Date:  December 15^th, 2001

Time:  10:30 PM

Place:  Smallville, in my room

 

 

Dear Diary,

 

            “KARA KENT!  OFFICE!  NOW!”

            That’s how my day started.

            Doing my monthly attendance at school, Dean Gary called me down.  Not to yell about my absences—they make an exception since I get good grades.  No, he wanted to yell about an editorial I had my friend publish in the Smallville Torch.  What?  I found out some disturbing stuff about Clark and decided to write about it.

            See, the night before Clark’s wedding, he told me about when he was a Freshman in high school that HE was selected to be the homecoming Scarecrow—the person the football team jacks on the day before Homecoming, strip down and tie in a field like a scarecrow and LEAVE there.  It’s been a tradition since the sixties.  Boys have fallen dreadfully ill, and Clark said he nearly died.  If it hadn’t been for Lex Luthor, the Kryptonite piece tied around his neck would have gotten him by dawn.  So I wrote a huge editorial about how much that SUCKED and I totally dissed everyone that ever worked for the school faculty, listing *every* member of the faculty since that time.

            Oh, Dean Gray was pissed.  Bad.  His face was red and he was breathing heavy and EVERYthing.  “Kara…  WHY?”

            “Because I felt it was a personal obligation to tell—“

            “Tell WHAT?  Kent, we have a reputation to—“

            “—uphold?  Oh, THAT’S rich—“

            “—Kent, Smallville High is an award-winning school—“

            “—yes, I’m aware—“

            “—and you’re trying to destroy almost five decades—“

            “—four—“

            “—of reputations?!”

            “Well, maybe you should keep your teams under better control.”

            “You’re the head of the debate team, and you mean to tell me you’ve never—“

            “—nope—“

            “—done something you shouldn’t have—“

            “—nuh-uh—“

            “—because of the position you were in?”

            “No!”

            “I want you to revoke your statement.”

            “Go to Hell!”

            “…Fine.  Then from this point on, I shall make YOUR life a living hell.”

            “MEANING?”

            “Oh.  You’ll see.”

            And I DID see.  It started that day.  Five detentions, double the homework magically ended up in my hands on top of ISS for the next two weeks.

            Well, I’m not going to tell ma or pa.  They’re on a high since Clark married and since it hasn’t worn off (they wanna see “Super-Babies” after the honeymoon, and yes they’re still on their honeymoon, they went FAR away) so I’ll deal with it myself.

            But anyway, remember when I told you about that nice little dose of DRUGS Kon slipped me for “fun”?  What I neglected to mention was the “after-shocks” of that.

            First, Kyle and I had a NICE long… fuck session.  Ooooh, he wasn’t happy about the red light instead of the red sun, but…  I have a feeling that went “bye-bye” after a while.  Oh god, I love that man SO much, I just hope he doesn’t think that I’m a WHORE or something!  We haven’t even… discussed it.  Maybe humans DON’T normally…  And I say normally because out of everyone I know, Kyle’s the most normal guy I’ve met!

            Second, I can’t stop shaking.  I did a private blood test down at the Fortress about two hours ago.  Results say the drugs (it was more than Ecstasy apparently) are slightly… reacting against my DNA.  I’m getting withdrawal symptoms.  But worse.  My entire insides keep cramping up too.  I hope to God that this’ll pass…  I SHOULD call someone… tell them what’s wrong, but Dick slipped into a coma yesterday, and Babs and STUFF and…  They don’t need to worry about me.

            Oh WONDERFUL, I’m getting the urges of a panic attack…  Maybe… maybe I should call Kyle… or Barb… or someone… Bruce…

            Okay, have to BREATHE, remember I’m SAFE here…

            I can’t be selfish, if I call them now I’ll be interrupting them…  And maybe Kyle doesn’t wanna see me…  And I-I can’t SAY anything because it might relay to Bruce and he MIGHT have to try to kick Kyle’s ass.  I’d go to Roy, but I don’t think the DEA can handle me, diary.  Kon doesn’t have these symptoms, so I can’t blame him, but there’s no way to purify my system…

            I… I wonder if Supergirl could ask a certain… Lex Luthor for help…?

            …

            Whoop, pa needs me outside to help him do something in the barn.  I think he dropped the tractor off it’s pulley again, I heard a crash earlier…  Okay, gotta suck it in, slide on red tinted glasses and pretend everything’s peachy-keen.

            I don’t like drugs, by the way.  I should totally stay away from Kon…

 

Love,

Kara