The small spacecraft screamed through the Colorado afternoon sky, trailing smoke and the acrid smell of burning metal. Its hull glowed cherry-red from atmospheric friction as it spiraled toward the jagged peaks below, leaving a contrail of super-heated air that shimmered like a mirage.

Superboy spotted it during his routine patrol, the mountain wind whipping through his cape as his telescopic vision instantly assessed the situation. Single occupant. Female. Unconscious or struggling with the controls. The craft's trajectory would smash it against a granite cliff face in less than thirty seconds.

He didn't hesitate.

Heat vision lanced out, vaporizing the towering rock formation that blocked the ship's path. The scent of ozone filled the thin mountain air as Superboy streaked ahead, using freeze breath to cool the super-heated hull, then positioned himself to guide the craft toward a relatively smooth plateau scattered with hardy pine trees.

The ship hit hard, bouncing twice before skidding to a halt in a shower of sparks and twisted alien metal. Steam rose from its scarred surface as Superboy landed beside it, listening for signs of life within. The silence stretched long enough to make him worry.

Then the exit hatch hissed open with a pneumatic wheeze, and the pilot emerged, looking remarkably human—and inexplicably angry. She had plain features and appeared to be in her forties. Her garment looked like what Earth fashion magazines were calling a "mini dress." The dull violet fabric struck the Kryptonian as very inappropriate for space travel, and it also did not flatter a woman of her age.

Though the woman’s step looked unsteady, she was apparently uninjured. Suddenly, for no reason, she fixed Superboy with a withering stare.

"My name is Shar-La," she announced. Her authoritative voice echoed off the rocky canyon walls. "I am an administrator on the ruling council of Zephyria. We are a telepathic race, and I have heard every insulting thought in your weak mind!"

Superboy blinked. He didn’t care for the idea of his mind being read. He made no reply. In his young life, he had learned that an angry woman would be an angry woman, and it was better just to let her rant. As soon as he could see to the unpleasant lady’s safety, he wished to leave.

"I find your thoughts offensive," Shar-La continued, her eyes flashing with something threatening. "Your opinions about my age, appearance, and capabilities are both false and demeaning. I demand an immediate apology."

"Look, lady, why don’t we dwell on the positive. I just saved your life—" Superboy began.

"Another insult!" she exclaimed so loudly that she frightened the hawks on the ledges, sending a pair of them wheeling away from their cliff-side perch. "You address me as 'lady,’ which is how your people address inferior females. Your primitive mind tells me that this is a barbaric world—a place where women are denied their right to rule. This is a pathological culture, and it disgusts me!"

Heat rose in Superboy's cheeks, and his fists clenched. "I’ve done you a favor, and you should be grateful. Hopefully, your vessel is not so damaged that you will have to stay on a planet you dislike so much.”

"Grateful?" She’d spat out the word with contempt and crowded closer, putting Superboy on alert.

"Your thoughts,” she continued, “tell me you continue to believe women are weak, emotional creatures who need male protection in everything they do. You are actually blaming this accident on my sex instead of a mechanical malfunction!"

The accusation may have been accurate, but her bellicose attitude truly bothered him. He could not help but think Zephyria must be a hellish place to live as a male.

"Why is so important that my thoughts please you, when your telepathic power must reveal to you that I was only trying to help—?"

"Help!" Shar-La cried out. "You are maddeningly condescending. Women do not need to ask for help from men. And even if that were not so, a superior being requires no assistance from male primitives!"

Shar-La made a fist and raised her right arm. Superboy noticed the elaborate ring adorning her index finger. Its alloy displayed a matte finish and held a single inset crystal flush to its surface—hexagonal and faintly luminescent. In keeping with the rest of her displayed taste, it was not attractive.

Unexpectedly, the ring blazed with a brilliant energy, and a beam of coruscating light struck the Kryptonian’s center mass. It washed over him in pulses of warmth, but his invulnerable skin felt no injury. The sensation was like a mild tingle of static electricity—no more harmful than sunlight. The boy, standing his ground, crossed his arms with deliberate casualness.

"Whatever that is, it doesn’t hurt me. The only element that can harm me is a mineral from my home world." He gestured toward her damaged ship. "Now, are you all right? Do you need transportation somewhere? I’ll gladly take you into outer space if you wish to go home." Then he added, “You must have a mother ship nearby. Your tiny craft doesn’t look capable of interplanetary flight.”

Shar-La's lips curved into a wintry smile that never reached her eyes. "My race is capable of more than you know! Your inferior world is unworthy of entering contact with my people. I will soon be retrieved by persons who are worthy of treating with me. I will gladly leave you to live a new and more interesting life than the one you have known."

This strange phrasing carried a veiled threat of some kind, but before Superboy could respond, Shar-La had strutted away toward her ship. The vessel's engines screamed to life with a loud, sour sound. It was apparently unsuitable for flight.

However, since Shar-La had seemed confident of rescue by her own people, the young man felt his business was done here. With a shake of his head, he resumed his patrol by launching himself westward. This hadn’t been his first encounter with aliens, but it had been the most bizarre. Fortunately, it had ended without property damaged or civilians hurt.

Passing over a mountain lake, he saw his reflection in its still waters.

Or was that his reflection?

The Boy of Steel stopped mid-flight to get a better look with his telescopic vision.

The reflection he saw was a girl’s. He looked around to spot her. Where in blazes was she?

He looked back at the reflective water and made out that the girl wore a red and blue costume like his, as wells as long, black hair streaming in the wind.

And she was stopped and gazing up at him, too. She was much prettier than the alien woman he had met. The maid’s features were delicate and decidedly attractive—with high cheekbones and full lips. Her shape filled her imitative costume becomingly. Everything about her curves was decidedly eye-catching.

For a moment, Superboy hung aloft in the mountain air, wondering why he could hear or see the girl who cast that reflection. Studying here with his supervision he suddenly realized that the image was his own, but she—he—looked utterly unlike him. He looked down at his own body, and his changed shape was clear. With trembling hands, he explored an alien landscape, feeling a softness that hadn’t been there before. His arms had lost their muscles, and his body had assumed contours that were totally wrong for it. He couldn’t fathom this phenomenon, and his mind reeled.

Had Shar-La’s telepathy fogged his mind? He tried to banish the illusion with the force of his mind, but the female image below remained in place.

What in blazes had Shar-La done to him? He had to catch up with her again and let her sit alone on a hard, windy rock pinnacle until she did what she had to do to fix it.

Superboy shot back the way he had come. It would be a disaster if the alien psychotic were found and taken away by her own people before he could catch up with her.

Very soon, and with unaccustomed fear, he saw that both Shar-La and her tiny ship had vanished from its landing site, as though they had never existed. His telescopic vision furiously scanned the earth and sky all around for hundreds of miles. There was nothing. Nor were there any lingering energy signatures or unusual atmospheric disturbances. The blue vastness above was equally empty of any alien person or spacecraft.

In the Kent basement in Smallville, the elderly couple putter with brooms and dusters against the neglected clutter of months. Afternoon sunlight slanted through the small windows at ceiling level, casting long shadows across the brown-painted concrete floor.

They suddenly heard a sound coming from the underground corridors that Superboy had excavated years ago to come and go unseen, while also providing hiding places for the artifacts and trophies of his super career.

The secret entrance to the complex burst open with more force than usual. They expected to see Superboy hurrying into the basement, but they saw instead a girl stranger flying in wearing a costume like their son’s through the trapdoor. Her face fixed on them, pale and frantic, streaked with what looked like soiled tears.

Martha let her dust rag flutter to the floor like a fallen bird. "Who—?"

"It's me," said the girl's cracked voice. “I don’t know if this is real or an illusion.”
"Wha—What illusion? Who are you? Why are you wearing a uniform like…Superboy’s?"

“I’m your son! I’m Clark! Something crazy has gotten its hooks into me.”

Those words hung in the basement air like smoke from a house fire—impossible to comprehend. The stranger stood swaying slightly, seemingly aghast and jittery.

Being confronted by a stranger who claimed to be his son was a novel experience for Jonathan Kent. His weathered hands gripped the push-broom he was holding like a defensive weapon.

"That's..." He cleared his throat and started again hoarsely. "That's quite a claim, Miss."

"Dad, believe me!” the girl stated loudly. “Something happened during my patrol. An alien woman shot me with a ring, some kind of disguised weapon—"

"Slow down, honey,” Martha whispered with a tremor, approaching with careful steps. “If you expect us to believe you, you have to explain yourself better. "Please start from the beginning."

The girl—Clark—spoke rapidly. She told them about Shar-La, about the ring, and about when she realized she had changed. Her mannerisms and way of speaking were Clark's. She passingly alluded to things that only Clark should have known. Strangely, her gesturing hands reminded her of Clark’s.

And then there were her features. If Clark had had a sister, she might have looked like this girl.

This couldn’t be Clark? Could it?

"So that's it," the girl said, her voice hollowed out by exhaustion. "I don’t know how long I’ll stay this way. I can’t think of anything to change myself back."

Martha moved closer, her footsteps soft on the concrete floor. "Sweetheart, let me look at you."

She reached out with gentle fingers, tracing the familiar bone structure beneath unfamiliar soft skin. The face was unfamiliar, but the soul behind the eyes was unmistakably Clark's. Believing so had nothing to do with reason or logic. It was a mother’s instinct.

"Oh, Clark." The name came out as barely a whisper.

The sound of his name, that moment of recognition, broke something inside him. Clark collapsed into Martha's arms, sobbing like he’d never done since he was very young.
Jonathan watched his wife comfort this stranger, who might possibly be his son.

How did a man process this? How could he grasp what had happened inside his family? Twenty years of raising Clark hadn't prepared him for this moment.

"What do we do?" Clark whispered against Martha's shoulder, the question muffled by fabric and misery.

The words hung between them, heavy with implication. Outside, the late afternoon sun continued its journey toward evening, a world away from the crisis unfolding in the basement below.

"First thing," Jonathan said, trying to hold his voice steady, "we don't panic. We've gotten through tough scrapes before." He moved closer to the girl, and placed a tentative hand on her shoulder. The person he touched seemed to be real and not an illusion.

Clark pulled back to look at them both. "This is different, Dad. What kind of life can I live if I don't change back?

Jonathan couldn’t remember how long it had been since he had seen his son registering so much fear. It encouraged his desperate hope that this girl and his son were not the same person.

"This isn't something I can fight my way out of. I don’t know what to do!"

Martha smoothed down the girl's long hair. She already half-believed that this was her son. As when Clark was a child, she tried to calm whoever it was before her—using hope when she had nothing better to offer. "Maybe it's temporary. Maybe what that woman did will wear off."

"And if it doesn't?" the girl asked in a tone of dread that made her seem more vulnerable than Clark had ever been since childhood.

Jonathan and Martha exchanged glances. Forty years of marriage had taught them to communicate without words, sharing burdens and fears through simple looks. The glance they shared now said everything: if this is real, it changes everything. Our son is gone. For the time being, we have a daughter.

"Listen—Clark,” said Martha. "We’ll help you through this. We’ll protect you and keep all the family secrets. But we do it together."

Clark nodded, grateful to hear statements of strong certainty. That was something to hold on to, while the rest of the world crumbled around him like autumn leaves.

"People will ask questions," Superboy said. "About where Clark went and…about who this new person is."

"Let us worry about that," said Jonathan as he settled himself on a wooden crate, the old wood creaking under his weight. Still not quite able to accept that this girl was Clark, he said, "Right now, you need to stay calm and stay hidden until we can work out a plan."

Suddenly, they heard footsteps on the kitchen floor above their heads.

"Mrs. Kent? Are you home?" a distant, maidenly voice called.

The family members froze, three sets of eyes looking at the ceiling. Lana Lang's cheerful tone drifted down from the kitchen above. Their redheaded neighbor was a neighbor of whom they were all very fond.

Martha’s hand flew to her throat. "Oh no! Now what?

Footsteps continued to creak across the floor above. "Mrs. Kent! I brought back the cookbook you lent Mom!"

Clair's eyes went wide. "I can't let her see me like this!" she exclaimed.

"The tunnel," Jonathan whispered urgently, gesturing toward the hidden passage. "Get into the tunnel!"

But it was too late. The basement door had opened, and Lana was descending the stairs.

"Mrs. Kent! What are you and—" the redheaded girl stopped in mid-question. Her gaze was fixed on the unknown girl wearing a superhero costume. "Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't know you had company."

Martha stepped in front of Clark quickly, her mind racing. "Lana, dear, I'd like you to meet our niece. This is... Claire. She's visiting from back east."

Lana continued to descend, her eyes sparkling with curiosity as she took in Claire. She was wearing an outfit just like Superboy’s. “Nice to meet you!” she said. “Are you in a play or something? That's a really neat costume!"

Claire opened her mouth, but no sound came. Standing there under Lana's friendly scrutiny, Claire felt humiliated to be seen in her new shape by someone from outside the family.

"I..." Claire stammered. Her voice came out high and uncertain. "I brought my Halloween costume from home. I wanted to show it to my…aunt and uncle because I know they’re such Superboy fans".

"Dear Claire might stay with us through Halloween,” said Martha. “She brought along her costume in the hope that she'll be able to attend a good costume party in Smallville."

"That's so groovy!" Lana beamed, stepping briskly across the basement floor with eager steps. “The Youth Club sponsors a party every Halloween. If you don’t want to become a member yourself, you can come as my guest.”

At that instant, Claire realized the tunnel entrance was still hanging open. She glanced urgently toward her father. Jonathan at once understood and let out a gasp. Pretending to stagger,he caught himself on the edge of the work counter and slumped over it.

“Mr. Kent!” the Lana blurted in fright.

With their visitor's attention diverted, Claire made a blurred dash to the trapdoor, closed, and covered it. She had resumed her place before Lana could look back her way.

“Does Mr. Kent need help, Martha?” she asked.

Jonathan shook his head and called for calm. “It’s just my sarcopenia acting up! It’s been getting worse. I’ll be lucky if I’m not using a cane soon!”

Martha brought a metal folding chair for her husband to sit on.

“I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Kent,” Lana said, unable to be helpful.

She turned back to Claire with a smile. “It'll be nice to have another girl on the block. What Smallville is short of is young people visiting from outside."

Claire forced a smile of her own. “That may be. I—I haven’t seen much of the town yet.” Lana seemed to notice something for the first time. “Claire, you look so familiar, but I can’t place you. Have you ever visited Smallville before?”

The silence was like a taut wire, ready to snap.

“You’re just seeing the Kent family resemblance,” Martha spoke up. "The Kents have strong genes."

Jonathan winced, hoping Lana wouldn’t remember that Clark was adopted and shared none of the Kent family's heredity.

"Yeah, I suppose." Lana shrugged. "Well, I barged in, so I ought to let you get back to whatever it was you were doing. Nice meeting you, Claire! I hope we can start hanging out soon!"

She bounded energetically up the stairs, leaving the three Kents in the basement gloom staring at one another. They said not a word until they heard the distant sound of the front door closing.

"Well," Jonathan said with an exhale," that could have gone worse."

Claire shook her head. “She almost recognized me.” With a grimace, the girl stepped closer to the wall mirror. “I still look a little like Clark. That’s a problem.”

"We need to make you look different. Maybe you can start wearing makeup. Your clothing has to be chosen to help your disguise."

Claire looked back at her mother. “What kind of makeup?”

“As much makeup as the school policy allows. Fortunately, having long hair changes your appearance a good deal.”

Claire threw up her arms. “Fortunately?!”

“I know you don’t like having long hair, Clark, but in a crisis, it serves a purpose. Disguise is something we have to do to protect your secret identity.”

The reality settled over the three of them like drifting dust from the ceiling cobwebs. Lana would immediately spread the word that a new girl was living at the Kent home. And when Clark’s absence was noticed, they’d be asking about where he had gone.

"Maybe I should leave town and live among strangers,” Claire thought out loud, her voice having become small and uncertain.

“No!” exclaimed Martha. “You’re too young to be facing what you’ll have to face.”

Jonathan leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his advanced years feeling like a lead weight. “I’m afraid that Clark might be right. Unless he changes back somehow, all of us might have to leave Smallville."

“All of us?” asked Claire, bemused. Jonathan nodded. “Otherwise it’s going to look strange that we have a niece staying here and Clark is absent. In a different town, people won’t have to ask us hard questions. We can tell our friends that my health requires us to live in a warmer climate.”

The old man’s eyes brightened. “We can say that Claire’s father is my brother Roger in Florida. We can say that he needs help remodeling his house before winter, and has promised to pay Clark good wages. The town lost track of Roger when he left Smallville right out of college. I don’t think anyone knows he doesn’t have a daughter.”

“That’s a good idea, darling,” his wife admitted. “We can also say that Roger is letting Claire visit so she can take Clark’s place in helping you at the store.” She paused, trying to tie all the threads together. “We can say we’re selling the store and moving to Florida for your health. Before Clark is expected home, we’ll already be on our way to join him.

Her husband nodded. “We’ll say Roger will put us up until we find a new home of our own.”

Martha frowned. “Oh, drat! All our friends live here. We’ll start out all alone in Florida, except for Roger. I have to pray what’s happened to Clark is going to end sometime soon.”

"What if it doesn’t?” Claire asked with a tremulous voice.

Martha drew a deep breath and shook her head. "Whether you're our son or our daughter, our family will continue. You have Clark’s courage, and we'll be there to help you along.”

Claire gritted her teeth. She disliked being called a “her.”

Mrs. Kent reached took her daughter's hand. "We’ll tell Smallville folks that Clark has been offered a long-term job at his uncle’s business. In a couple of weeks, we can add that he’s found a new girlfriend in Florida and looks forward to attending school with her. No one will expect him to come back, not with the rest of his family joining him there."

Claire nodded slowly. This disaster was expanding fast. Her strange fate was only the first falling stone of an avalanche. Her parents would be forced to leave Smallville. Unless the spell on her broke, she couldn’t live as Clark. She’d have to adjust to living her everyday life as a girl named Claire.

"There's something else," the worried teen blurted. "Superboy. People will notice that Superboy has disappeared, too. Some people might think that it’s too much of a coincidence that both he and Clark happen to leave Smallville at the same time."

Jonathan rubbed his forehead, feeling a headache starting behind his eyes. Their problems were multiplying fast, with each possible solution creating extra complications."One problem at a time, son,” said her father. Jonathan was faced with the fact that he suddenly had a daughter. The family’s routines had suddenly gone down a side road. What could they expect of the days ahead, except that their tomorrows would not be like their yesterdays?

But another thought was seeping into the old man’s perplexed mind: What if Clark’s transformation wasn’t just physical? Boys and girls were different; that was born into them. Would their son’s—their daughter’s—inner nature change in some way?

TO BE CONTINUED IN PART 2

THE NEW GIRL IN SMALLVILLE, Part 2: An Adventure of Super-Sister

Author:

Christopher Leeson

Audience Rating:

General Audience (pg)

Publication:

Serial Chapter

Genre:

Superheroes

Character Age:

Teenage or High School

TG Themes:

School or College Life

TG Elements:

Girls' School / School Girl

Other Keywords:

Permission:

Fan-Fiction, poster's responsibility

THE NEW GIRL IN SMALLVILLE, Part 2

By Christopher Leeson
.

"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.
.
"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.

Claire part 2.jpg

TO BE CONTINUED IN PART 3.