Clark Scissorhands by CalliopeWayne.
Clark's elementary art teacher gradually realizes Clark Kent is an extraordinary boy.
Welcome to new readers and old. I write AU fics combining the DCAU and L&C. I hope you enjoy! All my stories are connected unless specified otherwise.
Chapter 1
Eight more days of this hell hole and then I’m a free woman!!! Ten. There’s no way I can close my classroom in one day. I have to clean the oil pastels, color code them, wash the watercolor pallets, sharpen pencils, and take inventory for next year. The list is endless.
Decorating the display cabinet in the front of the school is the last thing I want to do, but you don’t say no to the principal. Mr. Kwan wanted it bright and sunny for the gremlins returning for Summer School. The overachiever I am, I decided to make a lesson out of it and had all the kids create Van Gogh-inspired sunflowers.
This means I’m stuck cutting laminated sunflowers out during my planning period when I should be organizing this mess. Mr. Kwan wants the display cabinet finished for the award ceremony so the fifth graders graduating can take pictures. That is two days away. Yippee. I haven’t even started on the backdrop for the flowers.
I have quite a few talented fifth graders. Maybe I can enlist their help. The door opens and a trio of giddy fifth graders enter, carrying a sloppy volcano between them. Speak of the devil and he shall appear.
“We’re going to explode the classroom!” Pete explains, giddy with excitement, showing me the makeshift volcano that looked more like a pile of horse dung.
“Dummy, it’s not a real volcano,” Clark rolled his eyes at Pete. “We’ll be in big trouble if it were.”
“Clark,” I try to stifle my laughter and make choking noises. “That is a not a nice way to . . .”
“You won’t know a joke if it bit you in the ass!”
“It’s got to have super-duper sharp teeth,” Clark crosses his arms, laugher twinkling in his unnaturally blue eyes. “See, I can joke?” he beams proudly.
“You just ruined the punchline.”
“Ross!” I try to take control of the situation. “We don’t use that kind of language in . . .”
“Boys!” Lana claps her hands authoritatively and both boys jump. Lana looks adorable in her red pigtails tied up in pink bows, and somehow still manages to be the most mature one in the room. “You’re embarrassing me. If you can’t behave you’re going back to class.”
“You heard her boys,” I say, feeling as the only adult in the room I ought to say something.
“Mrs. Timm,” Lana faces me, all smiles. “May we please use some of your paint for our volcano?” she pouts, giving big doe eyes. “You won’t even know we’re here.”
I’ve got so much work to do, but I can’t say no to that face. “You know where the paint is,” I say.
“Thank you, thank you!” Lana leaps into my arms and hugs me tightly. “I’m going to make the best volcano ever!” she dances away to gather paint.
Translation: Clark Kent is going to make the best volcano ever while Pete offers commentary. I know my kids.
Lana doesn’t have a lick of artistic talent, but she makes up for it by Tom Sawyering the boys into doing her bidding. She is pretty and knows it. I’ve been watching her puppeteer Clark Kent since Kindergarten. I continue to cut sunflowers keeping an eye on the gremlins at the painting station. I can’t believe this is my last year with these gremlins. No more Clark Kent busting scissors. No more Lana playing matchmaker with her classmates. No more Pete Ross throwing balls in the classroom —okay that I am not going to miss. Even so, watching them paint, it hits me like a ton of bricks to the gut. This is the last time they’ll be in art. My eyes grow misty. Those were my babies. I’ve had them since Kindergarten. Where does the time go? Soon they’ll be in high school!
“Lana, why are you getting pink?” Clark asks. “Volcanoes are not pink.”
“This one is!” Lana fills the plate with pink. “And purple.”
“So you’re making a Mary Blair volcano,” Clark smirks, looking at me for approval. We did a lesson on Mary Blair in second grade, I’m surprised he remembers that.
“Blair a who?” Pete frowns, starting to sloppily plop pink on the cone.
“Mary Blair was a concept artist for Walt Disney,” Clark parotted. “She worked on Alice in Wonderland, Peter Pan, and designed the puppets on It’s a Small World.”
“Nerd alert,” Pete coughs in his hand.
“Don’t you guys remember?” I smile. “We learned about Mary Blair three years ago and color theory.”
“I can barely remember what I had for lunch, let alone two years ago!” Lana shook her head, face squashed with dismay. “My memory isn’t as good as it used to be.”
“Don’t say that,” Clark sheepishly looked at her over the rim of his glasses. “You have the memory of an elephant,” he gushed. Oh, boy. That was not going to end well for him.
“Are you saying I’m fat?” Lana halts painting to glare daggers at Clark. Uncultured swine.
“No . . . uh, what now?” Clark stumbles over his words. “Elephants are majestic creatures.”
“You’re attracted to giant cows?”
“Elephants are descendents of mammoths . . . I mean who said anything about being attracted to you?” I cough to cover my laughter. Clark Kent has been making moon-eyes at Lana Lang since they were in diapers.
“Shut up now, Clark. You’re digging your own grave,” Pete warned.
“You’re not attracted to me?” Lana smirks, knowing full well the power her words have over Clark. “I’m everybody’s type.”
“We need more white,” Clark flees from Lana and grabs the tube of white paint.
“Remember to be gentle!” My warning is too late.
Clark squeezes the tube tightly and the paint dispenser is squashed to smithereens. Paint splatters all over him and my freshly cleaned floor. Lana squeals and jumps out of her seat, dancing like there’s a bug in her hair. Pete snatches some paper towel and rushes to help Clark; he trips over the spilt paint and falls on his rearend.
“I’m so sorry!” Clark looks mortified at me. His lower lip trembles like he’s about to cry. “I didn’t mean to,” he whimpers in the same way he did when he shattered the scissors bare handed in first grade. “Please don’t tell my Ma!” Big tears cascade down his cheeks. “She’ll take me out of school!” he starts to hyperventilate. “I don’t want to be home schooled!”
“It’s okay, sweetie,” I kneel on the floor and wipe up the paint. “It’s just paint, no harm done,” I reassure him.
Though I can’t figure out how he broke the plastic bottle. Clark has always had a knack for breaking unbreakable things. I sent him to retrieve a box of erasers from the cabinet once, and he returned holding half the door. One strange kid. Their was an unspoken rule among the locals of Smallville, never to talk about the strange things that happened around Clark Kent. One: You’ll be accused of insanity. Two: Martha Kent was as likely to poison your slice of apple pie as she was to kill you with kindness. She is astronomically protective of that boy.
“I’ve been meaning to replace these old bottles anyways.” I use old condiment dispensers from the local diner to dispense paint to the kiddos.
I smile at the kid. He’s the most talented kid in his class, I sometimes forget he’s a sensitive ten-year-old. He sniffs and offers me a grateful timid smile. In the ruckus his glasses fell off and I’m stunned by the surreal blue eyes. It’s as if the Aegian sea looks back at me, swirling and full of secrets of the deep.
“I think Ma has some at home, I could give you,” Clark offers quietly. That was the thing about Clark Kent. He’s notoriously clumsy but eager to fix his mistakes.
“That will be great,” I ruffle his dark curls.
Clark beams, content, and returns to mopping up the floor. The kids laugh as Pete paints a white mustache over his lip. “Marty,” Pete hunches over like an old man, mimicking walking with a cane. He whacks Lana with a broom. “What are we going to do with that clumsy son of ours,” he looks at Clark with reproach. “That’s the second time we’ve had to rebuild the barn,” Pete laments.
Lana giggles, joining in on the fun. “At this rate Clark’ll be too busy fixing his mess to give us grandbabies,” Lana chortles.
“What gal is going to want to have such a klutz for a husband,” Pete muses puting a hand on his bad hip and groaning comically.
Clark turns crimson. “They don’t sound like that!”
“Did you hear something?” Pete scratches his earlobe. “Sounded like a train exploding.”
“You diseased . . . clown!” Clark seizes. He was never very good at insults. “This train will throw you in a volcano!” his eyes widened as he realized what he said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that! I love you Pete.”
Lana and Pete shared amused looks and burst out laughing. “You’re so cute, Clark,” Lana hugged him, getting paint all over her uniform, but she didn’t seem to mind. “Like a teddy-bear.” Clark’s expression droops in disappointment. Having his crush compare him to a toy is no fun. Lana is a good two head taller than Clark, making the hug quite awkward. He’s the smallest fifth grader but what he lacked in height he made up for in wits and brains.
I remember those days. I was the dorky runt of the litter, too. Give him time. He’ll grow into his limbs and stop looking so disportionent. Though, Jonathan was never that tiny and clumsy as a kid. Clark must get his small frame from Martha’s side of the family. With Farmer John’s genes, it’ll be only a matter of time before Clark shoots up.
The second the bell rings Pete and Lana rush into the hall. “Hey!” I follow them out. “You left a mess!” but they have already been swallowed up by the throng of students heading downstairs for dismissal.
“They’re allergic to cleaning,” Clark states plainly.
“Last time I let them paint,” I scowl. “You should go get your backpack kiddo.”
Clark frowns. at the mob of students clammering down the hallway, and inches closer to me. “Can I help you clean?”
“Sure, I could use the help,” I agree amiably. Though, we both know he’s just avoiding people. “One day soon, mister you’re going to be a celebrity commanding the attention of a room full of strangers,” I laugh as he inches closer to me.
“Never, ever going to happen,” he closes his eyes tightly as a stray backpack strap hits him. “I don’t like people.”
“You and I both know that’s not true,” I prop the door open and head back into the classroom, Clark following closely behind. “You’re a social butterfly.”
“Yeah,” Clark relents. “I like people. People are neat,” he picks up the sheet of laminated flowers without thinking. “They each have unique stories dying to be heard.”
Using his index finger he mindlessly cuts out the sunflower with his fingernail from the lamination. I gulp. Don’t blink, don’t dare move, lest you scare the kid. Clark’s method of cutting is nothing new.
You’ve seen it before.
It’s our secret.
Even after having taught him for six years, his sharp nails still baffle me. He was in third grade the first time I saw him use his fingernail to cut. We were working on cardboard sculptures and Clark was brought to tears of frustration after breaking ten scissors. He was so excited when he tried to cut with his fingernail and it worked. I didn't have the heart to tell him how abnormal that was. He was already teased for being the strongest in his class. The other kids called him Clarkzilla to his face and some of the meaner kids referred to him as Alien Shortstack.
In a few minutes Clark had the rest of the sunflowers cut out and in a neat pile by his elbow. “Mrs. Timm, can I ask you something?” he met my eyes timidly.
“Of course, kiddo,” I say. “You know, you can talk to me about anything.”
Clark swallows hard. “You’re old,” he states matter-of-factly. “Been around awhile.”
How old does he think I am? Guess once you have kids of your own, you immediately transition from ‘cool young teacher’ to ‘old, weathered veteran.’ Story of my life. I’m barely past thirty and the kids think I’m ancient now that I’m a mom.
“Have you ever had students who could cut like me?” he asks.
I knew this question was coming, but I wasn’t prepared for it in the slightest. After the cardboard incident I was careful to omit any lessons that required cutting from Clark’s class. It might have raised some eyebrows if Principal Kwan ever saw what Clark could do. He’s a tender soul, I couldn’t risk the wrong sort of people finding out about him. The government will ship him off to some remote island and do experiments on him. I couldn’t let that happen.
“We never used scissors in my class,” Clark observes. “It’s because of me isn’t it?”
I swallow hard. What do you say to that? Clark is too observant for an elementary kid. The makings of a detective in that kid. “You’re a special boy,” I tell him, feeling that’s the safest course of action.
“You mean, I’m a freak,” he says in a small voice. “I can’t even cut properly. Clark-Scissorhands,” he makes a disgusted face.
“Everybody has their own unique gifts,” I say. “Never be ashamed of who you are.”
“Do you think I’m human?” he asks seriously.
I pause and study him carefully, certain he’s pulling my leg. But no, the kid was dead serious. “You’ve been watching way too much X-files.”
“I’m the kind of thing Fox Mulder will chase after,” he says. I’m surprised and a little concerned Clark is watching X-Files. That show is not appropriate for kids.
“Mom won’t tell me why I’m so different,” Clark sighs heavily. “I want to believe her.”
“You’re as human as me, son,” I fight the urge to hug the little kid. He looks so small and uncertain about the world.
“Are you sure?”
I raise my hand to him and gently grab his small hand, placing it flat on mine. “You know, I’ve been thinking lately, that you could be some subspecies of elephant.”
Clark giggles wraps his arms around me. “I love that movie!”
“Me too, kiddo,” I say. It was my childhood.
“You’ll always be in my heart,” Clark hugs me tighter. “I’m gonna miss you Mrs. Timm.” I stroke his head, throat tightening with grief. I’m going to miss him too. “I don’t want to go to middle school.”
“Growing up is part of life,” I say sadly. “And I’ll always be here. You can visit any time you want.”
“Promise?”
“Cross my heart and hope to die.”
Clark hugs me one last time. “I’ll never forget you. Thank you,” he says teary-eyed. “I was worried I wasn’t human.” What a strange thing for a little kid to say. “I’m being dumb.”
“You should get going,” I release him, also teary-eyed. “Mama K. will be worried sick.”
You’re not supposed to have favorites as an art teacher, but I totally do. He was my baby. I've taught him for six long years. Longer, if you count the private lessons Mrs. Kent paid for in Pre-K. Come to think of it, it’s odd they didn’t enrol him in Pre-K with the rest of the kids. He was such a bright boy.
“She’s so paranoid,” Clark rolls his eyes. “I can take care of myself.”
“It’s a mother’s job to worry,” I smirk, thinking of my own son at home. Brucey just turned five and climbs on everything. Needless to say he’s given me a heart attack once or twice when he fell. Hell, Clark gave me a heart attack when the oak tree on the playground fell on him.
“Don’t worry about, Bruce,” Clark hugs me again. “I’ll catch him if he falls.”
“I’m sure you will, kiddo.” Who was going to catch Clark if he fell? He kept himself so isolated, even when he was surrounded by people, I worried he’d end up alone.
Clark’s smile melts away, growing forlorn. “Bruce is lucky to have you as a mom,” he hugs me again as if afraid to let me go. “Don’t die,” he pleads. Somehow I know he’s thinking of another little boy named Bruce that used to visit him regularly and was now the most famous orphan on the planet.
“It’ll be okay, O’l Sport,” I stroke his head. “Us farmers are built of stronger things.”
“I hope so,” Clark hugs me one last time and slips out of the art room.
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Chapter 2
Chapter Text
Clark never revisited the art room. As with most kids, life happens, and they grow up, forgetting their ancient art teacher. I saw Clark in passing in town occasionally, but the little boy I once knew was gone, replaced by a moody teenager.
As expected he had a growth spurt and soon was taller than everybody in his class. Each year, his muscles filled out until he was almost unrecognizable. He wore baggy clothes to hide his changing body, but the girls flocked to him like moths to a flame. He had eyes only for Lana Lang.
All of Smallville expected him to marry his neighbor (we all knew he had been using that telescope of his to spy on Lana since he was in middle school.) Wedding bells were around the corner. I’m ashamed to admit I snooped on the young lovers one too many times. They were such a darling couple. I even had Lana and Clark babysit Bruce and baby Brielle a few times, hoping Lana would get baby fever and elope with Clark. Their babies would have been gorgeous.
But their love was not meant to be. Nobody knows exactly why they broke up. Some say Lana set her eyes on someone more sophisticated. Some say Lana’s ambition drew a wedge between her and Clark. Some believe Lana was not ready to settle down. Either way, the Smallville gossips all agreed on one fact: Lana Lang ripped Clark Kent’s heart out and crushed it like a grape.
So when I entered the Tipsy Chicken after a grueling day of snot-faced kindergartners and angry fifth graders, I was not surprised to find my old pupil hunched at the bar, drinking straight whiskey. Martha will be livid. What was Bill thinking serving Clark? He wasn’t even nineteen yet! I marched over to set things straight but was cut off by a tall girl.
“Clark Joseph Kent!” she grabbed the drink out of his hand. “You’re better than this, Smallville. Don’t be such a predictable depressed, lovesick moron.”
Ah! It was the stray, city girl Martha picked up. I forgot her name. She was the only one who called Clark, Smallville. She moved to Smallville last year following a lead on a story. City folk are super weird. If my little girl ran away from home I would have dragged her ungrateful butt back home and made her rethink her life decisions. Not exile her to a foreign town. That poor girl had Darth Vader as a father.
“Don’t you have some story to chase, Snoop,” Clark made an ugly face he reserved for bullies.
“Yeah, you,” Snoop said. “The fall of the great Clark Kent,” Snoop clutched Clark’s arm. “This isn’t you.”
“You don’t know me, you stupid, nosy hag!”
“I know you’re hurting, so I’m going to let that comment slide this once,” she said seriously. “Talk to me like that again, Kent, and I’ll beat the crap out of you.”
“I wish you would,” Clark took another sip of whiskey and slammed it down in frustration.
“Your girlfriend is right,” I crossed my arms and gave Clark a hard look I never had to give him when he was my student.
“I’m not his girlfriend or anything . . .” the girl rambled. “Whose this Clark? Moving on from Lana so fast?”
“Mrs. Timm?” Clark gulped. “What are you doing here?”
“Better question, what are you doing here?” I arched an eyebrow at him. “Last time I checked, you’re not twenty-one! I can’t believe you will sink to this level. What will your mother say?”
“Yeah, Clark,” the girl’s hands flew to her hips, mimicking Martha Kent expertly. “I’m so disappointed in you, son I don’t know where to begin!”
“Young lady, he is not the only one drinking underage,” I faced the city girl, unable to keep my anger in check. What’s her face was a bad influence. “You are both in serious trouble.”
“Us Lane girls can hold our liquor,” Lane said. “It’s Clark you should be worried about. He’s a lightweight. One drink and he thinks he’s Peter Pan and tries to jump off rooftops.”
“I do not!” Clark turned crimson. “You big, fat liar!”
Lane decked him across the face. Clark flew backward, knocking into the countertop. The metal counter groaned under his weight and crumbled like dust. Oh dear! I quickly stepped in front of the broken counter to hide the damage from the cub reporter. Mercifully there were no drinks in danger of falling, but there was a Clark-sized dent on the rim of the counter.
“I am appalled at both your behavior!” I use my teacher's voice. “You should be ashamed of yourselves. This is not the Middle Ages. You use words, young lady not your fists. And you Clark,” I whirled on him. “I thought I’d never see the day Jonathan Kent’s son treated a lady with such disrespect!” All the while I made sure to block any wreckage from his nosy friend.
“She's not a lady, she’s Lois.”
“My daddy taught me never to show weakness,” Lois held her head high. “And not to ever let a man disrespect me.”
“He also wants nothing to do with you,” Clark said.
“Was that comment necessary?” It’s like I don’t know Clark anymore. What happened to the sweet, caring boy I used to know? God, this is why I don’t teach high school. Hit puberty and all the manners they learn fly out the window.
“No, ma’am,” Clark looks down at his feet. “But it’s true.”
“Yeah,” Lois acknowledges. “I don’t want anything to do with the general either.”
“He’s your Dad,” Clark said seriously. “You don’t mean that.”
“Not all of us are lucky enough to have Bo Duke for a father,” she said.
“Who?”
“You uncultured swine,” she elbowed Clark. “You’ve never seen Dukes of Hazard! We’re rectifying that travesty right away!”
“I’m regretting ever asking,” Clark said.
I watched Lois drag Clark outside by his hoodie and shook my head. That girl was something else. She’s been in Smallville for a year and already got Clark involved in an illegal car race, broke into a government facility with him, threw a party at the Kents' house while they were away, and was caught naked in a cornfield with Clark. The last bit was pure rumor, but based on my own experience with the city gal, I won’t put it past her. I won’t be surprised if she’s the reason Lana broke up with Clark.
Clark followed Lois Lane to Metropolis University (though he insisted his choice to leave Smallville had nothing to do with Mad Dog Lane.) He visited on the weekends, and Lois regularly tagged along for Mama K.’s cooking. The two of them were glued to the hip. He finished his internship at the Daily Star, but made the transition to the Daily Planet after a few short years. When asked, Clark will say it was always his dream to work at greatest newspaper in the world. But I know better. It was no coincidence he moved to the Daily Planet after Edward Lytener tried to kill Lois. Smallville wanted to keep an eye on Mad Dog Lane, and what better way to do that than to be her partner?
When the mysterious flying man surfaced I knew it was my student. Clark went through a phase in high school, where he drew nothing but that strangely shaped ‘S. Clark left Smallville and suddenly that symbol was popping up on all the crime scenes. It was a no-brainer. I keep tabs on all my students, it’s a small town and most of them don’t leave Smallville. Clark was trickier. I had to rely on town gossip and tabloids to pin him down. But he wasn’t fooling me for a second. I do wish he would give up the gloomy black costume. He was not that nut in Gotham. Even on his worst days, Clark Kent had an optimistic outlook on the world. He might have doubted himself, but he put his emotions aside and was a shoulder to cry on for his friends or the steadfast hero Smallville desperately needed.
I was disappointed Clark landed the first exclusive with the Flying Man instead of Lois. It wasn’t right. I understood why he did it. He wanted to control what information got out to the public, but it still felt icky and dishonest. He was writing about himself! The article itself was a bit wish-washy and read like a snippet from a Warrior Angel comic book. He inserted in a corny quote that sounded like something the winged alien would have said. But there was nothing about the family or a peek behind the Boy Scout. He kept the facts, and nothing more.
The joke was on him. Lois still got the upper hand. The second he flew onto the Prometheus Space Shuttle wearing Martha’s handiwork, Lois sized him up. Clark might have had the first exclusive, but Lois christened Superman and unearthed the truth of the last son of Krypton. Knowing the two of them, Lois undoubtedly bullied the truth out of Clark.
It was surreal. Part of me didn’t want to believe it. An alien grew up in my backyard. I taught him about analogous colors and how to cut. He broke countless scissors. Suddenly his odd question all those years ago made sense. Deep down Clark always knew he was different. But by gosh. It didn’t matter where that boy came from, he was still one of us. I just wished he wasn’t so alone.
It made me happy knowing Clark had Lois in his corner. Though this business of Clark Kent and Superman was going to bite him in the ass one of these days. That poor girl was smitten with Superman. Anyone could see that in the photos of Lois and Superman. She lost track of how many times she saw Lois and Clark in the tabloids. The Daily Star had started referring to Lois as Mrs. Superman and there was no end of rumors about the happy couple.
Clark wore his heart on his sleeve. This business with Lobo was the last straw. Lois practically announced to the whole world Clark Kent is Superman when she stood up to the bounty hunter, fighting alongside Superman. There was also the matter of Lobo abducting Lois and Clark and taking them to God knows where. I worried the wrong people would realize the truth and hurt my boy.
Somebody needed to knock some sense into that boy. Martha shared my fears. It would take one wrong person observing Superman and Lois to expose our boy. Martha tried warning Clark but boys rarely listened to their mothers.
I picked up the phone and dialed the number Martha gave me. “Whatsup?” A woman answered the phone.
“Is this not Clark Kent’s cell?” I frowned, taken aback by the stranger on the other end. The girl sounded nothing like Lois. She had a grating voice that reminded me of a vulture’s cry.
“Yeah, he’s in the shower. Who’s this?”
“This is Mrs. Timm . . . I was Clark’s elementary teacher,” I said. “I didn’t realize he had a girlfriend.”
“It’s kinda new,” she said. “We’re still keeping it under wraps, he hasn’t told his parents.”
Alarm bells immediately went off in my head. It wasn’t like Clark to hide anything from his parents. “You don’t say,” I mused. “How did you meet? Where did you study? What is your name? Where are you from?”
“Listen, lady, I did not sign up for the third degree. What Clark and I do is between us!”
“You’ve slept with him?” Martha taught Clark better than this.
What about Lois? It was bad enough that things didn’t work out with Lana, but after their last visit to Smallville, I was slowly warming up to Lois. She was good for Clark, kept him honest, and didn’t give him an inch. They were also ‘The hottest reporting team in town.’ You didn’t get a title like that without a bit of chemistry.
“So what if I did?”
Oh my God! This Superman persona is giving Clark a big head. I was afraid of this happening! He’s only a man, susceptible to the same temptations as a human man. But come on! He had the perfect partner. Who was this crazy loon?
“Leslie, who’s that?” Clark’s voice was muffled as if coming from deep underground.
“Some crazy nut, says she’s your teacher.”
“Hello?” Clark answered.
“Who the hell is she?” I screamed. “You and Lois are supposed to be together!” I was so thrown off by the prostitute that I forgot why I originally called.
“Hello to you too, Mrs. Timm,” Clark’s voice was laced with amusement. “How are Bruce and Brielle?”
“Don’t change the subject,” I said. “This is serious. Are you cheating on Lois? What’s going on? You were raised better than this. Lois would never forgive you. Your mother will disown you! How can you be sleeping with another woman.”
“First off,” Clark said testily. “Nobody is sleeping with anyone,” he said. “And second, Lois and I are just friends.”
“But the tabloids!” I screeched and faltered. What if this Leslie doesn’t know Clark is an alien? I lowered my voice. “The world thinks you’re in love with Lois.”
Clark dropped the phone. “Love,” he laughed, shuffling on the other end as he righted the phone. “I’m her occasional errand boy and personal punching bag. There’s nothing going on between us.” I noticed how he didn’t deny that he loved her.
“Is that so?” I said dubiously. He followed Lois around like a lost puppy. She drove her car into a lake to get his attention. He knew how Lois liked her coffee. She knew his favorite comfort food and how to lift his spirits.The love between them was obvious to everyone except for Clark. I gave Leslie a week.
“Yes,” Clark said seriously. “And you can share that with the rest of the Smallville busybodies,” he sounded perturbed.
I clearly wasn’t the first concerned neighbor to butt in where I wasn’t wanted. What can I say? When you have a family member thousand of miles away, people tend to worry. Each week there seemed to be a new big bad trying to prove themselves by taking down Superman. Only yesterday a mobster tired to kill him with alien weapons. It made front page news.
“We’re just concerned about you, honey,” I said. “You haven’t called your mother in six months!”
“I just got back,” he lowered his voice. “It’s been hectic around here.”
The story The Daily Planet ran was that some nut hired Lobo to collect Superman and Lois got caught in the crossfire. And this was before Bruno Manheim allegedly used alien technology against Superman.
“And Lois, was with you?” I keep my voice neutral. The town is already abuzz with rumors. Clark and Lois on an alien planet together, alone, trapped inside a Kryptonian habitat . . . imagination did run wild. Some were just waiting to hear the announcement of Clark Jr.
“Well, yea,” Clark said, matching her neutral tone. “She got the story on Superman.”
“Right, the story,” I echo dubiously. “It’s always about the story with her.”
“Lois is in love with Superman, not me,” Clark said.
“But you are. . .” I swallowed my tongue. You are Superman! But I don’t want to risk the crazy lady hearing.
“I appreciate your concern,” he said cordially. “It was good hearing from you Mrs. T. I’ve got to go now.”
“No, Clark, wait!”
But he already hung up. Martha was not going to like this. I called Martha next, but she didn’t answer. So I called Widow Maud who lived down the road from the Kents. Within the hour the whole town knew about Leslie and was not happy.
Smallville was divided between team Lois and team Lana. I thought Lois was the best thing to happen to Clark since he discovered Stephen Spielberg movies. But we all agreed Leslie Willis was bad news and needed to go.
I easily found Lois’ number online and rang her up. “Lois Lane, Daily Planet,” she answered breezily.
“Hi Lois,” I kept my voice cheery. “You probably don’t remember me,” I said, feeling silly as a schoolgirl playing matchmaker. “This Mrs. Timm,” I said, winching.
What was I doing? I didn’t even know if she knew he was Superman. But she was better than that phony. Lois and Clark had chemistry. They belonged together.
“I was Clark’s art teacher back in the day . . . We met briefly at Tipsy Chicken.”
“Oh yeah!” Lois explained. “You’re the nut that screamed at me.”
“Well, you were underage. You had no business being in a bar.”
“I was just there for moral support,” she admitted. “Clark was in a dark place.”
“That’s why I’m calling,” I treaded carefully. “He’s come down with something,” I think on my feet.
“Clark never gets sick.”
“He’s not quite sick,” I fib. “It’s more of a mental affliction,” I decided, which was true enough. “You should probably go check on him. Make sure he’s okay, cook him some cookies - he loves chocolate chip cookies.”
“You found out about Leslie,” Lois sighed loudly. “Clark is a big boy. He can make his own dumbass decisions.”
“She’s not right for him.”
“He’s got to figure that out the hard way.”
“She’s going to hurt him, you know that,” I tried again. “You remember how broken Lana left him.” The last thing they needed was a depressed Superman wrecking havoc.
“Eh,” Lois said carelessly. “Clark thinks he can fix Leslie, once he sees she’s a lost cause he’ll lose interest.” Clark didn’t give up easily. He saw the good in everyone even if they walked all over him.
“I give them a month,” she said confidently.
“You don’t sound the least bit jealous,” I observed.
“For the last time, nothing is ever going to happen between Clark and I, got it?”
“So nothing happened between you and Superman at the Cosmic Zoo?”
“I thought we were talking about Clark,” Lois said suspiciously.
“That’s not a denial,” I smirked. If I could just plant the seeds of doubt in her mind, everything else will fall into place. She loved Superman and was best friends with Clark Kent. It’s about time she realized her best friend was moonlighting as a superhero.
“Nothing happened,” Lois said dejectedly. “Now, did you just call to talk about Clark, or do you have a story for me?”
“Do me a favor, and check on him,” I implored. “I don’t like the idea of him being alone with that siren.”
“No problem,” Lois agreed. “But I’m not cooking. I’ll burn down the house.”
“Good thing you’re best friends with Superman, then?”
