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Disclaimer: Smallville and all related elements, characters and indicia © Tollin-Robbins Productions and Warner Bros. Television, 2002. All Rights Reserved. All characters and situations—save those created by the authors for use solely on this website—are copyright Tollin-Robbins Productions and Warner Bros. Television. Superman created by Jerry Siegel and Joe Schuster.

Author's Note: This takes place during the summer after first season. Continuity follows up to "Nicodemus" (so far). It is a sequel to "Chloe," a fanfic I wrote earlier this year (geocities.com/katpicson/chloefic.html). Chloe and Clark had gone to Metropolis to visit her grandparents. Clark found out that Chloe used to be a popular cheerleader in her Metropolis school, not unlike Lana Lang. Chloe tells Clark that she knows that he is special and that he was affected by the meteors. Clark tells her about his invulnerability, his super-speed and his X-ray vision. (But not about the part about his being an alien.) This story picks up right after they return to Smallville, but it doesn’t really follow any storyline from it so it's pretty much a stand-alone. Have fun and enjoy. Please read and review. I’m not too sure of my characterization of Lana, so if she is out of character, please let me know. Thanks to my beta readers, Tresca and Impulse49.

pla.ton.ic noun. 1 : relating to or based on platonic love; also : experiencing or professing platonic love; 2 : of, relating to, or being a relationship marked by the absence of romance or sex

Platonic
by Sullivan Lane

Chapter 1: "Independence"

"Triple-letter score equals thirty, and triple-word score equals … one-hundred fourteen points!" Chloe exclaimed, scribbling on the score sheet with a flourish.

"I give up," Pete said, leaning back in his chair in defeat. "Chloe, you win, all right?" He dumped his rack of tiles in the bag.

"No way," Clark objected. "The game’s barely started." His eyes darted quickly from the Scrabble board to his rack of tiles.

"Clark, I’ve got close to two hundred points," Chloe pointed out. "You and Pete put together barely racked up a hundred. You’re the math genius. Now give it up."

"I hate you," Clark said dejectedly as he dumped his tiles into the bag.

"I’m your biggest fan, too, Clark," Chloe retorted as she cleaned up the board.

"I swear you’ve got X-ray vision," Pete said, helping her. "That’s the only explanation for your whooping our butts so bad."

Clark and Chloe’s eyes met for a moment, a brief smile that Pete didn’t detect. "You forgot my freakishly extensive vocabulary," Chloe reminded him. She picked up her half-eaten hot dog and bit into it.

"I can’t believe you put Grey Poupon on your hot dog," Pete remarked. "Do you think it makes it any classier? It’s still a hot dog, Chloe."

"Stop being such a sore loser," Chloe mumbled, a huge chunk of food impairing her ability to speak clearly. A large piece of hot dog bun fell out of her mouth and stained her red shirt with mustard. Pete and Clark laughed. She picked the piece off her shirt and threw it in Clark’s general direction. He ducked, and it hit the wall behind him.

It was the Fourth of July, and the three had spent the day in town. They watched the sun set from the Kent barn loft and awaited the fireworks with board games. So far they had played Boggle, Sorry, Scrabble and Scattergories, and Chloe had won at all but Sorry.

"Caramel corn, anyone?" Mrs. Kent called from the door.

"Yeah!" Pete was the first to bound down the stairs and grab the large Tupperware bowl she was holding. "Thanks, Mrs. Kent."

"You’re welcome. So who won Scrabble?" she asked.

"I did," Chloe said, grinning down at her from the railing. Clark walked to the railing to stand behind her.

"Word to the wise, boys," Martha told Pete and Clark. "Don’t challenge an aspiring journalist to word games." She winked at Chloe, who winked back. Mrs. Kent waved goodbye and went back to the house.

"I think we should play Monopoly next," Pete suggested as he walked up the stairs. "I got a pretty good grade in economics."

"Actually, the fireworks are starting in a few minutes," Clark said, glancing at his watch.

"The true test of your economic prowess will have to wait a half-hour," Chloe told Pete. She positioned her lawn chair in front of the large window. Clark handed her a large paper cup filled with caramel corn, and she grinned at him. Clark sat down next to her. He picked a kernel of corn out of her cup and playfully threw it in her face. She giggled and threw it back at him. They continued for awhile until the sound of Pete’s chair solidly hitting the wooden floor next to Chloe brought them back to reality.

"Hey, who’s that?" Pete said, pointing. There seemed to be a figure coming up the way in the darkness.

Clark squinted. "I think it’s Lana."

As the figure got closer, they could see that Clark was right. Lana Lang, wearing cut-off jeans, a white T-shirt with a faded American flag printed on it, and pink flip-flops, was striding toward the barn, a smile on her face and a bulky plastic grocery bag dangling from her hand.

"Hi, Lana!" Pete yelled, waving as she neared the barn.

Lana waved back and hurried inside. "I called your house and your parents said you guys were watching the fireworks from here," she told Clark. "Is it all right if I join you?" Her smile was tentative, almost forced.

"Of course," Clark said, a little too quickly. Pete snorted softly as he caught Chloe rolling her eyes. Clark and Lana didn’t notice.

Lana held up the package in her hand. "I brought some sarsaparilla for everyone." Lana reached into the bag and handed Chloe and Pete bottles of sarsaparilla.

Clark grinned. "Thanks," he said as he accepted a bottle.

Clark set up another lawn chair, and she sat down just as the first rocket soared into the air and exploded into a thousand falling red stars. The four teenagers sat, from left to right, Clark, Lana, Chloe and Pete. The caramel corn and the sarsaparilla made for two distinct tastes on the palate, both almost too sweet, but too tasty to decline nonetheless. The caramel corn was popped to a light perfection, glazed lightly with a caramel concoction that the Kent women passed down from mother to daughter or daughter-in-law. The sarsaparilla was famous in Lowell County, made on the Corrigan Farm three towns east, and probably accounted for the overstock in root beer at the supermarkets and convenience stores all over the county. And Lana had apparently put the bottles in the freezer for a little while, making the cool dark liquid more refreshing to the throat and belly in the humid summer air, which seemed to get warmer with the bursting clouds of silver, gold and blue stars in the sky above.

They watched the fireworks show in relative silence, except for the sound of crunching caramel corn and gulping sarsaparilla, and Clark’s radio faintly playing patriotic marches. Smallville’s fireworks committee members had really outdone themselves. Rocket after rocket went up and exploded in the night sky, sometimes to the sigh of contentment or squeal of excitement by one of the four. As the last of the fireworks faded into the smoky sky, Clark stood up.

"Happy birthday, America," he said.

"Here, here," Pete said, raising his bottle.

"How about that game of Monopoly?" Clark suggested.

But Chloe moaned. "Oh," she said, clutching her stomach and leaning back. "I have a bellyache. Don’t mix hot dogs, caramel corn and sarsaparilla. File that for future reference."

"We’ll walk you home," Lana said, looking concerned.

"Nah, you guys hang out," Chloe said, standing up but slightly hunched over. "I’ll be all right."

"I’m walking you home," Pete said.

"Or better yet, I’ll borrow the truck and drive you," Clark offered.

"Oh, please. I’m not an invalid," Chloe said with as much disgust as she could through her apparent discomfort.

"I’m still walking you home," Pete insisted.

"Fine," Chloe relented. "Bye, Clark. Bye, Lana."

As soon as Pete and Chloe had disappeared into the night, Clark turned to Lana. She was sitting at the card table, fingering one of the Scrabble tiles. Clark noticed now that Lana seemed nervous and sad that Pete and Chloe had gone.

"Where’s Whitney?" Clark asked, walking around the loft and picking up the remnants of the caramel corn fight he and Chloe had had earlier. He wiped at the mustard stain on the wall with a napkin, and then looked over at Lana.

Lana looked up at him with a half-smile. "At his grandparents’ house in Florida," she said. "At least, that’s what I heard. He broke up with me before I went to summer camp."

Clark was surprised as he sat down next to her. "I’m sorry, Lana."

Lana shook her head. "No, I knew he was getting impatient with me. It was getting too hard to be in a relationship for him, and I don’t think I was making it any easier."

Clark nodded, but he said, "Don’t blame yourself." His mouth felt dry, and he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

Lana nodded uncertainly. There was an uncomfortable silence before she took a deep breath and spoke, looking him squarely in the eye. "I don’t think it’s any secret that there’s an attraction between you and me, but I just want to let you know that I’d like to just be friends with you. At least for right now. Whitney and I have been broken up for two weeks, and I just want to be single for awhile."

Clark nodded. "I’ll be here as your friend, Lana" was the only thing he could think of to say. They held a gaze for an uncomfortable moment, and it was broken when Lana stood up abruptly, knocking the bag of Scrabble tiles to the floor.

"Oh!" she exclaimed. They both kneeled to recover the tiles. As soon as they were gathered, Lana said, "I’d better get home. I told Nell I would only come out here to watch the fireworks."

"I’ll walk you," Clark said. Lana opened her mouth to protest, but quickly closed it. She walked with Clark out of the barn.

They took their time and walked in silence. When they were almost to Lana’s porch she turned to him and asked, "Do you like old movies?"

Clark shrugged. "How old? Like ‘Lethal Weapon’ old, or Buster Keaton?"

Lana giggled. "Kinda in between. The multiplex is showing ‘Casablanca’ tomorrow night. Normally I wouldn’t patronize the competition, but the Talon’s movie this week reeks, I can assure you. What do you say?"

"OK," Clark said, a smile turning at his lips slowly. "I’m not big on romantic movies, but I’ll give it a shot."

"Can you pick me up at six-thirty?"

"Sure."

Chapter 2: "Transition"

"Why do you let her get to you?" Pete asked as he and Chloe approached the dirt path that snaked from the Kent farm to the Sullivan property.

"What are you talking about? My stomach hurts," Chloe said unconvincingly. "I wanted to go home."

Pete looked at her incredulously. "This is the same Chloe Sullivan who was thrown out a third-story window, survived to tell the tale and was ready to fight crime and meteor rock-induced mutants a week later. My guess is, you’ve got a stomach of iron. The only explanation is Lana Lang."

Chloe sighed. She kicked at imaginary pebbles with a dusty boot. "She’s just so irritatingly perfect. I actually can’t find a reason to hate her. My reasons for disliking her rest solely on the fact that Clark is hopelessly infatuated with her. And I can’t really blame him for that either."

"You don’t know that he still is," Pete argued. "You guys were in Metropolis for two weeks, and all last week Lana was at equestrian camp. Did he even mention her name while you guys were in Metropolis?" Chloe shook her head no.

Her mind flitted briefly on the two weeks she and Clark had spent at her grandparents’ house. They had shared a lot in that short time. But Chloe came back to reality when she remembered Clark’s reaction when he saw Lana walking up the way.

"Are you kidding me?" Chloe said. "Did you see the expression on his face? It was reeking with lovesick puppy."

"Maybe," Pete conceded.

"No, it’s the truth," Chloe said, as if she were also trying to convince herself. "I’m just going to have to face the fact that Clark and I will never be anything more than friends. That’s all he’s ever wanted, and I should respect that. From this point on, I’m freeing myself from the bonds of unrequited infatuation." She paused, both in speaking and in walking. "It’s fitting, considering it’s Independence Day. But anyway, just friends, Clark and me. What’s the word?"

"Platonic?" Pete asked.

"Yes, that’s it. Platonic."

Pete chuckled. "Man, I don’t think you can do it. Your lovesick puppy expression is at least as desperate as Clark’s." Pete ducked Chloe’s fist, which was headed for his shoulder. He laughed again as Chloe trotted up the driveway to her front door.

"My stomach did hurt!"

"Sure, Chloe!"

Chloe stuck her tongue out at him before entering her house.

Clark came back from Lana’s to a dark kitchen. His parents had probably already gone to bed. The smell of caramel lingered. He started for the stairs, but something told him to turn back. He picked up the telephone and dialed Chloe’s home phone number.

She answered on the second ring. "Hello?"

"Chloe."

"Clark!" She seemed surprised to hear his voice.

"I just wanted to make sure you’re OK. Uh, whenever my mom or my dad get a stomachache, they take the pink stuff. Maybe you should try that."

"Thanks," Chloe said, smiling. There was a moment of silence. "What are you doing tomorrow night?"

"I’m … hanging out with Lana," Clark said. He wondered why he hesitated to tell her.

"Oh." Chloe was obviously disappointed. "What about Whitney?"

"They broke up."

"Wow." Clark couldn’t tell what Chloe was thinking. Her voice sounded funny. Was she disappointed? Happy for him? Maybe she was just surprised, as he was. "OK. I guess I’ll see you around then." She seemed to be in a hurry to get off the phone.

"Of course. Bye."

"Bye."

The Smallville Ledger office was an inconspicuous converted storefront on Main Street. The receptionist was Hannah Baxter, a fifty-something woman with gray hair and a friendly smile. She also wrote the entertainment column and edited the wire. She sat in the front office in plain view through the large plate-glass window from nine to five, every day. So Chloe was surprised to approach the office and see a young dark-haired, chocolate-skinned young man sitting in Mrs. Baxter’s chair.

She entered the office and pushed her sunglasses up to keep her bangs out of her face. She took in the appearance of the young man. He was definitely not from Smallville. He wore pressed khakis, old-fashioned wingtips and a crisp white polo. His curly dark hair was cropped short, and wire rimmed glasses perched atop a nose that might be slightly too big on some faces, but on him, with his commanding air and a hint of a smile, it was perfect.

"Hi," Chloe said. Why was she so shy? The man looked up. Chloe was more surprised to notice that he was quite young. He couldn’t be older than 20. "Is Mrs. Baxter here?"

"I’m sorry, but she’s in Metropolis for the day," the stranger said, smiling wider and standing up. He had a slight accent that Chloe believed to be Spanish. "Her daughter had a baby this morning." He offered his hand to her. "I’m an intern. Jorge Costa."

Chloe shook his hand, noting a gentle touch and soft skin. "Chloe."

"What can I help you with, Chloe?" Jorge asked.

"Oh. I was supposed to upload a bunch of stories to the Torch server today, but my modem decided to take a summer break. I thought transferring them directly to the server would be easier than trying to find someone who could open up the Torch office at the high school." She held up a stack of zip disks.

Jorge looked amused. Then a look of recognition passed over his face, and he said, "Oh, you’re Chloe Sullivan. The editor of the Torch. I was wondering when I would run into you," he said. "OK, you can use that terminal. I’m just sitting here eating my lunch if you need help."

Chloe sat at the computer next to Jorge’s desk and popped the first disk into the drive.

"You don’t look like you’re from Smallville," Jorge said, poking at his salad.

Chloe looked over at him. "And how did you figure that out?"

He pointed to her. "The way you’re dressed." Chloe looked down. She was wearing brown corduroy shorts, a thin pumpkin-colored peasant blouse and her military boots, despite the humid heat. The square rimless shades on her head were tinted pink, and she carried her leopard-printed bag. "Girls from Smallville don’t dress like that. They like simple colors, and sneakers."

"Well, you can’t be from Smallville either," Chloe countered.

"Ah, the accent," Jorge said, nodding.

Chloe grinned. "Yeah, that, but I was thinking more along the lines of your wingtips," she said, pointing.

Jorged grinned back. "I grew up in Brazil, but I moved to Chicago when I was fourteen." So his accent was Brazilian Portuguese, not Spanish, Chloe noted. Not that she had ever heard it before.

"So what brings you to Boredom Central, Kansas?" Chloe asked.

Jorge chuckled. "I wanted to find out what was up with this town and its meteor shower mutations."

Chloe’s eyes widened. "Is that right?"

"Well, according to you, it’s the mutant capital of the world, yes?"

"You’ve read my work." Chloe didn’t meet very many people who could surprise her. The way this guy was dressed made him look more like a finance writer rather than someone who could debate meteor theories with her.

"Smallville Torch-dot-com," he said, grinning. "Truthfully, I didn’t think I’d be accepted as an intern at a high school newspaper staff when I’ve just graduated from high school six weeks ago. So I applied for an internship here. On the off-chance that perhaps I would run into … you."

"Just graduated … You’re only eighteen? And you wanted to meet … me?"

"Yes. And yes."

Chloe was officially fascinated. As she fed the zip disks into the disk drive in front of her, she discussed her meteor theories with Jorge, who was a worthy audience. She also found out he was attending Columbia University in the fall, that he had two older sisters still living in Brazil, and he was staying with the Wright family on Elm Drive until his internship finished at the end of the summer. But whenever she tried to steer the conversation to him, he would find a way to skillfully veer it back to Chloe Sullivan and her meteor shower theories. Chloe was impressed. And flattered.

"Well, I’m done," Chloe said, somewhat sadly. She hadn’t had so much fun at the Ledger office. She stood up and gathered her things.

"Where are you going?" Jorge asked.

Chloe turned around. "Home, I guess."

"What are you doing tonight?"

Chloe’s eyes narrowed. "You’ll make a great reporter. You ask a lot of questions. But to answer your last one, I’m not doing anything tonight."

"OK," Jorge said. "They’re playing ‘Casablanca’ at the multiplex tonight. I’d love company. Would you like to go with me?"

"Sure," Chloe said, instantly regretting answering so quickly.

"Where do you live?"

"Ten Hickory Lane," Chloe answered as she headed for the door. "It’s right past the Kent Farm. You can’t miss it."

"I’ll see you at six-thirty," Jorge said, smiling at her as she walked out.

Chapter 3: "A Kiss Is Just a Kiss"

When Clark finished his chores, he ran into the house and picked up the telephone. He had been trying to reach her all day to no avail. Clark figured she had slept in. "Hello?"

"Where have you been? Are you feeling better?" Clark asked.

"I was in town. And yes, I am. Thanks for asking."

"Good. I need some help."

"With what?"

"Don’t laugh."

Chloe was already giggling. "You know I can’t guarantee that."

"OK, I need help picking out some clothes for tonight."

Chloe’s heart sank. She pushed the feeling away and replied, "I didn’t know this was a date. I thought Lana and Whitney just broke up. Horning in on the rebound?" She tried to keep her voice casual and teasing.

Silence. Then, "I just want to look nice. Can you come over around five-thirty?"

"As much as I enjoy poring through your endless supply of flannel shirts, I can’t. I’ve got a date tonight. A real one," she added.

It seemed that Clark was a little slow on the uptake today because there was another pause before he said, "Really? Who?"

"Jorge Costa," Chloe said, rolling the R dramatically. "He’s an intern at the Ledger."

"OK," Clark said dubiously. "Have fun."

"You, too."

Clark hung up and dialed Pete’s number. "Hey, Pete? I’ve got a favor to ask …"

Clark nervously rang the bell at the Potter-Lang house. He smoothed imaginary wrinkles from the front of his shirt and fidgeted nervously. Pete had chosen a pair of khakis, short-sleeved navy blue polo and clean sneakers. Clark thought he looked straight out of the Abercrombie & Fitch catalog, but Pete said that was a good thing.

The door opened and he faced Nell Potter. "Uh, hi, Ms. Potter," he said nervously. "I’m here to pick up Lana."

Nell raised an eyebrow and opened the door wider to let Clark inside. "Lana, you’ve got company!"

"Be down in a minute!" Lana yelled down the stairs.

Nell showed him into the living room, where he sat down on the couch. The TV droned the news faintly, the air conditioner hummed. Nell sat at a rollaway desk and punched numbers in an adding machine, which buzzed and whirred rhythmically. Clark picked up an Architectural Digest from the coffee table and thumbed through it. He placed it back on the table and looked around. Nell didn’t look like she was in the mood for small talk. Clark leaned back on the sofa.

Ten minutes later Lana came down the stairs, practically running. She was wearing navy capri pants and a red blouse with brown sandals. A small brown leather purse dangled from her wrist.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," she said, hastily tying her long black hair into a ponytail. "I was on the phone." She turned to Nell. "Clark and I are going to watch the revival of ‘Casablanca’ at the multiplex, then have a snack at the Talon."

"We should be back by eleven," Clark added.

Nell gave a cryptic little smile and turned back to her number-crunching. Clark gave Lana a questioning look, but all she did was sigh, roll her eyes and head for the door.

Lana was surprised when Clark held her door open when she climbed into the truck. Such a gentleman, she thought. She wasn’t sure whether she should tell him that she had been on the phone with Whitney, and that was why she had been a little late coming downstairs. It wasn’t Whitney’s fault that he no longer felt at ease with his former football teammates. Lana was his only confidante these days, and she felt guilty for not having been the model girlfriend that he needed. The least she could do was offer her ear whenever he needed to vent about his father’s illness or his plans to attend community college, which he was still ambivalent about. In a way Lana was for Whitney what Clark was for her.

Lana sighed. Her relationship with Clark was so blurred between the line of friend and potential boyfriend that she believed there was no real definition of what they had, no matter what she had told him the night before. When Clark started the engine, loud rock music blared from the speakers, and she took that as a sign to keep quiet. Besides, the remnants of her relationship with him shouldn’t come into play if ever she and Clark would decide to … She stopped herself from going down that line of thought. She and Whitney had just broken up. She and Clark were friends right now, nothing more. She stole a sideways glance at him. He was drumming his fingertips on the steering wheel in time to the music. She fidgeted. She needed to be distracted from her thoughts.

Impulsively she turned down the volume on the radio. "It’s hard to talk with the radio so loud," she said brightly.

Clark looked slightly annoyed, but he stopped drumming. "What do you want to talk about?"

"I heard you went to Metropolis for a couple of weeks with Chloe," Lana said. "How was it?"

Clark hesitated. He couldn’t possibly tell Lana about the experience he had had with Chloe. First, of course, there were the secrets that they had revealed to each other. Second, he wanted to keep his friendship with Chloe separate from whatever he had or was going to have with Lana. Talking about Chloe with Lana was a strange feeling. From the time he had become friends with Lana they had had an instant connection. But Chloe understood him in ways that Lana might never know or understand. It was a strange feeling because Clark had underestimated Chloe, but he would never admit that to anyone out loud. Least of all to Lana, for whom he knew Chloe still harbored ambivalent feelings.

"It was fun," Clark said finally. "Her grandparents took us to the symphony, and we went to a ball game, the museums. And the Daily Planet offices, of course. Chloe’s got a lot of surprises up her sleeve."

"Somehow that doesn’t surprise me," Lana said. "I knew she had to be more than reporting and the Torch."

"Yeah," Clark said simply. He parked in the multiplex’s parking lot and walked around to open Lana’s door.

When they reached the box office, Lana put her hand on Clark’s as he opened his billfold.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Paying for our tickets," Clark said matter-of-factly.

Lana shook her head. "I invited you. I’m paying."

Clark looked unsure. "I don’t know …"

"All right," Lana said. "We’ll compromise. I’ll get the movie; you pay for popcorn and Icees." Clark still looked uncertain, but Lana held his gaze.

"Deal." Clark relented. Lana grinned and pushed her twenty-dollar bill toward the cashier.

The Talon was crowded when Lana and Clark entered, and despite Lana’s finagling, they had to wait for a table. They stood outside in the humid Kansas night.

"How did you like the movie?" Clark asked. Despite the movie being a classic, this was Clark’s first time seeing "Casablanca." He had to admit, black and white movies in all their simplicity had a certain magic to them.

Lana smiled and shrugged. "It was romantic. Given the circumstances, it was really sad. I really wanted her to stay with Humphrey Bogart." She looked at Clark and giggled.

"I would have gone with Laszlo," said an amused female voice behind them.

They turned around. Chloe stood there with a man that Clark assumed had to be Jorge. His arm was draped over Chloe’s shoulder. Chloe was grinning. Clark noticed she was wearing a Hawaiian-printed sundress that was very short, and she had shunned her military boots in favor of black strappy sandals. This was a first. The last time Clark remembered her without her trademark boots was to go to the symphony in Metropolis.

"Jorge, this is Clark Kent, and Lana Lang. Guys, this is Jorge Costa. He’s an intern at the Ledger." Chloe looked quite proud of herself, but not so much so that she was rubbing it in.

Clark and Lana shook hands with Jorge. Clark looked at him warily. He seemed like a nice guy, but Clark was always suspicious of the guys who were interested in Chloe. It wasn’t like she had the best track record. Despite all that, Jorge seemed nice and normal. Clark decided to give him a chance, while keeping a close eye on them.

"It’s crowded tonight, isn’t it?" Chloe asked, gesturing to the Talon.

"Why don’t you join us?" Clark suggested. "If that’s OK with you, Lana."

"Of course. I’ll go inside and tell them to make it a table for four," Lana said, nodding.

"Could you show me where the bathroom is?" Jorge asked.

"Sure." Lana and Jorge headed inside.

Chloe and Clark didn’t say anything as they watched the cars pass by on the street. Finally Clark said, "Were you guys at the movie, too?"

Chloe looked up at him and grinned. "Yes, we were. We were sitting in the back. I saw you and Lana come in and sit tenth row center."

"Why didn’t you say anything?"

Chloe shrugged. "Wanted to give you some privacy. I didn’t know you guys were coming to the movie."

"Would you really have gone with Laszlo?"

Chloe’s eyes narrowed. "Do you want the official Chloe Sullivan breakdown, or do you want the everyday movie-watcher opinion?"

"The breakdown, of course," Clark said.

"The breakdown of what?" Lana asked. She and Jorge had come back outside.

"The official Chloe Sullivan critique of ‘Casablanca,’" Clark told her.

Chloe sighed. "Well, the problem was with the story itself, really. There was no other way for it to end the way it did. The movie came out in 1942. Which means Ilsa better be ready to help her husband save the world, not hanging out in some skeezy casino in Casablanca."

"Tell them why you’d rather go with Laszlo," Jorge prompted, a smile playing at his lips.

"Because he’s the man I would have fallen in love with," Chloe said.

Clark raised his eyebrows. Lana looked confused. They were interrupted by a server who told them their table was ready.

"But Humphrey Bogart’s character was romantic," Lana argued when they were seated. "He was all about making her happy and giving her a good, safe life."

"That’s what I said," Jorge butted in.

"Oh, he was a bum by taking the easy way out by chilling in Casablanca," Chloe said bluntly. "The way I see it, Laszlo was just more exciting. They just didn’t portray him that way. He was saving the world. I would have been right there next to him helping him do that. Rick owned a bar. Boring! But I’m not saying it wasn’t a good story. The United States just entered the war during that time, and if Ilsa had stayed with Rick the movie would have been unpatriotic and sucky. And without the romantic conflict there would be no movie."

"All about the adventure," Jorge said, looking at Chloe admirably. "James Bond, look out. Here comes Chloe Sullivan."

"Don’t even get me started on those movies," Chloe said, sipping from her water glass and glancing over the menu.

Clark shook his head in amazement. Lana smiled demurely, either not knowing how to respond, or afraid to. Chloe always managed to put spice in a conversation about the most ordinary topics.

The server came at that moment, and they gave their orders. Clark noticed the comfortable banter between Chloe and Jorge, a thin line between verbal sparring and flirting. Jorge’s arm seemed permanently slung over the back of Chloe’s chair, except to occasionally massage her shoulder with his hand when he was trying to calm her down. It made Clark feel uneasy. Lana continued to grin at Clark and touch his hand whenever they talked. Clark noticed once that Chloe eyed Lana’s hand as she did this, but her gaze quickly darted away. It made Clark hide a smile. His date with Lana was as uncomfortable for Chloe as Chloe’s date with Jorge was for Clark.

When they had finished their food and made a little more small talk, Jorge stood up quickly, dropping his and Chloe’s share of the bill on the table. "I’d like to go for a walk. Are you up for a walk, Chloe?"

Chloe stood up. "As always." She turned to Clark and Lana. "I’ll talk to you guys later."

Jorge waved and said, "It was nice meeting you both."

When they were gone, Lana said, "It looks like Chloe has finally found her match."

Clark shrugged. "He seemed … very much like her."

"She deserves it," Lana said, giving a firm nod. Then she sighed. "We all do."

"He likes you very much," Jorge said to Chloe as they turned the street corner, their clasped hands swinging between them.

"Who? Clark?" Chloe said, surprised. "He’s just overprotective. I’ve dated a couple of idiots in the past year."

"That was not an overprotective look he was giving you," Jorge said. "It was a loving look."

Chloe searched Jorge’s face. "Are you jealous?"

"Of course I am," Jorge said. He stopped walking and faced Chloe. "I’ve been reading your stories for the past year, and part of the reason I interned here in Smallville was to meet the woman behind the meteor shower theories. You intrigue me, Chloe."

"I … For once, I don’t know what to say."

Jorge smiled. "Well, don’t say anything. I work at four tomorrow, so I’ll have the morning free. Spend the day with me. We can talk meteors. Or whatever you want to talk about."

Chloe’s eyes widened. She was flattered. "OK."

The night was warm and still as Clark walked Lana to her door. She was quiet on the ride home, despite having been so chatty and animated at the Talon. Clark assumed she was tired.

When they reached the porch, Lana turned to Clark abruptly and asked, "Clark, do you like me?"

Clark was taken aback. "I thought we weren’t going to talk about this," he said, avoiding the question.

Lana sighed. "I know. I’m sorry. I just … I just feel really comfortable with you, Clark. Like you know me, and I know you, and we … fit together. Am I making any sense?"

Clark nodded, but didn’t say anything.

Lana took a deep breath. "Thank you for tonight. I’ve had a lot on my mind, and you made me kind of forget everything. So, thanks."

Clark grinned. "You’re welcome."

Lana approached him with her arms outstretched, and Clark enveloped her, smelling her strawberry-scented hair mingled with a soft, floral perfume. He had been waiting for a moment like this for a long time, and he couldn’t figure out why he was feeling so uncomfortable. Was it because he had felt so comfortable in Metropolis without so much a mention of her name or likeness for two weeks? Or was it because she had just broken up with Whitney?

It didn’t matter. He wanted to take things slow with Lana.

So when she looked up at him, her face getting closer to his, he pulled away awkwardly.

"I gotta go. I’ll talk to you tomorrow," he said, striding down the porch steps quickly and toward his truck.

Lana looked at him with a puzzled look on her face. She stared for a long time as the truck disappeared into the darkness.

Jorge dropped Chloe off, planting an innocent but lingering kiss on her lips. Chloe was smiling when she entered her darkened living room. She flopped down on the couch and exhaled slowly. It was happening so fast. Jorge was in town for another month, and then he was moving to New York. Chloe decided that she was just going to enjoy it while it lasted. It was obviously not going to be forever, but she wanted it to be fun.

And she still couldn’t wipe the ridiculous grin that she knew was plastered to her face. Jorge was a great kisser.

But then she thought about what Jorge said after dinner. Did Clark really look at her lovingly? Jorge was a pretty intuitive person. He was a journalist, and he knew how to pick up on the little details. But Clark had always been wary of any boy Chloe was interested in.

"Why is that?" Chloe thought out loud.

"Chloe?" Gabe Sullivan’s voice drifted down the stairs. "Is that you, sweetheart?"

"Yes, Dad."

Gabe came down in his bathrobe and slippers and stood at the foot of the stairs. "Did you have fun on your date?"

Chloe nodded, still smiling.

"He seemed like a nice boy," Gabe observed.

"He is, Dad," Chloe assured him. "A gentleman."

Gabe sat down in his recliner facing Chloe, his face half-hidden in shadows. "What about Clark?"

Chloe sighed. "What about him?"

"I thought you liked him."

"I did. But he doesn’t like me back, and I’m not going to wait forever."

Although Chloe couldn’t see it, she knew her father was smiling. "Good girl."

Gabe got up and headed for the stairs again. "By the way," he said, pausing for a moment, "He called for you a half-hour ago."

Chloe frowned. "Thanks, Dad. Good night."

"Good night, sweetheart."

Chloe fished her cell phone out of her purse and pressed 1 and Send.

"Hello?" Clark whispered from the other end.

"Why are you whispering?" Chloe asked.

"Because it’s eleven o’clock, and my parents and I have to get up in a few hours."

"Oh. Sorry. I’m still not used to this harvest schedule thing. How was your date?"

Clark sighed. "I’d rather not talk about it. How was yours?"

Chloe grinned in spite of herself. "It was very nice. Despite the fact that when Jorge asked me whether or not Lana was the girl in Time magazine and I had to plead with him from asking her any questions about it –"

"Ouch."

"Yeah."

"Sounds a lot like you," Clark added.

"Hey! Talk about ‘ouch.’"

"Sorry."

They talked for a few more minutes. Chloe realized that since they had gotten back from Metropolis, this late-night phone calls between her and Clark were increasing in frequency. It was nice when they were in Metropolis, when she just had to walk through the bathroom to talk to him, talking his ear off despite his obvious hints that he wanted to sleep. She was naturally energetic, and sometimes she forgot that other people weren’t like her. So she noticed when Clark was only responding to her in monosyllabic words, yet not seeming to want to hang up.

"Hey," Chloe finally said during a lull. "Are you gonna tell me what’s going on?"

"Lana tried to kiss me," Clark said dejectedly.

Chloe thought she felt her heart breaking in two. She tried to shove the feeling aside. "Really? And you didn’t go for it? Or was there another Nellus Interruptus?"

"No, it was a Clarkus Interruptus," he said, sounding more and more regretful with each word. "I just keep feeling that it’s never the right time."

"Well, Clark, a kiss is just a kiss," Chloe said, trying to keep her tone light.

"Stop it. It’s not funny," Clark said. He was irritated now. Chloe couldn’t remember him irritated before. "I’m serious."

"OK, I’m sorry. Seriously then, Clark. Talk to her. I mean, you’ve loved her from afar since the beginning of time." Chloe sighed collecting her dignity before going on. "You’ve finally got your chance, right?" Chloe debated whether or not to tell Clark that Jorge had kissed her. She decided against it, deciding that it had nothing to do with the conversation. Which was ironic, because that’s why she had called Clark in the first place, and now that she was hearing about Lana’s kiss attempt, she was regretting it.

"You think so?" Clark asked.

Chloe swallowed, wondering if her voice would give away the huge lump in her throat. "Yeah," she whispered. "Um. I think I better let you get some sleep."

"Yeah," Clark answered. "I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Or you can come by at the usual time."

"Sure."

Chloe tossed the phone carelessly on the couch next to her and punched the throw pillow that was conveniently nearby. She wasn’t in love with him. She was just disappointed.

Oh, who was she trying to kid?

She was totally still in love with him.

Chapter 4: "Soul Search"

Clark awoke at four o’clock six days a week during the summer to help with the harvest. He usually worked until two and then had free time for the rest of the day.

He walked into the house, dirty with the stains of earth and hay on his shirt and jeans, at the exact moment the phone rang.

"Clark!"

"Are you busy right now?" she asked.

"I’m taking a shower and then heading over to Lana’s."

"Oh. I guess you’re … going for it?"

"I’m not sure. I just want to talk to her."

"OK. Ask me how my date went this afternoon."

"How was your date this afternoon?"

"As much as Jorge is a hottie and a half, the spectrum of conversation just wasn’t as eclectic as I wanted."

"And that in plain English is?"

"All he could talk about was the meteor shower, Clark," Chloe said. "We went to the Torch office this morning, and we spent two hours – two hours! – going over the Wall of Weird and every article, picture and file that I possess directly or indirectly related to the Smallville meteor shower 1989."

"I guess you guys have a lot in common," Clark said, chuckling.

"No! No, we don’t! As a matter of fact, I would like to think that I have more substance to my personality than meteors and the meteor shower."

"Of course you do, Chloe. You have the Torch. And caffeine."

"Thank you, Captain Supportive."

"Chloe, I’m dirty and need to take a shower right now. Come by around four. You can bag on Señor Meteor all you want then."

"Fine."

Clark headed upstairs to shower. When he finished, he decided that he should probably talk to Lana. They said goodbye on a somewhat awkward note last night, and Clark didn’t want to be uncomfortable around her. He decided to walk to her house.

"Clark! What are you doing here?" Lana said, surprised to see Clark standing on her porch when she opened the door.

"Are you busy?" Clark asked.

"Well, I’m about to go to the Talon," she said, her eyes darting around nervously and not quite meeting his. "I work at two-thirty."

"Did you need a ride?"

Lana began to stammer, and then Whitney appeared at the door behind her. "I think I’ve got it, Kent."

Clark’s eyes widened in surprise, but he didn’t say anything. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. Before he found his voice, Lana spoke.

"She stepped outside onto the porch. "We’ll just be a minute," she told Whitney. He reluctantly went back inside the house.

"Are you and Whitney back together?" Clark asked, afraid of the answer.

Lana shook her head, but her face flushed pink. "No. He just came over to talk. He’s had a lot of problems at home lately. And we are still friends."

Clark nodded. "Well, I guess I’ll see you around then."

Lana attempted a smile, but Clark could tell that she thought she let him down in some way.

"Look, I know you’re a good person, and that you’re trying to help him out," Clark said, trying to reassure her. "It’s just that I’m not sure where we stand."

It was obvious that Lana was anxious to end the conversation. "I’ll call you later, Clark. I have to get to work."

Clark turned around, shoved his hands in his pockets and walked slowly back toward his house. When he got to the edge of his property, he turned around and headed for the Ross house, super-speed. He needed to talk to someone, and Pete, in his endless pursuit of the perfect girl, would be the ideal sounding board.

"Hi, Clark, what are you doing here?" Mrs. Ross said, opening the door.

"Just wanted to see if Pete would hang out for a bit," he said.

"He’s in his room," Mrs. Ross said, gesturing toward the staircase.

Clark headed upstairs to the end of the hall. Pete had his back to the door, ironing a shirt. He was wearing freshly pressed pants and a white ribbed tank top. He turned around when he heard Clark’s footfalls.

"Hey, Clark!" He laid the iron on its side. "What’s up, man? Want more fashion advice?"

"Just wanted to hang out," Clark said. He flopped down on Pete’s hastily made bed.

"Well, we’re going to have to make this quick," Pete said. "I’ve got a date with Mary Anne Yeager in an hour. And I know you’re a busy guy this summer. Two girls on your jock," he added.

"Two girls? What are you talking about?"

"I heard about you, Lana, Chloe and the Latin lover at the Talon last night. I have my sources."

"What did you hear?" Clark asked.

"That Lana and Chloe were both trying to monopolize your attention, and the poor Latin guy was grasping at straws." Pete hung up his shirt and unplugged the iron from the wall.

"Really?" Clark was surprised. "Chloe really seemed into the guy, but I think she’s already lost interest. She’s coming over later. Personally, I don’t see her pursuing it. The guy’s going to college in the fall all the way in New York."

Pete folded the ironing board and looked at Clark. "Why does it matter to you so much?"

Clark thought for a moment. "Because Chloe’s my friend," he said slowly. "And I don’t want her getting mixed up with some guy who isn’t good for her."

"Look, I’m Chloe’s friend, too, but she can take care of herself. We both know that. And yet you always have a problem with guys she dates. Besides, what’s going on between you and Lana? I heard from Trevor Chappell that Whitney broke it off with her."

"Yeah, he did. But he was at her house today."

Pete nodded knowingly. "Trevor said Whitney’s still got it bad for Lana. And, you know, he has all those family problems going on."

"You think she still likes him, too?"

Pete shrugged. "I don’t know Lana that well. I do know you, though, and I’m surprised that you’re even contemplating it. I thought you’d be all over her now that she’s single."

"She tried to kiss me."

"And you stopped her?" Pete nodded his head and smiled cryptically. "I definitely know what’s going on."

Clark frowned. "What?"

"Chloe," Pete said definitively.

Clark stood up and looked at Pete. "What about Chloe?"

Pete chuckled. "Look, ever since you and Chloe have come back from Metropolis, you share these little knowing smiles and looks with each other. You think I don’t notice, but I do. And the only reason why I wasn’t jealous was because I thought, at last, those two are finally hooking up and I won’t have to see them doing their pathetic little mating dance anymore. I mean, damn. Took you guys long enough. What the heck happened in Metropolis anyway?"

Clark shrugged. "Not much," he said nonchalantly.

"Yeah, maybe you’re starting to realize what a great girl Chloe is," Pete said.

"If she’s so great, why don’t you go for her?"

"Because I’ve had my one and only date with Chloe, and that was enough."

"What’s that supposed to mean?"

"It means that as much as she tried not to, we spent most of Homecoming talking about you. And I just don’t have the patience for that. Apparently, Chloe’s got much more patience with you and your Lana-centric dialogue."

"We didn’t even talk about Lana when we were in Metropolis." As soon as the words left Clark’s mouth, he realized the difference between Chloe in Smallville and Chloe in Metropolis. The pressure of Lana around every corner was lifted in Metropolis, and Clark saw Chloe for the easygoing, fun girl she was. The truth was that part of his mind had always wondered whether Chloe had a thing for him. She had dropped major hints, to be sure, but he was never sure if she were just joking. And shouldn’t his mind be on Lana right now?

Before Clark could voice his confusion to Pete, the telephone rang. "I got it!" Pete’s sister’s voice echoed from down the hall. Then, "Peter, it’s for you!"

Pete picked up the cordless phone from the dresser. Clark shook his head as he noticed the aftershave and ten different kinds of cologne that were lined up on top. Pete certainly had changed since last year.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Pete, can you talk for a minute?" It was Chloe’s hyperactive voice coming through. Pete tried to hide a smile.

"Uh, I guess so."

"Have you talked to Clark? He went out with Lana last night, and Jorge and I saw them at the Talon."

"Yeah," Pete said vaguely. "It might have come up."

"So do you think they’re dating or what?" Chloe exploded.

"I don’t know," Pete said, wedging the phone between his ear and shoulder. "What do you think?" He picked up a bottle of cologne and sprayed it generously on himself.

"I think Lana’s jerking his chain." Pete almost dropped the phone and his cologne at Chloe’s choice of words.

"Why do you think that?" Clark looked at him with a bewildered expression on his face, and Pete turned his body so as not to face him.

"Because I’m in town right now, and Whitney just dropped her off at the Talon," Chloe said matter-of-factly.

"Oh, you know they’re probably still friends. Besides, remember your declaration the other night?" Pete reminded her. "Independence and all that?"

"I’m just looking out for Clark," Chloe said defensively. "I’m going over to his house later."

"Good luck with that," Pete said hastily.

"Are you trying to get rid of me? What are you doing?"

"Just getting ready for my date."

"You and Laura Horton were just Rollerblading in the park this morning, and you’re going on another date tonight?"

"Yup. I’m going out with Mary Anne Yeager. The Pete is in high demand this summer," he said, smiling.

"How are you able to afford all these dates?"

"Laura and I had our own Rollerblades, and I’m bringing a picnic to Mary Anne. All low-budget yet romantic dates. I worked it out. I read about it in Maxim magazine."

Pete could almost hear Chloe’s eyes rolling at the mention of the magazine. "Fine. I know better than to try to get you to pay attention to me when there are other women out there that you actually think of as women. Bye."

"Bye." Pete hung up and turned around.

"That was Chloe, wasn’t it?"

Pete shrugged. "Uh, nah, that was … Willie Jones. We’re playing ball tomorrow."

"If there’s one thing you can’t do, it’s lie," Clark said with a sly smile, standing up. "And if there’s one thing Chloe can’t do, it’s talk below sonic boom levels."

"Where are you going?"

"The loudmouth is coming over soon," he said.

"And what are you going to tell her? Aren’t you going with a game plan?"

Clark shrugged. "We’ll just talk."

"If you’re going into the game without a plan, you’re just asking for defeat," Pete said, standing up alongside him.

"It’s not a tennis match," Clark said, sitting back down. "Chloe and I have known each other for a long time. I tell her everything."

"Game, set, match?" Pete asked. "I don’t think so, man. You can’t just be spontaneous with a girl’s feelings. Especially Chloe’s."

"Well, maybe she’s not as interested as you think," Clark pointed out.

"Chloe’s a busy girl. If she wasn’t interested, she wouldn’t be coming over right now."

Clark frowned, but he didn’t say anything.

In her bedroom Chloe flopped down on her bed, picked up her phone, hesitated, and put it back down again. She leaned back against the headboard.

"When did I become such a teenage girl?" she muttered incredulously.

Honestly, she was not looking forward to an afternoon laden with conversation about Smallville’s resident fairy princess.

"Mail call!" Gabe Sullivan bellowed cheerfully as he strode through the open door and dropped a package on Chloe’s bed.

The bulky manila envelope was postmarked Metropolis. Her name was handwritten carefully in familiar calligraphic penmanship. Chloe ripped it open hurriedly and spilled the contents on her bed.

Pictures of the two weeks she and Clark had spent in Metropolis. And a note from her grandparents.

Dear Chloe,

We got the pictures developed. You must teach us how to use the new digital camera your dad gave us when you come back at the end of the summer. We don’t know how to put the pictures in the computer. We can view them on the little screen on the back though. Give us a call.

We both love Clark. We hope you bring him back to visit again. And bring your other friend Pete next time as well.

Love,

Nana and Gramps

Chloe laughed when she read the comment about the digital camera.

She flipped casually through the pictures. She and Clark floating on lounges in the pool. A picture of her and Clark standing under the Daily Planet globe. A picture of Clark wearing a Metropolis Tornadoes cap outside LuthorCorp Metro Stadium when they went to the baseball game.

Clark lounging on the pink bedspread in her room.

Chloe giggled at this particular image. Clark was going through one of her Daily Planet scrapbooks, laying on his side, his chin propped up by his left hand and his right hand turning the pages of Chloe’s scrapbook. He was wearing his red pajama bottoms and a blue T-shirt.

He was sitting in Chloe’s room, which she alternately called "Cotton Candy Heaven" and "Pepto Bismol Playhouse" because of the abundance of the color pink. And there was this very masculine, tall boy in the midst of it with a very serious look on his face. The photo was unintentionally hilarious.

They had had fun in Metropolis. Chloe longed for those two weeks again.

She collected the pictures in a pile and reached for the phone.

"Hello?" Mrs. Kent answered the phone. Good. This would be easier to say to her than to Clark.

"Hi, Mrs. Kent. It’s Chloe. Could you tell Clark that I won’t be making it over there this afternoon?"

"Sure, Chloe. Do you want to call back? He should be home any minute now."

"I really have to go. If you could just pass along the message …"

"Of course."

Chloe put the phone back on the receiver and resolved to keep Clark Kent out of her mind.

Clark didn’t have time to think, what with the summer harvest. Well, he shouldn’t have. But while working every day there was plenty of time to think. Any guy would be killing to be in his place, caught between two beautiful, intelligent girls like Lana Lang and Chloe Sullivan.

On Thursday evening as he was clearing the dinner table, there was a knock at the screen door. Clark looked up. It was Lana.

"Hi, do you have a minute?" she said nervously.

Clark looked at his father. He nodded. "I’ll finish clearing," Jonathan said.

Clark and Lana walked silently in the semi-darkness into the barn and up to the loft. They didn’t speak. Lana sat on the couch and Clark stood at the window, fidgeting with the telescope. The sun had not fully set, and there were no stars yet.

It was a long time before anyone said anything.

"I wanted to wait awhile before I talked to you," Lana finally said. "I wanted to know what I was going to say."

Clark looked over at her, and he could only see the back of her head, and it was bowed.

He walked over and sat down next to her. "And?" he said as gently as he could.

Lana took a deep breath. "I made a huge mistake the other night. I mistook your niceness and kind words for romance, and that was wrong, especially after what I had said the night before. I wanted someone to be there for me, to solve every problem I have, and there you are, but … now I know that I need to learn to take care of myself." She looked at him with determination in her tear-filled eyes. "I need to learn how to stand on my own two feet without someone bailing me out all the time or distracting me from my problems."

Clark nodded.

"I’m really sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable," she continued. She put her hand on Clark’s. "And I’m sorry you had to see Whitney at my house like that. It looked really bad. I should have been upfront with you. Whitney and I are still friends. We were together for a long time, and it’s not a bond I can break easily."

"I understand, Lana," Clark said. "I’m glad you came over and got everything sorted out." He put his arm around her in a half-hug, and she squeezed him back.

"I’m glad we’ve become such good friends," she whispered. "And I hope you know that you can always depend on me."

Clark looked at her. He nodded without hesitation. Lana was a good friend. She saw all the good qualities in him and never hesitated to point them out when he was insecure or feeling down on himself. Even before they got to know each other, Lana represented everything Clark wanted to be and knew he could be. She was his shining hope.

And yet this admission of hers, that she was searching for something within herself that she could not yet articulate, put her in a new light in Clark’s eyes. Lana Lang was not perfect as he had made her out to be; she pasted on a smile for the public, and even to close friends like Clark she guarded her imperfections and deepest insecurities.

Instead of seeing the golden girl he had admired from afar for so many years, tonight Clark saw in Lana a broken girl who was struggling with the ghosts of her past. Clark couldn’t chase those ghosts away for her; Lana had to deal with them in her own way and on her own time. In the past year he had seen the ghosts cast shadows on her face, but this summer and the changes that had occurred in both of their lives forced them to deal with it head on.

And it also made Clark realize that what he had been admiring in Lana was a mirror of what he wanted to be: a normal human being. And seeing her like this allowed Clark to see that life was not easier for others; in fact, Lana carried the burdens of her past just as heavily as Clark carried his secret of his powers and origins.

It was a humbling realization that planted Clark’s feet firmly on the ground.

That night when Clark walked Lana home, he thought about a smiling face with blonde hair, and a voice that always told him the truth, no matter how painful, embarrassing or humanizing. While Lana reflected all of Clark’s potential and what he aspired to be, Chloe represented everything he was, superpowers and all.

"You’re a true friend, Clark," Lana said before going inside her house.

When she had closed the door behind her, he shook his head. A true friend wouldn’t neglect Chloe, or take for granted the kind of person she was.

He would remedy that tomorrow.

Chapter 5: "Friendship Takes a Holiday"

Chloe was awakened by the sound of her ringing telephone on Thursday morning. It was her least favorite way to wake up, especially during the summer when she enjoyed sleeping in.

At least it wasn’t a telemarketer. It was the Torch’s new adviser, Miss Renard. Miss Renard was an English and art teacher who seemed to be taking her new position as newspaper adviser seriously, unlike the parade of four or five in the past year who seemed to only take the position for a few extra dollars each paycheck in exchange for a laissez-faire approach to advising. Unfortunately, Miss Renard had been tapped to inform Chloe that the newspaper budget had been cut by half this year, meaning the staff would have to increase advertising by seventy-five percent to continue putting out the paper on a weekly basis. Miss Renard, having only been hired last week, was still in Topeka, getting ready to move. She wouldn’t be there for the first meeting, but she promised Chloe she would be there the following week to go over things with her. To top it off, the yearbook staff would be "borrowing" one of their iMacs for the semester, leaving Chloe with only three terminals for twelve reporters and herself.

Chloe hung up the phone and stood up. The house was empty, with both of her parents out, and it was silent with the stillness of humid summer air. It would have been the perfect day to lounge around with a guilty-pleasure Oprah’s Book Club selection. Instead, she had to go out and work. The floorboards were cool on her heels as she walked to the bathroom, the bathroom tile even cooler. As soon as her mouth was full of toothpaste lather, the phone rang again. Damn that Miss Renard.

She groaned as she strode back to her room to pick it up, her mouth still foamy.

"Hello?" she answered in an irritable tone.

"Chloe, I’m glad I caught you." Clark was in a good mood and didn’t seem to notice that she was not in a good mood.

"Aren’t you supposed to be in a field picking cotton or something?" Chloe mumbled, wiping some dribbling foam from her bottom lip with her toothbrush.

"Chloe, my family grows corn and vegetables. And I took a break. You sound funny. Are you eating or something?"

"Brushing my teeth."

"Oh. Are you going to be busy today around three? We haven’t hung out in awhile, and —"

"Yeah, I’m going to be running around doing stuff for the Torch."

"Need help?" he asked hopefully.

"Well …" Chloe tried to think of a tactful way to tell him she wanted to do things alone. She had a feeling that she would be treated to an afternoon of his fawning over Lana, and she would be a masochist if she wanted to tolerate an entire day of that when she was already in a bad mood. There was no need to subject herself to more torture, or Clark to an endless afternoon of sarcasm. "Actually, I was thinking of going to see Jorge during lunch, and —"

"I thought it was over between you two." The happy, hopeful tone in his voice faded just a bit, just enough for Chloe to notice.

"It is, in the romantic sense. But he’s still my friend. And he is good to talk to about the meteors. He’s going to minor in geology and he’s just got a lot of ideas."

"OK. I was just asking. What about tomorrow?" Still hopeful.

"Tomorrow’s the Torch meeting," Chloe said, continuing to wrack her brain for excuses not to see him. "I’ll be busy all morning preparing for it, and then afterward —"

"OK, never mind then. I guess I’ll see you when I see you." His tone was defeated now.

They hung up quickly, and Chloe felt horrible for being so vague. She had a strange feeling that Clark wanted to talk about something important, and the nervous feeling in the pit of her stomach told her she would dread it. It would make the summer so wonderful if Clark came over, big smile and shining teeth, just to tell her that he and Lana were now Smallville’s newest couple. Not.

Chloe showered and dressed, making a mental list of all the businesses in town she could hit up for some ads. She planned to stop by the Ledger at lunchtime and pick Jorge’s brain. The boy was a veritable gold mine of ideas, when distracted from anything to do with the meteor shower.

By noon, she had six signed contracts for monthly advertisements, two for bimonthly ones and one weekly ad, from Rocket Ron’s Burgers and Fries, after she and Jorge ordered the new Rocket Ron Double Bacon Cheeseburger Special and promised to tell all their friends to come in and try it. She only finished half of her sandwich. After walking Jorge back to the Ledger office she hit up the other half of Main Street and part of Elm, crossing the street deliberately to avoid the Talon.

At the end of the day she was exhausted. Her feet hurt, and she was warm from all the walking and fast-talking she had done.

When she got home, a note scrawled by her father was taped to her bedroom door. "Clark called at 5. He says to call him back."

Chloe ripped the sign off the door with a sigh, changed into shorts and a tank top and crawled into bed. From the nightstand drawer she pulled out a tattered hardbound copy of "Sherlock Holmes" and began to read, trying to keep the thought and idea of a certain brown-haired boy out of her mind.

Bright and early the next morning, Chloe arrived at the Torch office. She turned off the ringer on her cell phone and made the agenda for the meeting. She updated software, backed up files on Zip disk, and ran virus scans on all the computers. She opened all the windows to lessen the stuffiness in the room. She dusted the furniture and reorganized the Wall of Weird by date. By noon, there was nothing more to do than wait for her staff to show up. She pushed her chair next to the window and watched with half-hearted interest as two guys practiced skateboarding tricks on the front steps. The clock on the wall read 12:03. It was going to be a long day. She turned around and signed on to the Internet. Maybe she could find something to buy off eBay. Compulsive shopping for useless items was always a good distraction.

When Clark was done with work, he showered and got ready for the Torch meeting. He knew Chloe was avoiding him, and this time Pete didn’t have hints as to why. Yesterday in town he had seen her eating lunch with Jorge through the window of Rocket Ron’s. They hadn’t seen Clark. They were laughing as their heads were bent over a picture or file or something. Clark didn’t want to interrupt their party of two and kept walking.

Chloe didn’t return his phone call last night either. It was unlike her. Was she going out of her way to avoid him?

Clark missed her. Earlier in the day he began to have mental conversations with Chloe in his head, complete with her facial expressions and her facetious retorts. It wasn’t half as good as actually talking to her. At least she would have to see him today at the meeting. Maybe he could catch her for an hour beforehand so they could talk. Clark hoped. He thought fleetingly of making an appointment.

"Where are you going?" Martha asked as she came into the kitchen with a basket of green apples.

"Torch meeting," Clark said, taking an apple from the bunch and biting into it. He sat down at the kitchen table while Martha began washing the apples in the sink. "Dad said I could borrow the truck."

"Chloe or Pete’s not picking you up?"

"Nope," Clark said. He paused for a moment. "Mom, you’re a girl, right?"

Martha smirked when she looked at him. "Last time I checked."

"Sorry," Clark said, embarrassed and ducking his head. "I mean, you were a teenage girl once. What does it mean when they don’t want to talk to you?"

"That depends. Is this about Lana?" Martha said, sitting down across from her son. She began peeling one of the apples.

It was a moment before Clark looked at his mother through his eyelashes and shook his head no. Martha’s eyebrows went up for just a split second before she recovered and asked, "Who?"

"Chloe." Clark avoided his mother’s gaze and continued to crunch on his apple.

"What’s going on?"

"I’m not sure. All summer she’s been calling me every day or vice versa, and in the past two days she’s been impossible to get a hold of. It’s like she’s hiding from me."

Martha frowned. "Why do you think that is?"

"I don’t know. Ever since that night we ran into each other at the Talon, it’s been strange between us."

A shadow of realization passed over Martha’s face. She put down the apple she was peeling and put her hand on her son’s. "Clark, when you talk to Chloe, what’s the topic of conversation?" Martha asked.

Clark thought about it for a moment. "When we were in Metropolis, we talked about everything: current events, pop culture, the things that were going on in our lives, but since we got back … Lately it’s been meteor rocks, the Torch and …" Clark trailed off. "Lately the conversations have been about Lana."

Martha put down her knife and apple and put her hand on top of Clark’s. "Clark, I know how you feel about Lana —"

"She’s just a friend now, Mom," Clark insisted. "We’re just better that way." Martha looked into his eyes and saw that for the very first time, that was a true statement.

"And what about Chloe?"

"I want to know if she wants to be more than friends." Clark let out a deep breath after he said it. It was the first time he had said it out loud, and it felt good, despite the fact that he had no idea how Chloe would take it. Martha looked up sharply.

"Since when have you been interested in Chloe?"

"Probably since forever. But I only just realized it when I started to miss her," Clark said definitively, standing up and heading for the door. "I’m going over there early. Maybe I can talk to her before the meeting."

"Bring her by afterward for dinner," Martha called after him. "We’ll have pie for dessert."

Clark cam back and gave his mother an hug before leaving. He had a very good feeling about this.

"Clark!" Lana got out of Nell’s car just as Clark parked his truck. She walked over to him.

"Hi," Clark said. "How’s everything?" He gave her a friendly hug.

Lana nodded and smiled as she pulled away. "It’s going great. I’m concentrating on work, reading and riding my horse. I’m going out with some girls tomorrow for some nachos. I’ve started a journal. Life is good."

Clark grinned. "I’m glad. You going to the Torch meeting?"

"Yeah. But first I have to stop by the football field and drop off a book of cheers for the cheerleaders. Want to walk with me?"

Clark looked up toward the Torch office window. The sun reflected off the glass, so he couldn’t see inside. Maybe she wasn’t even here yet. "Sure," he told Lana, trailing after her as she headed for the football field.

Chloe rolled her eyes as she looked out the window to see Lana and Clark hug at and head toward the football field. They were probably going to go make out first. Why was she torturing herself with her active imagination?

"How’s it going?" a voice said behind her.

Chloe turned around. It was Pete wearing his football jersey and carrying a large duffel bag. "Hey, I didn’t see you," Chloe said, indicating the window.

"I came in through the back," he replied, dropping his football gear on the floor. "Football practice this morning." Chloe noticed he had just showered.

"You think you’ll actually get to play this season?" Chloe joked.

"Hey, seven seniors graduated last year, so I might," he replied, somewhat defensively. "How are things going on the platonic front?"

"Great," Chloe said cheerfully. Pete’s eyes lit up. "Oh, you mean with Clark," she added sarcastically. Pete laughed. "With Jorge, being platonic is awesome. He’s my soul mate when it comes to meteorites and outrageous theories. Being platonic with Clark, on the other hand, means trying not to think about him, avoiding seeing him and failing desperately."

Pete sat down and looked at her sympathetically. "OK, well, how about I help you get your mind off it tonight?" he offered.

Chloe looked at him. "How? Are you going to give me a lobotomy?"

"Ha, you’re funny when you’re miserable. Except not really. Laura loaned me a movie on DVD" – he pulled it out of his duffel bag and handed it to Chloe – "and you’re the only person I know who owns a DVD player. Plus your dad’s got that monster 52-inch TV …"

Chloe checked out the title and laughed. "’Meet Joe Black’? I’m not a Brad Pitt fan. Or a sappy movie fan."

"Oh, come on," Pete cajoled. "She told me it was her favorite movie and I have to watch it. Don’t make me watch it alone. At least we can keep a running commentary to amuse each other."

"Fine. We can do it after the meeting."

"Actually, I have to be home during dinner. But I’ll come by right after. How’s that?" Chloe nodded and started to hand the DVD back to him, but he said, "No, keep it. With my memory I’ll come over and forget to bring it." Chloe stuck it in her bag.

"You need any help with setting up a slide show for the meeting or anything?" Pete asked. "I know how you like to make everything as elaborate as possible so that we all get at least half as excited as you get over the newspaper."

Chloe shot him an evil glare. "I hope you have that one page of story ideas I assigned."

Pete shuffled around in his duffel bag and handed her a piece of paper with a smug look on his face. "Done."

Chloe grinned. "Why aren’t more staff members like you?"

"Because the Pete is one of a kind." Chloe gave him a quick hug before sitting down at the terminal in front of her.

The meeting went pretty quickly, as Chloe assigned Pete as the new advertising director and three staff members to help him solicit more ads by the end of the summer. Lana predictably offered weekly ads from the Talon, which meant they were almost at their goal. After an hour, Chloe was finally finished and the dozen or so staff members trickled out of the office slowly. When she was finally alone, Chloe sat down to design some advertisements. But the door opened and out of the corner of her eye, Chloe knew it was Clark. Her heart sank and beat a little bit faster at the same time. This was the first time they had been alone together in a long time. And it was different from when they were in Metropolis; yes, because of Lana.

"Chloe, do you have a minute?" Clark asked, sitting down next to her.

Chloe deliberately kept her eyes on the screen. "I’m kind of busy, but sure."

"My mom wants to know if you can come over for dinner tonight."

"I was kind of planning to stay here and finish designing –"

Clark put his hand on hers, which was clutching the mouse. Chloe looked up at him. "Chloe, it’s eight weeks before school starts," he said quietly. "I think you’ll have plenty of time. Are you mad at me or something?"

Chloe looked down at his hand, feeling an electrifying heat where their skin was touching. As soon as she recovered from the shock, she moved her hand away and began typing.

"I’m not mad," she said softly, still deliberately not looking into his face.

"Then what is it?"

Chloe paused in her typing and placed both hands on her lap. She looked at him. "Did you want to talk about Lana again?"

"Well …" Clark looked down at his hands.

Suddenly Chloe felt a wave of anger overcome her. She stood up and took a deep breath before speaking, trying to control the volume and tone of her voice. "Look, it’s just that I don’t want to hear it," she said, her voice strained. "I’ve been listening to you rant and rave about Lana since the day we met, and frankly, I’m really tired of it. I wish sometimes that we could talk about me and about what I’m feeling. But the topic for some reason always swerves back to Lana Lang. And as much as I would love to despise her and you, I just can’t. So let’s just not talk about it." She shut down her computer and grabbed her bag, heading for the door.

"Chloe —" Clark stood up and followed her, but then Chloe abruptly stopped walking to face him.

She held up her hand, a gesture to tell him to stop talking. "I don’t want to hear it," she repeated. "I’m just tired of it, that’s all. I need some time to just not hear it for awhile. I’m sorry, Clark." Chloe looked up at Clark quickly and before the sadness in his face could register, she started running down the hallway, toward the staircase, taking them two by two and running to her car. When she got there, she realized that Clark could have caught up with her quickly, but he didn’t. She looked up toward the school, at the second-floor window where the Torch office was. Her eyes darted toward the entrance to the school. He didn’t come out.

Chloe got in her car and drove home. She wiped a tear from her cheek and continued to try to push the thought of Clark from her mind. It was getting to be a full-time job.

Chloe enjoyed dinner with her parents. Her mother was in Metropolis a lot for business, but this week she was home. She even cooked, which was a rarity and a treat in the Sullivan household. It was a pleasant way to end a day that had been tiring and stressful.

So when the doorbell rang as Chloe flopped down on the couch after changing into her pajamas, she groaned. She had forgotten about Pete’s movie night.

"Chloe, can you get the door?" Gabe called from the kitchen.

Chloe reluctantly stood up and answered the front door. "All right, Pete, let’s get this movie over with," she started to say.

But it was Clark who stood there, holding a foil-covered pie plate.

"Sorry," he said. "Pete invited me, and I promise not to talk about you-know-who." He held out the pie. "Peace offering? My mom made it."

Chloe opened the door wider to let him in. "Sure. You can bring it into the kitchen," she said with a sigh. "I’m just going upstairs to get the DVD," she told him as she headed up the stairs. She paused and turned around. "I’m sorry for getting mad at you." He nodded. She looked at him and saw that no other words needed to be spoken. She ran up the stairs quickly.

When she came back downstairs, the phone rang.

"Hello?" she said, running into the kitchen to answer it. Clark was already sitting in the living room. Her parents, bless their crazy hearts, were singing "Love Will Keep Us Together" as her father washed and her mother dried. They were so corny sometimes. OK, most of the time.

"Chloe, it’s me." Pete.

"What’s with the stunt?" Chloe whispered viciously, turning her back to the living room and wondering whether Clark had enhanced hearing as well.

"What stunt?" Pete asked in a faux-innocent tone.

"You know what I’m talking about," she whispered.

"Hey, the guy looked like he was down. And he’s a Claire Forlani fan, so you know he’s going to be cheered up by that movie," Pete said, continuing in his not-so-oblivious tone. "And there’s another reason for this phone call."

"What?" Chloe said.

"Uh, don’t get mad at me."

"Are you kidding me?"

"I’m going to be late. Like a half-hour."

"What!"

"Chloe, my mom wants me to do the dishes, and our dishwasher’s broken. And my older brothers came for dinner, my sister’s here, plus two parents, two sisters-in-law and a couple of nephews. And a baby niece. So I’ll be a half-hour late. Start the movie without me, OK?"

"Sure," Chloe said dejectedly. "Traitor." She walked back into the living room and turned on the TV and DVD player. "Pete’s going to be late. He says to start without him."

Gabe Sullivan had set up the living room so the couch was the perfect place to sit and watch the television, which dominated the room. It was against the window to avoid glare, and the loveseat and the recliner were pushed into the corners. They both only provided side views of the television.

When Chloe turned to sit down, she saw that Clark had chosen the exact center of the couch to sit down. She sat down at one end, trying as much as possible not to touch him.

"Chloe," Clark said. She looked at him as he edged toward the other end of the couch.

She suddenly felt sorry for him. He was trying his best. He was a little bit lacking in the social skills department, but then who was she to talk? Her face relaxed and she said, "I’m sorry. You know how I get. The ‘can’t let it go’ complex I get."

Clark nodded and didn’t take his eyes off her. Chloe felt uncomfortable. She had never felt that way with Clark looking at her before. To interrupt the moment, she picked up the remote from the side table and aimed it at the DVD player.

"Our feature presentation is ‘Meet Joe Black,’ starring a guy who can’t seem to get a decent haircut, and another guy who still reminds me of Hannibal Lecter and biting some guy’s face." Chloe shuddered. "Ugh."

Clark grinned. "This, from a girl who voluntarily goes to Animal Control to take pictures of dead, fat-sucked deer and who has no problem breaking and entering crime scenes and wacko scientists’ laboratories. I believe it."

Chloe smiled but didn’t look at him.

The movie started and they were quiet, until Brad Pitt got mauled in the street.

"Whoa!" Chloe screamed, instinctively hiding her face behind her hands.

"Hey, that happened to me once," Clark said nonchalantly.

Chloe finally looked at him, and he was smirking. "You are so weird," she said. Then she shrugged. "But it works for you."

They laughed and continued watching.

An hour later, they were still quiet, but Chloe was beginning to fidget. "This is boring," she said.

"Shh," Clark told her. "Claire Forlani." He pointed to the screen.

Chloe rolled her eyes. "Can this movie go any slower? Did we inadvertently play this movie in slow-motion?" She checked the DVD player settings to make sure. "Oh my God, this is normal speed. I feel like I’m watching this movie underwater."

"Well, can I finish it in peace?" Clark asked her impatiently.

"They’re completely silent!" Chloe pointed out. "They’re just standing there looking at each other. I think this movie was made as an excuse to drool over Brad Pitt."

"Don’t forget Claire Forlani," Clark responded.

Chloe picked up the DVD to read the credits and gasped, "Oh my God, this movie is a hundred-ninety minutes long! We still have two hours of this silent, looking-at-each-other-dramatically crap. I hate Pete!"

Clark ignored her and continued to watch the movie. It was pretty good. A supernatural guy who couldn’t tell the woman he loved about his true nature. And he did really enjoy looking at Claire Forlani. She was great in that movie "Mallrats."

A few minutes later, he looked over at Chloe. She was asleep, clutching the remote tightly in hand and her legs folded under her. Clark reached over and wedged the remote from her hand and to pause the movie. But when Clark got the remote, Chloe shifted and leaned her head on his shoulder, sighing contentedly. Clark checked his watch. It wasn’t even ten o’clock yet. But then he remembered what Pete had said — Pete. He was supposed to show up. Where was he?

Clark should call Pete to see where he was, but was afraid to move. He checked the time on the movie. There were still about fifty minutes left. Maybe Chloe would wake up before then. He started the movie again.

Chloe awoke with a start. The living room was dark and the TV silent. She was leaning on … Clark. She looked up at him in the darkness, the only light coming from outside the window, where the porch light shone brightly.

"How long since the most boring movie to end all boring movies ended?" she mumbled, pulling away. Chloe noticed that Clark’s arm was cradling her shoulder and he held on firmly.

"Stay here," he whispered.

Chloe wordlessly placed her head back on his shoulder, closing her eyes once again and breathing in his scent, of Ivory soap, detergent and something else, a scent that was uniquely Clark.

He kissed the top of her head.

She pulled away reflexively. "What are you doing?" she asked, afraid of the answer.

Clark took his arm off Chloe’s shoulder and shifted to face her. "Something I should have done a long time ago."

"Well … what … what about Lana? I thought —"

"Lana and I are better off as friends. We’re too much alike , and she needs to learn how to take care of herself." He paused, taking one of Chloe’s hands in both of his own. "And because I think I found someone else who I’d like to be more than friends with."

Chloe looked down at her hand, which looked so small next to both of his large, tan hands. They were warm and made her feel safe and protected. Funny that just the gesture of taking her hand in his could do that.

Chloe found her voice. "Clark, I don’t want to be some romance experiment or back-up girlfriend."

"No," he said softly. "It’s been you all along. I should have realized it back in Metropolis." He shifted again, one hand reaching into his back pocket to pull something out. He handed it to Chloe. It was a picture of the two of them standing in front of the Daily Planet building. The security guard had taken the picture. Clark was looking into the camera, but Chloe was staring up into his face, grinning madly.

Her grandparents had sent him the pictures, too.

"I’ve been carrying that picture for two days. I’ve missed you, Chloe. Being apart from you for two days has made me see how much a part of my life you are — and how I want you there all the time. Every day."

"But it’s going to mess everything up — our friendship — what if we break up?"

Clark shook his head again. "You’re really cynical, you know that? I don’t know anything about the future. All I know is that you’re my best friend, and I want to kiss you."

That last sentence made Chloe smile, and Clark took it as an invitation, leaning forward to place his lips on hers, kissing gently.

His lips were soft, and yes, there was the taste of mint that she had tasted on her lips, just like this, once before. It was awkward at first as their noses bumped, and Chloe opened her eyes for a moment. Clark’s were tightly closed and his face was gently pressing closer to hers urgently. His lips massaged hers rhythmically, as if in time to a song.

She gave in to the rhythm just as his tongue hesitantly probed its way into her mouth. And she accepted it.

It seemed like an eternity when he finally pulled away, and she breathed heavily, remembering the last time her lips had tingled this way and mentally taking notes on every jolt of electricity in every part of her body, so that this time, she would remember forever.

"So, promise me something," Chloe said as Clark pulled her into his lap and began placing butterfly kisses on her neck and collarbone.

"OK," Clark said between kisses. "I promise to kiss you like this every day. How’s that?"

Chloe giggled as she lightly punched his shoulder. "I’m being serious." She pushed him away playfully.

Clark looked at her expectantly.

"Promise me," she said slowly, "that no matter what happens, we’ll always be friends." Chloe knew that if having a romance with Clark meant a month or a year down the line they would be bitter ex-boyfriend and ex-girlfriend, it wasn’t worth it. She valued Clark too much to ever sacrifice their friendship.

"I promise," Clark said seriously and without hesitation.

Chloe smiled. "Now where were we?"

Clark leaned forward, taking her face in both of his hands and kissing her cheek gently, tracing a slow, deliberate path from her cheekbone to her lips. "Here?"

Chloe exhaled, not realizing she had been holding her breath. "Yeah," she sighed.

Epilogue: "Devious"

Earlier that day …

The sun was setting as the Kent family finished dinner. Martha had made her specialty, pot roast and potatoes, and they were just finishing up when there was a rap at the screen door.

Jonathan, who was facing the door, looked up. "Pete," he said, recognizing the silhouette. "Come on in."

Pete Ross entered. "Sorry to be bothering you during dinner."

"It’s all right, Pete," Martha said, standing up. "We’re about done."

"Let me just clear the table and wash the dishes," Clark told him.

"Let me help," Pete said.

"You don’t have to do that," Clark started to say, but Pete was already running the water in the sink.

"I eat here enough times to warrant helping you with the dishes," Pete told him.

Jonathan grinned. "Maybe we should adopt you, too," he said jokingly.

The two parents retired to the living room, giving the boys time to talk as they washed and dried the dishes.

"The ball’s still in your court," Pete said, handing Clark a sudsy water glass.

Clark sighed. "She doesn’t want to talk to me right now."

"I heard." Clark looked up sharply at his friend, surprised that Chloe had told him about her outburst. "I was down the hall talking to Rachel Harris. I heard her screaming all the way past the south staircase." Pete’s face softened. "Look, I’m not going to pretend to know everything about women, but I do have an older sister who vents often and loudly."

"And?" Clark prompted.

"And I propose that you watch a movie with us tonight at her house."

"She’s going to drag me out on my ear," Clark pointed out. "And kick me with her steel-toed boots."

"Nah, she’s got a soft spot for you," Pete said. He paused in his washing and looked at Clark. "Are you sure you’re over your Lana fix? Because for as long as you’ve been my friend, if you hurt Chloe’s feelings, even bruise them slightly, I’m going to hurt you. Or die trying," he added, eyeing Clark’s biceps.

"Yeah, I know," Clark said softly. "I’m over Lana. It’s always been an illusion with her. Which isn’t to say that we’re not friends, because we are. But that’s all we’ll ever be, you know?"

Pete nodded.

As soon as the boys finished the dishes, Clark told his parents where they would be. Martha insisted on his bringing one of her pies. But as soon as Pete pulled up to the Sullivan house, he gasped.

"Oh, man, I forgot to do something at home," he said. Pete hoped he was a convincing liar. He rarely had any reason to lie to Clark. Pete looked at his face. Clark didn’t look suspicious. Thank goodness he was so unassuming and naïve.

"OK," Clark said. "Let’s go back to your house."

"Nah, you go in and hang out with Chloe," Pete insisted. "I’ll be back in a couple of minutes." Clark looked dubious. "Don’t worry about it. Just get in the house, make nice and we’ll hang out like always. Nothing to it."

Pete drove back into the road quickly. He didn’t want Chloe to see that he had dropped off Clark. Everything was going according to plan.

Pete drove home, calling Chloe on the way from his cell phone. He wondered if his plan would work. His sister told him that boring movies always did wonders for people who wanted to get together. Their minds wandered off the movie and onto each other. Pete had plodded through "Meet Joe Black" this morning and hated it. He knew Chloe would hate it. When he hung up with Chloe, he called Laura Horton. He had to tell her he was giving her video back tomorrow.

It was almost nine-thirty, and Pete had had cake at Laura’s house with her parents. They seemed to like him, and that was always a good thing. Laura asked Pete about the video, and when Pete had said he hadn’t enjoyed it, she didn’t seem too broken up over it. In fact, she was happy that he was honest. Pete’s phone had not rung all evening, and he took it as a sign that Clark and Chloe weren’t even thinking of him. That was a good thing, right?

He decided to pass by the Sullivan house, just to peek in the window and make sure that the two weren’t fighting. Or maybe Chloe had kicked him out after all. No, he decided. If Chloe had kicked him out, Pete would have received a call from Clark an hour ago.

He tiptoed to the edge of the front window, which gave a perfect view of the couch. It was better than he had planned.

The reflection from the television was the only light in the room. Chloe was snuggled up against Clark’s shoulder, sleeping. The movie was still playing, but Clark wasn’t paying attention to it. His arm was cradling Chloe’s body, which was curled into his. His lips were buried in Chloe’s hair, and his eyes were closed, too. Pete felt like a perverted old man witnessing such an intimate moment, so he looked away quickly.

"My work here is done," Pete whispered to himself, jumping over the bottom squeaky porch step and to his car.