Super-Sister has dealt with a runaway truck loaded with toxic chemicals. Now all she has to do is figure out with the rest of her life.

THE NEW GIRL IN SMALLVILLE: An Adventure of Super-Sister, Chapter 7

By Christopher Leeson

The dance floor’s mood had shifted. Students huddled around transistor radios, whispering about the truck accident and the mysterious super‑girl who’d swooped in to help. Claire held her face calm as she scanned the room for Pete.

She spotted him by the punch bowl. His face brightened when he saw her.

“Thought you got lost,” he said. “You were gone a while.”

“Sorry,” she replied. “I called my folks. Long line for the phone.”

Pete remembered how Clark had used to give similar weak excuses. “Hey—did you hear? That Super‑Sister gal handled the wreck,” he said.

Claire's eyes widened. “Really? Well… that’s good. Sounds like she’s as handy as Superboy was.”

Pete shrugged thoughtfully. “Makes me wonder if she’s not as good a person as he was.”

Claire shifted her weight. “Guess we’ll find out. Unless she flies off home.”

“As long as she's here, I hope folks don’t take her for granted, like they did with him.”

“I know. That’s people for you,” Claire said quietly.

“Do you believe that people can change?” Pete asked.

Claire winced at that, but before she could answer, the principal’s voice boomed over the speakers.

“Good news, everyone!” He rapidly described the rescue action Super-Sister had performed for Smallville.

The band struck up the Hand Jive, and the crowd cheered. The tension in the room almost instantly vanished.

Pete offered his hand. “Dance again?”

She hesitated only a moment. “Sure. That’s why we’re here.”

They went out onto the floor, trying to get with the new steps. Two hours remained before the Homecoming dance ended. That was a long time, and Claire hoped nothing else would go wrong before she could leave.

Between songs, Pete grinned. “Your cousin’s not much of a dancer. But you’ve got something—kind of a natural grace.”

“I don’t know Clark well,” she said lightly, “but anybody can learn if they try.”

Before Pete could answer, Lana appeared, smiling brightly.

“Pete, you owe me a dance,” she said.

Claire blinked. “You promised Lana a dance?”

Pete looked sheepish. “Yeah, when I thought you’d left. Lana and I go way back.”

Lana tugged him toward the floor. Claire stepped aside. She had no claim on him. With nothing else to do, she drifted to the bleachers where there was a group of girls she knew.

Pamela Collins waved her over. “Claire! Come sit up here.”

Claire approached cautiously.

“That dress is gorgeous,” Pamela said. “Where’d you find it?”

“A boutique in Metropolis,” Claire answered.

Madison, sitting cross‑legged, chimed in. “It’s sharp. And you dance real smooth. Not show‑offy—just… nice.”

Claire smiled. “Thanks.”

The girls returned to their chatter—records, hairstyles, boys. Claire listened more than she spoke, trying to grasp how ordinary girls were supposed to think.

Then Pamela leaned closer, lowering her voice. “Okay, spill it. What’s going on with you and Pete Ross? You two look pretty cozy.”

Claire felt heat rise in her cheeks. “We’re just friends.”

Madison snorted softly. “Hope so. Lana’s got her eye on him tonight.”

“Let her,” Claire said. “Pete’s a good guy. He deserves to have the best kind of girl.”

Pamela raised an eyebrow. “You’re not jealous? Not even a little?”

“No,” Claire said honestly. “I want good things for both of them.”

The music stopped, and Pete approached, slightly out of breath.

"Have fun?"

"It was nice," he said breathlessly. “Lana was asking about you.”

“About me?” Claire asked warily. “Why?”

“She says you’re… mysterious.”

Claire sighed. “That’s her polite way of saying she can’t figure me out. What’d you tell her?”

“That you’re nice. And friendly.” His expression was unreadable.

They spent the rest of the evening talking and dancing. Pete kept her punch glass filled and introduced her to his classmates. Claire did her best to stay in character, but was relieved when the principal announced the last dance.

For an entire night, her impersonation of an ordinary girl had held together. Still, she felt a pang for Clark’s paltry social life. Maybe he’d let Superboy consume too much of it. And maybe she—Claire—was letting Super‑Sister do the same.

When the band fell silent, Pete guided her off the floor.

“I’m glad you came,” he said. “You make good company.” He hesitated. “Can I ask you something?”

Claire stiffened. “What?”

“Would you want to get ice cream with me sometime? Just as friends.”

“I like ice cream,” she said after a pause.

Pete smiled. “Good. And hey—if you want to see other people, that’s fine. I just hope Smallville ends up being a good place for you. Maybe even one of your best memories.”

“Thank you,” she said softly. “You’ve helped with that already.”

The ride home was quiet and comfortable. Pete walked her to the door.

“I’d say it was a good night,” he remarked.

“It was,” Claire replied. Any night that went by without a social disaster was a good night.

Claire wondered if Pete might try to kiss her, but, instead, he cleared his throat and said. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” she echoed.

With a departing nod, he turned and walked to his car.

#

Inside, Jonathan and Martha rose eagerly. Claire recounted the night, including the chemical spill. She reserved her more troubling thoughts for herself.

“People on the radio are talking about the accident,” Jonathan said. “Sounds like Super‑Sister’s every bit the guardian Superboy was.”

Hearing the word was stung. In her own mind, Superboy was still here. She wished this confusing chapter of her life would end.

Martha beamed. “You’ve shown this town how lucky they are to have Super-Sister around, Claire.”

Claire forced a small shrug. "I hope they still think that tomorrow. Without my help, the town might’ve had to evacuate. I couldn’t let that happen just because I was angry.”

#

Alone in her room, Claire unpinned her corsage. She turned and saw her reflection in the mirror—the black dress, the soft features. She saw a girl that she still didn’t quite believe was herself.

Who was she? Claire Kent, a schoolgirl who’d danced and chatted like any other? Or Super‑Sister, a super being who saved lives?

Or was she neither?

She placed the corsage in her parents’ keepsake box. How long will this masquerade have to go on? The thought chilled her. For how long would her future be like the last three weeks had been?

She changed into the pajamas her mother had bought—another reminder of the changes she had to get used to. Playing the role of an “ordinary girl” had taken over her life. She didn't like it, but if she made a mistake and revealed her alien origin, it would endanger her parents and others.

Claire lay back, remembering Pamela’s locker‑room wisdom: “The only thing you can control in life is how you show up for it.” Was she talking about clothes—or something deeper?

After she turned out the lights, sleep came easily, as it always had. But her dreams brought no comfort.

#

She stood on a sunlit Colorado hilltop. Shar‑La appeared, the cursed ring on her finger glowing.

“Awaken, Superboy!” the alien woman barked.

Claire looked down at herself—and gasped. She was Superboy again! “You changed me back?”

“You were never a girl,” Shar‑La said. “The ring compels a target to believe in a new reality.”

“All of it… was in my head?”

“Yes. You deserved it -- and I hope you learned something.”

Anger washed over him. The woman whose life he'd save had given him a mortifying experience for no good reason. His impulse was to tell her exactly what he felt, but instead apologized quickly, not wishing to anger the witch. "Yes, I made a mistake, and I learned something..."

But the scene dimmed. The sun vanished. The mountain dissolved—

Claire jolted awake in darkness. She touched her body in desperate hope.

To her dismay, she was still Claire. Still Super‑Sister.

Heart pounding, the teen girl rushed to the mirror. Her super‑sight confirmed every detail—the slender frame, the fine features, the dark hair brushing her shoulders.

The dream had been a lie.

She pressed her palms to the glass. “Damn it… damn it…”

Her knees buckled, and she sank to her knees. Another day. Smallville would wake to another peaceful morning. Everyone in it would do all right. Only Claire Kent had to live in turmoil.

She glanced up at the ceiling. Shar‑La was gone, far beyond reach. Why would she ever return? Everything about life on earth had affronted her. She was the kind who did casual damage and then moved on.

Again, Claire touched the bodily curves she hadn’t asked for. Was this outrageous situation only temporary, as her mother kept saying? Or would she be trapped like this forever?

Her mind rebelled at the thought. While everyone else was living his own life, she had to live as a different person.

The girl clenched her fists, breath shaking. There had to be a way back to where she belonged! Another alien might come offering help. Her Kryptonian body might eventually reject the change. Something—anything—could happen.

Claire leaned her forehead against the cool glass. The Boy of Steel had been invulnerable. He could fly through a star, so how had Shar-La’s magic overcome him? It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t logical.

“Please,” she whispered, “let this end.”

Outside, it was growing lighter, and birds sang. Cars started. Life went on.

For everyone but her.

What future awaited her? Girl‑talk with Lana? Ice cream with Pete? A closet full of dresses? None of it belonged in her life.

Yet, every morning, she woke up hoping—aching—that when she opened her eyes, she would be Superboy.

It was that hope, and nothing else, that gave her the strength she needed to keep going.

THE END