Chapter 2: “Transition”

 

“Why do you let her get to you?” Pete asked as he and Chloe approached the dirt path that snaked from the Kent farm to the Sullivan property.

 

“What are you talking about? My stomach hurts,” Chloe said unconvincingly. “I wanted to go home.”

 

Pete looked at her incredulously. “This is the same Chloe Sullivan who was thrown out a third-story window, survived to tell the tale and was ready to fight crime and meteor rock-induced mutants a week later. My guess is, you’ve got a stomach of iron. The only explanation is Lana Lang.”

 

Chloe sighed. She kicked at imaginary pebbles with a dusty boot. “She’s just so irritatingly perfect. I actually can’t find a reason to hate her. My reasons for disliking her rest solely on the fact that Clark is hopelessly infatuated with her. And I can’t really blame him for that either.”

 

“You don’t know that he still is,” Pete argued. “You guys were in Metropolis for two weeks, and all last week Lana was at equestrian camp. Did he even mention her name while you guys were in Metropolis?” Chloe shook her head no.

 

Her mind flitted briefly on the two weeks she and Clark had spent at her grandparents’ house. They had shared a lot in that short time. But Chloe came back to reality when she remembered Clark’s reaction when he saw Lana walking up the way.

 

“Are you kidding me?” Chloe said. “Did you see the expression on his face? It was reeking with lovesick puppy.”

 

“Maybe,” Pete conceded.

 

“No, it’s the truth,” Chloe said, as if she were also trying to convince herself. “I’m just going to have to face the fact that Clark and I will never be anything more than friends. That’s all he’s ever wanted, and I should respect that. From this point on, I’m freeing myself from the bonds of unrequited infatuation.” She paused, both in speaking and in walking. “It’s fitting, considering it’s Independence Day. But anyway, just friends, Clark and me. What’s the word?”

 

“Platonic?” Pete asked.

 

“Yes, that’s it. Platonic.”

 

Pete chuckled. “Man, I don’t think you can do it. Your lovesick puppy expression is at least as desperate as Clark’s.” Pete ducked Chloe’s fist, which was headed for his shoulder. He laughed again as Chloe trotted up the driveway to her front door.

 

“My stomach did hurt!”

 

“Sure, Chloe!”

 

Chloe stuck her tongue out at him before entering her house.

 

***

 

Clark came back from Lana’s to a dark kitchen. His parents had probably already gone to bed. The smell of caramel lingered. He started for the stairs, but something told him to turn back. He picked up the telephone and dialed Chloe’s home phone number.

 

She answered on the second ring. “Hello?”

 

“Chloe.”

 

“Clark!” She seemed surprised to hear his voice.

 

“I just wanted to make sure you’re OK. Uh, whenever my mom or my dad get a stomachache, they take the pink stuff. Maybe you should try that.”

 

“Thanks,” Chloe said, smiling. There was a moment of silence. “What are you doing tomorrow night?”

 

“I’m … hanging out with Lana,” Clark said. He wondered why he hesitated to tell her.

 

“Oh.” Chloe was obviously disappointed. “What about Whitney?”

 

“They broke up.”

 

“Wow.” Clark couldn’t tell what Chloe was thinking. Her voice sounded funny. Was she disappointed? Happy for him? Maybe she was just surprised, as he was. “OK. I guess I’ll see you around then.” She seemed to be in a hurry to get off the phone.

 

“Of course. Bye.”

 

“Bye.”

 

***

 

The Smallville Ledger office was an inconspicuous converted storefront on Main Street. The receptionist was Hannah Baxter, a fifty-something woman with gray hair and a friendly smile. She also wrote the entertainment column and edited the wire. She sat in the front office in plain view through the large plate-glass window from nine to five, every day. So Chloe was surprised to approach the office and see a young dark-haired, chocolate-skinned young man sitting in Mrs. Baxter’s chair.

 

She entered the office and pushed her sunglasses up to keep her bangs out of her face. She took in the appearance of the young man. He was definitely not from Smallville. He wore pressed khakis, old-fashioned wingtips and a crisp white polo. His curly dark hair was cropped short, and wire rimmed glasses perched atop a nose that might be slightly too big on some faces, but on him, with his commanding air and a hint of a smile, it was perfect.

 

“Hi,” Chloe said. Why was she so shy? The man looked up. Chloe was more surprised to notice that he was quite young. He couldn’t be older than 20. “Is Mrs. Baxter here?”

 

“I’m sorry, but she’s in Metropolis for the day,” the stranger said, smiling wider and standing up. He had a slight accent that Chloe believed to be Spanish. “Her daughter had a baby this morning.” He offered his hand to her. “I’m an intern. Jorge Costa.”

 

Chloe shook his hand, noting a gentle touch and soft skin. “Chloe.”

 

“What can I help you with, Chloe?” Jorge asked.

 

“Oh. I was supposed to upload a bunch of stories to the Torch server today, but my modem decided to take a summer break. I thought transferring them directly to the server would be easier than trying to find someone who could open up the Torch office at the high school.” She held up a stack of zip disks.

 

Jorge looked amused. Then a look of recognition passed over his face, and he said, “Oh, you’re Chloe Sullivan. The editor of the Torch. I was wondering when I would run into you,” he said. “OK, you can use that terminal. I’m just sitting here eating my lunch if you need help.”

 

Chloe sat at the computer next to Jorge’s desk and popped the first disk into the drive.

 

“You don’t look like you’re from Smallville,” Jorge said, poking at his salad.

 

Chloe looked over at him. “And how did you figure that out?”

 

He pointed to her. “The way you’re dressed.” Chloe looked down. She was wearing brown corduroy shorts, a thin pumpkin-colored peasant blouse and her military boots, despite the humid heat. The square rimless shades on her head were tinted pink, and she carried her leopard-printed bag. “Girls from Smallville don’t dress like that. They like simple colors, and sneakers.”

“Well, you can’t be from Smallville either,” Chloe countered.

 

“Ah, the accent,” Jorge said, nodding.

 

Chloe grinned. “Yeah, that, but I was thinking more along the lines of your wingtips,” she said, pointing.

 

Jorged grinned back. “I grew up in Brazil, but I moved to Chicago when I was fourteen.” So his accent was Brazilian Portuguese, not Spanish, Chloe noted. Not that she had ever heard it before.

 

“So what brings you to Boredom Central, Kansas?” Chloe asked.

 

Jorge chuckled. “I wanted to find out what was up with this town and its meteor shower mutations.”

 

Chloe’s eyes widened. “Is that right?”

 

“Well, according to you, it’s the mutant capital of the world, yes?”

 

“You’ve read my work.” Chloe didn’t meet very many people who could surprise her. The way this guy was dressed made him look more like a finance writer rather than someone who could debate meteor theories with her.

 

“Smallville Torch-dot-com,” he said, grinning. “Truthfully, I didn’t think I’d be accepted as an intern at a high school newspaper staff when I’ve just graduated from high school six weeks ago. So I applied for an internship here. On the off-chance that perhaps I would run into … you.”

 

“Just graduated … You’re only eighteen? And you wanted to meet … me?”

 

“Yes. And yes.”

 

Chloe was officially fascinated. As she fed the zip disks into the disk drive in front of her, she discussed her meteor theories with Jorge, who was a worthy audience. She also found out he was attending Columbia University in the fall, that he had two older sisters still living in Brazil, and he was staying with the Wright family on Elm Drive until his internship finished at the end of the summer. But whenever she tried to steer the conversation to him, he would find a way to skillfully veer it back to Chloe Sullivan and her meteor shower theories. Chloe was impressed. And flattered.

 

“Well, I’m done,” Chloe said, somewhat sadly. She hadn’t had so much fun at the Ledger office. She stood up and gathered her things.

 

“Where are you going?” Jorge asked.

 

Chloe turned around. “Home, I guess.”

 

“What are you doing tonight?”

 

Chloe’s eyes narrowed. “You’ll make a great reporter. You ask a lot of questions. But to answer your last one, I’m not doing anything tonight.”

 

“OK,” Jorge said. “They’re playing ‘Casablanca’ at the multiplex tonight. I’d love company. Would you like to go with me?”

 

“Sure,” Chloe said, instantly regretting answering so quickly.

 

“Where do you live?”

 

“Ten Hickory Lane,” Chloe answered as she headed for the door. “It’s right past the Kent Farm. You can’t miss it.”

 

“I’ll see you at six-thirty,” Jorge said, smiling at her as she walked out.

 

***

 

Next chapter: “A Kiss Is Just a Kiss.” Lana treats Clark to a movie, and Chloe Sullivan’s critique of the classic American movie.