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.

THE NEW GIRL IN SMALLVILLE in Smallville, Part 3
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Claire had dressed and returned to school before anyone realized she'd left the building. Keeping her eyes carefully averted from her classmates' faces, she slipped into math class and took her seat. Determined not to act embarrassed, she forced herself through the remaining periods with grim resolve, then headed to the hall where her locker was.

Spotting Lana sitting with friends, Claire made her way over. She didn't particularly need company, but wanted feedback about whether she'd become the school's laughingstock.

"Hey, Claire," Lana said, voice subdued with sympathy. "I heard what happened. It must have been terrible."

Claire forced a smile. "I'm good, thanks."

"You must have gone home to change," Lana observed.

"I did, but I came right back." Claire kept her tone light, dismissive.
Lana nodded approvingly. "That's the spirit. Embarrassing moments are all part of high school life."

While they chatted about homework and weekend plans, Claire noticed Pete leaning against the wall near the nearest exit door. The sight of him sent a fresh wave of anger washing through her chest. Because he'd laughed at her humiliation, their friendship was over.

The seething girl didn't want to talk to him, but she wasn't such a coward that she'd run away from a confrontation either. She tried walking past him without making eye contact.

"Claire, wait up!" Pete called, fast-stepping up beside her.

Claire spun to face him, eyes flashing with ire. "What do you want, Pete?"

"What's wrong? You sound angry. I just want to talk."

"I saw you laughing at me, just like all the others," Claire accused, her voice sharp as broken glass.

"I didn't laugh at you!"

"Don't lie. I saw the smirk on your face!"

"I wasn't laughing or smirking." Pete's voice remained steady, earnest. "I smiled to encourage you, to say that I was on your side."

"Do you expect me to believe that?" Claire demanded.

Pete shook his head, frustration creeping into his expression. "You should know me better than that!" He suddenly caught himself. How much could he reveal without admitting what he suspected?

"I'm not sure I know you at all," Claire said coldly.

"Isn't it possible you misunderstood what my smile meant?"

"I don't know what to believe anymore, Pete." Claire's anger deflated slightly into weariness. "I just want to stop thinking about that stupid incident."

"You can believe this," Pete said, stepping closer. "I was your cousin's best friend, and for his sake, I want you to have a good time in Smallville. I'd like to become your friend as much as I was his."

"I've got to go shop downtown," Claire said, pulling away from the conversation.

"Can I keep you company?"

"No!" The word came out sharper than she'd intended. Without another glance, Claire turned and walked away, leaving Pete standing alone by the exit.

#

Less than half an hour later, Pete stood outside the Kent home, his mind racing. When Claire lost her skirt that afternoon, he'd noticed something crucial—what she was wearing underneath were red trunks that looked exactly like Super-Sister's costume in the county fair photographs.

He'd been ninety-five percent certain that Claire was Clark. Now he was more than ninety-nine percent sure she was also Super-Sister. To reach absolute certainty, he needed to talk to the Kents while Claire was still away shopping.

This had been the Kents' home since they'd sold the farm and moved into town. Jonathan had been too restless for genuine retirement and had partnered with the increasingly infirm grocer, Abe McKinny. After only a few months, McKinny's health deteriorated further, and he retired completely. Jonathan gradually bought out Abe's share and continued as sole owner. Clark had helped him on weekends and after school.

Taking a deep breath, Pete strode up the walk and knocked on the front door. Martha Kent answered, wearing a warm smile.

"Pete, what a pleasant surprise! What brings you by?"

Pete returned the smile casually. "Hi, Mrs. Kent. I was just in the neighborhood and thought I'd stop by. I heard Clark will be out of town for a while. Is Mr. Kent around?"

Martha nodded. "He's out back in the garden. You're welcome to join him."
Pete walked around the house to the backyard, where he found Jonathan Kent harvesting watermelons. The melons looked heavy, so Pete offered to help load them into the wheelbarrow.

"Much obliged," Mr. Kent said, straightening with a grunt.

As they worked together, Pete gathered his thoughts. He wanted to see if Jonathan would tell him anything believable about Clark's sudden disappearance.

"Mr. Kent," Pete began carefully, "I was wondering why Clark went off so suddenly. Is he all right?"

Jonathan looked up thoughtfully. "Clark's with his uncle. Roger's not as young as he used to be, and he needs help to do home repairs before winter. In return, he sent Claire here to fill in for Clark at the store."

"Could you give me the phone number of where Clark is? I'd like to keep in touch."

"That's inconvenient," Jonathan said with a sigh. "Roger's an eccentric guy. He got so steamed when his phone bill went up a few months ago that he had it taken out. Since then, we've been communicating by postcard."

This didn't sound credible, but Pete kept his expression neutral. "It's good to hear that Clark will be earning college money," he said lightly. "How does Claire like Smallville?"

"She seems to like it fine. But isn't that a question you could ask the young lady herself at school?"

"So far, we haven't had a proper conversation together. I was hoping she and I could change that."

"She's up in her room. If you have time now, the two of you can have a friendly chat."

Pete hadn't expected to encounter Claire at home. But it was hard to predict the movements of a girl who traveled at super-speed.

"She might be tired after school."

"She's always full of energy," Mr. Kent said. "Please push the wheelbarrow into the garage for me. Then we'll call Claire downstairs."

Pete wheeled the heavy load into the garage, then followed Jonathan into the house. Foreboding prickled along his spine. Claire was already angry with him—there was every chance this meeting might not go well.

Claire sat on the living room couch, looking up in surprise when Pete entered behind her uncle. Pete offered a tentative smile, trying to gauge her reaction without seeming obvious.

"Claire," Jonathan began, "Pete stopped by to say hi. He says the two of you haven't had the opportunity to get to know each other properly yet."

Claire's eyebrows raised, though her expression remained guarded. "Oh, really?"

"While you two talk," Jonathan continued, "I'll go help Martha get supper on the table. You're welcome to join us, Pete."

"Thank you," Pete said. He waited until the old man was out of earshot before addressing Claire. He had to think quickly to explain why he'd come here directly from school.

"Ahh, Claire, you left school so quickly that I wasn't able to tell you why I wanted to speak to you." He took a breath. "I've been building up courage the last couple of days to ask you to the Homecoming dance next Saturday night—as my date. Getting to know the kids when they're out having fun could be a good way to feel at home in Smallville."

"I see," Claire replied without warmth. "That's... very kind of you, Pete. But I'm still not sure what to make of you."

Pete nodded in understanding. "No pressure, Claire. I just thought that the best way to take my measure is to spend some time together at an easy-going social function. You may not have noticed, but life in Smallville can be fun." He paused. "If you change your mind about my invitation, the offer stands."

Claire returned only a small, uncertain smile. "Thank you, Pete. I'll let you know by next Saturday." With that, she stood and returned upstairs.

#

Pete remained alone in the living room, mind racing. Martha poked her head out from the kitchen. "Are you two done with your talk already?"

"I guess so. I invited her to the Homecoming dance, and she said she'd think about it."

"That's very good." Martha smiled warmly. "Listen, I'll do my best to encourage our lovely niece to go with you. Jonathan already invited you to supper. If you wait around, the two of you can resume your conversation."

"That would be wonderful," Pete said. Inwardly, he wondered how he had stepped into this. Taking Claire on a date hadn't been on his mind when he'd arrived.

#

Claire came downstairs to her mother's call and looked dismayed to see Pete seated at the supper table. After her rejection, she hadn't expected him to stay.

"We've had Pete over many a time," Pa Kent said. "We've known him for years now."

"Sure," Claire replied, taking her usual place at the table—which was next to Pete in the guest chair. Usually, he ate at the foot of the table. She wondered if her parents had deliberately put them side-by-side. If so, what did they think they were doing?

The four ate quietly. Ma and Pa Kent finished quickly and left the kitchen with transparent haste, leaving Claire and Pete sitting alone.

"Claire," Pete began, keeping his voice steady. "I understand that you're going through a lot right now—being away from home and friends, starting school in a new town. I respect that. But you haven't smiled much since you arrived, and I'd like to change that."

Claire's eyes met Pete's. "Pete, I appreciate your offer," she replied, tone measured. "But I just don't have the right headspace for party-going. I have a lot of heavy stuff to sort out."

"Is there anything I can help with?"

"I'm pretty sure you can't. Most of it is personal."

"I get that, Claire," he said, having expected her refusal. "I just want you to know that if you need another friend in this town, I'll do all I can to make you feel welcome."

"Like I said, I'll think about it," she said finally.

Pete smiled. "That's all I ask, Claire. I'd like to get to know you better. If you have the same qualities as your cousin, you have to be a very nice person."

#

After Pete made his goodbyes, Claire returned to her room.
Sitting on her bed, Claire's thoughts tumbled through her mind like autumn leaves in a gust of wind. She'd only been a girl for a few days, and already a boy had asked her to a dance. That was almost funny.

But instinct told her there might be more to Pete's behavior than he was admitting. It was like she'd suddenly lost her ability to read him.

Had Pete laughed at her, or had it only seemed that way? Could she have misunderstood? She could see planets light-years away, but had no power to look back in time and see what had happened in that Smallville classroom only a few hours ago.

As she sank her head into the pillow, she couldn't help wondering whether it was a mistake to stay cut off from social interaction as long as she remained a girl. There was no way to know how long her condition would last—or even if it would ever end. She didn’t want anyone she knew to see her this way. Unfortunately, even though a Kryptonian would be safe anywhere she traveled, Claire Kent had no place to go where she'd have friends and family.

She winced. The thought of going to a dance with a boy was surreal. What next? Would Pete be asking for movie dates, lunches, picnics, or a trip out to Milford Lake for a swim?

Part of her didn't want to push Pete away. Pete's friendship was one of the few things she might salvage from her old life. She didn't want to let anything so important slip away. But dating would compel her to play "girl" with Pete, and she wasn't sure she could pull that off. Embarrassment and Kryptonite were the only things her invulnerability couldn't ward off.

She reached for the phone, then settled back against the pillow. Pete might not be home yet. Also, the dance was more than a week away. If she called him so soon, it might make her seem flighty. Worse, she might sound too eager. That might send Pete the wrong message. For appearance's sake, she would wait until the following night to accept his invitation.

Claire turned out the light and pressed her face into the pillow. She wondered whether natural sleep would come, or whether she'd have to slip into a meditative trance to escape from the thoughts buzzing through her mind like angry wasps.

TO BE CONTINUED IN PART 4

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