Pete said.

"So what," Clark said.

"So...what is this?" Pete said. "Are you looking for pointers or something?"

"No!" Clark said. "We just happen to be friends now. God, don't be an asshole."

Pete raised his eyebrows. "Sorry."

"I gotta get to my locker," Clark said.

He left Chloe and Pete looking after him. They shrugged at each other.

"Dave!" Morgan said. "You gonna try to play like that?"

"No," Dave said. "I'm gonna sit on my ass and watch you guys sweat. I'll ref or something."

"Okay," Morgan said.

"How is the finger, anyway?" Clark asked, looking at the splint on Dave's hand.

"It's broken," Dave said.

Clark nodded.

"Listen," Dave said quietly, drawing Clark aside. "You're friends with the editor of The Torch, right? Chloe Sullivan?"

"Yeah," Clark said.

"Is she, you know, like...available?"

"Um," Clark said. He blinked. "Yeah."

"Is there some special way I should, like, approach her or something?"

Clark shrugged. "Um, I don't know. Just talk to her. She likes to talk."

Dave nodded. "Okay. Thanks, man."

"Clark!" Whitney called. "Game's starting!"

"Go play," Dave said.

Clark nodded.

"Hey, I'll catch up to you," Clark said to Whitney on the way to his truck. "I gotta talk to Pete."

"Okay," Whitney said. "I'll be here."

Clark found Pete sitting outside the school at a table with Lana.

"Hey, Lana," Clark said.

Lana looked up and smiled. "Hi, Clark. How are you?"

"I'm good," Clark said. "What're you working on?" he asked, looking at the papers she and Pete had spread out.

"Oh, this extra-credit math problem Mr. Tripp gave us. It's really interesting; it--" She interrupted herself and laughed. "Actually, it's very boring. You don't want to hear about it."

Clark smiled. "Okay."

"So Pete says you and Whitney are kind of buddies now," Lana said.

"Yeah," Clark said.

"That's great," Lana said. "I've always thought he could use some more...intellectual friends. He likes to talk about school assignments a lot, and things like that. He doesn't always get a chance to do that with his crowd."

Clark smiled. "Actually, we've been playing a lot of basketball."

"Well, he likes that too," Lana said.

"Um, I'm sorry to be rude," Clark said, "but I gotta talk to Pete about something for a second."

"Oh," Lana said. "Okay."

Clark gestured for Pete to come a little ways away from the table. "You know Dave, right?" he asked Pete quietly. "Judo Dave, with the finger splint?"

"Yeah," Pete said.

"Well, if you happen to be around him, and Chloe happens to be around at the same time, you could maybe introduce them or something," Clark said.

"Dave has a little thing for...?" Pete said.

"Yeah," Clark said. "But look, don't tell Chloe about it, okay?"

"Oh, no," Pete said. "I wouldn't do that to Dave."

"Okay," Clark said. "And you'll be subtle about it, right?"

"Clark," Pete said. "I am Mister Subtle."

"All right," Clark said. "Just, you know. Be cool about it."

"I am Mister Cool," Pete said.

Clark snorted.

"I'm going," he said. He raised his voice a little. "Hey, Lana, talk to you later."

"Bye, Clark," she said.

Clark met Whitney back at the truck.

"Everything okay?" Whitney asked as they got in.

"Yeah," Clark said. "Just arranging a little match-making."

Whitney smiled. "You know you have to be careful with that, right? You ever read Emma?"

Clark shook his head. "I saw Clueless," he offered.

"You know, I liked that movie better than the movie Emma," Whitney said. "Gwyneth Paltrow makes me nervous. I keep thinking a sharp gust of wind will carry her away."

"Yeah, she's a little bony," Clark said.

"J-Lo over Gwyneth Paltrow any day, that's my motto," Whitney said.

Clark smiled. "Listen, you wanna come over tonight?"

"Yeah," Whitney said, looking sidelong at Clark. He smiled.

Whitney broke away from Clark's mouth. "I love that you have this loft," he said.

"Yeah, I'm starting to appreciate it more and more," Clark said.

Whitney leaned back in to kiss him. "Clark," he said quietly. "I really want to suck you off."

Clark closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath.

Whitney kissed him again. "Is that okay?"

Clark cleared his throat. "Um, okay," he said. "Yes."

Whitney smiled slowly. "Good."

Whitney continued to kiss him, leisurely now. Clark responded fiercely, pressing himself hard against Whitney.

"Shh," Whitney said. "Relax; it's okay."

Clark backed off a little and nodded, his lips shiny.

Whitney slowly massaged Clark between his legs. Clark closed his eyes tightly and didn't move.

"Come sit down," Whitney said quietly, urging Clark onto a beanbag chair.

He unbuttoned Clark's jeans and slowly drew down the zipper. "These are probably getting kind of tight, huh?"

Clark nodded. "Yeah, a little." He pushed his hips up.

Whitney pulled Clark's jeans and shorts down his legs, then smiled.

"Mm, Clark," he said.

Clark leaned back on his elbows and watched Whitney, his eyes wide.

He gasped when Whitney leaned down and licked the head of his cock, and bucked when Whitney took him into his mouth. Clark clenched his hands.

"Oh God..." he choked out when Whitney swallowed his cock to the root. He whimpered as Whitney moved his throat muscles around him.

When Whitney pulled back to suck hard on the head, Clark thrust hard and came, pulsing hot against Whitney's tongue.

Whitney drew off slowly, then came up to kiss Clark's slack mouth.

"Mm," Clark said. He shook his head. "Um, sorry, that was...really quick."

"No," Whitney said absently. "That was your first blowjob, right?"

"Yeah," Clark said.

Whitney kissed him again. "For your first blowjob, you showed heroic restraint. The first time I got a blowjob, I didn't even get my pants off."

Clark blinked. "How was that a blowjob, then?"

"It wasn't, really," Whitney said. "The girl just asked, 'Hey, you want a blowjob?' And, phht. That was it. It was a little embarrassing, to tell the truth." He nodded. "And by 'a little' embarrassing, I mean 'totally and completely' embarrassing."

Clark smiled and kissed Whitney. "What about you?"

"Hm?" Whitney asked.

"Do you want me to...?" Clark asked. "Because I don't know if--I mean, I haven't done that before. But I could--"

"You don't have to," Whitney said.

"I know," Clark said. "But do you want me to?"

Whitney regarded him, then nodded.

Clark smiled. "Okay." He did up his pants. "C'mere."

He shifted places with Whitney, kissing him.

He looked down, concentrating on getting Whitney's pants down his thighs. He looked up and smiled at Whitney.

"I've never seen someone else's...I mean, up close..." He laughed quietly. "I'll stop talking now."

Whitney smiled and ran his fingers through Clark's hair.

Clark cautiously fit his mouth around Whitney's cock.

"That's good..." Whitney said.

Clark moved farther down, taking more into his mouth, moving his tongue against the hard length.

"Christ..." Whitney said, stretching. "You're a fucking natural..."

Clark glanced up, then swallowed more of his cock. He gagged. He backed off and coughed. "Sorry, sorry, I--"

"It's okay," Whitney said. "Don't try to take so much, okay? Just use your lips and tongue right here," he said, rubbing the tip of his cock.

Clark nodded. He bent his head again.

Whitney sighed and massaged the back of Clark's neck.

After a little while, Clark looked up. "Am I...am I doing this right?"

"Yeah, yeah, it's good," Whitney said. He reached down and started slowly rolling his balls in his hand.

Clark took a deep breath and tongued the head. He nudged Whitney's hand away with his own and continued the motion.

"Yeah..." Whitney breathed.

Clark reached back with his finger and rubbed the stretch of skin behind his balls.

Whitney gasped. "Yes, right there."

Clark pressed his finger firmly against that spot and sucked.

Whitney groaned and tugged at the back of Clark's head. "I'm going to..."

Clark sucked harder.

Whitney gasped and came.

Clark didn't move for a moment, then pulled off and looked at Whitney, his throat working. His mouth was slightly open, his lips shiny.

Whitney cupped his cheek. "Hey. You don't have to swallow, you know."

Clark looked confused. "What else am I supposed to do with it?"

"Well, you could spit it out," Whitney said.

"What, on the floor?" Clark said.

Whitney laughed. "Come here." He kissed him.

"Besides," Clark said against Whitney's lips, "I think it's kind of sexy to swallow."

Whitney smiled and kissed him again. "Me too."

"Sorry that I didn't really know what I was--" Clark started.

"No, no," Whitney said, slipping his hand under Clark's shirt and running it along his back. "It was great."

"Yeah, right," Clark said.

Whitney smiled lazily. "I have no complaints whatsoever."

Clark smiled. "Well, I guess it doesn't matter, anyway. It's the kind of thing that gets better with practice, right?"

"I like the direction this conversation has taken," Whitney said.

Clark laughed.

He settled against Whitney. "Heh," he said. "You know what my dad named this loft when he set it up for me?"

"What," Whitney said, tracing patterns on the small of Clark's back.

Clark smirked. "My 'fortress of solitude.'"

Whitney laughed. "You're gonna tell him you've decided to rename it the 'nest of hot man-lovin''?"

Clark cracked up. "No, I think I'm gonna neglect to mention that."

"Fair enough," Whitney said. He kissed Clark, sliding a leg between Clark's thighs. He pulled back a little and looked at Clark. "You hard again?"

Clark blushed.

Whitney nipped Clark's lower lip. "This is good news, as far as I'm concerned. What about you?"

"Yeah, okay," Clark said.

Clark rubbed his eyes as he walked into the kitchen.

"Morning," Jonathan said.

"Morning," Clark yawned.

"You still having trouble sleeping?" Martha asked.

"Yeah," Clark said. He reached for a banana. "Still having weird dreams."

"What was it about this time?" Martha asked.

Clark blushed. "I don't remember."

Clark stood near the entrance of the school, chatting with Pete and Chloe. He glanced over at Whitney, who was standing a little farther off with his own friends. Whitney caught his eye and smiled.

Clark looked away.

When he glanced back again, Whitney was still looking at him. Clark smiled. Whitney grinned, then turned back to his friends.

Clark washed the dinner dishes, handing them to his dad to dry.

"How was your math quiz?" Martha asked, putting away leftovers.

"I have no idea," Clark said.

Jonathan looked at him. "What do you mean? You took it, didn't you?"

"Yeah," Clark said. "I answered all the questions. I just don't know how I did."

"You must have some instinct," Martha said.

"I have no idea," Clark said. "Every time I write down an answer, it's a guess."

"So what's your grade in there looking like?" Jonathan asked.

"Um, B-plus-ish, I think," Clark said.

"Well, then, keep guessing, I suppose," Jonathan said.

"Hey, Mom?" Clark said.

"Yes, dear," Martha said.

"Do we have any Whitman around?"

"Clark," Martha said. "I'm so glad you asked. I'll go get you a book. Oh, it's so nice that you're growing up."

She left the kitchen.

"Wait a minute," Jonathan said.

"What?" Clark said.

Martha came back in, holding a volume. "Here, you can read this." She handed it to Clark. "It's got some notes and underlines in it, but that's all right."

"Wait a minute," Jonathan said. "If you're going to have him reading Leaves of Grass, he's going to have to read some Dickinson."

Martha rolled her eyes. "Oh, Dickinson."

"I'm issuing a decree," Jonathan said.

"Not all poetry has to rhyme, Jonathan," Martha said.

"Well, it helps," Jonathan said. "Besides, not all of her poetry does rhyme."

"It's all so ba-dum ba-dum ba-dum," Martha said.

Clark looked down at the book in his hands, at his mother, then his father.

"It's called meter," Jonathan said. "And yes, she does start off with a base of hymn meter, but she's creative about it. She employs the dash to musical effect, and her use of enjambment--"

"What is it with her and insects?" Martha asked. "That's what I want to know."

Jonathan left the room and came back, holding a slender book. "Here Clark, take this."

Clark did, warily.

"Earthworms and bees," Martha said. "I don't understand."

"Don't even start," Jonathan said, "with your Nabokov and his butterflies."

Martha raised her eyebrows. "Have you ever even read Nabokov, Jonathan?"

Jonathan cleared his throat. "I'm getting around to it."

Martha addressed Clark. "I gave your father a copy of Pale Fire, what was it...yes, I believe it was seven years ago. He has yet to read it."

"I'm getting to it!" Jonathan said.

"Seven years ago," she said.

"I've been busy," Jonathan said.

"He's read Ulysses twice this year," she said to Clark.

"Um, thanks for the poetry," Clark said. "I'm gonna be in the loft."

He left quickly.

Whitney found Clark at his locker. "Hey," he said.

Clark turned around and smiled. "Hi."

"Listen, I wanted to tell you," Whitney said. "My mom's got me doing errands this afternoon, so I'm not gonna be here for basketball."

"Oh," Clark said.

"But you should still play," Whitney said.

Clark squinted. "I don't know; wouldn't it be kind of--"

"No, the guys like you," Whitney said. "They're your friends now."

"Well, they're kind of like my friends," Clark said. "Sort of."

Whitney shrugged. "I know they can be a little high-and-mighty or whatever, but that's nothing personal. It's just because you're a freshman."

"I guess," Clark said.

"So you're gonna play?" Whitney asked.

"Um," Clark said. "Yeah, all right."

Whitney smiled. "Good. Bones'll give you a ride home, okay?"

"Oh, I can just get the bus..." Clark said.

"Bones'll be happy to give you a ride," Whitney said.

"Okay," Clark said. "Hey, do you know what 'enjambment' is?"

"Yeah," Whitney said. "It's when a phrase in poetry bleeds from one line into the next. So you've got two closely related words on different lines."

"Oh," Clark said.

After a moment, Whitney said, "Why do you ask?"

Clark shrugged. "I dunno." He looked at Whitney. "My parents are really weird."

Whitney looked a little confused, then smiled and shrugged. "Okay. Catch you later, right?"

"Yeah," Clark said.

Whitney tapped him on the arm, then went to class.

"You got your seat belt on?" Bones asked, looking over his shoulder as he backed out.

"Yeah," Clark said.

As they got on the road, Bones glanced over at him. "So is your adolescence now completely marred by that scarecrow thing?"

"Not really," Clark said. "...You weren't one of the guys who..."

"No," Bones said. "But I watched you get...'picked.' You didn't see me?"

"I was kind of sick at the time," Clark said. "I didn't really notice that much around me."

"You were sick when you got tied out in the cornfield?" Bones asked.

"Yeah," Clark said.

"That wasn't really a fair fight we put you in, I admit it," Bones said.

"Yeah," Clark said.

Bones glanced at him again. "You're pretty cool, aren't you?"

Clark laughed. "That's not a word most people would use to describe me."

Bones smiled. "No, I just mean...taking it like a man. I know it was a pretty shitty thing for us to do, but...it's a town tradition. Just a little hazing. It's not like people get actually hurt from it, you know?"

"Actually," Clark said, "the scarecrow from 1989 was in a coma for twelve years."

"From being the scarecrow?" Bones said.

"Yeah," Clark said. "But I'm sure it didn't help that there was the meteor shower at the time."

"Right," Bones said.

After a moment, Clark said, "You know what's weird? He didn't age the whole time he was in the coma."

"...Seriously?" Bones said.

"Yeah," Clark said. "Some strange stuff happens in this town."

"I guess you're right," Bones said. "It's just not talked about."

Clark shrugged. "I guess people only see what they want to."

Bones nodded. "Yeah. People are willing to overlook a lot if it doesn't fit into their idea of what's normal." He looked over at Clark. "Wouldn't you say?"

"Um, yeah," Clark said.

"But sometimes they get jolted out of their idea of normal, and they're forced to see things they don't want to. That can get nasty." Bones looked over at him. "You get what I'm saying?"

Clark swallowed and nodded. "Yeah."

Bones slowed down. "This it?"

"This is it," Clark said.

"All right," Bones said. "See you later, Clark."

Clark nodded. "Thanks for the ride."

He watched the truck pull away.

Clark spotted a table over in the far corner. He tugged on Whitney's sleeve. "Let's sit over here," he said.

They took their seats.

Whitney smiled and raised his eyebrows. "It's kind of...intimate back here."

Clark smirked. "Don't get any ideas, okay? I'm not making out with you in public."

Whitney rolled his eyes and pretended to get up. "Well, this night has been a total waste."

Clark laughed as Whitney sat back down and grinned at him.

A waitress came up to them and said, "Here you go, one milk and a tall coffee."

"Thanks," Clark said. He turned his head and watched her walk away.

When he turned around again, Whitney said, "You were just checking her out, weren't you?"

Clark winced. "Sorry, I was just--"

Whitney shook his head. "'S okay. So was I."

Clark smiled.

"Nice legs, huh?" Whitney said.

"Mm," Clark nodded.

"This is nice," Whitney said. "If we ever get tired of talking about school or our friends or sports or literature...we can talk about chicks."

"Heh," Clark said. "Oh, speaking of literature..."

Whitney raised his eyebrows.

"What do you think of Dickinson? I'm wondering if I should start in on her."

"Oh, well, she's a great poet, of course," Whitney said. "I think it's gonna take me a few more years before I can appreciate her properly, though. I like her well enough, but I don't get immersed in her poems like I think I should."

"Oh," Clark said.

"She's kind of my bumper-sticker poet for right now," Whitney said. "I really like her for some of her lines."

Clark sipped his coffee. "Like what?"

Whitney looked to the side, thinking. "Okay, like...'Tell all truth, but tell it slant.'"

"You mean, like..." Clark said, "...don't lie, but be indirect?"

"Yeah," Whitney said. "You have to approach Truth--with a capital 'T'--kind of circuitously, because if you went for it head-on, it would be blinding. We have to be gradually dazzled by the Truth."

Clark nodded. "That makes sense."

"Oh, another one I like is, 'I dwell in possibility.'"

Clark considered this. "That's pretty cool."

Whitney looked over Clark's shoulder.

"What?" Clark said. He turned in his seat.

"Hello, Clark," Lex said.

"Oh, hi," Clark said. "Do you know Whitney Fordman?"

Lex looked at Whitney and nodded slowly. "With the..." he mimed a passing motion. "...Throwing the ball."

"Right," Whitney said. "Football."

"And you're going out with Lana Lang," Lex said.

"Um, well," Whitney said. "Was going out."

Lex covered his mouth with his hand. "Oh, sorry."

He gave Clark a significant look. Clark shrugged.

"I didn't know you two were such good friends," Lex said.

Clark smiled at Whitney across the table. "Yeah, we're old buddies now."

"Huh," Lex said.

After a moment of silence, Clark said, "We were just talking about Emily Dickinson."

"Ah, how lovely," Lex said. "She was a poet," he explained to Whitney.

"Yes she was," Whitney said seriously.

Lex eyed their drinks. "You're drinking...milk?" he said to Whitney.

"Yeah," Whitney said. "If I introduce caffeine into my system, what with my temper, I just don't know what might happen." He smiled pleasantly.

Lex raised his eyebrows. "Oop, sounds like you better watch out, Clark. I'd hate to see you get...tied up in something you weren't expecting."

Clark bit his lip and glanced from Whitney to Lex. "Hey, Lex," he said. "I've got a few questions for you. A little quiz."

"Oh, really?" Lex said.

"Yeah," Clark said. "Okay, how do you get a giraffe in a refrigerator?"

Lex paused. "How?"

"Open the door, put in the giraffe, close the door," Clark said.

Lex nodded. "Okay."

"How do you put an elephant in a refrigerator?"

Lex sipped from his drink. "Open the door...take out the giraffe, put in the elephant, and close the door."

"Very good," Clark said. "Okay, the lion calls a meeting of all the animals, and all the animals come. Except for one. Which one?"

"Well, the elephant's in the refrigerator," Lex said.

"Exactly," Clark said. "Okay, new question. You're facing a river. You have no boat. You have to swim across. But huge man-eating crocodiles live in this river. How do you get across?"

"I can just swim, right?" Lex said. "All the crocodiles are at the animal meeting."

"That's impressive," Clark said. "Three for four. You know, someone asked a bunch of business managers those questions, and ninety percent of them didn't get any of them right."

Lex smiled.

"When they asked a bunch of preschoolers," Clark said, "most of them got at least one right." He smiled. "So you don't think like a business manager. You think like a four-year-old."

Lex laughed. "I'm sure the board of directors will be thrilled to hear that."

Clark smiled.

"It was good to see you, Clark," Lex said. "I imagine we'll run into each other again sometime soon."

"Probably," Clark said. "Bye."

Lex started to leave.

"Bye," Whitney said pointedly.

Lex nodded to him.

When he was gone, Whitney whispered to Clark, "Dude, you were just flirting with him!"

Clark opened his mouth. "I was not! I was defusing a tense situation."

"You were totally flirting," Whitney said.

"I told him he had the mentality of a four-year-old; I don't see how that's--"

"He thought you were flirting with him," Whitney said.

"Why would he think that?" Clark said.

"Clark, he wants your ass."

"What?" Clark said. "What would he want with my ass?"

"Have you seen your ass?" Whitney asked. "You have a very desirable ass."

Clark shifted in his seat and glanced around. "Quiet," he whispered.

"It's nice, that's all," Whitney said.

Clark shifted again.

Whitney grinned.

Clark walked into the barn.

"Hey, Mom," he said.

"Clark," she said. "Hi. Change out of your school clothes; we could use you out here."

"Okay," Clark said. "I just wanted to say..." He held his arms up in the air. "I made the basketball team."

Martha smiled. "Oh, that's great, honey. Congratulations."

"The varsity basketball team," Clark said.

"Very impressive," Martha said, nodding.

"You want me to go get changed, don't you," Clark said.

Martha smiled. "Yeah."

"Okay," Clark said. He headed off to the house.

"But really, Clark," she called. "Congratulations."

He turned around and gave her a broad smile.

"You want to sit with us," Clark repeated.

"Yeah, why not?" Whitney asked.

Clark shrugged. "Okay..."

They made their way over to Clark's usual spot.

Chloe looked at the two of them, a potato chip halfway to her mouth. "Hi," she said.

"Hey," Clark said, smiling.

"Hello," Whitney said.

Pete, his mouth full of sandwich, waved at them.

"So it's...interesting to see you here, Whitney," Chloe said.

Whitney shrugged and smiled at her. "A change of pace is nice sometimes, don't you think?"

"Okay..." she said.

Pete swallowed and waved across the cafeteria. "Hey, Dave," he called. "Over here."

Dave came over, holding his tray awkwardly, his splint at an odd angle. "Hi," he said.

"I think you know everyone here," Pete said. "Except, ahem, this is Chloe Sullivan."

Dave smiled at her and sat down. "Hi. I'm Dave Erikson."

"Hi," Chloe said. "So do you play basketball with Clark and Whitney?"

"Oh, I'm not on the team for a variety of reasons," Dave said. "The broken finger, my commitments to student government...and largely the fact that I can't play for beans."

Chloe laughed.

"I read your editorial at the beginning of the week," Dave said. "I was really impressed; I think it's an important issue."

Whitney furrowed his brow. "But do you think it should really be in the school paper? I know abortion is a big topic and everything, but...this is high school."

Chloe pointed her fork at Whitney. "Reproductive rights are incredibly important for high-schoolers," she said. "Do you know how many girls at this school faced an unwanted pregnancy last year?"

"No," Whitney said, taken aback.

"More than you would think," Chloe said. "And it's an important issue for guys too. If a girl's high-school boyfriend gets her pregnant, he's looking at eighteen years of child support. That's quite a bit for some seventeen-year-old guy to be saddled with."

"Well, yeah, I think the school should do a better job with sex education, and give out free condoms and stuff," Whitney said. "But to make abortion available--"

"There are these so-called 'clinics' in town," Chloe said, "that advertise themselves as abortion providers, and then when the young woman gets there, she's bombarded with anti-choice propaganda."

"But don't you think she should be made to reconsider?" Whitney said. "I mean, she'd be destroying a human life. Right, Clark?"

Clark looked up and swallowed a mouthful of creamed corn. "I'm pro-choice."

"Oh," Whitney said. He looked to Pete. "Come on, Pete, back me up here."

"I'm, uh, undecided," Pete said. He shrugged. "But if my sister accidentally got pregnant, I'm pretty sure I'd want her to be able to have a hassle-free abortion."

"But it's the destruction of a human life," Whitney said.

"No, it's not," Chloe said. "Not in the first two trimesters."

"Well, from the moment of conception, it's growing. It's alive. And it was made by humans, so it's...human. I'd call that human life," Whitney said.

"It's the potential for a human life," Chloe said. "There's a difference."

"Lemme ask you something, Whit," Dave said. "Do you think abortions should be allowed in cases of rape or incest?"

"Yeah, in those cases," Whitney said.

"How can you say that?" Dave said. "If you think it's human life, how can it be all right to kill this unborn child just because it was conceived under unpleasant circumstances?"

"Oh," Whitney said. "Um, I guess I'm against it."

"Really?" Dave said. "You think a woman should be forced to have a child that, every time she looks at it, will take her back to the fact that she was raped?"

"She could...give it up for adoption," Whitney said.

"You would make a woman carry inside her this foreign body that would permanently change her own body, that for nine months would be a constant reminder of a brutal attack," Dave said.

"Well..." Whitney said. "I don't know."

"See, that's what I mean," Chloe said. "Most of the anti-choice people are really hypocritical." She glanced at Whitney. "No offense, I mean just in general."

Whitney nodded. "No, I know. But, really, it's only a small percentage of pregnancies that are aborted because of rape or incest."

"Yeah, but still," Chloe said. "I don't understand how the anti-choice people can spend so much money and energy protecting the 'unborn' when there are so many existing children who need help."

"Well," Dave said. "It is important to pay attention to kids who are abused or neglected. But if I thought that embryo or fetus was a full-fledged person from the moment of conception, then I'd be furious that people could just terminate it. I mean, neglect and abuse are bad, but the termination of the pregnancy--that's murder, and it's going on all over the place. It's mass murder of unborn babies."

"Wait--" Chloe said.

"Besides that," Dave said, "I'd be really upset that the law allowed for it. I mean, I know the Supreme Court made its decision in Roe v. Wade, but they didn't really have any grounds for doing so. They pretty much just made up a reason to say that women have a constitutional right to abortion."

Chloe considered him. "So, wait, what side are you on?"

"Oh, I'm pro-choice," Dave said. "I'm just saying it's complicated."

"Yeah," Chloe said. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

After the bell the bell had rung, when Clark and Whitney were disposing of their leftover trash, Whitney said to Clark, "So Dave has this thing for Chloe?"

"Yeah," Clark said.

"What are his chances, do you think?"

Clark shrugged. "Well, he more than held his own in an argument with her. And she didn't get mad at him." He smiled. "This could be love."

"Aw, that's nice," Whitney said.

Clark snickered. "Yeah."

Whitney settled lengthwise along the truck seat, pulling Clark on top of him, kissing him. "Lemme take your shirt off," he mumbled.

"Okay," Clark said a little breathlessly.

Whitney did, sliding his hands along Clark's back, craning his neck to kiss Clark's chest.

Clark sighed.

"Mm, Clark," Whitney said. "You're gorgeous."

Clark laughed a little. "No, I'm not."

"I am being..." Whitney kissed him. "...Totally serious. We should film this. We'd be rich men."

Clark hid his face against Whitney's neck and laughed quietly. "Shut up. You don't really want people to see us, do you?"

"Are you kidding?" Whitney said. "I want to brag about it. I'd be like, 'Yeah, look at that guy. Right, the really hot one. Yeah, that's Clark Kent. I get to blow him. Yeah, that's right, I'm the lucky bastard making out with him. What have you done?'"

Clark shook his head and tried not to smile. "Shut up."

Whitney kissed him, then pulled away. "Hang on a second." He got his own shirt off.

Clark ran his hand along Whitney's side. Whitney reached for him and began mouthing wet kisses along his throat.

Clark gasped and thrust hard against Whitney's hips.

"Is that the spot, right here?" Whitney mumbled.

Clark nodded, grinding against Whitney.

Whitney kissed him there a few more times, then dragged his tongue along the skin.

Clark closed his eyes.

"Hey, Clark?" Whitney said.

Clark blinked a couple of times. "Yeah?"

Whitney ran his hands down Clark's back, coming to rest against his ass. He pulled Clark in tight to him. "Do you want to fuck me?"

Clark took in a deep breath. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah," Whitney said, kissing him.

"Have you...have you done that before?" Clark asked.

"Well, not with a guy," Whitney said.

"But, like, you and Lana..." Clark said.

Whitney squinted up at him. "Are you thinking about Lana when you're making out with me?"

"What?" Clark said. "No!"

Whitney shrugged. "It's just, I mean, we're probably kind of linked in your mind, and you have a crush on her, so--"

"Whitney," Clark said. "You know that thing I sometimes do, where I suck your dick?"

"Yeah," Whitney said.

Clark smiled. "I'm not thinking about Lana when I do that."

Whitney laughed. "I guess not." He rubbed his thumb over Clark's mouth. "You know, I like it when you do that thing."

Clark kissed him. "So you seriously want...like, the whole thing?"

"Yeah," Whitney said. "You know how it basically works, right?"

"Yeah," Clark said. "I've been doing a lot of reading. You know, the Internet and all."

Whitney kissed him. "I like the Internet."

"Mm," Clark said. "Well, if you're sure...I mean, it sounds really fun and everything..."

Whitney smiled and sat up, reaching for the glove compartment. "I didn't know if you'd want to, but I figured, just in case..." He pulled out a condom and some lube.

Clark let out a long breath. "Okay."

"Hey," Whitney said, kissing him. "You all right?"

"Yeah," Clark said. "I'm just kind of...really, really nervous."

"I've got an idea," Whitney said. "Take the rest of your clothes off."

Clark glanced down at his jeans. "I don't think that's going to keep me from being nervous..."

"No, really," Whitney said. "This'll work. Here, I'll take mine off too."

"Okay," Clark said, taking off his shoes and socks, then sliding his pants and shorts off. He glanced over at Whitney, who was naked by now too.

Whitney reached for him and pulled him against his body. He kissed Clark's neck. Clark made a small noise in the back of his throat.

"Here, I'll just suck you off," Whitney said.

"How am I going to be able to...do the other thing, if you..." Clark said.

"We'll do that after," Whitney said. "This'll just get rid of the nervousness."

Clark swallowed. "Okay."

"Sit back," Whitney whispered.

Clark did, glancing behind him as he leaned against the passenger door and letting his legs lie along the seat. Whitney sat between them, kissing Clark as he jacked him slowly, then he lowered himself to kiss the tip of Clark's cock.

Clark shakily touched the back of Whitney's head.

He leaned the back of his head against the window as Whitney sucked him, and sighed.

He began to breathe more heavily, then gasped. "Whitney--"

Whitney glanced up at him as he came.

Whitney sat back up again and kissed Clark slowly. "See? You're less nervous now, right?"

Clark kissed him lazily. "Yeah."

Whitney smiled. "Good, then."

Clark ran his hands over Whitney's body, kissing his shoulder. "You have all these muscles..." he said softly.

Whitney looked Clark up and down. "You do too," he said appreciatively.

"Yeah, but," Clark said, gently kissing Whitney's collarbone, "they're not interesting like yours."

Whitney leaned back, slowly bringing Clark down with him. He lay on his back, one leg, bent, up on the seat, the other on the floor.

Clark looked at his spread legs. "You really want...?"

Whitney nodded.

"So I should, um..." Clark glanced around for the lube. "...Use my fingers first."

"Yeah," Whitney said.

"Okay," Clark said. He squirted some lube on his fingers and winced. "It comes out kind of fast," he said.

"'S okay..." Whitney said, trailing his fingers over his chest.

Clark bit his lip, and hesitantly pressed his finger against Whitney's hole.

Whitney twitched.

"What?" Clark said quickly.

"Nothing," Whitney said. "Just a little cold."

"Sorry, sorry," Clark said. He withdrew his hand and rubbed his thumb over his first two fingers, getting them warm.

"Is that better?" he asked, touching Whitney again.

Whitney nodded, licking his lips.

"Okay," Clark said, rubbing his finger over the hole. Slowly, he started to push it in.

Whitney sighed, then tilted his head at Clark and asked softly, "Have you done this to yourself?"

"Um, not really," Clark said. "I mean, I kind of tried it a couple of times, but I felt too embarrassed."

"Oh," Whitney said, blinking. "...Do you feel embarrassed doing it to me?"

"No, no," Clark said. "I just feel embarrassed about, really...the whole...masturbating thing."

Whitney stretched luxuriously as Clark pushed a second finger in. "How come?"

"Well," Clark said, watching Whitney carefully, "I think the whole point of sex is to do it with another person. Enjoy it with someone else."

"That's definitely a nice part of sex," Whitney said, canting his hips. "But sometimes don't you just want to make yourself feel good?"

"It feels weird," Clark said.

"Oh," Whitney said.

"Okay," Clark said. "I know what I'm supposed to be looking for, but--"

"Shit," Whitney said. "You, ah, found it."

"Right here?" Clark said, crooking his fingers.

"God, yes," Whitney hissed. He pressed down against Clark's hand. "Move...move your fingers."

"...Like how?" Clark asked.

"Fuck me with them," Whitney said.

Clark took a deep breath, then began moving his fingers in and out.

"Clark, that feels so good," Whitney said roughly, spreading his legs further.

Clark leaned down, paused, then cautiously kissed Whitney's mouth.

"Mm," Whitney said, bringing both hands up to hold Clark's head in place. "So good..." he mumbled.

Clark moved his hand more quickly between Whitney's legs.

"All right," Whitney gasped. "That's probably...probably enough with the fingers."

Clark nodded and slowly pulled his fingers out. He glanced at them.

"Here," Whitney said, picking up a paper napkin from the floor.

Clark quickly wiped his fingers off. "Um," he said. "So..."

Whitney sat up and kissed him. "Do you know how to put on a condom?"

"Well..." Clark cleared his throat. "Theoretically."

"All right," Whitney said. He picked up the foil and glanced on the back of it. "First you check the expiration date."

Clark nodded.

"Okay, tear it open, but make sure you do it along the side, so you don't tear the condom," Whitney said.

Clark opened it.

"You know, we don't really have to be doing this," Whitney said. "I mean, I'm clean, and you haven't--but, anyway, it's a good habit to get into."

"Yeah," Clark said.

"By the way," Whitney said. "I just put it in the glove compartment today. You shouldn't store them there."

"Because of the...temperature, right?" Clark said.

"Yeah," Whitney said. "Unroll it a little bit...Wait, that'll make it inside-out. The ring should be on the outside."

Clark bit his lip. "Okay."

"Then you can put a little bit of lube inside the tip--you know about water-based lube, right?" Whitney said.

"Yeah," Clark said.

"And, then..." Whitney smiled. "After this delightful little sex-ed lecture...we have to get you hard all the way again..."

He kissed Clark and slowly jacked his cock.

"I don't remember health class being like this," Clark mumbled.

Whitney smiled against his lips and rubbed his thumb over the head of Clark's cock.

"Um, that'll..." Clark cleared his throat. "That'll do it."

"Okay," Whitney smiled. "All right, actually, I've only done this to myself, so I'm not quite sure...I mean, you're not cut. But I think if you move this back..." He glanced up at Clark's face. "Is that comfortable?"

Clark nodded.

"Okay," Whitney said. "So now just roll it on the rest of the way...But make sure to squeeze the tip a little...right, like that, so there isn't air caught in there."

Clark looked from his dick up to Whitney. "All right?"

Whitney kissed him. "Perfect."

Clark took a deep breath and nodded. Whitney lay back down and grinned at him. Clark rubbed some more lube over the condom and moved closer to Whitney.

"So all right," Clark said.

Whitney rubbed his leg along Clark's side.

Clark took another deep breath and guided himself to Whitney's hole. He pressed in a little bit.

"Yeah, that's it..." Whitney said.

Clark pushed farther in.

"God..." Whitney said. "You're so big..."

Clark paused. "I'm not really all that big. I'm kind of average."

Whitney tossed his head. "You're bigger than average."

"Maybe a little..." Clark said.

"You feel really big," Whitney said.

"Sorry, do you want me to--" Clark started to withdraw.

Whitney hooked his leg over Clark's back. "No, no. Just give me a second." He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply.

Clark gasped as he easily slid the rest of the way in.

"You can just...relax, like that?" he said.

"Yeah," Whitney smiled. "It's just a muscle." He tightened again around Clark.

Clark closed his eyes. "Don't move," he muttered.

"What?" Whitney said.

"Don't. Move," Clark said through gritted teeth.

"It's okay," Whitney whispered. He reached down and squeezed the base of Clark's cock.

Clark sighed and opened his eyes. "Thanks."

"No problem," Whitney smiled.

Clark pulled back a little, then pushed back in.

Whitney sighed as Clark kept up the motion. He eventually wrapped his arms and legs around Clark's body, lifting himself up with each thrust.

"Clark..." Whitney said raggedly. "Just angle it a little more to the...right there...fuck...Oh Christ, Clark, you have no idea what this feels like..."

Clark, breathing heavily now, covered with a sheen of sweat, concentrated on hitting that spot.

"Oh my God...oh God..." Whitney moaned. "Jesus..."

He groaned loudly and came against his belly.

Clark kept moving, his arms starting to tremble, his face screwed tight in concentration.

"It's okay, Clark, let go..." Whitney said.

Clark whimpered and drove in.

"Yes, Clark..." Whitney whispered.

He stroked Clark's back, up and down, then brought his hand to rest against Clark's ass. With his fingers, he lightly traced a line down Clark's cleft.

Clark shuddered and fell against him.

Whitney licked his way into Clark's mouth. Clark responded, making small noises between kisses.

After a moment, he pushed himself up and sighed. Sitting on his knees, he held the condom on as he pulled out of Whitney's body.

Whitney groaned quietly.

Clark tied off the top of the condom and looked at him worriedly. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"Yes I am," Whitney said contentedly. He stretched his entire body. "Here, you can put that in here," he said, handing Clark a McDonald's paper bag from the floor.

Clark dropped the condom in, then leaned in and settled against Whitney. "So you're all right?"

"Yeah, I would say that," Whitney said. "How are you doing?"

"I'm good," Clark said. He yawned.

"You're incredible, you know that?" Whitney said.

"Me?" Clark said. He yawned again.

"Hey," Whitney said, kissing Clark's temple. "If you want to fall asleep, we've got time. I'll wake you up before we have to get you home."

"Okay," Clark mumbled, resting his face against Whitney's chest.

Whitney smiled at him as he drifted off. He absently combed his fingers through Clark's hair.

He stared at the darkness outside the window opposite him and held Clark a little closer.

He looked down, his brow furrowed, when Clark began to mutter something.

He stroked Clark's cheek. "It's okay..." he whispered.

"Help..." Clark said hoarsely. "Help me..."

"It's okay," Whitney said.

Clark jerked suddenly and, in an instant, was on the other side of the truck. He wrapped his arms around himself and looked around. "What--?"

Whitney leaned toward him. "It's okay. You're in my truck. You had a nightmare."

Clark blinked. "Right," he said. "Right." He scrubbed his hands over his face, then slipped on his boxers and jeans.

"You want to talk about it?" Whitney asked quietly.

Clark shook his head, pulling on his T-shirt.

"Sometimes it helps to--"

"I don't wanna talk about it," Clark said.

Whitney put on his pants too. "You were talking in your sleep," he said.

Clark glanced at him. "What'd I say?"

"'Help me,'" Whitney said.

Clark made a face.

"Help you from what?" Whitney asked.

"It doesn't matter--" Clark said.

"Do you not want to tell me about it because...is this about trust?"

"No," Clark said. "I just don't want to..." He sighed. "I dreamed I was on the scarecrow post, okay?"

"...Oh," Whitney said quietly.

"I didn't want to tell you," Clark muttered.

Whitney slowly put on his shirt.

"I mean, it happened, right?" Clark said. "We're past it."

"I'm not so sure," Whitney said.

"I'm sorry," Clark said quickly, "I'm not trying to make you feel like--"

"Don't apologize," Whitney said.

They sat in silence for a moment.

"Clark, what I did to you was criminal," Whitney said.

Clark shrugged.

"I mean, you should hate me," Whitney said. "I'm glad you don't, but you haven't had a chance to...you know, get angry at me. Of course you're still going to have nightmares about it."

Clark rolled his eyes. "Don't try to be a psychologist. I had a nightmare about it because I have nightmares about everything. I have nightmares about the evening news."

"But it's not fair for me to do something so horrible to you, and then expect you to like me as though nothing had happened--"

"Shut up," Clark said. "You kissed me right after Lana dumped you."

"...Yeah," Whitney said.

"But do I go around saying that I'm just your consolation prize, because you haven't had a chance to get over your feelings for Lana yet?"

"God, Clark, you're not--" Whitney said. "I mean, just because I was with Lana didn't mean I didn't notice you--"

"I know," Clark said. "That's why I don't go around saying that. But it's the same thing. Don't think that I'm co-dependent or something just because I don't want to beat you up."

"But you should be angry about it, Clark, I mean, shit..."

Clark stared out the windshield. "I don't like being angry."

"Well, sometimes it's appropriate," Whitney said.

"If you get angry, you can lose control," Clark said. "People can get hurt."

"...So it's about control?"

Clark shrugged. "I dunno." He looked down at his lap and smirked. "Besides," he said.

"What?" Whitney said.

Clark looked at him and grinned. "I already got back at you."

"Wha--?"

"You remember Homecoming? Your truck?"

"You did that?" Whitney said.

Clark smiled and shrugged.

"You know, I thought you might have, but--how did you do it? And on such short notice?"

"I have to protect the names of the guilty," Clark said.

"Dude, that was a really impressive bit of mischief. Really, how'd you manage that?"

"I keep my methods secret," Clark said.

"Jesus," Whitney said. "I'm glad you're on my side."

Clark smiled, and leaned over and kissed him. "You know I am, right? On your side."

Whitney smiled. "Yeah."

Clark walked over to the bleachers. "Hey, Tara," he said.

"Hi, Clark," she said brightly, opening the case for her digital camera. "Congratulations on making varsity."

"Thanks," Clark said. "So you're sports editor now?"

"Yeah, Rufus didn't want to deal with the hassle anymore," she said.

"How's it working out?" Clark asked.

"Oh, I love it," Tara said. "Chloe's pretty condescending about it, but she does acknowledge that we have to have a sports section. And I think she's nicer to me than she would be if I were a guy."

"Mm," Clark nodded. "So how come you're--"

Tara snapped a picture of the guys on the court. "You know, it's a pre-season practice. I wanted to scout everyone out so I can make predictions about the future of this here team."

"Oh," Clark said. "Rufus didn't do that, did he?"

"Nope," Tara said. "I'm fresh blood."

"Hey, let's get this practice started," Coach Mizell called.

"See you later," Clark said.

"Bye," Tara said.

Clark jogged over to be with the other guys.

After they'd been practicing a little while, Coach called, "All right, guys, keep on with that. Clark, come here a second."

Whitney glanced at Clark. Clark looked a little startled, and went over to Coach Mizell.

"All right, Clark, you're doing well out there," he said. "But you're holding back. I know, you're a freshman, you think, 'Oh, this is just a practice,' but I don't want you saving it all for the game. This is what gets us ready for the games, and I expect you to be playing at a hundred percent."

"Okay," Clark said, nodding earnestly.

"All right, let me see what you've got," Coach said.

Clark nodded, and got back into the practice.

A little while later, Coach called, "C'mon, Kent, I wanna see you hustle."

Clark glanced at him, nodded quickly, then turned his attention back on the scrimmage. In a couple of seconds, he was able to snatch the ball out of Morgan's hands and he ran it down the court, far ahead of any defenders. He leapt up to dunk it, then, as he was hanging onto the rim, his eyes widened. "Oh shit," he whispered.

As he dropped back down, there was a creaking, then a crunching, then a wrenched sound. The backboard dropped at his feet.

Clark covered his eyes with his hand.

The other guys, who had run up behind him, gathered around. "Dude," someone said.

Whitney held his arms up in the air. "Ladies and gentlemen," he called, "I give you...Shaquiiiiille Kent!"

"Shut up," Clark whispered.

"Hey, Kent," Coach said. "You can tone it down a little."

Clark nodded.

"But good effort," Coach said. "All right, did anyone get hurt? You okay, Clark?"

Clark cleared his throat. "Yeah."

"All right, I've gotta call the administration about this. I'll be right over there," he said, pointing. "You guys go to the other end of the court and practice shooting from the three-point line."

Clark trudged down the court. "I can't believe I--" he started to say to Whitney.

"I know, man," Whitney said, glancing back at the wreckage. "That was amazing."

Clark stared at him. "It's not amazing; it's stupid."

"Clark," Whitney said. "This gives you instant cachet. Play it up."

"I broke the gym, Whitney," Clark said. "That's not cool."

Whitney snickered. "Yeah, it is."

Clark glanced over at the sidelines and saw Tara clicking away.

"Aw man," he said.

Whitney followed his line of vision. "Bet you make the front page," he said.

"Well, I can probably talk Chloe out of that," Clark said. "She doesn't like sports."

"No, I'm talking about if Tara sells her pictures to the Ledger," Whitney said.

Clark groaned.

"C'mon," Whitney said, tossing Clark a ball and getting one for himself. "Three-pointers."

"There was something wrong with that basket," Clark said. "I bet it's really dangerous for us to be playing here."

Whitney shrugged, then shot. "Heh, nothing but net," he said. He got another ball. "You're probably right. All the gym equipment's pretty old."

"How much do you think it'll cost to--"

"Don't worry about it, Clark; they won't make you pay for it," Whitney said.

"Yeah, but--like, are we not going to get new textbooks because I broke the gym?" He shot and made a face as he missed.

"You know what, my dad's been wanting to make a donation to the athletic program," Whitney said. "This is perfect."

"Really?" Clark said.

"Yeah," Whitney said concentrating on his shot. "I guess he thinks that if I'm not good enough for the team or something, he can buy me a spot."

Clark blinked. "Whitney, you're the best player on the team."

Whitney looked at him and smiled. "I never said my dad was a rational person."

Whitney nudged Clark. "Look, Dave came with Chloe."

Clark smirked. "Yeah, I've been hearing all about it. Chloe almost asked me for fashion advice before she thought better of it."

"Listen," Whitney said. "You told Pete to come, right? I don't want your friends to get left out just because you're hanging out with the upperclassmen."

"No, he's..." Clark scanned the room. "Right over there."

"That's good," Whitney said. "He's a pretty good guy, huh?"

"We've been friends since forever," Clark said, scooping up some pretzels.

"Hey!" Morgan said, as he and Phil and a couple of other basketball players came over. He bumped fists with Whitney. "Look, it's Clark the Destroyer!"

Clark shook his head. "I'm just...going by 'Clark,' now."

"Clark the Decimator!" Morgan said.

"Seriously, Morgan," Clark said.

"Clark the Annihilator!" Morgan said.

"Well, that one's okay," Clark said.

Morgan laughed and said to the other guys, "Did you see all the controversy this kid stirred up? 'Are our schools safe enough?', 'Should our children even play sports because, God knows, they might fall down and skin their knees or something?'"

The guys snickered.

"Yeah, well," Clark said. "There was something wrong with that basket."

Whitney grinned. "C'mon, Clark."

As they passed through a crowd of people, someone handed Clark a red plastic cup.

"Oh, thanks," Clark said.

Whitney took it out of his hand and set it on a table. "You're not drinking," he said as he kept walking.

"Whitney," Clark said indignantly. "I can drink if I want to."

"No, I am going to be strictly a good influence on you," Whitney said. "Now, c'mon, let's find a room so I can blow you."

Clark laughed. "Whitney, come on, we're at a party..."

"I know," Whitney said, leading Clark into the hallway. "Let's party." He glanced around. "The coast is clear," he said. "Come on."

He opened the door to a pantry and pulled Clark in.

"It's really dark in here," Clark said.

"I know," Whitney murmured. He put his arms around him. "We're gonna have to do this by touch."

Clark sighed against Whitney's mouth. "You're really lucky--" he was interrupted with a kiss "--that I'm a teenager and so horny. Because otherwise I wouldn't stand for this."

"I know," Whitney said, kissing him again, rubbing him through his jeans.

Clark cupped the back of Whitney's head, holding him close to kiss him. Whitney slowly pulled away and started undoing Clark's pants. He pulled them down as he got on his knees.

"Clark," Whitney said, licking a stripe up the underside of Clark's cock, "I love the way your dick tastes. I mean, I really like it."

Clark shifted on his feet and Whitney took him into his mouth.

Clark took a deep breath and thrust lightly.

"Mm," Whitney said approvingly, taking him deeper.

They were suddenly flooded with light. A girl standing in the doorway stared at them.

"Oh shit. Sorry," she said. "Sorry." She quickly shut the door.

"Fuck," Clark said quietly.

Whitney sat back on his heels.

"Fuck," Clark said, quickly doing up his pants.

"Clark, hang on," Whitney said, taking Clark's hand. "It's okay--"

Clark shook him off and wrenched the door open.

"Wait," Whitney said. He got up and followed as Clark walked quickly through the hallway and the main party room, going out the side door.

"Clark," he called, ignoring the buzz of voices around him and the stares he was getting.

Clark stood in the backyard, glancing back at the house, looking around to see if there was anybody near by. He was about to start running when Whitney came out.

"Clark!" he said. "Don't just take off like that."

Clark sighed and looked up at the sky.

Whitney came closer.

Clark shook his head. "Jesus, Whitney."

"I know," Whitney said. "I know; this is a big deal. But it's okay, right? We're still okay." He touched Clark's arm.

Clark let him, but stood tensely. "I don't...this is not what I wanted to happen."

"I know," Whitney said. "Me neither."

"Oh, you probably did," Clark said. "You said you wanted to make movies. You probably wanted to sell tickets."

"Clark," Whitney said. "I was joking when I said that." He sighed. "But really, don't you think it's okay that people know about us? I'm not ashamed of it. I mean--"

"Well, that's easy for you to say," Clark said. "You've only got a year left of high school and you're a star athlete and the most popular guy in school."

"Yeah," Whitney said. "And you're a really smart guy who other kids like and you're a pretty good athlete too and you're my boyfriend."

"...I am," Clark said.

"Yeah," Whitney said. "What did you think we were doing?"

Clark shrugged.

"I know we haven't been on any formal 'dates' or anything, but..." Whitney said. He looked at Clark. "You haven't been seeing other guys, have you? 'Cause I kind of assumed this was an exclusive thing."

"No," Clark said.

"I was kidding just then, about you seeing other guys," Whitney said. "A little bit of humor."

"Right," Clark said.

"It's going to be all right," Whitney said.

Clark shrugged.

"Heh," Whitney said. "I guess that's why they call it coming out of the closet."

"This really isn't at all funny, Whitney," Clark said.

"Yeah, I know," Whitney said. "Let me drive you home."

"I can get home myself," Clark said.

Whitney looked confused. "How?"

"I can manage, all right?" Clark said. He started walking.

Clark stared through the screen door.

"It's a beautiful morning, don't you think, Clark?" Chloe said.

Clark grunted.

Chloe waited a minute. "Aren't you going to ask me in?"

"I don't know," Clark said.

Chloe rolled her eyes. "Come on, Clark, I want to talk to you."

"Is this Chloe the reporter talking?" Clark said.

"It's Chloe your friend talking," she said. "Dork."

"Ah yes," Clark said. "That sounds like my friend."

He let her in.

"You okay?" she asked.

"I am just dandy," Clark said.

"Do your parents know?" she asked quietly.

"Nope," Clark said. "Though that's just a matter of time, don't you think? I turned the ringer off the phones last night, but they'll figure that out sooner or later."

"Well, are they around?" Chloe said. "I mean, how freely can we speak here?"

"We're gonna have to use Morse code," Clark said seriously.

Chloe stared at him.

"In pig Latin," he added.

She smiled and shook her head.

"Translated into Navajo," he said.

She shoved him lightly.

"They're shopping," he said. "C'mon upstairs."

Chloe sat on Clark's bed, leaning against the headboard. She shook a Magic-8 ball. "So why didn't you tell me?" she asked.

"Are you asking the ball or me?" Clark said, tipped back in his chair.

She gave him a condescending look.

"Yeah, all right," Clark said. "I dunno, it just seemed like it would be awkward to introduce into conversation."

"Did you think I wouldn't be able to handle it or something?" she asked.

"Chloe, come on," Clark said. "Of course not."

"Well, I just mean..." she said. "You've been pretty secretive lately."

"I know," Clark muttered.

"You know, I really never would have guessed that Whitney--" Chloe started. "I find him much more interesting to me now."

"He's suddenly a more interesting person because he's bi?" Clark asked.

"Well--" Chloe said.

"That's reverse discrimination," Clark said.

Chloe rolled her eyes. "Look, before, I thought he was just some jock concerned about going along with the yearbook-perfect high-school line, and it turns out--"

"Yeah, but you had no real reason to think that," Clark said. "You're just prejudiced because he's good at sports."

"No, I'm not," Chloe said.

"Yes, you are," Clark said.

"Okay, maybe a little," Chloe said. "So is he okay with this? The whole being outed thing?"

Clark shrugged. "I guess."

"...Haven't you talked to him about it?"

"Not really," Clark said. "I mean, it just happened last night."

"Well, you could give him a call," Chloe said.

Clark shrugged.

"Oh, don't be an ass about it," Chloe said. "You like him, don't you?"

"Yeah, but...this is complicated now."

"He likes you, doesn't he? I mean, hearsay evidence seems to suggest--"

"Shut up," Clark said. "I don't really want to talk to him right now."

"Clark, you can't punish him because people found out. People would have found out, anyway."

Clark sighed. "I'm enough of a freak at school already, you know?"

"Having a boyfriend doesn't make you a freak, Clark."

Clark stared at her incredulously. "We go to Smallville High, Chloe. There are probably three kids in the whole school who are out, and they're all in the drama club."

"Yeah, but..." Chloe shrugged. "You have to be yourself, right? You don't really want to live some lie, hiding who you really are, do you?"

"What, like there's something wrong with that?" Clark said.

"Clark, I like you because you think for yourself," Chloe said. "You are, in fact, different. And that's good. Don't suddenly get all bent out of shape about it just because you're...bent."

Clark laughed involuntarily.

"So how's it going with Dave?" he said.

"That's a good way to change the subject," Chloe said.

"Yeah?" Clark said.

"Yes, I really like talking about him," Chloe said.

Clark smiled.

"He's my boyfriend!" Chloe said gleefully. "He's so smart, and has kind of a caustic sense of humor, but he's also really sweet and...he's pretty hot, you know?"

"He's good-looking," Clark nodded. "A little short."

"Well, I'm short," Chloe said. "So it's perfect."

"Yes," Clark said.

"Did you know he's got a brown belt in martial arts?" Chloe asked.

"Yeah, judo," Clark said.

"That's so sexy," Chloe said.

"I thought you didn't like jocks," Clark said.

"I don't, really," Chloe said. "But he could kill someone with his bare hands; I don't see how I'm supposed to avoid appreciating that."

"I can kill with my bare hands," Clark said.

"Really," Chloe said.

"Yeah," Clark said. "I mean, if I've got a gun in one of my bare hands."

Chloe smiled.

"So you're gonna call Whitney later today, right?" she said.

"...Yeah," Clark said. "I should. Come on, let's get some ice cream."

"Sounds good to me," Chloe said.

Clark stood next to Whitney by his truck.

"I'm really glad you called me," Whitney said.

Clark nodded. "Yeah, me too."

"So I'll see you at school tomorrow?" Whitney asked.

"Nnn..." Clark said. "I'm seriously thinking of skipping."

Whitney smiled. "Come on, Clark. You gotta go eventually. You want me to pick you up?"

"Nah," Clark said. "I'll take the bus."

"All right," Whitney said. He leaned in to kiss him.

Clark pushed him away a little as he heard his parents' truck approaching the drive. At Whitney's questioning look, he nodded towards it.

Whitney glanced over his shoulder. "Right," he said.

Clark's parents pulled up and got out of the truck. "Hi, Whitney," Martha said.

"Hello, Mrs. Kent," he said. "Mr. Kent."

"Were you just leaving?" Jonathan asked.

"Yeah," Whitney said. "Heading back."

"Because you're welcome to stay for dinner," Martha said.

"Oh, thanks, Mrs. Kent, but I'm expected back at home," he said. "Maybe some other time?" He glanced quickly at Clark.

"Of course," Martha said.

"See you later," he said. He got in his truck and drove away.

"C'mon, Clark," Jonathan said. "Help us bring these things in."

Martha passed the green beans to Jonathan. "So you certainly seem to be spending a lot of time with Whitney lately," she said.

"Yeah," Clark said. He took a swallow of milk. "He's my boyfriend, actually. May I be excused?"

Jonathan looked at him. "Sure," he said after a moment.

"I'll put your plate in the fridge in case you're hungry later, okay, sweetie?" Martha said.

"Thanks," Clark said. He quickly went outside.

Jonathan found Clark fiddling with his telescope. He sat down beside him. After a pause, he said, "Hi."

"Hi," Clark muttered, not looking up.

"Do you feel like talking?" Jonathan asked.

Clark shrugged.

"Do you think we're upset with you?" Jonathan asked gently.

"No," Clark said. "Just, you know. It's not like I haven't surprised you enough before. Your alien son. And now I'm your gay alien son."

"Clark," Jonathan said quietly.

"No, I know," Clark said, still looking down. He rubbed his thumb under his eye.

"So you're gay?" Jonathan said.

"Bi, actually," Clark said.

"Okay," Jonathan said. "I know we haven't really talked about gay issues in the family...I guess we just didn't really see the need to, but...that was our mistake. By not talking about it, we must have made you feel like it wasn't something you could tell us about..."

Clark shrugged.

"My cousin's gay," Jonathan remarked.

Clark glanced at him. "Which one?"

"Richard," Jonathan said. "You never met him. He died several years before we found you."

"Oh," Clark said.

"He killed himself," Jonathan said.

"Because of...?" Clark said.

"Yeah," Jonathan said. "He didn't want his parents to find out."

"Oh," Clark said.

"Yeah," Jonathan said. "Your mom and I really don't want you to feel like you can't talk to us about this."

Clark nodded.

"It's perfectly all right," Jonathan said.

"Okay," Clark said.

"That said," Jonathan said. "Is Whitney treating you right?"

Clark smiled. "Yeah."

"Mm, well," Jonathan said. "I knew I was going to have to have a talk with you when you started dating."

"Aw, Dad, a talk?" Clark said. "Can we just skip it?"

Jonathan smiled. "I'm serious about this."

Clark sighed.

"Are you having sex?" Jonathan asked.

"Dad!" Clark said. "Come on."

"Clark, I know that's a really personal, private question," Jonathan said. "But you're still a minor, and as your parent...I'm entitled to worry."

"What, like you never had sex in high school?"

Jonathan paused. "That's a fair question. I don't want to create a double standard here. But my parents would have worried about it if they'd known about it, and I know now they would have been right to. There are risks to having sex."

"Whitney and I aren't doing anything that would give each other diseases or get one of us pregnant," Clark muttered.

"Well, no, I wasn't particularly worried about the pregnancy part," Jonathan said.

"Okay, good," Clark said.

"Well, aside from the usual physical risks--which might not even mean anything in your case, since you don't really ever get sick anymore..."

"Right," Clark said.

"You're...you're extraordinarily strong," Jonathan said. "Are you sure that's something you can keep under control if you..."

"Yes, Dad," Clark said through gritted teeth. "Jeez."

"Well, I had to ask," Jonathan said. "And besides all that...there are emotional consequences to having sex. I know when you're young it can just seem like you're just having fun with the physicality of it, but, really, emotions are, at their base, physical too. Sex gets all sorts of hormones going, and hormones cause emotions. So something that you think was just going to be casual can end up meaning a lot more to you. And you can get hurt that way."

"It's not like I'm having one-night stands," Clark muttered.

"Okay," Jonathan said. "And the other side to that too is...well, I remember being a teenager and being sure I was really in love. And that's great, and it's an important part of growing up, but do try to keep in mind that something that seems so permanent in high school probably...isn't."

"I thought you and Mom went out in high school," Clark said.

"Well, we did, near the end of high school," Jonathan said. "But I was in other relationships before that, and not all of them...turned out well."

"...Is that why we never go over to Lana's house?" Clark asked.

Jonathan cleared his throat. "I'd rather not talk about it."

Clark raised his eyebrows.

Jonathan raised his hands. "I know that sounds hypocritical, with the questions I'm asking you. I just...your mom and I don't want to see you get hurt."

"Well, I'm going to have to get hurt eventually, aren't I?" Clark said.

"Yeah," Jonathan acknowledged. "We just want to put it off as long as possible. It's not always easy watching your kid grow up. And you're only fifteen, son."

"I like growing up," Clark said.

Jonathan smiled. "I'm glad." He squeezed Clark's shoulder. "...I don't suppose I have to tell you how important it is for you to make sure you keep your gifts a secret."

Clark nodded briskly. "No, I know."

"All right," Jonathan said. Then his tone lightened. "So, Whitney, huh?"

Clark smiled. "Yeah. He's pretty great, Dad. You know, he was explaining Dickinson to me the other day."

Jonathan raised his eyebrows. "Oh, well, that certainly speaks well for him."

Clark laughed.

"Hey," Whitney said as Clark was walking past his locker.

Clark smiled. "Hi."

Whitney winced as he tried to shove a book into the pile in his locker. "Are people treating you all right?"

"Yeah," Clark said. "I mean, there are little comments. And I've been getting a lot of stares. Not a big deal."

"Okay," Whitney said. "Let me know if someone bothers you."

Clark smiled. "You know, Whitney, I can handle myself pretty well."

Whitney looked him up and down. "Yeah, I bet you can."

Clark cleared his throat. "Don't look at me like that at school," he said quietly.

"Why not?" Whitney asked innocently.

"Because I don't want to go to social studies with an erection, ya pervert," Clark said.

Whitney grinned and cuffed Clark's head.

An upperclassman brushed passed them. "Fucking faggots," he muttered.

"Asshole," Whitney replied cheerfully.

The guy stopped. "What did you call me?"

"An asshole," Whitney said. "But you just called me and my friend faggots, so I think we're even now."

"You are faggots," the guy said.

"Yeah, and you're an asshole," Whitney said.

"Whitney," Clark said quietly.

People were stopping to watch them.

"Don't call me an asshole," the guy said.

"Why not, Dominick?" Whitney said. He stepped closer to him.

"You fucking cocksucker," Dominick said. "Get away from me."

"Oh, is that the problem?" Whitney asked. "You're jealous because you can't suck cock as well as I can? If you're worried about it, I'm sure your mom will give you a lesson."

Dominick shoved him.

"Did you just shove me?" Whitney asked.

"Yeah," Dominick said.

Whitney smiled. "You don't want to shove me."

"Whitney," Clark said more urgently.

Dominick shoved him again, then took a swing at him.

Whitney touched his fingers to his split lip. He shook his head, then popped Dominick in the face.

Clark said, "Dammit," and got between them, pushing Whitney back, holding him in place with Whitney's shirt fisted in his hand.

"No, come on, Fordman," Dominick said. "You want your boyfriend to fight for you?"

"Clark, get out of the way," Whitney said.

"It's fine with me," Dominick said, and hit Clark in the belly, then several times in the face.

"Stop," Clark said.

"C'mon, hit me," Dominick said.

Whitney struggled against Clark's hand. "Clark, let me go. Let me go!"

Dominick punched Clark in the side of the face a few more times.

"Hey!" A teacher had emerged from his classroom. "What the hell is going on out here?"

"Nothing," Dominick said. He punched Clark in the belly once more.

The teacher came over and grabbed Dominick. Dominick tried to shake him off. "You touch me and you're expelled, Talbert," the teacher said.

Dominick settled down and glowered at Whitney and Clark.

The teacher looked at the kids gathered in the hallway. "Which ones of you saw how this started?"

Some of the kids raised their hands. Others hurried off to class.

"All right, come with me," he said. "And you three," he said to Clark, Whitney and Dominick, "come on."

Whitney and Clark silently sat on the bench outside Principal Kwan's office.

"So how's your lip?" Clark said finally.

"It's fine," Whitney said. "What about you, Jesus, he hit you like fifteen times."

"Eleven," Clark said.

"Why didn't you hit him back?" Whitney said.

"I don't like fighting," Clark said, looking straight ahead.

"Well, that's good," Whitney said. "Not starting fights is good. But if someone hits you, for Christ's sake..."

"I'm fine, Whitney," Clark said.

"What do you mean you're fine?" Whitney said. "He whaled on you."

"He didn't hit me that hard," Clark said.

"What, the fourth punch wasn't that hard? Or the tenth?"

"I'm fine," Clark said.

"He hit me hard," Whitney said.

"Well, he probably hurt his hand when he hit you, and he pulled his punches with me," Clark said.

"I guess," Whitney said. "Look, don't hold me back like that, all right? For future reference."

"I don't want you to fight, either," Clark said.

"He hit me," Whitney said. "It's called self-defense."

Principal Kwan opened his door. "Mr. Fordman? Mr. Kent?"

They glanced at each other and got up.

They all sat down, Principal Kwan looking at them from behind his desk. "I think I've got a pretty good picture of what happened from the witnesses I've talked to. What would you say happened?"

Whitney glanced at Clark. "Well, Dominick walked past us and insulted us. So I stood up to him."

"How did you do that, exactly?" Principal Kwan said.

"...I insulted him back," Whitney said. "So he shoved me. I told him not to. He shoved me again, and then he hit me."

"And then you hit him back?"

"Right," Whitney said.

"It was at this point you stepped in, Mr. Kent?" Principal Kwan asked.

Clark nodded.

"And Mr. Talbert hit you several times," Principal Kwan said.

"Eleven," Whitney said.

Principal Kwan raised his eyebrows at Clark.

Clark nodded.

"And you didn't hit him back," Principal Kwan said.

Clark shook his head.

"All right," Principal Kwan said. "That concurs with all the other reports I've received, except for Mr. Talbert's." He looked at Whitney. "Mr. Fordman. You will be suspended for one day for fighting."

"What?" Whitney said. "He hit me first."

"I know," Principal Kwan said. "You were in a difficult situation. But according to the school handbook, and also to common sense, the right thing to do would have been to try to walk away. You let the situation escalate."

"I was just supposed to let him call Clark a--"

Principal Kwan nodded. "It would have been more appropriate to report it to a school official."

Whitney sighed. "Well, what, is Dominick getting a day off too?"

"No," Principal Kwan said. "He'll be suspended for ten days and put on probation."

Clark cleared his throat. "What about me?"

"Nothing," Principal Kwan said. "You handled yourself very well."

Clark glanced over at Whitney. "But Whitney was just defending himself--"

"That's why his punishment isn't more severe," Principal Kwan said. "But I really can't let my students think that fighting is the right way to solve problems, even when they're provoked."

Clark sat back in his chair and glanced at Whitney again.

"I called both of you in here at the same time," Principal Kwan said, "because I also wanted to tell you this: If someone at school, be it a student or a teacher, harasses you, I want you to report it immediately. I won't tolerate it."

Whitney nodded slowly. "...All right."

"Mr. Kent, are you sure you don't want to see the nurse?"

"No, I'm fine," Clark said.

"All right," Principal Kwan said to him. "You can go back to class."

Clark nodded and got up. "See you, Whitney," he said awkwardly.

"Yep," Whitney said.

Clark left.

Clark sat next to Pete on the bus.

"So I heard it was a weird fight," Pete said.

"Yeah, kind of," Clark said.

"I heard Dominick was pretty much smashing your face," Chloe said.

"No, he wasn't hitting me that hard," Clark said.

"That's true, you don't really have any bruises," Chloe said.

"I don't think he's a very good fighter," Clark said.

"But still," Pete said. "You didn't do anything about it, is what I heard."

"I told him to stop," Clark said.

Pete laughed. "You seriously didn't touch him at all."

Clark shrugged. "My face touched his fist."

Pete laughed again. "Clark, man, if someone's hitting you, hit him back. At least put your hands up, you know? Guard yourself."

"I roll with the punches," Clark said. He smiled. "It's my pacific nature."

Chloe looked at him strangely. "Did you convert to the Society of Friends or something?"

"No," Clark said. "But what's so wrong with not wanting to hit somebody?"

Chloe shrugged. "Nothing. I think it's great. ...You're just odd, is all."

Clark sighed. "I know."

Clark stood on the doorstep, one of his arms loaded down with books. He pressed the doorbell, then stepped back and ran his fingers through his hair.

The door opened.

"Mr. Fordman?" Clark said.

"Yes," Mr. Fordman said, staring at him.

"Um, since Whitney was out today, I brought him the work he missed."

Mr. Fordman nodded and took the books from him. "You Clark Kent?"

"Yes, sir."

Mr. Fordman nodded again. "All right."

He closed the door.

Clark stood there a moment, then raised his eyebrows. "Okay," he said to himself.

Clark sat down at the computer, looking at international newspapers on the Web. He got an instant message.

WFordman02: That you, Clark?

He typed back:

CKDexter86: Yeah. Whitney?

WFordman02: In the flesh. Except not. Sorry I couldn't call you; I'm not allowed to use the phone.

CKDexter86: You're not allowed to use the phone, but you can IM?

WFordman02: I'm pretty sure my parents don't know that instant messaging exists.

CKDexter86: Heh. That's pretty cool.

WFordman02: So I get the "CK" in your handle there--Clark Kent, right? But what's the "Dexter" mean? Is that your middle name?

CKDexter86: No, it's from a movie. The Philadelphia Story. Cary Grant played C.K. Dexter Haven.

WFordman02: Ah, Cary Grant.

CKDexter86: What, I can't use Cary Grant's character's names?

WFordman02: No, no; they're well-suited to you.

CKDexter86: I meant characters'.

WFordman02: Don't worry about it; we're trying to type a conversation, not write an essay.

CKDexter86: So...how's it going over there?

WFordman02: Oh, my dad wasn't upset at me for getting into a fight. But then Dominick's dad called and told him why I was in a fight, and...heh. The conversations I've overheard since then have been amusing.

CKDexter86: Really.

WFordman02: Yeah, my dad's all, "Evelyn, I done tol' you not to give the boy that pansy-ass name. He gone and turned inta a fagg-et." And my mom's, "Oh, I'm so sorry, dear, I really had no idea he would...he just seemed so athletic, didn't he? I had no earthly idea." "Probably out ever' night committin' the act that dare not speak its name..."

CKDexter86: ...You think that's funny?

WFordman02: Well, you can't hear me doing the voices. It's funny if you can hear the voices.

CKDexter86: Hm.

WFordman02: It's really not a big deal, Dexter. My dad has always considered me to be A Disappointment.

CKDexter86: Wait a minute. You're the school's best athlete and a great student.

WFordman02: Right, but I'm not a good enough athlete to go pro. So that's irrelevant. And, yes, of course it's important that I make good grades so I get into a good college, but, uh-oh, I'm not that interested in going straight into business and making a shitload of money. I mean, yeah, eventually I'm sure I'll want to make a lot of money, but I'm young now. I should be allowed to be idealistic and hippie and everything.

CKDexter86: Yeah, you should. Your dad sounds kind of...

WFordman02: No, it's fine.

CKDexter86: Really?

WFordman02: Yeah. Buck up! Come on, we can have cybersex.

CKDexter86: Whitney, the computer's in the living room. Not somewhere like my bedroom.

WFordman02: Oh. Well, at least tell me some of your fantasies. Like, about other people. You know, in a straightforward, non-arousing manner.

CKDexter86: You don't want to hear my fantasies.

WFordman02: Yes I do.

CKDexter86: Many of them involve Lana.

WFordman02: You're right; I don't want to hear about them.

CKDexter86: That's what I thought.

WFordman02: Actually, I still think about Lana sometimes. Isn't that terrible? I mean, I'm with you. I like being with you. I don't want to be with Lana anymore. But, still, sometimes...I mean, if I'm having fantasies about her, shouldn't they at least be of the "die, bitch, die" variety?

CKDexter86: I dunno, it makes sense. You were with her for a long time. And you had a great relationship, right?

WFordman02: Most of teh time, yeah.

WFordman02: Um, I know how to spell "the," actually.

CKDexter86: Well, you're typing pretty fast.

WFordman02: I had to do those computer lessons. Mavis Beacon. Home row. aaaaa dddddd

CKDexter86: I hunt and peck.

WFordman02: Seriously? What's your typing speed?

CKDexter86: 'round 120.

WFordman02: That's insane.

CKDexter86: So anyway...since you had such a good relationship with Lana, it makes sense that you'd want to remember it.

WFordman02: How is it that you're so calm and rational? I wasn't like that when I was 15. I'm 17, and I'm not like that.

CKDexter86: Well, heh, you can't see what I'm doing over here. I'm turning green and crumpling pieces of paper and thinking, "Die, bitch, die."

WFordman02: Ha. Seriously, you know I've moved on from her, right?

CKDexter86: Sure. If you say so.

WFordman02: I have!

CKDexter86: Sorry, I'm being...sardonic, I guess. There's probably a smiley face of some kind to indicate that, but...whatever, ya know?

WFordman02: Yeah, I'm not crazy about emoticons. They seem a little...I dunno.

CKDexter86: 12-year-old-girly?

WFordman02: That's exactly the word I was looking for.

CKDexter86: Yeah. Just don't say that in front of Pete. He really likes them. He makes up new ones and stuff.

WFordman02: I'll remember that.

CKDexter86: So I told my parents we're...going out? Are we going out?

WFordman02: Yeah. I mean, I haven't taken you to the movies yet, but, yes. We're going out.

CKDexter86: Okay, well, I told them you're my boyfriend.

WFordman02: That's cool. Right? I mean, they were okay with it?

CKDexter86: Yeah, they were. But my dad had a talk with me about The Sex.

WFordman02: Like...gay sex?

CKDexter86: No, sex in general. How I shouldn't be having it.

WFordman02: Well, you know, he's your dad. I was having sex when I was fifteen, and I thought--and still think--that's totally normal and good, but then I try to imagine myself as a parent with a 15-year-old kid. I would totally be, "There's no way you're having sex! Not till you're 21! If then!"

CKDexter86: Heh.

WFordman02: Dude, you gotta help me. I'm going stir-crazy here. I'm not allowed out of my room.

CKDexter86: You're allowed to use the bathroom, aren't you?

WFordman02: Well, there's that. But that's it.

CKDexter86: So keep drinking lots of water, so at least you'll have a change of scenery.

WFordman02: You are so helpful to me in my time of need. Jesus, you won't even have cybersex with me.

CKDexter86: I really, really don't want my mom to walk in and find me jacking off.

WFordman02: Oh all right. Well, who else do you fantasize about, besides Lana? (And me, of course. That's a given.)

CKDexter86: Well, it is mostly you.

WFordman02: Yes, yes, of course. Come on, tell me.

CKDexter86: Um. I kind of like Patrick Stewart.

WFordman02: ...The bald guy?

CKDexter86: All right, fine, I admit it, I watched "Star Trek: The Next Generation" when I was little. What do you want from me? I told you I was a geek very early on.

WFordman02: Yes, I was warned when I entered this relationship.

CKDexter86: It's not like he's just the captain of the Starship Enterprise. He's a respected Shakespearean actor.

WFordman02: Oh, I'm sure.

CKDexter86: He starred in a Broadway production of an Arthur Miller play.

WFordman02: Yes.

CKDexter86: You're laughing at me, aren't you.

WFordman02: Yep.

CKDexter86: ...he has a very sexy voice.

WFordman02: All right.

CKDexter86: Stop laughing.

WFordman02: Okay, stopping...now. ha ha ha. Okay, wait. Stopping now.

CKDexter86: Well, who do you think about?

WFordman02: Well. Ahem. I actually have a little...crush...on coachmizell.

CKDexter86: On Coach Mizell? Are you serious?

WFordman02: I think he has a certain charisma.

CKDexter86: Well, he seems pretty cool, I guess...

WFordman02: And he has, you know. Attractive hands.

CKDexter86: You're a weirdo.

WFordman02: I know.

CKDexter86: What about girls? I like Cameron Diaz.

WFordman02: She's all right. Out of the Charlie's Angels, though, I'd pick Lucy Liu. Cameron Diaz's mouth is kind of scarily big.

CKDexter86: Right, right, all that extra lip. Think what she could do with it.

WFordman02: Heh heh, sometimes I'm worried that I'm corrupting an innocent, and then you go and say stuff like that--Oh shit, I gotta go. I'll see you tomorrow.

CKDexter86: Yeah.

WFordman02: Love you.

Clark stared at the screen. Whitney had signed off. Clark blinked, then closed the window.

"Huh," he said.

He went up to his bedroom.

Pete rubber-cemented a piece of paper to a display board. "So tell me again why is Whitney coming over?"

"'Cause he's gonna help us edit our essay. He's a literature genius."

"So, um..." Pete concentrated on the display board. "What is it with Whitney?"

"How do you mean?" Clark asked, opening a can of soda.

"Well, he's, like, your boyfriend?"

"Uh-huh," Clark said patiently.

"Well, how did that happen?" Pete said. "Because you were really straight before."

"Well..." Clark said. "I guess I've always been bi. But I never really thought about it because of the, you know, Lana...obsession...but then Whitney kissed me, and I was like, whoa."

"So Whitney...made you gay," Pete said. "I mean bi."

Clark rolled his eyes. "No, Pete. You can't make someone gay."

"Well, you weren't before, so--"

"Pete," Clark said. "If a guy kissed you, you would still be straight, right?"

"I certainly hope so," Pete said.

Clark laughed.

"Clark, Whitney's here," Martha called.

"In here, Whitney," Clark called.

Whitney came in, taking off his jacket. "Hey, guys; what's up?"

"I was just explaining to Pete that he wouldn't be turned gay if a guy kissed him."

"That's true," Whitney said. He kissed Pete on top of the head. "See, Pete? You're still totally heterosexual."

Pete blinked. "Clark, your boyfriend just kissed me."

Clark stared at Whitney. "Yeah, I'm having a little trouble with that one too."

Whitney laughed. "Just proving a point." He came over and kissed Clark on top of the head.

"You're crazy," Clark told him.

Pete rubbed his head.

"Let me see what you guys are working on," Whitney said. "The display board's looking really good--I like that layout."

"Thanks," Pete said.

"Oh, dude," Whitney said. "You guys built a little guillotine?"

"Yep," Clark said proudly.

"Does it work?" Whitney said, looking at it closely.

"Yeah, don't..." Clark said. "Don't put your fingers there."

"Okay," Whitney said, backing away.

Pete smirked. "We figured it would be cooler than having Clark knit something."

Clark scowled. "I don't knit," he said.

"Yes, you doooo," Pete sang.

"You knit?" Whitney said.

Clark sighed. "Okay, in second grade, I was out sick from school for a couple of weeks and got really bored, so my mom taught me how to knit so I'd stop ripping up my books and throwing food. I have not. Knitted. Since."

"Well, it's probably one of those things you never forget, Clark," Whitney said.

Clark pushed him.

Pete snickered.

"All right, so let me see this essay," Whitney said.

Clark handed him some papers. "Okay, this is just the rough draft."

"I understand," Whitney said. He sat down. "Can I have a pen?"

"Yeah," Clark said, handing him one.

Clark and Pete looked over Whitney's shoulder as he circled things and drew arrows from one paragraph to another.

"Why are you drawing a map on our essay?" Pete asked.

"Heh," Whitney said. "I'll explain it all to you." He kept reading, nodding, making a few notations, then said, "Okay, this is more a content thing than a stylistic thing. But I think you should say more about the golden thread."

"Say things like...what?" Clark said.

"I'm not telling you," Whitney said. "It's your essay."

"Give us a hint," Pete said.

Whitney smiled and shook his head. "You got a copy of the book?"

"Yeah." Pete handed him one.

"Okayyy..." Whitney said, flipping through it. He scanned the pages. He stuck paperclips on top of some of them. "All right, reread the pages I've marked and...you know. Connect them."

Clark and Pete looked at him doubtfully.

"You don't have to," Whitney said. "I just think it would be a good idea."

"...All right," Clark said, sitting down with the book.

Pete watched Whitney make some more marks on the papers.

"Don't let all the ink I'm putting on here bother you," Whitney said. "It's a good essay."

Pete nodded. "Hey, you were really cool in the game the other night. That last-second shot...that's what sports are about."

Whitney looked up and smiled. "Yeah."

Clark faced his locker as he took off his shirt and put on his jersey.

"You know, I'm not sure I'm entirely comfortable changing in here," one of the guys said.

"Oh, come on, Terry," Bones said. "We all already know you have a tiny dick."

Terry threw a towel at his head.

"I'm serious," Terry said. "I don't want to get undressed if people are going to be...looking at me..."

Whitney shook his head and pulled his shirt off. "Well, I can't speak for anyone else," he said, "but as far as I'm concerned, you have absolutely nothing that would interest me."

A couple of guys snickered.

"Whitney, what the fuck is going on with you?" Terry said.

"I'm getting ready for the game," Whitney said. "I want to win. What about you?"

"Yeah," Terry said. "I want to win. So I want to make sure my teammates have their heads on straight when we get out on the court."

Whitney shrugged. "The way you've been playing, you should probably just worry about your own head, Terry."

"You know, Whitney--" another guy said.

Coach Mizell came in. "Come on, let's go! I want you out there, warming up."

Clark hunched his shoulders as he sat on the bench, tying up his sneakers. Whitney came over and slapped him on the back. "Game time, Kent."

Clark nodded. He stood up, then suddenly sat back down, his vision seeming to rush out and then speed back to him. He shook his head.

"You all right?" Whitney said.

Clark stood up again. "Yeah, yeah. Just...stood up too fast."

"Did you eat a good lunch today?"

"Yeah," Clark said. "I'm fine."

"All right, I didn't want to have to use this time-out," Coach Mizell said. "But I kid you not, if you guys don't start passing to Whitney when he's open, I'm taking you out of the game."

"Coach," one of the guys said. "Which of us can you afford to take out of the game?"

Coach gestured to the bench. "I've got a whole row full of fresh bodies here. Right, Kent? You ready to play?"

Clark looked at him, wide-eyed. "Yeah."

"Yeah, I bet him and Whitney'd play real good out there," one of the guys muttered.

Coach pointed to him. "All right, you're benched. Clark, you're in. And if any of you don't pass to Kent when he's open, I'll take you out too. Got it?"

"Yeah," everyone mumbled.

"Okay, that's the little lesson from this time-out. Give the ball to people who can make baskets. Think you can handle that bit of strategy?"

"Yeah," everyone said.

"All right, let's play as a team," Coach said. "This is a team."

Martha and Jonathan met up with Clark and Whitney after the game.

"Wow, that was exciting," Martha said. "It was really close for a while there."

"Yeah," Whitney said. "But once we got our passing game figured out, we were okay."

"Both of you guys did a great job," Jonathan said. "Really."

"I know; did you see Clark?" Whitney said. "Five points and seven assists."

Clark smiled at his feet and elbowed Whitney. "You had sixteen points."

"Yeah, but I was in the game the whole time," Whitney said. "And I've been playing for three more years than you have."

Clark shrugged and smiled.

Martha found Clark out on the porch, looking up at the night sky.

"Hi, honey," she said.

Clark turned to her and smiled.

"So things are going well with Whitney?" she asked.

Clark nodded, then said, "Well...there are some kids at school who give us a hard time."

Martha nodded sympathetically. "That must be rough."

"Whitney's cool about it, though," Clark said. "Well, once he wasn't, but he is now."

"How do you mean?" Martha asked.

"Well, this guy started calling us names, so Whitney called him on it, instead of letting the guy go past, you know?"

"Mm," Martha said.

"So there was a little bit of a fight," Clark said. He quickly added, "But he doesn't do that anymore."

Martha nodded. "You don't exactly have it easy, kiddo."

"Yeah," Clark said. "But, you know, I've got you guys." He smiled.

Martha smiled back.

"So my vision's been getting weird on me again," Clark said.

"How so?" Martha asked.

"I'm not exactly sure," Clark said. "It's brand new. But it seems like I can see things that are really far away for a second...even if there are walls in front of me, I see through them...and then everything...whooshes back to normal."

"Wow," Martha said. "It doesn't make you feel sick or anything, does it?"

"Just kind of dizzy," Clark said.

"You having any luck trying to control it?" she asked.

"Well, that's what I was just doing," Clark said. "I think I can see the footprints on the moon."

Martha looked up at the moon, then looked at him.

He shrugged.

"Whitney," Clark said. "What happened?"

"Nothin'," Whitney said.

"Well, you've got a black eye, so I kind of think something must have--"

"Heh," Whitney said. "I walked into a door."

"Whitney," Clark said.

"All right," Whitney said. "How much time do we have before school starts?"

Clark glanced at his watch. "Ten minutes."

"Okay, I'm gonna tell you this, but you have to promise not to freak out," Whitney said.

Clark raised his eyebrows. "It's bad enough that I might freak out?"

"No," Whitney said. "It'll just sound bad at the beginning, so you have to hold your reaction to the very end."

"...Okay," Clark said.

"All right," Whitney said. "So last night my dad made a little homophobic remark. The kind of thing I could have just smirked at and then left the room. All right?"

Clark just looked at him.

"But instead I smart-assed him, because that's kind of what I do. So he...you know, punched me in the eye."

"Whitney!" Clark said. "That's...that's abuse."

"Wait a minute," Whitney said. "I'm not done with the story. I tackled him and got him on the ground and held him there, and then we both agreed to leave each other alone. My dad can't beat me up, Clark. I'm bigger than he is, and it's not like he's in his prime anymore."

"No, but, still..." Clark said. "How do you know he's not going to--"

"He's never going to do it again," Whitney said. "I could tell he was really shocked that he actually did it. And I overheard my mom telling him that if he ever hit me again, she would call the police, and he agreed with her."

"Did he...I don't know, apologize to you or anything?" Clark said.

"No, we're pretty much leaving each other alone now," Whitney said.

"Whitney, this is really..." Clark said. "Look, why don't you stay at my house for a while?"

Whitney grinned. "Clark, I'm pretty sure your parents don't want you to have a live-in boyfriend."

Clark rolled his eyes. "I'm not saying they'd let you stay in my bed. But this sounds pretty dangerous--"

"Clark," Whitney said. "I swear to you, no matter what it sounds like, this isn't a movie-of-the-week kind of thing. My dad's just...keeping his distance now. He's managed to find some level of respect for me, even if it's just because of the fact that I can kick his ass."

"Really," Clark said.

"Really," Whitney said. "I wouldn't stay there if it was dangerous. Trust me, all right?"

Clark looked at him.

"All right?" Whitney said.

"Okay," Clark said.

"Okay," Whitney said. "I gotta get to class."

Clark nodded.

"Hey, Clark, you want Twinkies?" Pete said.

"Yeah," Clark said. "What, don't you like 'em anymore?"

"No, they're too sweet," Pete said. "My mom still packs 'em, though."

"Jesus," Clark said, stuffing one in his mouth. "You probably like broccoli now too."

"Broccoli has a good flavor," Pete said.

"Chloe, Pete's getting all sophisticated now," Clark complained.

Chloe looked at him, half a Twinkie hanging out of his mouth. "Well, if you're what we have to compare him to, then, yes, I suppose he is."

Clark rolled his eyes and swallowed. "I like Twinkies."

"So where's your shadow?" Pete said to Chloe.

"You mean Dave?" Chloe said.

"That's the one," Pete nodded.

"He is in a meeting with school administrators talking about the cafeteria food issue," Chloe said.

"What's the issue with the cafeteria food?" Clark asked.

"It sucks," Chloe said.

"It's cafeteria food," Pete said. "It's supposed to suck."

Chloe made a power-to-the-people-type fist. "Dave is a force for change."

Clark smiled. "Okay."

"And where's Whitney?" Pete asked Clark.

"Um, hanging out with his friends, I guess," Clark said.

"You just let him wander around like that?" Pete said.

Clark laughed. "Yeah. He's allowed to have friends."

"I only ask," Pete said, "because most high school girls don't let their boyfriends out of their sight."

"I'm not a girl," Clark said.

"I know," Pete said.

"I don't do that," Chloe said.

"Yeah," Pete said. "But you're special."

"I've decided to take that as a compliment," Chloe said.

"Just as well," Pete said. He shook his head. "I don't understand what's going on here. Suddenly you've got a boyfriend, and Clark's got a boyfriend, and I'm...sittin' here."

"We could probably get you a boyfriend," Chloe said.

Pete made a frustrated noise. "I don't want a boyfriend."

"I know, I'm kidding," Chloe said. "What about Sasha Richardson? From biology. I'm pretty sure she likes you. She flirts with you a lot, and she doesn't do that with other guys."

Pete made a face. "She's a pothead."

Clark looked up, surprised. "She is?"

"Well, not a pothead pothead. But she smokes of the weed," Pete said. "Which, I know, isn't a big deal, it's not like it's a dangerous drug, but...how am I supposed to explain that to my mother?"

"No, I get you," Chloe said. "Hm. We'll get you fixed up, Pete."

"I feel very reassured by your saying that," Pete said.

Clark looked around Whitney's bedroom. "Are you sure your parents aren't coming back soon?"

"Yeah," Whitney said. "My mom's doing her historical society stuff, and that takes all day. And my dad's working all weekend on a big project." He smiled. "So we've got the place to ourselves."

Clark smiled and sat down in the armchair by the window. Whitney knelt in front of him and reached up to kiss him. Clark traced his fingers along Whitney's throat as they kissed.

"Mm, Clark?" Whitney said.

"Yeah?"

"Can I ask you something stupid?"

"...It depends," Clark said.

"Okay, it'll sound stupid, but I wouldn't ask if it didn't mean something to me," Whitney said.

"All right," Clark said cautiously.

Whitney kissed him again. "Will you put on my letter jacket?"

Clark blinked. "Why?"

"'Cause it'd turn me on," Whitney said.

"But...I'm getting my own letter jacket soon," Clark said.

"I know," Whitney said. "But if you put mine on now, you'd be wearing my jacket. Get it?"

"Hm," Clark said.

"Oh come on," Whitney said, kissing him. "You want to humor me, don't you? Don't you?"

Clark laughed. "Okay."

Whitney grinned at him. He got his jacket off the bed and brought it over. Clark shook his head, and started to put it on.

"Wait," Whitney said. "Take your shirt off first."

Clark paused. "Whitney..."

"Please?" Whitney said.

Clark glanced around. "There aren't any hidden cameras or anything around, right?"

"I promise," Whitney said.

"...All right," Clark said.

He smiled self-consciously as he put on Whitney's jacket.

Whitney kissed him, long and slow. "You are so sexy," he said.

Clark laughed a little.

"You really are," Whitney said. "Here," he said, undoing Clark's fly.

Clark watched him and trailed his hand down his chest.

Whitney quickly took off Clark's shoes and socks and pulled Clark's jeans off. Clark sighed, touching Whitney's cheek with the back of his hand. Whitney began to jack him through his boxers.

"Clark?" he asked.

"Uh, yeah," Clark said.

"Do you ever wear boxer-briefs?"

"...No, I don't have any," Clark said.

"I think they'd look really good on you," Whitney said. "Because they'd just kind of...cling...in the right places..."

"Well, I could..." Clark said. "I could get some."

"Mm," Whitney said, kissing Clark's belly. "I'll get you some."

"I can buy my own underwear," Clark said.

"But this way," Whitney said against his skin, "if I buy them, then it's a present."

"...Okay," Clark said.

Whitney released his hold on Clark's cock and stood up. "C'mere."

Clark, looking doubtful, got up.

Whitney led him over near his closet. He opened it, revealing a full-length mirror on the inside of the door. He pulled Clark against his body, his arms around him. "Look at you," he whispered into Clark's ear.

Clark lowered his head and sighed as Whitney mouthed kisses along his neck. Whitney's hands slipped under the jacket and skimmed along his sides. Clark moaned quietly as Whitney found a nipple and pinched it lightly. He arched into it.

"Harder," Clark whispered.

Whitney bit the base of his neck lightly as he twisted the nub.

"Clark..." Whitney murmured against Clark's throat.

"Mm," Clark said, his eyes closed.

"Will you do me another favor?"

Clark laughed quietly. "Does it involve lipstick or eyeliner? Because if it does, the answer's no."

Whitney smiled, reaching down to fondle Clark through his boxers.

Clark twitched.

"No," Whitney said. "It's just...I have boxer-briefs. Would you put them on?"

Clark cleared his throat. "You want me to take off my underwear...and then put another pair on?"

Whitney nodded, still stroking his dick.

"I didn't know you had all these fetishes," Clark said.

"Most people have at least a couple," Whitney said and licked the back of Clark's neck. "Don't you?"

"Nah," Clark said. "I think I'm too inexperienced for fetishes. Everything is already kinky just because it's new. I'm like, 'Wow, a handjob! Ooh, nipples!'"

Whitney laughed. "So...will you?"

"Um..." Clark said. He shook his head. "Oh what the hell."

Whitney turned Clark's head sideways and leaned in so he could kiss Clark on the lips. "Thanks," he said. "Just a second."

Clark stood there and glanced at himself in the mirror before looking away. Whitney opened his dresser and got out a pair of shorts.

"Here," Whitney said.

Clark looked at them doubtfully, shrugged, and quickly changed.

"Okay, look," Whitney said, turning Clark so the mirror showed his profile. "Look how you can see this...curve here," he said, cupping Clark's ass through the thin cotton.

Clark cleared his throat. "Um, Whitney," he said. "Looking at my body doesn't make me all that hot."

"Mm," Whitney said. He kissed Clark. "But it makes me really hot; is that okay?"

Clark nodded.

"Good," Whitney said quietly, still standing behind Clark, moving the collar of the jacket aside to press small kisses along the top of his shoulder.

Clark leaned back against him.

Whitney turned his head toward Clark's ear and whispered, "Can you feel how hard I am?"

Clark nodded, pressing back harder.

Whitney trailed his hand down Clark's chest, stopping at his belly and rubbing there. It fluttered under his hand.

Whitney, breathing a little more heavily, moved his hand further down to cup Clark's balls through the shorts.

Clark sighed and tilted his head back, resting it on Whitney's shoulder.

Whitney moved his hand up a little and slowly, slowly caressed the hard length of Clark's cock.

Clark turned his head, kissing Whitney messily.

He froze when he heard a woman's voice call, "Hi, Whitney!"

"It's okay; just a second," Whitney whispered. "Hi, Mom," he called.

He continued to move his thumb minutely against Clark's cock. Clark stared at the floor.

"I'm just here for a second; I forgot some photographs I was supposed to bring," Mrs. Fordman called.

"All right," Whitney called.

After a moment, she called, "All right, see you tonight. There are leftovers in the fridge."

"Okay. Bye," Whitney called.

They heard the door close.

Clark let out a long breath.

"See, it's all right," Whitney said.

Clark turned in his arms and rested his forehead against Whitney's.

"It's okay; it's just us," Whitney whispered.

Clark nodded and kissed Whitney's temple.

Whitney held him close, slowly bringing his fingers up and down Clark's back under the jacket. Clark shivered. He surged forward when Whitney trailed his hand down to his ass and squeezed.

Whitney fisted one hand in the jacket, holding Clark in place as he kissed him, their mouths making soft, obscene noises as they met. He gave Clark's ass a final squeeze, then placed his hand between them, stroking Clark's cock again, harder this time.

Whitney nodded to the mirror. "See what you look like," he whispered.

Clark glanced over, his mouth open, then turned his head back and watched Whitney's hand, moving faster now.

Whitney leaned in closer. "Clark," he said. "Clark, honey. Don't bite your lip."

Clark blinked and brought his fingers up to his lower lip.

"You're bleeding," Whitney said.

Clark stared at the blood on his fingertips.

"Are you okay?" Whitney asked.

Clark nodded, and licked his fingers, then his lip. He groaned. "Don't stop..."

"I won't..." Whitney breathed, wrapping his hand around Clark's cock as best he could.

Clark gasped and furrowed his brow.

"Don't bite your lip," Whitney whispered.

"Sorry," Clark said, licking his lip again.

"Do you want me to touch you like..." Whitney repositioned his thumb. "...Is this better?"

Clark bucked into his hand. "Yes," he moaned. "Oh God..." He twined his arms behind Whitney's neck and grunted quietly. "Faster..." he said.

Whitney worked his hand more quickly. When he reached under the jacket with his other hand to scratch the small of Clark's back, Clark shivered and buried his face against Whitney's throat.

Whitney gently released his cock and put his arms around him. He kissed Clark's cheek, then his neck.

"Do you mind if I lay down?" Clark mumbled.

Whitney gently bit his earlobe. "You mean 'lie down.'"

Clark nodded. "Right, I knew that."

Whitney kissed the corner of his mouth, avoiding his bruised lower lip. "Come on."

He pushed Clark onto the bed and lay on top of him, propping himself up with his arms.

Clark blinked, then smiled at him. "Take your shirt off."

Whitney did, then lowered himself against Clark's body.

Clark kissed him slowly, his hands roaming over his back. Whitney trembled a little.

Clark kissed him once more, then pushed him back a little so he could look at his eyes. "I want you to fuck me," he said.

Whitney stared at him. "You do?"

"Yeah," Clark said. He kissed him again, sliding his tongue into Whitney's mouth.

Whitney broke away, breathing heavily. "You're sure? Because it's not like you owe me or something--"

"Stop asking me," Clark smiled. "You like it well enough, right?"

"Yeah," Whitney nodded. "Yeah."

He got up and starting taking off the rest of his clothes. Clark sat up a little, leaning against the pillow, watching him. He glanced down at his own body and quickly took off the boxer-briefs. He looked back up at Whitney, who was staring at him. He smiled and spread his legs a little.

Whitney took a deep breath, then went over to his backpack and started rummaging through it. Clark closed his eyes, laying his hand flat across his chest, moving it to play with a nipple.

He opened his eyes when Whitney knelt next to him. He bent one of his legs, and Whitney cupped the back of his thigh.

"This'll feel strange at first," Whitney whispered.

Clark nodded. "Okay," he said absently.

Whitney pressed a slick finger against Clark's hole. Clark sighed and spread his legs further.

As he started to push his finger in, Whitney muttered, "Fuck, Clark, you're so tight."

"Sorry," Clark said, "I'll try to...relax or something."

"Just let it happen," Whitney murmured.

Clark nodded, then tipped his head back, breathing evenly.

"There you go," Whitney said, moving his finger inside him.

"Mm," Clark said. "That's...that feels good."

"Good," Whitney said, brushing his lips over Clark's.

Clark twitched. "Oh my God." He bunched the blanket in his fist. "Is that what everyone talks about?"

Whitney smiled. "Yeah," he said, moving his finger there again.

"God," Clark said, panting. "Why do people ever stop having sex?"

Whitney smiled. "Gotta eat."

"I would...give up food for this," Clark said, his toes curling. "Use more fingers," he said.

Whitney started to slip another one in.

Clark tilted his hips up. "No, more."

Whitney raised his eyebrows, and cautiously moved three fingers inside him. Clark turned his head to the side and groaned.

"Harder," he whispered.

Whitney held Clark's hip with his free hand and moved his fingers a little more forcefully. "You'll tell me if I'm hurting you, right?" he asked.

Clark groaned again. "You won't," he said. "You won't hurt me."

"Just say you'll tell me," Whitney said, stilling his fingers.

"I'll tell you," Clark said quickly, raking his hand over his chest.

"Okay," Whitney said, moving his hand again. "Clark," he whispered. "Clark."

Clark opened his eyes. "Hm?"

"Don't bite your lip, okay?"

Clark blinked, then nodded. "Oh, yeah. Yeah. Sorry."

He moaned when Whitney twisted his fingers in a particular way. After he'd caught his breath, he looked at Whitney's hard cock and said, "Aren't you kind of...wanting to get going?"

Whitney smiled. "My frustration has taken me to a whole new plane."

"Well, come on," Clark said.

Whitney nodded and shakily opened the condom foil.

"I'll do it," Clark whispered, quickly smoothing the condom over Whitney's dick.

Whitney positioned himself between Clark's legs and looked down at him. "You sure you want to do it this way?" he asked.

"Yeah," Clark said. "Come on."

Whitney closed his eyes and groaned as he pushed in.

Clark gasped.

Whitney looked at him anxiously. "Does it hurt?"

Clark silently shook his head, his mouth falling open a little.

"Okay," Whitney said. "Okay." He started to move. "Oh God, Clark..."

Clark pushed himself up, meeting Whitney's thrusts. He moaned a little. "Whitney..." He drew the name out. "Why didn't you make me do this before?"

"I can't..." Whitney said, dropping his head as he moved against him. "I can't think of any good reasons right now."

He pressed a kiss to Clark's neck, his cheek brushing against the collar of the jacket.

"Right there," Clark said.

Whitney kissed that spot again, then sucked.

"More..." Clark said breathily. "Harder."

Whitney glanced up from Clark's neck to look at his face.

Clark twisted under him. "Use your teeth," he said.

Whitney looked at him a second longer, then bent his head and lightly scraped his teeth against Clark's skin.

Clark groaned and held Whitney's head in place. "More, bite down..."

Whitney did, gently, then pressed his lips there.

Clark shifted under him, bucking up. He grabbed Whitney's ass, making Whitney drive into him harder.

Whitney gasped. "Clark, what do you--"

"Come on..." Clark said.

Whitney began to move more quickly.

"Yes, like that..." Clark said, his voice hitching as Whitney thrust into him.

Whitney slammed into him, hard.

Clark cried out. "Yes..."

Whitney paused. "Jesus, I'm sorry, Clark, I didn't mean to--"

Clark made a frustrated noise and wrapped his legs around Whitney's waist.

"You...you want it like that?" Whitney said.

Clark nodded, breathing hard.

Whitney's brow furrowed as he drove into Clark with more force.

Clark arched up and came, moaning.

"Clark, this is..." Whitney slipped out briefly, as he tried to fuck him harder. "I don't know if I can do that this way."

Clark nodded, pushed Whitney off, and turned over, raising himself up on his knees.

Whitney squeezed Clark's ass, then ran his hands under the jacket to stroke Clark's sides.

Clark whined softly and pushed himself back. Whitney leaned forward and kissed Clark's nape. He closed his eyes and shoved himself inside Clark.

"Oh God..." Clark whispered. "Yes."

Whitney grabbed Clark's shoulder for leverage and rammed in again and again, hard and fast.

"Clark..." he gasped. "How is this not hurting you?"

Clark, his head resting on his folded arms, mumbled, "It doesn't hurt, it's so good, please..."

Whitney groaned and kept up the movement, his hips slamming against Clark. He took a deep breath and reached around Clark's body, feeling for Clark's cock.

"God, you're still hard..." he muttered.

"Yeah..." Clark said in a choked voice. He grunted, moving his body back against Whitney's cock and forward into his hand.

Whitney's grip on Clark tightened, and he cried out as he came. He dropped his head to rest against Clark's back.

Clark made a small noise.

Whitney slowly got up and disposed of the condom. Clark turned over and stared at him, moving his hips slowly.

"Jesus," Whitney said, looking at Clark's cock, sticky and hard.

Clark reached down and touched himself, his breathing unsteady. "Please..." he whispered.

Whitney moved down between Clark's legs, kissing his inner thigh. Clark's legs trembled. Whitney leaned in and swiped his tongue over the strip of flesh behind Clark's balls.

"Fuck," Clark said.

Whitney kissed him there, then shifted, lifting Clark's legs to rest on top of his shoulders. He teased his tongue against Clark's hole. Clark whimpered. When Whitney pushed his tongue inside, Clark gasped several times and whispered Whitney's name.

Whitney pulled back slightly and began to trace his tongue around the edges of the hole. Clark slammed a fist against the mattress.

Whitney kept it up for a while, moving his tongue leisurely, as Clark moaned and got slick with sweat. Finally, he dipped inside Clark again, fucking him with his tongue.

Clark's entire body stiffened, and Whitney pulled away to watch Clark shoot against his chest.

Whitney moved back up and took Clark in his arms. Clark shivered. Whitney kissed his forehead. "Do you want to take the jacket off now?" he murmured.

Clark shook his head.

Whitney kissed his temple, then tilted his head to get a better look at Clark's face. His eyes were closed, a tear trickling down his cheek.

"Oh, Clark," Whitney said, kissing him there. "Clark, it's okay. Did I hurt you?"

"No," Clark said. "No."

"Okay," Whitney said, kissing him again. He waited a moment, stroking Clark's hair. "Do you want me to get you something to drink?"

Clark shook his head. "Stay."

"All right," Whitney whispered.

In a little while, Clark stirred. He sat up and took the jacket off. "Sorry," he said. "It's kind of...damp now."

Whitney smiled. "'S all right."

Clark lay back down, resting his head on Whitney's shoulder.

"You know, this reminds me of a joke," Whitney said.

Clark smirked. "What kind of joke would that be?"

"All right," Whitney says. "A young woman walks into the doctor's office to get a physical. The doctor says, 'All right, if you would disrobe and hop up on the table...' So the girl gets undressed, and as the doctor's taking out the stethoscope he stares at the girl and says, 'I'm sorry, but why is there a giant A imprinted on your chest?' The girl blushes a little and says, 'Oh, well, my boyfriend goes to the University of Arkansas, and he likes to wear his letter jacket while we're having sex.' So the doctor shrugs, says, 'Whatever wets your whistle...' and finishes the exam."

Clark snickered.

Whitney went on. "The next day, another girl comes in for a physical. When she gets undressed and gets up on the table, the doctor stares at her and says, 'Okay, why is there a giant I imprinted on your chest?' And the girl smiles sheepishly and says, 'Well, my boyfriend goes to the University of Iowa, and he likes to wear his letter jacket when we're having sex.' Doctor shrugs, mutters, 'Whatever floats your boat...' and finishes the exam.

"The next day, another girl comes in for her physical. When she takes her shirt off, the doctor looks at the giant M on her chest and says, 'Let me guess; your boyfriend goes to Metropolis University and likes to wear his letter jacket while you're having sex.' The girl blinks and says, 'Actually, my girlfriend goes to the University of Wisconsin.'"

After a moment, Clark laughed. "Heh," he said. "That's funny."

Whitney grinned. "I always like the little pause that follows that joke."

Clark stretched. "You know, we haven't tried that."

"You mean..." Whitney said. "Like, a sixty-nine-type thing?"

"Yeah," Clark said. "We should."

Whitney kissed him. "I agree."

"Not now, though," Clark said yawning.

"Right," Whitney smiled.

"How much time before your parents come home?" Clark asked.

"Hours," Whitney said. "You can sleep."

"Are you sure?" Clark asked.

"Yeah," Whitney said. "It's fine."

"Okay," Clark said, settling against the pillow, draping his arm over Whitney's chest.

Clark sat straight up. "Oh God," he said.

Whitney roused from his light doze. "What?" he said. "Clark?"

"We should go," Clark said.

"It's okay," Whitney said. "We still have lots of time."

Clark shook his head and looked down, his eyes glistening.

"Hey," Whitney said gently, touching his cheek. "What did you dream about?"

"Your...your dad came home and found us here, and he grabbed you and started hitting you, and he wouldn't stop, and I couldn't do anything, and you were lying on the floor and he kicked you and you wouldn't move, and I tried to call for help, but my mouth was bleeding..."

"Shh, shh," Whitney said, embracing him. "Clark, that would never happen, okay? My dad's an asshole, but he's not violent."

"He already hit you once, Whitney!" Clark said.

"Yeah, but I asked for it," Whitney said.

Clark shook his head. "Nobody asks for that, Whitney, it doesn't matter if you were being a smart-ass--"

"No, I literally asked for it," Whitney said. "I dared him to do it. I got in his face and sort of said, 'Hey, Dad, c'mon, hit me. Why don't you hit me, huh? Don't you want to? Are you scared? I dare you to hit me.' And I, um. Kind of called him a pussy."

Clark blinked. "You called your dad a pussy?"

Whitney nodded.

"Jesus, Whitney," Clark said.

"I know," Whitney said.

"Have you ever heard a saying that goes something like, 'Don't go borrowing trouble?'" Clark asked.

"Um, yeah," Whitney said. "Listen, I'm really sorry I worried you with all that. Really, my dad and I just leave each other alone now."

Clark slowly nodded. "Okay."

Whitney kissed him. "You still want to get out of here?"

"Yeah," Clark said.

"All right," Whitney said. "We should take a shower first, though."

Clark raised his eyebrows.

"What?" Whitney said. "Just an innocent shower."

Clark smiled.

Jonathan started to outline the chores he wanted Clark to do. He squinted and interrupted himself, asking, "Clark, did something happen to your lip?"

"No," Clark said.

"It looks swollen," Jonathan said. "You haven't been injured in years--are you sure nothing happened?"

"I accidentally bit it," Clark said.

"So you can...injure yourself?" Jonathan said.

"Apparently," Clark said.

"What happened?" Jonathan asked.

"I don't want to talk about it," Clark said.

"This is a big deal, Clark; it's been so longer since you've had any kind of injury, we have to know what--"

Clark let out a frustrated sigh. "I was jacking off and I bit my lip, okay? The next time I say I don't want to talk about it, can we not talk about it?"

"...Yeah," Jonathan said. He cleared his throat. "Yeah."

Whitney leaned against the wall, nodding at a story Trevor was telling. He glanced across the room at Clark. When Clark met his eyes, he quickly looked away and laughed at what Trevor had said.

After a couple of minutes, Clark walked up to join them.

"Hi," Trevor said.

"Hey," Clark smiled.

"Hi," Whitney said. "...So you were just talking to Lana for a little while there."

Trevor cleared his throat. "Excuse me, I..." He held up his cup. "Need a refill."

Trevor left them alone.

"Yeah, I was talking to Lana," Clark said.

"That's nice," Whitney said.

"Yeah," Clark said. "She's a nice girl."

"Yes she is," Whitney said. "And she's my ex-girlfriend. And you're my boyfriend. And you have a crush on her. And it doesn't bother me at all that you were talking to her."

"Good," Clark said. He smiled.

"So..." Whitney said. "What'd you talk about?"

Clark laughed. "Whitney, we were just talking about her horse-riding competitions. Nothing sexual whatsoever."

"You don't think there's anything sexual about horse riding?" Whitney said. "With all the leather accessories, and the riding crop, and the bouncing up and down with your feet in stirrups?"

Clark rolled his eyes. "Okay, if you have a sick and twisted mind, there's something sexual about horse riding. But that's not what Lana and I were talking about."

"Okay," Whitney said.

"It was a completely chaste conversation," Clark said.

"Okay," Whitney nodded.

"Oh, we also talked about you," Clark said.

"What?" Whitney said.

"Yep," Clark said.

"Well...what did you talk about?"

Clark grinned. "Lana said you're sweeeet."

Whitney shook his head. "I'm serious, man. What were you talking about?"

"That's all," Clark said. "Just that you're sweeeet."

"Hm," Whitney said.

Clark snickered.

"You won't think I'm sweet when I beat your ass," Whitney muttered, giving Clark a noogie.

Clark laughed.

Whitney walked into the living room and grinned. "Mrs. Kent," he whispered loudly. "You have to come see this."

Martha smiled, a little confused, as she came in. "What?" she said.

"Shh," Whitney said. "He's asleep."

Clark was, stretched out on his back on the couch, his mouth slightly open, his chest rising and falling steadily.

"I mean, he's cute to begin with, right?" Whitney whispered. "But...with that kitten asleep on his chest...Heh heh. He's so adorable he's the kind of thing Hallmark cards are made of."

Martha chuckled. "It's pretty cute."

"You have to take a picture," Whitney whispered. "You know, so you can take it out when you have grandchildren and embarrass him."

Martha smiled. "I'll go get my camera."

Whitney stood near the end of the couch, his hand over his mouth as he laughed silently.

Martha came back in. "All right," she whispered. She snapped a picture.

Clark murmured something indistinguishable.

"Okay," Whitney whispered. "Take another one, angled from down...here, so you can have his giant feet framing his face."

Martha laughed quietly. "You are terrible, Whitney."

Whitney nodded. "He's lucky to have me, isn't he?"

Martha took another picture. "Okay," she said. "I'll let you know when these get developed."

Whitney grinned. "Great."

"Have fun," she said, and went back to the kitchen.

Whitney went and sat on the edge of the couch. He stroked Clark's face.

Clark stirred a little, then blinked a couple of times. "Hi," he said a little rustily.

Whitney smiled. "Sleeping Beauty awakens."

"Don't call me that," Clark said, sitting up a little, patting down his hair.

"Oh man, you were so cute," Whitney said.

"No, I wasn't," Clark said, picking up the kitten and holding her close.

"You were," Whitney said. "Your mom took pictures."

"What?" Clark said.

Whitney nodded.

"You've got my mother ganging up against me now?" Clark said.

"A little bit," Whitney said.

"Oh my God," Clark said.

"So what's with the kitten?" Whitney asked.

Clark smiled. "She's new."

"What's her name?" Whitney asked.

"I don't know yet," Clark said.

"Hey," Whitney said. "You could name her Dexter."

Clark wrinkled his nose. "No way."

"Well, you could name her after the Jimmy Stewart character. Macaulay."

Clark scratched the kitten's head. "So you've seen Philadelphia Story?"

"Yeah," Whitney said. "I watched it with my mom."

"That's cool. Okay, her name is Macaulay," Clark said.

"'I'm "Mike" to my friends,'" Whitney said, doing a credible Jimmy Stewart.

"'Of whom you have many, I'm sure,'" Clark returned.

"Dude, your Katherine Hepburn impression sucks," Whitney said.

Clark shrugged. "You know what, that doesn't bother me at all."

Whitney laughed.

"So we gonna watch this movie?" he asked.

"Yeah," Clark said.

Whitney threw a piece of popcorn at Clark's head.

Clark stared at him, then at the popcorn, which had fallen onto the couch. He shook his head and picked it up, putting it in his mouth.

"'Precious bodily fluids,'" Whitney said. "That's pretty funny."

"I know," Clark said, throwing a piece of popcorn at Whitney's mouth.

Whitney caught it.

"You know what's really funny about this is," Whitney said, "remember a few years ago when they were deciding whether or not to fluoridate the water, and there was that whole committee up in arms, all scared it would cause brain damage or something?"

"Yeah, I know," Clark said. "And all it does is make your teeth stronger."

"Well, and besides that," Whitney said. "Can you believe actually worrying about something like that in Smallville? I mean, we've got radioactive meteorites scattered all over town."

Clark looked down. "Yeah," he said.

Whitney tapped his knee. "You okay?"

Clark looked up and smiled. "Yeah."

"All right, then," Whitney said, settling against the cushion. "Clark," he said, aiming a piece of popcorn at his mouth.

Clark caught it.

After a while, Whitney said, "So, wait a minute, this guy's playing three characters?"

"Yeah," Clark said.

"Wow," Whitney said. "It's like Mike Meyers in The Spy Who Shagged Me."

"No," Clark said. "Mike Meyers is like Peter Sellers."

Whitney smiled. "Okay." He suddenly started laughing. "Oh, man. I just thought of something."

"What?" Clark said.

"Oh, man," Whitney said. "Lex Luthor is Dr. Evil."

Clark's mouth twisted as he tried not to laugh. Then he broke up, saying, "Wait wait, you remember that part in the movie where Dr. Evil owns Starbucks, and he's drinking a cappuccino or something, and he gets the foam mustache?"

"Yeah," Whitney said.

"Okay, this one time at the Beanery," Clark said, "Lex got served something with, like, whipped cream or something on top, and when he tried to drink from it, it got all over his nose and mouth. And I didn't realize at the time, but he was totally Dr. Evil."

Whitney snorted. "That's really funny."

Clark laughed. "I'm never going to be able to look at him again without thinking, 'Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I give you...ex-zip-it! A.'"

Whitney glanced from side to side. "Clark," he whispered. "He probably knows we're talking about him. He's probably got the whole town bugged."

Clark shrugged. "Well, I'm sure he won't do anything to me. I, you know, saved his life and everything. You, on the other hand," he said, "are screwed."

"He's probably sitting in his lair," Whitney said, grabbing Mike by the scruff of the neck, settling her in his arms and petting her with lavish gestures, "stroking his bald cat, saying, 'These plebeians displease me. Send out the sharks with fricken laser beams.'"

Clark snickered.

"It'd be nice to be that rich, don't you think?" Whitney said.

"Yeah, I wouldn't mind," Clark said.

"If I were that rich..." Whitney said. "I would make you my houseboy."

"Wait a minute," Clark said. "Why would I be the houseboy?"

"Because I'm older," Whitney said. "Everyone knows you can't have a houseboy who's older than you."

Clark rolled his eyes. "Well, yeah, after you reach a certain age, probably. But that's not true when you're a teenager."

"No, it's true," Whitney said contentedly. "I'd make you serve me peeled grapes."

Clark thought a moment. "What's wrong with unpeeled grapes, anyway?"

Whitney shrugged. "I don't know. I have never had any problems with grape peels."

"You'd be my houseboy," Clark said. "I'd make you walk on my back."

Whitney looked at him. "You'd like that? I'm kind of heavy."

"No, I'd like it," Clark said.

"Huh," Whitney said. "Making a mental note."

Whitney glanced over at the TV set, then leaned in toward Clark. "You don't mind if I distract you from the movie a little bit, do you?"

Clark shook his head.

"Okay," Whitney smiled.

He held Clark's head as he kissed him softly. Clark shifted, turning to face Whitney more. He slipped his hand under Whitney's shirt.

They stopped when they heard Jonathan clearing his throat loudly in the next room. "I'm going into the room where Clark and Whitney are," he called. "I'm going to walk right in there."

Clark and Whitney smirked and moved away from each other.

"We're not doing anything, Dad," Clark called.

"All right, then," Jonathan said, walking in, a book in his hand.

"What's the book?" Whitney asked.

Jonathan looked down at it. "Pale Fire," he said.

"Oh, how are you liking it?" Whitney asked.

"It has a lot of footnotes," Jonathan said.

Whitney smiled. "Yeah."

"So Clark," Jonathan said. "Your mother wants to know if you guys want some pie."

"Yeah, I want some pie," Clark said in a Cartman voice. "Cake and pie and ice cream."

Whitney snickered.

"Clark," Jonathan said. "I told you could watch South Park as long as you didn't do those impressions."

"But Daaaaaad..." Clark said, his voice high and nasal.

"It's obnoxious," Jonathan said.

"Dad," Clark said in his normal voice. "I'm fifteen. You can't tell me I can't watch a TV show."

"You will respect my authori-tie!" Jonathan declared.

Whitney cracked up.

"Pie's in the kitchen," Jonathan said as he left.

Whitney turned to Clark. "Dude, your parents are so cool."

Clark shook his head. "They're showing off for you. They're not like that when they're setting curfew."

Whitney shrugged.

"Wait a minute, Clark," Martha said. "If you're bringing the cat into the kitchen, she has to stay on the floor."

Clark looked at the kitten in his arms. "Poor little Mike." He set her down.

Whitney closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. "Mmm," he said. "Pie."

Martha smiled and put two plates on the table. "Here you go, guys."

Whitney sat down. "Thank you."

Clark lay down on the floor, on his stomach, nose to nose with the kitten.

"Clark, man," Whitney said. "Pie's up here."

"I'm communing with Mikey," Clark said.

Whitney shook his head, then took a bite of his pie. "Oh, wow. This is really good," he said to Martha. "Do you think you could teach me to make it some day?"

"Sure," Martha said. "Do you spend a lot of the time in the kitchen?"

"No," Whitney said. "I actually don't cook at all. But I figure, I'm gonna be moving out of my parents' house relatively soon, so I should learn how to do the basics. And I'd say pie is one of the basics."

Martha smiled.

"Hey, Clark," Whitney said, addressing the floor. "Do you make pie?"

"No," Clark said, staring into the kitten's eyes.

"I heard you make brownies," Whitney said.

"I made brownies one time," Clark said. "It's not a habitual thing."

"So you're not going to make me brownies?" Whitney asked.

"Nope," Clark said.

Whitney smiled and said, "Clark, if you don't get up here, I'm going to eat your pie."

"Okay," Clark said, scratching under the kitten's chin. After a moment he got up and sat at the table.

Clark took a bite and said, "Mm, Mom, this is good."

Whitney whispered to him across the table, "You shouldn't talk with your mouth full."

"Thank you, Whitney," Martha said.

Clark kicked him under the table.

"I have to tell you something cool," Whitney said as he stopped at a red light.

"What?" Clark said.

"Okay, my uncle just made a lot of money on the stock market. So he decided to give all his nieces and nephews a monetary gift. Now, I have to invest almost all of it. But. I do have a little bit that I can use just for fun. So...I thought I'd take you to Brio's."

Clark raised his eyebrows. "Brio's?" he said. "An appetizer there costs more than a normal dinner someplace else."

"Yeah, but I've come into some money that I can spend any way I want," Whitney said. "And I think it would be nice to take you out to dinner."

"Yeah, but we could...I don't know, go to a game in Metropolis or something," Clark said.

"I know," Whitney said. "But I want to see you dressed up for dinner."

Clark tilted his head back and sighed. "You and your fetishes. I would have to get dressed up, wouldn't I. Like, in a suit and tie."

"You don't have to wear a tie," Whitney said. "A jacket, yes, but not a tie."

"I assume that in exchange for this expensive dinner," Clark said, "I'd be expected to put out."

"Yeah," Whitney said.

"All right, then," Clark said.

"Mom," Clark called. "How does this iron work?"

Martha came in. "You know, it's about time you asked that question. What's the cause of this new-found interest in responsibility?"

Clark fiddled with the dress shirt he'd laid out on the ironing board. "Whitney's taking me to Brio's."

"My goodness," Martha said. "Is this a special occasion?"

"No," Clark said. "He just wanted to take me out."

"Well, I think that's very nice," Martha said. She took the iron from him. "Here, let me show you the setting you want."

Jonathan glanced up from the newspaper in front of him to the ceiling. "What do you think he's doing up there?"

"He's getting ready for his date, Jonathan," Martha said.

"Yeah, but it's taking him an awfully long time," Jonathan said.

"I'm sure he wants to look good," Martha said.

Jonathan squinted. "You don't think he's putting on make-up, do you?"

Martha gave him a strange look. "Of course not."

"Well, I don't take any time to get ready. And the reason why you take so long to get ready is the make-up thing, so I don't know what else..." Jonathan said.

Martha stood up. "I'm going to go check on him. That'll give you some time to figure out how to backpedal from that remark."

"Wait, what'd I say?" Jonathan said.

"Give it a little thought," Martha called from the stairs.

She tapped on the open bathroom door, where Clark was standing in front of the sink.

"Clark Kent," she said. "Are you...are you brushing your teeth with bleach?"

Clark rinsed and spat. "Yeah."

"...That's very strange," she said.

Clark smiled brilliantly, inspecting his teeth in the mirror. "I want to look nice. I'm going to a very nice restaurant."

Jonathan came up. "What's the hold-up?" he asked.

"Clark was brushing his teeth with bleach," Martha said.

Jonathan laughed. "Well, I hope you weren't expecting to kiss anyone tonight. You're going to taste like chlorine."

"No, I've got it figured out," Clark said. He reached into his pocket and took out a roll of wintergreen Lifesavers. He popped a couple in his mouth and crunched down. "Did you know that if you chew these, they glow in the dark?"

"Your teeth probably glow in the dark, dear," Martha said.

Clark laughed, still crunching.

"Okay," Clark said. He went into his bedroom to get his jacket.

Jonathan turned to Martha. "You know, honey, you have such natural beauty that I don't think of you as needing make-up. But when you do wear it for special occasions, I of course enjoy waiting, because the anticipation of seeing you, um...glamorous and, um...Help me out here."

Martha laughed. "That's good enough, Jonathan. I appreciate the effort."

Clark came back out and turned his head, touching his hair on the sides and in the back. "Do I look okay?" he asked.

"You look very handsome," Martha said.

Clark nodded. "Okay," he said. He smiled nervously.

As they sat down at the table, Clark whispered, "Do you think that maitre d' was giving us a strange look?"

Whitney nodded. "Yes, I do," he said. "He's jealous of you for arriving with such a stunning specimen of manhood as me."

Clark smirked. "Oh, that's what that look was."

"You should get used to seeing it, Clark," Whitney said. "I think it'll be happening a lot."

Clark smiled and opened the menu. "Okay, I think this thing is designed to make me feel like a total rube."

"No, don't worry about it," Whitney said. "See, they've got little explanations next to the Italian names."

"Right, but I'm going to have to pronounce things to order..." Clark said.

"Nah," Whitney said. "You can just point to the menu. As long as you don't mind the waiter condescendingly reading your choice, like he was double-checking on what you wanted, when really he just wants to prove that he can say it, since he was probably forced to learn it by knifepoint."

Clark blinked, then nodded. "I can handle that."

Whitney leaned forward and said, "Just be glad we can't order wine. That is when the waiters will lord it over you."

"You're not going to order a glass of milk, are you?" Clark asked.

Whitney smiled. "No."

"So, um..." Clark looked at the appetizers. "Do you want to get some...bruscetta?"

"Sure," Whitney said. "Hm, I think we should get the beef carpaccio, too."

Clark glanced up at him. "That's...raw beef?"

Whitney nodded.

"Okay," Clark said. "I can eat raw beef. I am a red-blooded American male. Here in a fancy restaurant with my boyfriend."

Whitney grinned.

They were well into their entrees when Whitney rolled his eyes.

"What?" Clark asked.

"Lex Luthor's here."

Clark blinked and whispered, "Do you think he's stalking me?"

Whitney smiled. "He very well could be, you know--ooh, he's coming over."

Clark closed his eyes, then opened them slowly.

Lex walked over with a beautiful young woman on his arm. "Hello, Clark," he said. He nodded to Whitney. "Whitney. I'm surprised to see you here."

Clark nodded and smiled. "Hi, Lex."

"This is a friend from London, Elisabeth Mathey," Lex said.

Clark and Whitney stood up.

Clark shook her hand and smiled. "Nice to meet you."

"Elisabeth, this is Clark Kent," Lex said. "He saved my life."

Elisabeth raised her eyebrows and smiled. "Well, I suppose we all owe you a debt of gratitude, Clark."

"And this young man is Whitney," Lex said. "He plays ball at Smallville High School."

Whitney smiled and shook her hand. "Ah, Whitney Fordman, actually," he said in a posh British accent. "Clark saved my life too."

Elisabeth tilted her head. "My my."

"I...also play ball at Smallville High," Clark said.

"It sounds like you're a very busy person, then," Elisabeth said.

"It was an absolute delight to meet you," Whitney said in the same accent. "I do hope you enjoy your repast."

Elisabeth nodded. "Thank you." She took Lex's arm again. "Shall we?"

Lex smiled at her. "Good-bye, boys," he said.

Clark and Whitney watched them walk to their table, and sat down.

Clark snickered. "What was with the accent?"

Whitney shrugged. "It just came out, and then once I'd started, of course I couldn't stop."

Clark smirked.

"Man," Whitney said. "Lex Luthor thinks he's so smart. Just because he's a genius and everything."

Clark laughed. "What does he have against you, anyway? Did you TP his castle or something?"

Whitney stroked his chin. "You know, that's not a bad idea." He grinned. "No, I told you: he has a hankering for you."

"That's insane," Clark said. "I mean, he's got...well, let's see, Elisabeth, who, you know...isn't really anything to sneeze at...and he can get pretty much every single other person in the world, so...it really wouldn't make any sense."

Whitney shrugged. "Theoretically, I could get anyone else in the world. But I don't want them."

Clark smiled at him.

"You know, I never noticed this before," Whitney said. "But you have a really bright smile."

Clark cleared his throat. "Thanks."

Over dessert, Whitney glanced at Lex's table and said, "If Lex Luthor had a funeral, do you think anyone would go?"

Clark stared at him. "Are you plotting something, you know, dastardly or something?"

Whitney smiled. "No, just...like in The Great Gatsby. No one goes to Gatsby's funeral."

"Oh," Clark said. "Oh, I'm sure people would go. I'd go; wouldn't you?"

Whitney shrugged. "I'd go if you went."

Clark took a sip of his espresso, then snickered.

"What?" Whitney said.

"I'm just...imagining Lex in a pink suit."

Whitney laughed. "So you have read Gatsby. How'd you like it?"

"I don't think I have ever read a gayer book," Clark said.

Whitney nodded. "I was wondering if you'd pick up on that."

"Oh, how could I miss it?" Clark said. "Nick waking up with some guy in his underwear? The guy who fondled the elevator lever? And, yeah, Nick sort of has a girlfriend, but her name's Jordan and she plays a lot of sports, and...that is one gay narrator. Why else would he be so fascinated by Gatsby?"

"Well, you know, Gatsby represents the American dream, which fascinates everyone, and he's charismatic, and...yeah, Nick really wants to blow him," Whitney said. "Make sure you ask about it in English class your junior year. Because Mrs. Williams won't bring it up herself, but if one of the kids asks, it turns into this huge discussion. It's fun."

"I'll be sure to do that," Clark said.

"Mm," Clark said against Whitney's mouth, shifting on the truck seat. He started to take off his jacket.

"No, no," Whitney said. "Leave it on."

"Oh, of course," Clark said. "I forgot. You're the kink-meister."

Whitney smiled and kissed him again. "I can't help it that you look this good."

He unzipped Clark's pants and reached for his dick, pulling it out. He started to stroke it, then leaned down and kissed it.

"Wait a minute," Clark said. "I thought I owed you after that dinner."

"You do," Whitney mumbled. "That means I get to suck you off."

"...I don't get it," Clark said.

Whitney looked up at him and smiled. "I like sucking you off." He bent his head and took Clark into his mouth.

"Oh," Clark said faintly. "...I thought I was the only one."

Whitney sat on the locker room bench and sneezed several times in succession.

Clark glanced at him worriedly. "Whitney, you sound like you're getting worse."

Whitney blew his nose. "I'm fine. I'm good to go."

He coughed, a wet, hacking sound.

"I don't think you should play," Clark said.

"Who's coughing like that?" Coach Mizell called.

"Fordman," Phil said.

Coach came over to stand in front of Whitney. "Have you been smoking?"

"No," Whitney said. He coughed again, for a while.

"Well, then, you're really sick," Coach said. "What are you doing here?"

"I can play," Whitney said.

"No, you can't," Coach said.

"Well, I'll just sit on the bench, then," Whitney said.

"You're going to infect all my players," Coach said.

Whitney sneezed.

"Fordman, you're flushed and glassy-eyed," Coach said. "Do you have any common sense?"

"He doesn't," Clark muttered.

Coach laid his hand on Whitney's forehead. "That's definitely a fever. Find your mom and tell her to take you home."

"She's not here," Whitney said.

"Well, then, give her a call," Coach said. "Phone's in my office."

"I can play," Whitney said.

"Shut it," Coach said.

"Well, anyway, I can drive myself home," Whitney said.

Coach laughed. "There's no way I'm letting you get behind the wheel of a car. Go call your mom. Stop arguing with me before I get mad."

Whitney coughed again, turning red as he struggled to stop, then nodded. He trudged to the coach's office.

The guys scuffed their feet on the way back into the locker room.

"Well, that pretty much sucked ass," one of them said.

"Probably would've helped if you hadn't missed those two foul shots, Kent," another guy said.

Clark shot him a look. "What, so we could have lost by six points instead of eight?"

"Those foul shots came at a crucial point in the game, Clark," the guy said. "We had a chance to rally, and you blew it."

"Right, like you turning the ball over three times in the last few minutes had nothing to do with it," Clark said.

"Hey!" Coach said. "I don't want to hear this crap. We win as a team, and we lose as a team. We did some good things out there tonight, but there are a lot of other things that need work. We'll talk about them tomorrow at practice. Put it out of your mind for tonight. The game's over."

"...Sure," the guy said, glaring at Clark.

Clark stared back at him, then turned to go to his locker.

The locker room was mostly empty. Bones came over, his bag slung over his shoulder. "You're taking a while there, Clark."

"Yeah," Clark said.

"Hey, listen," Bones said. "We have to lose at least a few of the games. It's how it works."

"Right," Clark said.

Bones nodded to the paper in Clark's hand. "What's that?"

"Nothing," Clark said. "Just...something I found in my locker."

He crumpled it up.

"Mm," Bones said. "Was it signed?"

Clark shook his head.

"You wanna tell Coach about it?" Bones asked. "Because he'd probably want to know."

Clark shook his head. "There's no point. I mean, it's anonymous, and..."

Bones shrugged. "Up to you. Listen," he said. "I know I'm just a dumb jock. I'm not smart like Whitney. And I know I bully weaker people sometimes, just because I think it's fun. When they're giving out senior superlatives, I'm not going to be voted 'nicest guy.' But I also know that...there's a whole world outside this town. Right?"

After a moment, Clark nodded.

"And, sure, there are assholes out in the real world too," Bones said. "But just remember that the shit here...isn't all there is."

Clark cleared his throat. "Yeah."

"All right," Bones said. "I'm taking off."

Clark nodded. "See you."

Bones gestured to the paper. "You should keep that. My mom was harassed at work. You should start a file or something. Write down when and where you got it, and that I saw you with it."

Clark shrugged. "I don't think it's that big a deal..."

"In case it gets worse," Bones said. "You'll have a record of it."

"I guess," Clark said.

"See you at practice tomorrow," Bones said.

Clark looked down at the note, then nodded to him.

"Are you sure you're okay now?" Clark said. "Because you're a little...wan."

Whitney raised an eyebrow. "Are you disparaging my rugged good looks?"

Clark snickered. "No."

"No, I'm much better," Whitney said. "The fever I had last night pretty much burned everything out."

"You were pretty sick," Clark said.

"Yeah, it turned into a high fever," Whitney said. "Which was kind of interesting. I was so hot, I naturally started thinking about sex."

"Naturally," Clark said.

"So I'm picturing us having sex, and then 'cause I'm a little delirious, it gets all weird. Like, we're doing it, and we start floating, and there are all these flashing lights, and then we were underwater..."

Clark laughed. "Okay."

"And then my mom keeps coming in, trying to get me to drink orange juice and all that, and I'm thinking, 'Go away, Mom; I'm having sex.'"

Clark shook his head. "You didn't say that out loud, did you?"

Whitney licked his lips. "You know, I don't think I did."

Clark nodded. "But you were delirious."

"Yeah," Whitney said.

Clark snickered.

The bell rang.

"See you at lunch," Whitney said, squeezing Clark's shoulder.

"See ya," Clark said.

"All right," Chloe said at the lunch table. "You are all coming to my birthday dinner at my house next Friday. I'm telling you now so you have time to get me presents."

Pete laughed. "Okay."

"What are you having to eat?" Clark asked.

Chloe shrugged. "I don't know, nothing fancy. I think my mom's going to make us fajitas or something."

"Sounds good to me," Clark said.

"You want me to come too?" Whitney asked.

"Of course," Chloe said. "You're coming with Clark, right?"

"Yeah," Whitney said.

"Do you want to bring anyone, Pete?" Chloe asked.

Pete glared at her. "Do you have to rub it in?"

"Sorry," Chloe said. "I just thought, just in case..."

Dave nodded to him. "Don't worry about it, Pete. Lana's coming by herself too."

Whitney raised his eyebrows. "Lana's coming?"

"Yeah," Chloe said.

"...Okay," Whitney said. "Sounds like fun."

Clark looked at Whitney's button-down and khakis. "Did you have to come over dressed like that?" he asked.

Whitney adjusted his collar. "What? This is my first time over for dinner. It's a big deal. I wanted to make a good impression."

"Yeah, you look nice," Clark said. "But now I look like a schlub."

Whitney raised his eyebrows. "A schlub?"

"What, just because I'm a hick I can't say 'schlub'?" Clark asked.

"No, you can say it," Whitney said. "It's just that it now enables me to tell you how cute your tocchus looks in your schlubby clothes."

Clark tugged on his shirttail and glanced around. "Shut up," he whispered.

Jonathan passed the salt and pepper to Clark. "So are people pretty accepting at school about your...relationship?" he asked Whitney.

"Well," Whitney shrugged. "Some people. It's kind of good, really, because we're finding out who our friends are."

Jonathan nodded.

"Clark mentioned something about a fight...?" Martha said.

Whitney winced. "Yeah, that was stupid of me. This kid tried to pick on us, and I let it get out of hand."

"Well," Jonathan said, "as I remember it from high school, sometimes you just have to stand up to those guys."

Clark looked at him strangely. "You always say to walk away from a fight, Dad."

"Right," Jonathan said. "But in Whitney's case...sometimes there's only one thing the other guy's going to understand."

Clark kept looking at him. "You always say I should never let myself get bullied into a fight."

"I know," Jonathan said.

"So it's okay for Whitney to fight, but not me?" Clark said.

"Clark," Martha said quietly. "I think you know what your father's talking about."

Whitney looked down at his plate.

"So Whitney," Martha said. "I'm told you have a real interest in literature."

"Oh, yes," Whitney said brightly. "I really like what we're doing in class. We had to read Beowulf--"

"Oh, Beowulf," Jonathan nodded.

Martha smiled. "Jonathan likes the epics."

"Like, Gilgamesh and everything?" Whitney asked.

Jonathan nodded. "Good stuff."

"So that was fun," Whitney said. "But now we're reading Grendel, which is Beowulf from the monster's point of view."

"You know, I never read that one," Martha said. "I've meant to."

Clark leaned down to the side of his chair.

"Clark," Martha said. "Don't feed the cat at the table."

Clark straightened up. "I wasn't," he said. "So what's Beowulf again?"

"It's this epic poem from about the...early eighth century, I think," Whitney said, "about a hero named Beowulf. He does all sorts of heroic things, including killing Grendel and Grendel's mother, and the text brings together Christian and pagan elements, and...it's a classic."

"Okay," Clark said.

"Anyway," Whitney said. "I think you'd like Grendel, what with all your philosophy books and everything. We get to see Grendel's outlook kind of evolve from solipsism to idealism to existentialism to nihilism." He paused. "There might be some other ones in there too." He shrugged.

"That sounds cool," Clark said.

"Yeah, and it raises all sorts of questions about technology and culture and religion and good and evil..." Whitney said. "I like how Grendel convinces himself of his necessity as a monster--people need him to be evil, so they can have heroes."

"Hm," Clark said.

"And there's a dragon in it," Whitney said.

Clark smiled. "So do I have to read Beowulf before I read this thing?"

"You should at least read a synopsis," Whitney said.

Jonathan nodded to Clark. "Read the whole thing."

Clark smiled. "Okay."

Clark walked Whitney out to his truck.

"So..." Whitney said. "How'd I do?"

"Are you kidding?" Clark said. "You killed."

Whitney smiled.

"I thought the helping with the dishes might have put it over the top," Clark said, "but I think it worked."

"Well, you know," Whitney said. "I just want your parents to like me."

Clark nodded. "They do."

Whitney smiled and glanced toward the house. "Well, okay, I think they might be able to see us from the window, so when I kiss you just now, don't hop up on me and wrap your legs around my waist, all right?"

Clark laughed. "I'll try to restrain myself."

Whitney lightly brushed his lips over Clark's and smiled. "Tell your parents thanks again for dinner."

"Sure," Clark said.

Whitney started to get into his truck. "Oh, wait," he said.

"Yeah?" Clark said.

"You're free tomorrow, right?"

"Yeah, for part of the day," Clark said.

"When can I come pick you up?"

"I'll be free at one o'clock," Clark said.

"Okay, I'll see you then," Whitney said.

"What are we doing?"

Whitney smiled. "You'll see."

Clark walked alongside Whitney down the street, the paper bag swinging from Whitney's hand occasionally bumping him on the leg.

Clark glanced at him. "I can't believe you bought me underwear," he muttered.

Whitney grinned. "Which do you think are better, the dark blue ones or the gray ones?"

Clark shrugged. "I really don't..." He shook his head.

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Whitney said. "I think you'll have to model them for me so we can decide."

Clark flicked his ear. "You're such a pervert."

"I know," Whitney said. He smiled.

Clark shook his head, then smiled when Whitney flicked him back.

"Oh, wait, look," Whitney said, stopping in front of the window of a restaurant. "See that?" He nodded to a hand-written sign.

Clark smirked. "'Help wanted: buss boy. Experience required.'"

"Heh heh," Whitney said. "That's probably a pretty good job. I wonder how the interview would go."

"Well, it might not be such a great job. It would depend on the clientele, I'd think," Clark said.

Whitney nodded. "Tips are probably good, though. Do you think I should apply?"

He bussed Clark on the lips.

"I think you still need more experience," Clark said.

"Heh," Whitney said, and leaned in again.

A young couple walking past them gave them dirty looks. The woman sighed loudly.

Whitney faced them. "Hi," he said in a friendly voice.

The guy turned and shook his head. "Look, do...whatever you want, all right? But don't do it out here. I shouldn't have to look at it."

Whitney nodded. "Sure," he said. He looked the couple over. "You know how you've got your arm over her shoulder?"

The guy glanced at his arm. "Yeah," he said.

"Could you just...save that for the bedroom?" Whitney said. "Because it's kind of...I mean, there's nothing wrong with it. But don't do it in public, you know?"

The woman rolled her eyes. "What we're doing isn't unnatural. It was Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve," she said.

Clark involuntarily laughed. He covered his mouth. "Sorry. Sorry, I...didn't know people still said that."

"You know, it was Adam and Eve who came up with original sin, so let's maybe keep it in perspective," Whitney said. He turned to Clark. "Anyway, is your name Adam?"

"No," Clark said.

"Well, I'm not Adam. Are you Steve?"

"No," Clark said.

"No, me neither," Whitney said. He turned back to the guy. "I think we're okay on that one."

"Smart-ass," the guy said.

Whitney smiled at him.

"Oh no," Clark said to the guy. "You made him smile." He tugged on Whitney's sleeve. "Hey," he said to Whitney. "Hey."

Whitney looked at him, concerned. "What?" He looked at the guy and smiled again.

"The last guy still hasn't come out of his coma," Clark said. "Sooner or later the police are going to make the connection."

Whitney cracked his knuckles. "Don't worry about it," he said.

"Listen," Clark said. "Someone's eventually going to get pissed off and sue for the cost of the extensive plastic surgery they end up having to get."

Whitney shrugged.

"Whitney, you can't just tear people's throats out in the middle of the street," Clark said. He loudly whispered to the guy, "He's a little...you know. Sometimes he thinks he's a big gay vampire."

The guy wrinkled his nose at them. "Fuck this." He and his girlfriend walked off.

"You take care now," Whitney called after them.

He looked at Clark. "...'A big gay vampire'?"

Clark shrugged. "Well, I don't know; sometimes things just occur to me and I say them--"

"You call me a pervert," Whitney said.

He lunged forward and nipped Clark's neck.

Clark laughed.

"Do you think Chloe's going to like my present?" Whitney said as they walked up to her house.

Clark shrugged. "I can't predict anything where Chloe is concerned."

Whitney sighed. "Couldn't you lie to me and tell me you're sure she'll love it?"

"I'm sure she'll love it," Clark said.

Whitney elbowed him and rang the doorbell.

Lana answered and smiled at them. "Hey," she said.

"Hi," Clark said.

Whitney nodded. "...How are you?"

"Great," Lana said. "Come on in."

"Clark, are you still eating?" Chloe asked.

Clark looked at the chip loaded with guacamole in his hand. "Sort of," he said.

"Do you mind if I start opening presents anyway?"

"Can I keep eating while you do that?" Clark asked.

Chloe smiled. "Yes."

"Then sure," Clark said.

"All right," Chloe said. She rubbed her hands. She pointed to Pete. "What've you got?"

Pete handed her a small box.

"Hey, this is very neatly done," Chloe said, inspecting it. "Did you wrap it yourself?"

"Yes," Pete said. "...No."

"Heh," Chloe said. "Just checking."

She ripped off the paper and opened the box. "Pete!" she said. "These are exactly the earrings I wanted."

Pete nodded. "I asked the chick at that thrift store you go to what you liked."

"Very cool," Chloe said. "Thanks."

"Um, here," Whitney said, handing her his present. "I just want to get this over with."

"Okay," Chloe smiled. "Looks like a CD."

"Yeah," Whitney said.

She opened it up. "Huh," she said.

"I was wondering what to get you," Whitney said. "I was standing in the store, thinking, 'What does Chloe need?' And then I heard this soft, still voice say, '...Zydeco.'"

Chloe laughed. "You know, I've never listened to zydeco. I'm gonna put it on."

She scampered over to the stereo and cocked her head with an expectant expression on her face.

"Wow," she said. "Zydeco."

She came back to the table.

"Um, in the case there, the little booklet has the French lyrics and the English translations," Whitney said.

"Lemme see," Chloe said, opening it up. "Ha," she said. "'Let us speak of drinking, and not of marriage.' That's great; thanks, Whitney."

"You're welcome," Whitney said.

Clark patted his knee reassuringly and ate a sour-cream-laden chip.

"This is pretty cool, Whit," Dave said. "I didn't know you listened to this stuff."

"I've never heard it before in my life," Whitney said.

Everyone laughed a little.

"Well, it was a perfect choice," Chloe said. "All right, more presents!"

"Here," Lana said softly.

"Hm," Chloe said. "Pink wrapping paper."

Lana smiled. "I couldn't help myself."

Chloe smiled and ripped off the paper. "Oh, books. Nice." She read the title on the one on top and laughed. "'Don't Read This Book If You're Stupid.'" She looked underneath it. "And...an anthology of stories. 'Wayward Girls and Wicked Women.' Have you read these, Lana?"

Lana shook her head. "No, I pretty much just...judged them by their covers. I thought the titles suited you."

"They sound great," Chloe said. "Thank you." She turned to Clark. "You with the chips. What did you get me?"

Clark brushed his hands off on his jeans and handed her a manila envelope.

"You couldn't wrap it?" Chloe asked.

"It's wrapped!" Clark said. "It's wrapped in an envelope."

"I see," Chloe said. She opened it up. "You got me...a copy of The Torch."

"Look at it more closely," Clark said.

"Hm," Chloe said. "'Special edition.' Clark, this entire paper is about me."

"Yeah," Clark said.

She laughed as she scanned some of the articles. "You interviewed my parents for this?"

"Mm-hm," Clark said.

"Oh, Dave, nice quote here," she said, leaning over to give him a kiss.

She opened the paper. "Clark, oh my God, where did you get this picture?"

Clark smirked. "My source insisted on confidentiality."

"I can't believe you... You didn't get the negatives, did you?"

"No," Clark said.

She gave him a steady look. "All right," she finally said.

"Lemme see the picture," Pete said.

Chloe held the paper close to her body. "No."

Pete got up and stood behind her, craning around her shoulder. "Ha!" he said.

"Shut up," Chloe said.

She laughed some more as she looked at the paper. "Clark, this is really good. I mean, it looks like the real paper."

Clark shrugged. "Well, you know, if you use the software, it's pretty easy..."

"No, this is good," she said. "And it's really well-written. You realize that this means I'm going to make you work for me next semester, right?"

"What?" Clark said. "I just gave you a present. That's all I did."

"No, you'd make a good reporter, Clark," Chloe said. "We need people who can write articles like this."

"Those are mostly made-up articles," Clark said.

"No, but you know how an article is supposed to read," Chloe said. "A lot of the people on The Torch don't quite have that yet."

"I dunno..." Clark said.

"If you want an editorial position, one's going to be opening up," Chloe said. "Copy editor. You'd be good at it, what with your stringency for punctuation usage and everything..."

"What's wrong with the copy editor you have?" Whitney asked.

Dave smiled and shook his head. "Don't get her started."

"Okay," Chloe said. "My predecessor appointed Amelia to be copy editor. Because they were good friends. Amelia, when she accepted the position, assumed that it would entail making photocopies."

Lana laughed. "Oh no, are you kidding?"

"She wouldn't know the proper use of an apostrophe if it walked up and bit her on the ass," Chloe said. "Not only do I have to do all of her work, but I have to undo all the work she does do."

"Well," Clark said. "I'll think about it."

"Don't think I won't nag you about it," Chloe said.

"Oh, that thought never entered my mind," Clark said.

"So what'd you get her, Dave?" Pete asked.

Chloe grinned. "Ooh, let me tell."

Dave smiled. "Go ahead."

"Okay," Chloe said. "Dave is taking me to Metropolis, which is great, right? We're gonna go to the museum of modern art, and see a play in a tiny little theater, and have dinner out...but. This is the kicker--I'm getting a personal tour of the Daily Planet office! I get to meet reporters and everything."

"Hey, how'd you swing that, Dave?" Lana asked.

"My mom's colleague's sister's boyfriend works at the Planet," Dave said.

"Good job, man," Pete said.

Dave grinned.

"Well, that was fun," Whitney said, getting in the truck.

Clark settled in. "I told you she'd like your present," he said.

Whitney snickered as he started up the car.

"Hey, when's your birthday?" Clark asked. "That's something I should know."

"I'll be eighteen on April 15," Whitney.

Clark raised his eyebrows. "...Tax day?"

"Yep," Whitney said. "My dad's pretty thrilled about the coincidence. So what about you?"

"February 28," Clark said.

Whitney nodded. "Okay."

"My parents wanted my birthday to be at the end of the month, I forget why," Clark said, "so they decided to put it in the shortest month, so I wouldn't feel like I'd have to wait so long for my birthday to come."

Whitney wrinkled his brow. "So your parents, like...chose your birthday?"

"Yeah, well, we don't know what day I was actually born on," Clark said. "I was adopted."

"Oh," Whitney said. "I didn't know that."

"Yep," Clark said.

"You must have been pretty young, though, right? Because I always remember you being around, like, at school and stuff."

"I was about three," Clark said.

"So what do you remember, from before you were adopted?" Whitney asked.

"Nothing," Clark said.

"Nothing at all?" Whitney said. "I remember stuff from when I was three."

"Total blank," Clark said.

"Well, what did the adoption agency tell your parents?"

Clark shook his head. "My parents just found me."

Whitney looked at him. "Like, what, on the doorstep?"

"In a cornfield," Clark said.

"Seriously?" Whitney said.

Clark nodded.

"Oh my God," Whitney said. "What did your biological parents do to you?"

Clark shrugged. "Couldn't have been too bad, right?" He smiled. "I mean, I'm so very well-adjusted."

Whitney looked at him, then smiled. "Yeah."

"Hey, Pete," Tara said, as she passed by him, Clark and Chloe to join her friends.

"Hi," Pete said.

Chloe raised her eyebrows at him.

Pete shrugged.

"She's worth your attention," Chloe said. "I know her from The Torch."

"I know," Pete said. "Sports."

"Right," Clark said, elbowing him. "She likes sports. Nice, huh?"

Pete smiled a little and shrugged.

"Oh, you guys, you know what's weird?" Chloe said. "There have been reports of this strange dog-like animal wandering around town."

"What's weird about that?" Pete said. "It sounds like a dog."

"But it's not quite a dog," Chloe said. "Everyone who's reported it to the police said it was threatening and somehow not quite dog-like. Some people said it kind of glowed a little."

"Oh great," Clark said. "You think it's another mutant?"

"It probably is," Chloe said.

"Listen," Clark said. "Don't go trying to investigate, all right? Because as it turns out, just mutated insects are really dangerous, so something with a spinal cord and great big teeth is probably..."

"No, I know," Chloe said. "I'm not going to try to capture it or anything. I just thought I'd run an article about it, telling people to be careful when they're out at night. And if anyone in town turns into a werewolf or something, we'll know why."

"That's just great," Clark said.

Chloe shrugged and looked at her watch. "I'm supposed to meet Dave. See you guys later."

"Bye," Clark and Pete said.

Clark glanced over at Tara. "You should go talk to her."

"You think?" Pete said. "She's with all her friends."

"Well, wait till they kind of disperse and catch her before she leaves."

"Do you think..." Pete said. "I mean, if I invited her over to watch college football tomorrow, that'd be okay, right? Because she likes football and everything, and my parents would be there and stuff."

"Yeah, that sounds nice," Clark said.

"Okay," Pete said. "Oh, wait a minute, man, we were supposed to be watching football tomorrow, weren't we?"

"Don't worry about it," Clark said.

"You sure?" Pete said.

"Yeah," Clark said. "Just consider me your fallback plan."

"Thanks," Pete said.

He glanced over at Tara and her friends. Tara nodded to him and smiled.

"Do you think it matters that I'm black?" Pete asked.

Clark gave him a strange look. "Why would that matter?"

"Because I'm black," Pete said. "And she's white. Not everyone's...cool with that. And plus there's the whole P.C. thing, is a black guy with a white girl just looking for a status symbol, you know..."

"Pete, it's almost 2002," Clark said.

"I know," Pete said patiently. "Time marches on. But despite the passage of time...I'm still black. And some people, believe it or not, still don't really like that."

"Well, I don't think Tara's one of those people," Clark said. "I think she likes you."

Pete nodded. "Okay."

Clark raised his eyebrows as Tara walked over to them. "Hi, Tara," he said. "I was just leaving. See you guys later."

"Bye, Clark," Tara said.

She smiled at Pete.

Clark was leaning against Whitney, his head on Whitney's belly, his body positioned between Whitney's legs.

"You sure this is comfortable?" Clark asked.

"Yep," Whitney said. "I've told you I really like this loft, right?"

Clark smiled. "Yeah." He turned his head and kissed Whitney's arm. "What's the book again?"

"Beloved," Whitney said, turning a page.

"How is it?" Clark asked absently.

"Amazing," Whitney said.

"Oprah made a movie of it, didn't she?"

"Yeah," Whitney said, still reading.

"How's it compare?"

"Book's better," Whitney said.

Clark kissed his arm again. "Am I distracting you?"

"No, no," Whitney said. He looked down at Clark and smiled. "Sorry, are you bored?"

"No," Clark said. "I'm looking at the stars."

Whitney glanced up. "Through the roof," he said.

"Yeah," Clark said.

"In broad daylight."

"Yeah," Clark said.

Whitney shrugged. "Okay."

Clark smiled. "I know where all the stars are positioned. I can see them in my head."

"Ah," Whitney nodded.

"Hey, Whitney?" Clark said.

"Mm," Whitney said.

"You'd tell me anything, right?"

"Um, probably," Whitney said, turning a page.

"All right. What's Bones's real name?"

Whitney snickered. "Jean."

Clark blinked. "Jean?"

"Yeah," Whitney said. "He doesn't give me any shit about my name."

"How'd he get to be called Bones?"

"Force of personality," Whitney said. "He just decided at the beginning of fourth grade. He wouldn't answer the teachers if they called him anything else, and he intimidated all of the kids."

"Wow," Clark said. "Jean."

"You're the only freshman who knows that," Whitney said absently, "so keep it quiet, all right?"

"Sure," Clark said. "...I'll let you read now."

"Okay," Whitney said.

After a while, Clark stirred a little.

Whitney looked down at him again. "You need to move?"

"No," Clark said. "It's just I...um." He turned a little and reached for his back pocket, then moved his hand front again. "Never mind."

"No, what?" Whitney said, setting the book down.

"Nothing," Clark said.

"What's in your pocket?" Whitney asked.

"Nothing," Clark said.

"...Okay," Whitney said.

He suddenly twisted and got on top of Clark, straddling him, pinning his arms down.

Clark laughed. "No, it's nothing. No, stop."

"We'll see about that," Whitney muttered. "Quitcher squirming."

Clark batted lightly at his arms.

Whitney reached underneath him and started rummaging through his back pocket.

"Are you giggling?" he asked Clark.

"No," Clark said. "What're you--" He twisted. "Now you're just feeling me up."

Whitney grinned. "Yeah. Oh, wait. Aha."

He pulled a folded piece of paper out of the pocket.

"Give that back," Clark said, looking up at him.

Whitney bounced a little. "Nope."

"All right, then, just don't read it."

"I think I will," Whitney said.

Clark turned his head and groaned.

Whitney unfolded it dramatically. His grin faded as he read it, tilting his head and moving his lips a little.

Clark covered his face with his hands.

"Clark," Whitney said.

"What," Clark said, his voice muffled.

"You wrote a poem?"

"No," Clark mumbled.

"Well, what is this?" Whitney asked.

"A poem," Clark said into his hands.

"Who wrote it?" Whitney said.

"Me," Clark said.

Whitney laughed and moved Clark's hands away from his face. "Clark, I love it."

"Well, it's not anything if you're used to reading Whitman..." Clark said. "I mean, it kind of sucks."

"Okay, first of all," Whitney said, "even Whitman had to write a first poem at some point. Second of all, from an objective point of view, with me saying this not as your boyfriend but as someone just reading it...this is a good poem. I mean, you set up the two stanzas to contrast with each other, but in the last two lines, you manage to bring them together, kind of unexpectedly. It's really skillful."

Clark made a face.

"And third," Whitney said, leaning over Clark some more, "I love that you wrote it. And that you showed it to me. Even if I had to wrestle you for it."

"Well, I...wrote it for you," Clark said.

Whitney smiled and kissed him. "I love that too."

"Yeah, well, that's not the poem I was going to write," Clark said.

"Oh?" Whitney said. "What's the poem you were going to write?"

"'I love you so much it hurts / I love you so much it squirts,'" Clark said.

Whitney laughed and pretended to slap Clark's cheek. "You're filthy," he said. He kissed him again. "And I love that too."

Clark looked up at him. "You're on top of me."

"Yep," Whitney said.

"Do you have to go back to reading your book?" Clark asked.

Whitney shook his head. "Not really."

"Good," Clark said.

"Thanks for helping me put to the paper to bed, Clark," Chloe said. "I know it's kind of late."

"Well, if I'm going to be an editor next semester, I should learn how everything works, right?"

"Oh, so you figured out why I asked for your help."

Clark nodded. "Yeah, I worked that one out on my own."

"See?" Chloe said. "You'll make a great reporter."

Clark smiled.

"So I think Tara's good for Pete, don't you?" Chloe said.

"They make a nice couple," Clark said.

"Heh, did you know Tara double-checked with me to make sure Pete didn't have anything going on with Lana?" Chloe said.

"With Lana?" Clark said.

"Yeah, 'cause they're spending so much time together with the math team and everything."

Clark nodded. "Right. Geek solidarity."

"But I assured her they were just friends, so--Pete and Tara!"

"I don't know if she's going to be good for his gambling habit, though," Clark said.

"Pete doesn't gamble all that much," Chloe said.

"Well, he hadn't been lately, on the games and stuff, because he always lost," Clark said. "He'd learned his lesson. But now, with Tara's sports advice, he's winning. So he's back into it."

"Oh, but what's wrong with it if he's winning?" Chloe asked.

Clark shrugged.

"Anyway, he only ever gambles for, like, five bucks," Chloe said.

"True," Clark said.

He suddenly gasped as his vision rushed far past the school parking lot, down the road, into a cornfield, to a particular leaf.

"Clark?" Chloe asked. "Are you okay?"

Clark shook his head. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I'm fine."

He looked down at the ground, then sat abruptly as he saw through layers and layers of dirt into magma.

"Oh my God," Chloe said. She crouched next to him. "Clark," she said.

Clark blinked. "I'm fine. I just got dizzy all of a sudden."

"Has this happened before?" she asked.

"No," Clark said. He shook his head. When he saw Chloe still staring at him, he said, "Oh, you know what it is? I didn't have breakfast this morning, and then I skipped lunch to talk to Mr. Tripp about my test."

Chloe was still looking at him, concerned. "Well, you really should eat, nimrod."

Clark nodded. "I know."

He started to get up, and was knocked down by what he only saw as a streak. He immediately fell back, weak and nauseous. He heard loud growling, and forced his eyes open to see a dog with bits of meteorite around its mouth latch onto his arm. He fell back and cried out.

Chloe, after having jumped back, straddled the dog, popping its jaw off Clark's arm, and then grabbing it around the neck.

Clark hastily crawled away. He pushed up his ripped sleeve and tore at his arm, seeing bits of the meteorite embedded in his skin. His eyes streamed tears.

"Clark, are you all right?" Chloe called.

Clark scraped the meteorite out with his fingers, then frantically wiped them on the ground. He moved away a little.

"I'm all right," he called. "Just give me a second."

He quickly ripped off a piece of his T-shirt and tied it around his arm, over the gouge marks. He retched and vomited a couple of times.

He shook his head and wiped his mouth. "Shit," he muttered.

Chloe started to come over. Clark got up and met her halfway. He looked over at the pile of dog.

"Did you just break that dog's neck?" he asked.

"Yeah," Chloe said breathlessly. "Dave's been teaching me judo."

"...Judo teaches you how to break dogs' necks?" Clark said.

"No, but it teaches you certain principles that you're supposed to be able to apply in any situation," Chloe said.

"Even in the event of an attack by a mutant dog," Clark said.

"Even then," Chloe said.

"Well," Clark said. He sat down again.

Chloe sat beside him.

"So you're all right?" she said. "Did it bite you?"

"No," Clark said. "It just got my jacket."

"Good," Chloe said.

"That's probably not enough to turn me into a werewolf, right?" Clark said.

"Yeah, probably not," Chloe said. "But I'll keep an eye on you."

"Thanks," Clark said. "Well, I guess we found out what we're really made of. When attacked, you kill the threat. I...scramble away and puke."

Chloe gave him a look. "Come on, you were sick even before the mutant dog attacked us. Besides, after the way you pulled me out when The Torch got torched...I think we're even."

Clark nodded. "Okay." He looked around the mostly empty parking lot. "Aren't Whitney and Dave supposed to show up about now?"

Chloe glanced at her watch. "They still have a couple of minutes."

"...Wanna call them?" Clark asked.

"My phone hasn't been charged," Chloe said.

"Oh," Clark said. "Well, thank goodness there hasn't been an emergency."

Chloe smiled.

After some time had passed, Chloe stood up. "Here they come."

Clark stood up too, a little unsteadily.

Dave and Whitney got out of Dave's truck.

"...Is that a dead dog?" Dave asked.

"Yeah," Clark said. "Chloe had to break its neck."

"What?" Whitney said. "What happened?"

"It's a mutant dog," Clark said. "It tried to attack us."

Whitney stepped closer to Clark. "Are you guys all right?"

"Yeah," Clark nodded. "Yeah, fine."

Dave smiled at Chloe. "You broke its neck?"

Chloe smiled back. "Yeah. I knew I had the move down, but I wasn't sure if I'd have the strength to do it. But, you know, adrenaline."

Dave gestured to Chloe and said to Whitney and Clark, "That's my girlfriend."

"Neither of you got hurt?" Whitney asked.

"No, we're fine," Clark said.

"You're sleeve's ripped," Whitney said.

"It got my jacket," Clark said. "It didn't get my arm."

Whitney ran his hand through his hair. "...All right."

"So we should probably call the police," Dave said. "If just so they'll send someone over to get the carcass."

"Do you guys mind if I go home?" Clark said. "I'm a little..."

"Oh, yeah, you should go," Chloe said.

"You said you were all right," Whitney said.

"He is," Chloe said. "The idiot just didn't eat anything today."

Clark smiled weakly at Whitney. "I'm a little shaken up."

"Yeah," Whitney said. "Yeah, let's go."

He walked Clark over to his truck.

"So nothing happened to you," Whitney said on the road.

"Yeah," Clark said. "The dog jumped on me, but Chloe pulled it right off and...broke its neck. It was pretty impressive."

"Look in my backpack," Whitney said. "I think there's a half a peanut-butter sandwich in there."

"Okay," Clark said.

"You have to eat," Whitney said, glancing at him.

"I know," Clark said, taking a bite of the sandwich.

"I mean, really, Clark," Whitney said. "You have to take care of yourself."

"I know," Clark said.

"Don't just say 'I know,'" Whitney said.

"What do you want me to say?" Clark said.

"Um," Whitney said. "I dunno, I just want there to be a sudden change in the atmosphere, and dramatic music, so I'll know you're taking care of yourself."

"...I don't think that's going to happen," Clark said.

"Yeah," Whitney said.

"Seriously," Clark said. "I'll take care of myself."

Whitney nodded. "Okay," he said. "Because if you don't, I'll break your neck."

"Okay," Clark said.

"You think I'm kidding, don't you," Whitney said.

Clark smiled.

When they got to Clark's house, Whitney asked, "Do you want me to walk you in?"

"No thanks," Clark said. "I just want to go to bed."

"All right," Whitney said. "Eat some dinner first."

"Right," Clark nodded. "Eat dinner and go to bed."

"See you tomorrow," Whitney said.

Clark nodded.

Whitney kissed him, lightly at first, then pulled him closer and kissed him more deeply.

He pulled away, looking at Clark. "Okay," he said. "Good night."

"Night," Clark said, and got out.

Clark walked into the house.

"Um, Mom?" he called shakily. "I'm kind of...bleeding."

Martha and Jonathan rushed in.

"What?" Martha said.

Clark stood as his mother held his arm under the tap.

"So this dog didn't bite you?" she asked.

"No," Clark said. "It bit through my clothes and got some of the meteorite on my arm. The cuts are where I was scratching to get it off."

"The meteorites...hurt you?" Martha asked.

"Yeah," Clark said.

"Yeah, you said that when Coach Arnold had you locked up," Jonathan muttered, standing in the doorway to the bathroom.

Martha stared at Clark. "You didn't think to mention this to me?"

Clark shrugged.

"So they always hurt you," she said.

"Yeah," Clark said. "If I get too close, I get really weak and feel sick. And if I touch it, it...hurts. A lot."

Martha turned off the sink and made Clark sit on the closed lid of the toilet. "Are you sure none of it got into your bloodstream?" she asked, looking at the scratches.

"No, I'd know it if that happened," Clark said. "Just having it on my skin burned so much...I would've screamed, but I couldn't breathe."

"I don't like this," Jonathan said. "Those meteorites are all over Smallville."

"Well, that's why I have to stay away from them," Clark said.

Jonathan shook his head. "We should get some people together to gather them up...destroy them or something."

"Dad, no," Clark said. "Who knows what would happen if you started fooling around with it? It turned Greg into a giant bug, and turned Coach Arnold into...whatever you call someone who can mentally set things on fire."

Jonathan shook his head. "I don't know; it seems just as dangerous to leave them around where anyone could stumble on them--"

"Dad, please," Clark said. "Who knows what it might do if you tried to destroy it? Like, chemically? Who wants to experiment with those reactions? And if you tried to blow it up, there'd be just lots of little bits of it around for everyone to breathe in."

"Mm," Jonathan said. "I'll think on it."

Martha had been applying Neosporin to Clark's arm.

"This one scrape's a little wide," she said to Clark. "I'll put a couple of stitches in it."

"Okay," Clark said.

Martha blinked as the needle bent in half on Clark's skin.

Clark looked at her and shrugged.

"Okay," Martha said. "Even though it's injured, it's apparently still...invulnerable."

"Yeah," Clark said.

Martha lightly touched one of the scrapes. "Does that hurt?" she asked.

"No, not at all," Clark said.

She poked at it a little. Nothing happened.

"Well," she said. "I guess it's already clotted, and nothing will make it start bleeding again unless you scratch it again. It doesn't hurt at all?"

"It itches a little," Clark said.

"Okay," Martha said. She gave him a level look. "Don't scratch it."

Clark nodded.

"You guys seem pretty calm about this," he said.

Martha smiled at him. "So our clever disguise is working."

Clark smiled back.

"Hey, Clark," Whitney said outside of school.

"Hi," Clark said.

"You didn't get attacked by any animals on the way to school?"

Clark smiled. "Nope."

"And, like, the plants were okay, right? None of those apple-throwing trees from The Wizard of Oz or anything?"

"Yeah, everything's cool," Clark said.

Whitney looked hard at Clark's arm, where the sleeve had ridden up a little. "What's that?"

"Nothing," Clark said. He tugged the sleeve down.

"No, it's something," Whitney said.

He took Clark's arm and pushed the sleeve up. He looked up from the scratches to Clark's face.

"You said you didn't get hurt last night," he said.

"I didn't," Clark said.

"...What's with the wounds?" Whitney asked.

"Okay, I ate my dinner and brushed and flossed and went to bed, because I was taking care of myself, right?"

"Okay," Whitney said.

"And then I had a nightmare, because I have nightmares all the time."

"...Uh-huh," Whitney said.

"So I dreamed the dog was attacking me, and was slobbering all over my arm and getting mutant germs on it, so I started scratching my arm in my sleep."

"You scratched yourself that hard in your sleep?" Whitney asked.

"Well, it woke me up," Clark said.

"Mm," Whitney said.

"Whitney, it's not a big deal," Clark said. "It doesn't even hurt."

"Do you do that often?" Whitney asked.

"No, no," Clark said. "That's the first time it's ever happened."

"You should get some antibiotic cream or something for it," Whitney said.

"No, it's fine," Clark said. "I took care of it last night."

"Come on, we'll just have the school nurse look at it," Whitney said.

"No, Whitney," Clark said. "Wait."

"What?" Whitney said.

"Look," Clark said. "This is embarrassing, but I'll freak out if I go see the nurse. I have a phobia of doctors and nurses."

Whitney blinked. "Why?"

"I don't know," Clark said. "The definition of a phobia is that it's irrational."

"Is there a name for that?" Whitney asked.

"Yeah," Clark said. "Something-phobia."

"That's kind of dangerous," Whitney said. "What if you got really sick or something?"

Clark shrugged. "Someone would hold me down while I was freaking out so the doctor could look at me."

"...Maybe you should see someone about that," Whitney said.

"See someone like...a doctor?" Clark asked.

Whitney smiled. "Okay, now you're making me sound stupid."

Clark lightly punched his shoulder. "And I wasn't even trying hard."

They went inside and Whitney pulled Clark over to a quiet corner.

"Listen, though," he whispered. "I'm kind of worried about you."

"How come?" Clark said.

"Well, when we're...you know...you kind of like it rough. And now you're hurting yourself."

Clark sighed. "I didn't scratch myself on purpose. And with the other thing...I have a very high tolerance for pain, okay? It doesn't hurt me; it feels stimulating."

"Well, just because you don't feel the pain doesn't mean it isn't hurting you physically," Whitney said.

Clark took in a deep breath. "Have I ever made you do anything that left bruises on me? Have I ever been sore after we've...done our thing?"

"...No," Whitney said.

"Okay then," Clark said. "I'm not any more screwed-up than you are, all right?"

Whitney nodded.

Clark smiled. "I am very well-adjusted, right?"

"Oh, extremely," Whitney said. "Keep in mind that's coming from a big gay vampire, though, so..."

Clark laughed.

Clark washed his hands in the bathroom. There was only one other kid in there.

The kid turned to him and said, "You're Clark Kent, right?"

Clark looked up, surprised. "Yeah. I'm sorry; I don't know that many people. What's your name?"

"Charley," the guy said.

Clark smiled. "Nice to meet you."

Charley rolled his eyes. "Right. Listen, it's great that you have a boyfriend and you get to hold hands around school and play sports together. But just keep in mind that you aren't the only gay people on campus, okay?"

Clark looked confused. "Okay."

"Because, you know, I could've tried out for the basketball team," Charley said. "But I'd still be me, with this voice, and these hand gestures, and I wouldn't really fit in, you know?"

"Well, it's not like--" Clark started.

"Just think about it, the next time you intimidate some homophobe, that the only lesson he's learned from you is to pick on someone smaller. And, for that added bonus, he'll really be out to prove something because some faggot beat him up."

"I..." Clark said. "Jesus, I didn't--"

Charley shook his head. "Forget about it. Have fun with your boyfriend."

He left Clark alone.

Clark stood near the auditorium's double doors as kids filed in. He spotted Whitney.

"Hey," he said, grabbing his arm.

"Hi," Whitney said. "Do you know what this assembly's about?"

"Yeah, we shouldn't take drugs," Clark said. "Come here."

Whitney glanced around. "Where?"

Clark led him to the back of the auditorium, through the crowds of milling kids. "C'mere."

He pushed open a door that opened into a small hallway.

"I didn't know this was back here," Whitney said.

"Up here," Clark said, opening another door to reveal a staircase.

"Where are we going?" Whitney said as they walked up.

"Right here," Clark said, closing the door at the top of the stairs behind them.

"...What's the name for this room?"

Clark shrugged. "Spotlight room?"

Whitney smiled as he touched one of the spotlights. "Well, I could've guessed that. But there must be a special theatrical name for it."

"Dunno," Clark said. "I think the important part about it is that it's kind of...secluded."

Whitney peered through the opening in the wall that would let the spotlight shine through. "Oh, look, they're not going to have an inspirational speaker; they're putting on a little morality play."

"That's interesting," Clark said, coming up behind Whitney.

Whitney turned and smiled at him. "You know it would be bad if we got caught up here, right?"

"Yeah," Clark said. "We'll have to be quiet."

"Okay," Whitney said.

He reached for Clark and kissed him. Clark kissed him back, following him as he gently pushed him onto the floor.

"You know what, Clark?" Whitney murmured between kisses.

"Hm?" Clark said.

"I'm starting to think," Whitney said, interrupting himself with a kiss, "that you do have kinks."

Clark smiled. "Maybe." He rolled on top of Whitney and looked down at him. "You should fuck me."

"What, here?" Whitney said.

"Yeah," Clark said, thrusting lightly against him.

"Um..." Whitney said. "I don't have anything with me."

"Yeah, but," Clark breathed against Whitney's lips, "we don't really need condoms, right?"

"Well, we need lube," Whitney said.

"People have sex all the time without lube," Clark said.

"Yeah, straight people," Whitney said. "That's because the female of the species is able to produce--"

Clark rolled his eyes. "I know," he said. "No, gay people also do it without lube."

"Which gay people?" Whitney said.

"On the Internet," Clark said.

Whitney laughed quietly. "Clark, not everything on the Internet is--"

"It'll be fine," Clark said. "If it hurts, we'll just stop, right?"

"I don't know..." Whitney said.

"Yeah, you do," Clark said, kissing him.

He undid Whitney's pants and pulled them down a little. He stroked Whitney's cock.

"See?" Clark said. "You want to."

Whitney smiled. "Clark," he said.

Clark was taking off his shoes, then his pants.

"No, I'll just get it wet," Clark said, then took Whitney's cock into his throat.

Whitney bucked up into his mouth, moaning softly.

Clark pulled off. "Shh," he said.

He went down on him again, licking his cock from bottom to top, then sucking on the tip.

Whitney shakily placed a hand on the back of Clark's head.

Clark gave it a final lick, then looked up and smiled. "That's good, right?"

"Yeah," Whitney said. "Good."

"Okay," Clark whispered. He straddled him, guiding Whitney's cock inside of him.

Whitney gasped as Clark sat all the way down on him.

"Jesus," he whispered.

Clark let out a long breath. "Yeah."

"It doesn't hurt?" Whitney asked.

Clark shook his head. "No," he said. He started to move up and down. "It doesn't hurt."

Whitney touched Clark's hip. "You feel so good..."

"You too," Clark said.

He closed his eyes and started moving faster.

"Oh God, shut up," Whitney whispered, hearing the kids in the auditorium below laugh.

"It's okay," Clark said softly.

Whitney put his hand over his mouth and made a muffled noise. He moved his hand and gasped, "Clark, I'm not going to last very long here..."

"Don't worry about it," Clark said, his brow furrowed as he rode him.

"No, I mean..." Whitney arched up. "Ah God..."

He lay back flat on the floor, breathing heavily. He reached up and touched Clark's cheek.

Clark turned his head and kissed his palm, continuing to lift himself up and down.

"Come here," Whitney whispered.

He pulled Clark up and off his cock and urged him forward on his knees. He lifted his head so his mouth was even with Clark's cock.

Clark looked down at him as he started to suck. He whimpered and put his hand under Whitney's head, supporting him.

Whitney craned his neck, getting a better angle to let Clark's dick slide down his throat.

Clark groaned quietly and came. He slowly pulled away and sat back on Whitney's chest, keeping most of his weight on his knees.

Whitney turned his head and cracked his neck.

Clark reached for him and rubbed the back of his neck. "You okay?"

Whitney smiled. "Yeah."

Clark stretched his arms and yawned. "Wow," he said.

"Yeah, no kidding," Whitney said. "You have good ideas sometimes."

Clark grinned at him, then got off him and put on his pants and shoes.

Whitney turned on his side and looked at him. "You're not going to go down to the assembly now, are you?"

"I don't see any reason in the world why I should," Clark said, sitting back down.

Whitney pulled him over and spooned up behind him. He kissed the side of Clark's throat, then listened to the sounds coming from the auditorium.

"Apparently," he whispered, "you shouldn't drop acid, because then you might walk off a roof."

"I'll remember that," Clark said.

They listened to the kids laughing downstairs.

"Do you think the play is supposed to be comical?" Whitney asked.

"Probably not," Clark said.

He sighed as Whitney slipped his hand under his sweater and stroked his chest through his T-shirt.

"Whitney?" he murmured. "What do you think about the other gay kids on campus?"

Whitney stopped moving his hand, then rubbed Clark's belly. "What gay kids?"

"Well, that's what I mean," Clark said. "Theoretically, one in ten of the kids here should be gay, right?"

"I guess," Whitney said.

"Well," Clark said, taking Whitney's hand twining his fingers with his, "don't you think, since we're out, we could maybe...I don't know."

"A lot of people don't want to be out at this age," Whitney said.

"Right," Clark said, "but it's because people beat them up and stuff. And the guys who want to beat us up are scared to do it, because we're pretty big and stuff, but that just means they'll beat up kids who can't defend themselves."

Whitney blinked. "Clark, it's not your fault that there are bigoted assholes at this school. You can't keep everyone from getting beat up. And you getting beat up instead of someone else isn't really...a good trade."

"No, but my chances would be better than some random gay kid's..."

Whitney leaned over and looked at Clark's face. "You feel responsible for people, don't you?"

Clark shrugged. "Not like...in an egotistical way or anything. Just...I want to be able to help."

Whitney smiled. "You like saving people."

"Well, not like so I can brag about it or anything--"

"No, I know," Whitney said. He kissed Clark's cheek. "It's admirable."

"So..." Clark said. "I mean, I feel bad that I can, you know...feel free to fuck my boyfriend during an assembly, and other kids are terrified of coming to school."

"You want to become special-interest superheroes, cruising around, stopping homophobes wherever they might be?"

Clark smiled.

"We could be like the Ambiguously Gay Duo," Whitney said. "We'd be the Definitively Gay Duo."

"I just..." Clark said. "I feel like I should do something."

Whitney shrugged. "If you wanted, you could start a gay/straight alliance. There are high schools that have clubs like that."

"You think?" Clark said.

"It wouldn't solve all the problems gay kids have," Whitney said. "But it'd be, you know, a start."

"Would that be allowed?" Clark said.

"Well, there'd probably be opposition," Whitney said. "But I bet Dave would be able to get Student Council to approve it, and I'm pretty sure Principal Kwan would be in favor of it."

"Hm," Clark said. "That's a good idea."

"It'd be a lot of work," Whitney said.

"Yeah," Clark said. "Heh, I just wish everything were simple. Like, pulling someone out of a car wreck. That's easy to do."

"Mm," Whitney said. "Yeah, the real world can kind of suck sometimes."

Clark nodded and leaned against Whitney.

"Clark?" Whitney said after a little while. "You asleep?"

"No," Clark said.

"Okay," Whitney said. "...You'd tell me anything, right?"

Clark stiffened a little. "Um, yeah. What do you want to know?"

Whitney shrugged. "Nothing specific. Just...is there anything you feel like you want to tell me about?"

"...No," Clark said. "Why do you ask?"

Whitney shrugged. "I don't know. It's just that you've had...a kind of complicated life, and sometimes I feel like you're, I don't know..." he said. "Holding things back." He quickly added, "Not that there's anything wrong with you wanting to be private or anything."

"No, I get you," Clark said.

"Okay," Whitney said.

After a moment, Clark said, "I know I'm not...forthright about some things. But I guess it's that I'm still figuring them out for myself, you know?"

"Yeah," Whitney said.

"I don't want to...have it all out in the open now," Clark said. "I have to kind of approach it...indirectly, I guess. Kind of...slant."

"Okay," Whitney said. He kissed the side of Clark's head. "You know that whenever you do want to talk about it, you can, right?"

Clark nodded.

"Good," Whitney said.

He rubbed his thumb over Clark's cheek, then said worriedly, "Clark, are you crying?"

Clark shook his head. "No," he said. "No, I'm good."

The end