The New Girl in Smallville, Part 4

By Christopher Leeson
.

Claire woke on Wednesday morning with a sigh that turned into a moan. Today would be her first gym class with the girls—and worse, her first shower with them. She lay staring at the ceiling, searching for any reasonable way to avoid what was coming.

"Claire! Breakfast!" Martha called from downstairs.

Claire sighed again. Her parents rarely addressed her as "Clark" anymore. That made sense—careless words could be overheard—but it left her feeling bereft of her identity.

With reluctance, she pushed herself out of bed and dressed deliberately, unconsciously delaying her journey downstairs. She'd packed her gym clothes the night before—loose shorts and a t-shirt as required by school rules. If she'd had a human physique, her stomach would have been churning.

"You look pale," Jonathan remarked as Claire slumped into her chair at the breakfast table.

"It's shower day," she mumbled, poking at her scrambled eggs without enthusiasm.

Martha placed a glass of orange juice in front of her. "I know you're dreading it, but try to think of it as... research."

"Research?" Claire looked up, skeptical.

"Yes," Martha continued, taking her seat. "You'll be experiencing something from a culture you're not familiar with. Consider it an anthropological study."

Jonathan nodded. “Your mother's right. This will differ from showering with boys, but not as much as you think. At least, I assume that will be true.”

"That's just it," Claire said, finally taking a bite of toast. "It feels completely different. Back then, I was a guy among guys. Now I'm... I don't know what I am."

Martha reached across the table and squeezed her hand. "You're our daughter. And you're going to get through this day just like you've gotten through the others."

Claire almost asked her parents not to call her "daughter," but said nothing. What was the use?

#

The gymnasium echoed with squeaking sneakers and the hollow thump of volleyballs bouncing across the floor. So far, Claire had managed to participate in the game without drawing attention to herself. As Clark, she'd learned to modulate her strength and speed to appear human. She deliberately missed as many shots as she made. That part of life was no different from being Clark—one reason she, like him, disliked sports. In sports, you were supposed to show your best. But to a super-powered person, it was all performance, revealing nothing about her true capabilities.

Now the bell rang, signaling the end of class. The dreaded moment was approaching.

It wasn't just embarrassment at being among naked girls. It was something deeper, something worse. Becoming just one more nude girl amid a crowd of them would be like making a public declaration that she was just one of the girls.

"Kent! Collins! Rivera! You're on equipment duty!" Coach Bradley called out, pointing to the volleyball nets.

Claire felt a flash of relief—cleanup would delay her trip to the shower room for a few extra minutes. She joined Pamela Collins and Marisa Rivera in gathering the volleyballs and taking down the nets.

"How are you finding gym class, Claire?" Marisa asked as they worked.

"It's fine," Claire replied, carefully folding the net. "About what I expected."

Pamela laughed. "I hope you're not as shy as I am when it comes to showering."

"It's never my favorite part of gym class, either," Claire replied carefully.

As they finished storing the equipment, Claire could hear voices and laughter drifting from the shower room. A couple of girls had already finished and were heading back to their lockers, bodies draped in long white towels.

"Come on," Pamela said, nudging Claire toward the locker room.

Claire did as her companions did—stripped completely and placed her clothing in her assigned locker. The three of them walked into the noisy, steamy communal shower area. The floor was warm from hot water flowing over it. The Kents had taught Clark never to look under people's clothing with his X-ray vision. Claire, therefore, scrupulously avoided gazing at the other girls.

"I guess you are pretty shy," Pamela observed.

"Yeah," Claire murmured.

"Your old school had gym class too, didn't it?"

"It did. But nudity has always been a thing with me."

"Same here. To fight it, I remind myself that nobody's looking at me. They're all too worried about how they look."

Claire nodded, hoping she was right. With a deep breath, she followed Pamela toward the showers. Steam enveloped them both as they entered, partially obscuring Claire’s view of the dozen or so girls already showering. Claire hurried to an unoccupied shower-head in the corner and stepped under its lukewarm spray.

The water temperature barely registered on her impervious skin. She was too busy trying to appear casual. A burst of laughter erupted a few showers down, making her startle.

"Can you believe what Jenny told him?" someone was saying. "She should have died first!!"

"What did she say?" her companion asked. When her friend informed her in a whisper so low that only Claire could hear it, the girl exclaimed, "She didn't!"

It was silly talk, but at least nobody was staring her way. The girls were casually chattering, complaining about tests, discussing weekend plans—oblivious to their state of undress. Claire noticed they shared shampoo, something boys never did. More and more, she noticed that girls acted as a group much more than boys did. Males preferred to be individualists. The easy camaraderie that girls shared was markedly different from the boisterousness of a boys' locker room. There, interaction usually involved snapping towels or competitive boasting.

"Earth to Claire," Pamela's voice broke through her thoughts. "You're zoning out. Everything okay?"

"Yeah, sorry," Claire replied and reached for the soap to appear busy. "Just thinking about the quiz coming up in social studies."

Pamela lowered her voice. "I thought you might be thinking about Pete. What’s with him? He's been asking people about you."

Claire's hands paused in soaping herself. "What kind of questions?"

"Just... questions. Like what you're interested in, what’s your personality? I think you’ve got his attention."

The heat rising to Claire’s cheeks had nothing to do with the shower temperature. "He asked me to the homecoming."

Pamela's eyes widened. "No way! What did you say?"

"I told him I'd think about it. But I'm probably going to say yes."

Pamela reacted with mild surprise. "Really? Pete's a nice guy and all, but I didn't think he’d be your type."

"Why? What's wrong with Pete?" Claire asked defensively.

"Nothing's wrong with him. He’s a good guy, but good guys don’t make the best boyfriends.

"So, what should a person look for in a boyfriend?" Claire asked, holding back a frown. Clark had been a good guy, too. He knew what it was like to get very little attention from girls, too. "What sort of boys do you like?”

"If my parents like a boy, that’s a bad sign. The cool boys are the ones who bring excitement with them through the door! Polite boys make dull dates." Pamela paused a beat to wring the streaming water from her hair. "But I get it. New school, new town—it makes sense that you'd want to start local dating with safe and predictable."

Claire wondered how many girls thought the way Pamela did. Despite all the dating disasters girls seemed to undergo with "unpredictable" guys, were they really determined to avoid the "nice guys." She remembered how Clark had been placed in Lana Lang's "friend zone" as early as grade school. In high school, Lana had dated several boys, but was always to busy to have time for Clark, unless she wanted his help her with a project.

Claire caught the towel thrown to her by the student assisting the teacher as she left the shower. While drying her hair, she reflected that talking casually to a nude girl felt strange—but not as strange as she'd expected.

By the time she reached her locker, Claire had made a decision. She was definitely going to call Pete that evening. There was no reason nice guys always had to come in.

#

At home after school, Claire stood above the telephone as it were a deadly weapon. She'd rehearsed what she wanted to say in her mind all afternoon, but now the memorized words seemed to have evaporated.

With determination, she picked up the receiver and dialed. A familiar voice answered on the second ring. "Hello? Ross residence."

"Hi, Pete? It's Claire."

A brief pause. "Claire! Hi! I didn't expect to be hearing from you — so soon, I mean."

Claire twisted the phone cord around a finger. "I've been thinking about your invitation."

"And?" Pete sounded cautious, ready for anything.

"I'd like to go with you. To homecoming, I mean."

"That's great!" The youth’s blurted out. "I promise you'll have a good time. The decorating committee has been working on at developing the 'Starry Night' theme."

"Stars are nice," Claire replied, having flown among actual stars carrying out super missions.

"If you're pressed to get a dress in time, I could ask my cousin. She has several left over from her high school days—"

"I don’t know if getting a dress will be a big problem. I’ll ask Aunt Martha and see what she thinks."

"Good. If I can help with things, just let me know."

They chatted awkwardly for a few more minutes before Claire used the excuse of homework to end the call. She left the hall and flopped back-first on her bed.

"You're going to the dance?" Mrs. Kent asked from the doorway, her face lighting up. "I overheard. That's wonderful!"

Claire looked at her mother, wondering why someone going to a simple dance seemed like such earthshaking news. "If you say so."

"We'll need to get you a proper dress. There's a boutique in Metropolis that will surely have something right for you."Mom, I don't want you spending good money on anything so silly. Pete said I could borrow one of his cousin's dresses."

"Nonsense," Martha said firmly. "Girls have to have things of their own! I'd be glad to help you find something exactly right for your first dance."

Claire fixed her mother with an incredulous stare. "Ma, I don't consider myself a real girl. And this isn't even my 'first dance.' It's just that I never had a dance date before. It's no big deal. Let's not treat it as some kind of milestone."

Martha's smile faltered. "I know you're uncomfortable being... a girl. But while you're in this situation, why not have a little fun with it?"

Claire had no answer to a question so absurd. The idea of making herself pretty and dating a boy wouldn't feel like fun. It would feel like the double-cross of the person she really was.

She replied with a shrug and said, “We'll do what you think is best.” Even if she didn't expect going to a dance as a girl would be any fun, there was no reason to rain on her mother’s parade.

#

Metropolis sprawled along the Kansas-Missouri line. Before the name change in the nineteenth century, it had been called Kansas City. The Kansas part of the metropolitan area, by the way, was still called Kansas City.

The boutique Mrs. Kent led her to was smaller than Claire had expected, tucked between a bookstore and a café on a tree-lined street. A bell jingled as they entered, and a middle-aged woman with a tape measure draped around her neck looked up from behind the counter.

"Welcome to Eloise's," she greeted them warmly. "How can I help you ladies today?"

"My daughter needs a dress for her school dance," Martha explained. "Something smart but age-appropriate. She'll be eighteen next month."

"Mini-dresses are becoming very popular, even for high school girls," the clerk said. "Would your lovely daughter like to follow the trend?"

"No!" Claire spoke up quickly. "Let's be traditional."

"I would have to agree," Martha added.

The clerk—presumably Eloise herself—emerged from behind the counter to appraise Claire with a professional eye. "First formal dance?" she asked kindly.

Claire nodded mutely.

"Well, no wonder you're nervous. We'll find you something you'll feel comfortable wearing," Eloise promised. "Any particular colors you're drawn to?"

Claire glanced at Martha for input. Mrs. Kent jumped in smoothly. "She'd look lovely in black, don't you think?"

Eloise tilted her head, studying Claire. "Yes, basic black would complement her hair wonderfully. But no need to be hasty. I make it the rule to let the customer decide. "Is that all right, Claire?" she asked.

"Peachy," the teen replied in a low and grumbly tone.

What followed was an hour of Claire being ushered in and out of a dressing room, trying on more dresses than she'd worn so far during her entire life as Claire. Some choices were out of the question—too revealing, too juvenile, too elaborate.

Then Claire slipped into a tea-length dress of black acetate. The bodice had princess seams and a low neckline framed by spaghetti straps. A narrow satin belt in the same color cinched the waist, highlighting her figure. Her arms and shoulders would be left bare. Fortunately, she’d be immune to the September chill.

Looking at herself in this dress made Claire feel strange. The girl she saw in the mirror was so different from Clark Kent that her eyes almost refused to accept that she was looking at herself.

The fashionably-dressed maiden stepped out to find out what her mother thought.

"You should wear it with high heels," Eloise suggested. "And maybe a little pearl necklace if you have one. Her hair should be styled in a soft bouffant or a sleek flip, with a coordinating satin ribbon."

Claire tried not to grit her teeth. What she saw in the mirror was definitely not what she felt inside. But she was mostly going through this because it was something that her mother so much wanted to do.

"How do you like that one?" Mrs. Kent asked.

"I haven't seen anything better," she said, keeping the sarcasm out of her voice.

Eloise nodded approvingly. "It suits you. Classic, not trying too hard. And you were right, Mrs. Kent—the color black was the perfect choice."

After the dress was measured for minor alterations, Martha turned Claire’s attention toward accessories. With Claire's permission, she selected a pair of stiletto heels. Martha soon picked out a pair of simple studs: clear, round stones the diameter of a dime, cut with ruthless precision so that even under the harsh fluorescent lights they scattered sharp, convincing rainbows.”

Martha made her choices in full knowledge that her super-powered daughter could walk on such heels without soreness or any balance problems. Finally, the measurements were taken, and a deal was struck.

This came none too soon for Claire. She was relieved to take the dress off and pack it into its box. It was like it had been whispering to her things that she didn't want to hear. Also, it made her look like somebody--some thing--she knew that she wasn't. That made her feel very, very unready for what was coming next.

And that feeling terrified her more than any villain she'd ever faced.

TO BE CONTINUED IN PART 5