THE NEW GIRL IN SMALLVILLE, Part 2

By Christopher Leeson
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"Okay, everyone, stay calm," Martha Kent said, though her own hands were trembling. "The best way to handle a problem is to take it one step at a time." She drew a steadying breath. "If you have to impersonate a girl cousin, Clark, you need to start immediately, before anyone sees you and starts a lot of rumors. For one thing, we need to get you into girls' clothing. And to protect ourselves from being overheard, we have to call you Claire as much as possible."

Claire's throat tightened. "I don't like the sound of this."

“Does anyone have a better idea?”

Jonathan merely shrugged. “No,” the girl admitted with a sigh.

Martha retrieved a measuring tape from a drawer. After taking Claire's measurements, she drove into town. It was late-afternoon before she returned with armfuls of shopping bags rustling.

Both her husband and son were in the living room. Claire peered at their contents with super-vision and felt her stomach drop.

"If you don’t become yourself by morning," Martha explained, "we'll have to register you with the school as a new student. Unfortunately, the dress code requires girls to wear dresses or skirts. I took that into account when I was shopping for you."

"I hope I wake up as my old self tomorrow," Claire said with a hollowed-out voice.

“Besides the clothing, we'll have to stick with the story we’ve already told Lana,” said Pa Kent. “You'll be posing as our niece Claire, the daughter of my brother Roger."

"Claire..." she said, trying out the name. It felt foreign to her tongue. "Well, what does it matter?” the girl said. “Names are the least of my problems."

Just then, the teenager noticed a flat box with a cellophane window. Through it, a white brassiere lay folded in tissue paper. The sight made her teeth clench.

"It may take you a while to get used to wearing different clothing," Martha continued gently. "You’ll need practice walking around and doing chores wearing skirts. I’ll call the school on Monday and say Clark that went to Florida to help his uncle."

Claire shook her head, wordless and woeful.

Martha next led her upstairs to Clark's bedroom and placed the bags on the comforter. Claire held up a skirt as pink as cotton candy. "I can't wear my super suit under a dress! The pants' legs will show," she complained.

Martha crossed her arms, considering. "That's true. Maybe I should alter your super suit by removing the pants legs. Wearing the red trunks alone will look typically feminine."

"Not yet!" Claire croaked with dismay. "That will ruin my costume. Maybe this—whatever this thing is—will wear off before I start school."

"Hopefully so. But until it does, we’ll have to make do. You can wear bright red spanky pants like girls do in athletic competitions. They'll closely resemble your super trunks." Martha's expression softened. "Just remember, they won't be indestructible. You'll need to be careful not to burn or tear them."

Claire's face contorted again.

"And we'll have to get you new girl-style glasses," Martha continued. "You don't need prescription lenses, so second-hand spectacles from any thrift shop will serve. You'll have to avoid projecting your heat vision through them, though. They won't be invulnerable like the lenses we made from your spaceship's windows."

"I think I'm going to be too sick to attend school this fall," Claire muttered.

#

Claire woke up the next morning and touched herself, hoping to feel a male body. But she didn’t. Ma Kent called her down for breakfast, and her first full day as a girl was spent undergoing a strange sort of education. Martha instructed Claire on how to talk like a girl—heel to toe, hips swaying subtly. She learned how to move using smaller and more contained gestures. She practiced speaking with a higher-pitched voice, using softer inflections.

On the evening before Claire's morning debut at school, Martha assembled a suitable outfit and placed it into a cardboard box—a white blouse with pearl buttons and a pink skirt that fell just below the knee. The teen managed not to wince before her mother left the room.

#

After Claire set out for school the next morning, Jonathan placed a "Closed" sign in the store window. Clark's room had to be remade into a girl’s room, and so both parents devoted the day to refurnishing it. Clark's belongings—baseball glove, science books, wall pictures, model airplanes—were spirited away to a hidden room in the tunnel system.

By afternoon, the boy’s room had undergone a gender metamorphosis with the dresser and closet now filled with new items, including shoes. Martha's childhood dressing table, rescued from attic storage, now occupied one corner, cluttered with combs, hairpins, brushes, and cosmetics. A Disney Snow White tray perched on its surface, holding a selection of costume jewelry.

When Claire came home late that afternoon, she burst through the door with indignation radiating from every angle of her body. With exasperation, she told the story of her day. Everyone at school had asked questions and plagued her with sideways glances and whispered speculation. She’d heard someone say, "She walks funny.”

But a deeper indignation burned beneath the surface irritation. The initial state of dazed disbelief had given way to anger. After school had let out, fate had subjected Claire to another indignity. Wanting solitary time to think, Claire had walked to the county fairgrounds. There, a girl performer suddenly made a bad trapeze swing, barely caught herself, and was hanging on with one hand. More swiftly than the eye could follow, Claire had switched into her super garb. An instant later, people saw a stranger coming from the sky wearing a shirt and cape like Superboy's. Just then, the artiste lost her grip, but the newcomer caught her in strong arms before she could strike the ground.

Fair-goers rushed up around the rescuer and the rescued. “Who are you?” one asked Claire. “Why are you wearing Superboy’s cape and emblem?”

Impulsively, the super stranger introduced herself.

“Call me Super-Sister. I’m Superboy’s sister. We were reared on different planets. But now my brother’s gone off to my home world, and until he comes back, I’ll be staying on Earth to keep it safe.”

"Will you be able to handle all the trouble that Superboy had to deal with?" asked a fair-goer.

"Why shouldn't I be able to?" Super-Sister challenged.

"You're only a girl!"

The newly christened Super-Sister had flown off without answering, but in the evening privacy of the Kent home, she couldn’t help swearing aloud. "People instantly considered me second-rate to Superboy, his inferior imitator. This is all happened because I foolishly helped a witch from outer space. My whole life is ruined! Even after people saw me save a life, they didn’t give me any credit! If that’s the way they want it, let them help themselves from now on! I’m through wasting my time getting them out of trouble!"

Martha didn’t want to make her daughter even angrier by arguing. She could only hope Claire's angry declaration sprang from wounded pride rather than a changed personality.

#

On Thursday morning, Claire Kent began her second school day. Her super-hearing caught whispers coming from every direction, just like the day before.

Why were they all so curious about the way she walked, how she held her books, where her eyes landed? She just wanted to be treated as normal. Instead, she felt like she was navigating a minefield sown with embarrassing mistakes.

But not all the talk was about Claire Kent. People were excited about a flying girl called Super-Sister suddenly appearing at the fair. Supposedly, she was Superboy’s sister, with triggered dismay because Superboy had supposedly departed Earth. For the time being, his sister would fill his cape and boots.

When her first class ended, Claire was spotted by Lana Lang. The redheaded junior was in the locker area with a cluster of girlfriends. Lana waved enthusiastically. "Claire!"

"Hey, Lana," Claire called back. "Morning, everyone!"

Lana touched her arm and hurriedly introduced her to the group, all of whom Claire had already met as Clark. With forced smiles and bland pleasantries, she excused herself and hurried off to class. “Join us at our lunch table,” Lana called out from behind. Claire paused and promised she would, but on the inside her being a center of attention felt like an itch she couldn't scratch.

Later, Claire duly ate lunch with Lana's group, too self-conscious to contribute very much to the conversation. One girl brought made an issue about disliking gym class because it required group showers.

That comment splashed Claire like ice water. The next Wednesday would be her first girls' gym class. If the sport played then were vigorous, she would have to shower with the nude girls, too. Her mind raced, trying to think of some way to avoid it.

Across the cafeteria, a tall, blond boy named Pete Ross stood watching Claire. Peter Ross had heard that a new girl had started school just the day before, but he hadn’t glimpsed her until now. The Kent girl impressed him as being athletic and pretty, but also rather ill at ease among the group of girls. He was inclined to suppose that she might be shy when meeting new people.

But when he saw her face from closer angle, Pete noticed her uncanny resemblance to Clark Kent!

He immediately made a mental tie-in with the story of a super-powered girl who had appeared and called herself Super-Sister? He had seen the newspaper in the library. It had showed a photograph taken at the fairgrounds that depicted a black-haired girl dressed in a version of Superboy’s costume, though her red trunks displayed a very nice pair of legs. It wasn’t lost on him that her resemblance to Clark also meant she resembled Superboy. She could very well be his sister.

But why should a human member of the Kent family look so much like Clark Kent? They wouldn’t be blood cousins, since Clark had been adopted.

Peter Ross thought back to that life-changing night when he went camping with Clark Kent and others. A lightning flash had betrayed Clark stripping down to his Superboy suit. This had made Pete one of the very few who knew Superboy’s secret identity. Ma and Pa Kent would also know, but who else? As far as he knew, Pete thought he was the only one outside the family who held the secret knowledge.

While it was remotely possible that the mysterious Superboy might have a look-alike sister, there was no reason she should resemble Claire Kent or Superboy. He realized that he had probably just intuited the secret identity of Super-Sister. The strange situation at once captured Pete Ross’s imagination, and he wanted to find out what, exactly, was going on.

Between classes an hour later, Pete stationed himself in the hallway, hoping to see Claire pass by. When she appeared, he walked fast and approached her.

"Hi, Claire," he called. "Your cousin Clark and I are good friends. Welcome to Smallville. How do you like it here so far?"

Claire glanced up at the boy, now looking taller than he had before. "Hi, Pete. I haven't seen enough of the town yet to feel like I know it yet."

Pete took note that she knew his name without him introducing himself. Would Superboy have prepped her on such a small detail before leaving Earth? "Smallville's a great place," he said, concealing his surprise. "Lots of interesting things happen around here. Superboy, especially, has always kept this town lively."

“I’ve heard so much about Superboy. I’m hoping I can catch sight of him while I’m in Smallville,” Claire replied.

"I hear he's left Earth," Pete stated, watching her face. "If that’s true, you unfortunately won't get a chance to meet him.”

“That’s too bad,” the girl replied.

Luckily, he left us with a replacement,” Pete pressed. “A girl called Super-Sister showed up at the fair, calling herself Suberboy’s sister. Pretty crazy, huh?"

"Yeah, crazy," Claire agreed guardedly.
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"I heard about you’re arrival last night," Pete continued. "They say you're Clark Kent's cousin. Clark and I are good friends. Do you know Clark very well?"

Claire's held her expression neutral. "I only know him from letters and photos that his folks exchange with my dad. I never got to meet him in person."

Pete smiled. "When you meet him, you’ll see what a great guy he is." The boy then paused. "Where is he now? The word’s out that Clark’s out of town. The strange thing is that when I spoke to him last Friday, he never told me he was going anywhere."

"He's working for my dad in Florida,” explained Claire. “Clark'll attend school locally there until our house is remodeled. We hope he’ll be back before Christmas."

"He’s lucky to be earning money toward college," Pete remarked.

“Yes...lucky. Excuse me, I have another class.”

All afternoon, Peter Ross thought about the suddenly-expanded Superboy clan. It wasn’t anything that Claire had said or done, when he sat in class afterwards, a small bell of inspiration tinkled in his mind. Claire Kent might be Clark’s true sister, but there was another possibility. It was an idea so strange that he at first tried to reject it.

Pete knew many stories of the strange experiences Superboy had already undergone. There was Red Kryptonite, for instance, which could impose extreme physical or mental changes on him. What if something had changed Clark’s shape? What if Claire were actually Clark Kent in a female form?

Red Kryptonite? Maybe. Or were sudden sex changes normal for Kryptonian people?

If that were so, Clark would have to live with it. But what if this change wasn’t normal?

If Clark had suffered an involuntary metamorphosis, he must be crawling out of his skin. If he needed help, Pete was ready to give him what he needed. But how could he tell her that? Claire didn’t know how much he knew about her secrets. Claire would dodge any pointed question. Clark had been a master at explaining away strange happenings. For now, Pete couldn’t do much to help, but he wanted to be ready if some chance arose.

Over the weekend, Claire resumed her studies in female behavior, devouring books at super-speed—The Girl's Guide to Absolutely Everything, etiquette manuals, fashion magazines. She didn’t care about patrolling as Super-Sister. No one had appreciated Superboy’s protection, so why should they respect Super-Sister any better?

The school on Monday morning buzzed with energy. Though everything around Claire looked familiar, there was a spirit of strangeness everywhere. It was like the change in her own life had changed everything else along with it.

Attending her first morning class, she kept her eyes open, as if there was something to learn about the old, familiar surroundings. Her recent reading had prompted her to carefully observe the nuances of female behavior. Girls often huddled together, she noticed, forming protective clusters, sharing secrets in lowered voices. They lived in a world that was different from the boys’.

Boys, on the other hand, told coarse jokes, roughhoused, and bantered challengingly. Clark had been comfortable enough in that crowd, but Claire felt adrift around both sexes now. The genders related to her in unfamiliar ways, distinctly different from before. Looking for the narrow track of acceptable behavior was like exploring an unmapped jungle.

As the home economics teacher began her lesson, Claire tried to focus, but her mind was swinging like storm clouds. No one seemed to notice the empty spot that Clark’s disappearance had left. It didn’t appear like anyone missed him. Why? Was he such a bad guy? Admittedly, Clark had cultivated privacy and had held himself aloof because his role as Superboy mattered more than anything else. He never signed up for after-school activities, always falling back on the excuse that his dad needed help at the store.

But what about now? Claire’s life had changed drastically. Once, her being Superboy meant everything. Now the bare thought of going on patrol as a girl embarrassed her. Wouldn’t anyone who saw her think of her as just a poor imitation of Superboy?

Claire sorely missed her super role. That missing part made her entire life feel empty. Thinking back, Clark’s life felt like a void. He had had no close friends other than Peter Ross. But Claire now felt guarded around Pete. She didn’t suppose the old friendship could work any longer. Friendships between boys and girls had a dynamic very different from friendships between boys. She supposed there had to be a workable system of interacting between the sexes, but that was something that Claire hadn’t figured out as yet.

In the home ec class, the teacher droned on about proper table settings, Claire sighed. For the sake of appearances, she had to pretend that all these lessons were important as long as this transformation lasted. And what were the odds that it might last forever? While she waited for that day, Clark's life drifted away like a mist. Day by day, the sheer momentum of the changing days was forcing her to create a new way of life from the ground up—and it was a girl's way of life.

What a depressing thought.

At lunchtime, Claire noticed an arm waving her way on the other side of the cafeteria. Lana stood there next to her chair. Not wanting to be remain alone, despite her melancholy, Claire picked her way through the lunch-hour crowd.

"Hey, Claire," Lana greeted cheerfully. "How was your weekend?"

Claire forced a smile. "Mostly,I worked at Uncle Jonathan’s store. I'm still getting used to what Smallville has to offer."

Lana nodded sympathetically. "I can imagine. But don't worry—everybody is saying they like you! Smallville might seem tiny, but it's got a big heart." She paused, eyes bright. "Say, the homecoming dance is coming up soon. I know you don't know many boys yet. Would you want me to help set you up with someone?"

"I—I never liked the idea of blind dating," Claire replied quickly. "I think matches should come together more naturally."

"Don't say no too quickly," Lana cautioned. "There are a lot of good guys in Smallville. The trick is to find a way to meet them. Boys are so shy!"

Claire grimaced. "At the best of times, I'm nervous about meeting new people."

"Well, if you change your mind, just let me know!"

Later, in science class, Claire's imagination carried her away from her mundane surroundings. "Claire!" Mr. Harris called sharply. "Would you mind answering the question I just asked you?"

Claire looked up, blinking. "I'm s-sorry, Mr. Harris. What did you ask?"

The class tittered. Claire felt warmth flood her face. Mr. Harris sighed. "I asked you to give me the chemical formula for table salt."

Claire nodded. "The formula is NaCl. Sodium chloride."

"Correct. But please try to look more attentive, especially when you actually are being attentive."

#

Resting back on her pillow that evening, all Claire could think about was showering with the girls on Wednesday. She didn’t know any way to avoid it. And it wouldn’t be any one-time thing. Showering would be mandatory after every vigorous phys ed class for the rest of the school year.

A ringing alarm jolted Claire awake Tuesday morning. She lay motionless and stared at the ceiling, dreading the day ahead. She didn’t expect much from it except additional mortification.

She dragged herself to the closet and selected clothes for school. At least Ma Kent hadn't bought her any miniskirts. Shorts were shorts, but miniskirts were something different. Miniskirts sent a social signal that Claire Kent didn’t want to send.

Downstairs, the smell of pancakes and bacon filled the air. Her parents greeted her with encouraging smiles at the breakfast table. Claire almost wished they looked as agitated as she felt. How could they behave as though this Alice-in-Wonderland existence was natural?

"Good morning, Claire," Jonathan said pleasantly. "Ma made your favorite—blueberry pancakes."

Claire managed a tight smile as she took her usual chair. "Thanks, Mom."

Despite the smiles, no one said very much before Claire got up to leave the house. On the way to school, she saw an out-of-state car turn the wrong way onto a one-way street, into the path of an oncoming van traveling the speed limit.

Using super-speed, Claire could have stopped the accident. But an inner voice held her back: It's not your concern.

The vehicles collided with a sickening crunch of metal and breaking glass.

Claire tried to remain angry at the world all the way to school. She often nursed her anger because it kept her from thinking about the unnecessary collision she had caused by her inaction.

Damn it! She thought bitterly. Why should careless people’s accidents be her responsibility?

Preoccupied, the girl drifted through the entire morning inattentively. After lunch, she went to math class. When she stepped into math class, she felt a tug on her clothing. Her second step brought disaster. With a ripping sound, her skirt tore away, and Claire Kent stood exposed—bare below the waist in bright red spanky pants showing off her pale legs. Her skirt had caught on an insufficiently driven nail protruding from the door frame that was undergoing repair.

Laughter erupted like a detonation. Claire stood frozen with every eye fixed upon her. She grabbed the torn skirt from the nail and wrapped it around her waist like a towel. The kids were still laughing, and she saw that Pete Ross was laughing, too.

Claire darted out of the classroom. With blurring speed, she reached home in seconds. Tears were tickling her cheeks.

Tears!

She gritted her teeth. Tears were for girls.

As soon as she had changed clothes, she returned to school in a blur of speed. For the rest of the day, she imagined the whole student body laughing at her. And she started to check ahead with supervision, too, so that she could avoid Pete Ross.

Her sleek body warmed with indignation. He had laughed at her, too!

#

At home that evening, Claire sat on her bed, knees drawn to her chest, staring out the window at the setting sun. The sun’s rays would have blinded normal eyes, but Claire’s super eyes could have safely inspected sunspots on the star’s surface. Recent events continued to play over and over in her mind, like a film reel stuck on repeat. Emotion tied hard knots inside her, frustration, fear, and a deep sense of loss.

A soft knock interrupted her brooding. Martha poked her head in, smiling warmly.

“Claire, honey, you seemed sort of down-spirited at supper. I thought you might like some company.”

Claire forced a small smile. “Thanks, Mom. You’re right. At school, I’m surrounded by crowds, but I feel so alone there.”

Martha crossed the space between them and sat on the bed’s edge. “Is that why you look so glum?”

Suddenly, Claire was babbling out the whole mortifying story in detail.

“That was very unfortunate,” Martha commiserated.

“It’s worse than that. I’ve lost the only friend I ever had.”

“Not Lana?”

“No, Pete Ross.”

Martha’s brow furrowed. “Why? What did he say to you?”

“I avoided talking to him. I didn’t want to go anywhere near him. He shouldn’t have treated me that way.”

Martha shifted to be closer to her daughter. “You know, sweetheart, life has a way of throwing us curveballs. But it’s how we handle those curveballs that decides the direction our lives take.” She drew Claire into a hug.

Claire, accepting the embrace, melted into her mother’s warmth. “That’s what worries me—how my life is going,” she whispered.

“Where do you think it’s going, darling?” Martha asked.

“I wish I knew.”

Her mother paused, considering her mood. “Well, tomorrow is another day.”

“I hope tomorrow never comes. Tomorrow, I’ll have to shower with the girls!” She let her upper body fall back onto the mattress.

TO BE CONTINUED IN PART 3.