Hello everyone, hopefully you all had a good Christmas! I just wanted to start this chapter by saying that I never intended it to be so focused on this one character. But once I started writing she happily burst in and took over every scrap of narrative in a way that only she could. And I realized that I kinda missed her. To be honest, I've been waiting since the day I created Kaylie to see these two characters together and I'm glad that I finally got the opportunity. Thanks Nancy again for your super-beta skills, and a reminder to readers that parts marked in *** are flashbacks.
PART TEN
***Lois tapped gently on Jon’s office door, and then stuck her head inside.
“Can I come in?” she asked gently. Jon sat at the desk, head resting in his hands.
“I guess so,” he replied, unenthusiastically. Lois closed the door after her and immediately walked over to her son, placing her hand on his arm.
“That was a pretty nasty fight you two had earlier.” She didn’t need to specify who or what she was talking about. Everyone had heard Jon and Amanda yelling at each other through the closed doors of his office. Jon lifted his head up to meet her in the eye, and Lois was shocked to see the pain and disbelief spilling from his gaze.
“I think we just broke up, Mom,” he said in a daze.
“Oh, Sweetie.” Her expression melted in sympathy. “I’m so sorry.”
“No matter how bad it got,” he was continuing, “I never thought it would actually happen. I can’t believe we let it get that bad between us.”
“Jon, it wasn’t your fault. And it wasn’t Amanda’s. Sometimes two people just aren’t meant to be together.”
“I didn’t think that way with Amanda. I really thought she was the one.” He shook his head, still processing what had just happened. “You know, everyone always talks about how you and Dad have such a perfect loving relationship. I guess I just wanted to have that too. But now that’s not going to happen.”
“Jon, you don’t know that. Amanda wasn’t your only chance at romance. You know, Dad wasn’t the first man I ever seriously dated. I made mistakes too. That doesn’t mean you won’t even find the right person.” Jon managed a wobbly smile.
“Thanks, Mom.” He sighed. “I should get back to work now.” Jon listlessly picked up a pen and tapped it on his desk.
“Sure, Jon,” Lois replied as she stood. “But if you want to talk about this some more, you know where I am, okay?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”***
* * *
But how was I going to tell him? Just sit him down one day and spit it all out? Maybe invite him over one night, cook him a really nice meal like he had done for me and then after just say “Oh, and by the way, Jor, I have this really huge secret that I haven’t told you about…”? Or should I maybe build up to it more gradually? Maybe start leaving copies of “Weaponry and Ammunitions Weekly” lying around my apartment and mention in passing that Kim Possible was my childhood hero? Both options seemed ridiculous. It felt deceitful to put together a big romantic evening only to blindside him with my secret at the end. And besides the obvious silliness of the gradual approach, if I were to purposefully leave incriminating evidence lying around my apartment then I ran the risk of someone else finding out. So maybe it was best to use the band-aid tactic. Just call him over and blurt it out. But that scared me. The bonus of doing something like this more gradually was that it gave me a chance to work up the courage as well.
It was the last day of school, and I was still mulling the problem over as I cleaned up the Science classroom for the summer. All the kids had long gone home but I was still stuck pulling staples out of the walls and wiping down counters. A knock came from the open door and I turned around to face a petite woman in her mid fifties. She wore a well cut business suit and her short brown hair softly framed her face. Definitely not a parent, and too classy to be the type of social worker we usually got around here.
“Can I help you with something?” I asked politely.
“Yes, I’m looking for Kaylie Stewart,” she replied. “The office told me to check here.”
“I’m Kaylie Stewart,” I confirmed. I came down from the step ladder and walked over to greet her.
“Lois Lane, Daily Planet,” she introduced herself as we shook hands. Instantly, I was on alert. *Lois Lane*? Why was a multiple award winning journalist coming to see me? I could only think of one reason, and it scared the hell out of me.
“It’s an honor to meet you, Ms. Lane,” I stammered, struggling to maintain a calm veneer. “I’m familiar with your work, of course.”
“Thank you.”
“Come, sit down.” I gestured to the chair opposite my desk, and we both sat. “So what can I do for you, Ms. Lane?”
“I’m actually interested in doing a story on Riverview Alternative School,” she said. “I’m interested in the kind of people who work here and in the influence alternative schools have on the students who attend them.”
“Really?” I asked with a touch of skepticism. “I didn’t think a reporter of your reputation wrote that kind of story. Don’t you usually stick to the government conspiracies and drug rings?”
“Well, you know editors,” she rolled her eyes playfully. “He thinks that doing the odd puff piece now and then helps to make me a better reporter.”
She was lying. And it wasn’t only her mannerisms that gave it away. I figured I had a pretty clear idea of why she was here, and it sure wasn’t because of her editor. I had no idea how much she knew or suspected about my work, but I knew I had to approach the situation with extreme caution. It would look incredibly suspicious if I refused to grant the interview, and she probably knew that, so I had no choice but to put up with her for the time being and answer her questions.
“I guess editors can be as bad as principals sometimes, huh?” I replied with false levity.
“I guess they can.” She dug in her bag and brought out a pad of paper. “Shall we get started?”
“Sure,” I nodded. Then her eyes caught hold of Jor’s signal watch on my wrist. Damn! I knew that it was stupid of me to wear this to work! But I hadn’t wanted to take it off, so I had hoped my long sleeved blouse would provide enough cover. Obviously not enough cover for Lois Lane. “It’s an… heirloom. Of sorts,” I explained hastily. Although the watch wasn’t remotely connected with any of the other business it was still out of place for a twenty something teacher in professional dress to be wearing a broken men’s watch on her wrist. And I couldn’t tell her the real reason why I was wearing it. That was just as much a secret as anything else. She was staring at the watch with a small wrinkle of concentration on her forehead.
“It must mean a lot to you,” she said quietly, looking up at me at last.
“Yes,” I replied softly. “It does.” What I saw in her eyes next scared me more than anything else. Understanding. Like she knew exactly how it felt to have to share the one you love with the world. To be left stranded in the middle of a date after a quick kiss and a mumbled explanation. To feel the absence of the one you love so strongly that you have to resort to wearing ugly, banged up jewelry to remind yourself that he still loves you even though he can’t be with you. How did she know? Reporter’s intuition only went so far. Didn’t it? She cleared her throat, and the moment thankfully passed.
“So, Miss Stewart,” she began, the professional shield in place once again, “How long have you been a teacher here at Riverview?”
“This is the end of my second year,” I replied, forcing myself to concentrate on the interview. I needed to be sure I didn’t let anything slip. “I came here right after I finished my degree.”
“You’re young then,” she remarked. “It must be difficult at times to deal with all the situations you find.”
“It can be tough,” I hedged, “but I do as much as I can. Sometimes it’s just good for them to know that someone’s looking out for their best interests. I try not to let any of the negative experiences discourage me. Whatever I can do for these students is enough.” I saw a faint smile curl on her lips, but then it was gone.
“Could you describe the types of students who come here to Riverview?”
“We get a variety,” I explained. “Usually the students have tried to integrate into a mainstream school and have had difficulty. Many of our students are in foster care or come from difficult home situations.”
“Do you feel you have success here?”
“Definitely. I’ve seen many students turn around completely in the course of a few months if the proper attention and care is given to them.”
“Care to give me a case study?” She asked it seemingly causally, not even glancing up from her notepad. Yet she would know that no teacher or school that wanted to stay in business would dish out personal information on students. Was she *testing* me? And why?
“Sorry,” I replied carefully, “it’s against confidentiality policy. I can’t even confirm or deny that a certain student is enrolled here.” Her eyebrows arched in response.
“Those are some pretty strict policies.”
“As I said before, many of our students have had previous histories with schooling. They often have behavioral or learning difficulties. Those details should never be revealed by anyone other than the student or their family and only if they *chose* to disclose them.” I had no idea what she was getting at in this line of questioning, but her constant prodding to reveal something about the students here was making me nervous. I watched her body language carefully for some clue as to where she was heading.
“It must be difficult for you at times to keep all those secrets,” she continued. “I’m sure sometimes you might feel that it’s too much pressure.” Her eyes pierced me with intuitive scrutiny. Her pen stilled and her notebook lay abandoned in her left hand.
“Not really,” I replied warily. “I do what I need to in order to protect my students.”
“But to always have to be covering things up and guarding yourself against accidentally saying anything you shouldn’t. It must be difficult. You must feel stressed having to cope with… well, with a whole secret life, in a sense.” Too close! Dangerously too close! I had to get rid of her. Right now. I stood abruptly.
“Ms. Lane, I don’t know what you’re getting at, but I would never jeopardize the well being of my students. I would like you to leave now. You can finish your interview with another member of the staff.” I tried to project the image of an indignant teacher being questioned in her professional integrity, but I’m not sure how successful I was. She clearly suspected *something*. But how much did she know? Did she know about Sproxton? Intergang? Jay?
“Of course, Miss Stewart,” she replied deferentially. “Thank you very much for your time.” She collected her bag and notepad and walked out the door. I stood by my desk shakily trying to collect my nerves. That had been close. I had never expected my two lives to clash so abruptly. I thought I had been so careful, but obviously I had done something to make her suspicious.
Lois Lane was one of the good guys. I had read many of her stories and knew of her reputation. If she uncovered something about Sproxton, it might actually help me. But how did I point her in that direction without exposing myself?
* * *
Lois exited the school and hadn’t even walked a block away before she bumped into her husband.
“Oh! Clark!” she twittered nervously. “This is a surprise! I didn’t expect to see you here. In this area of town. But I guess you were out doing…” She performed the familiar hand gesture minutely. “Hey, do you want to stop someplace for coffee? Oh, but on second thought it’s getting a little late. Maybe we should just head home and have an early supper. I think there’s still some leftover lasagna in the freezer and we can heat that up. And maybe get out a bottle of wine too. Do you realize how long it’s been since we’ve had wine at dinner, Clark? Do we even have any wine at home? Maybe we should stop by the store and grab a bottle. Oh, and we can pick up some of those brown nut things you like so much. I think I ate the last of them this morning before going to work so-”
“Lois,” Clark interrupted, looking over her shoulder, “is that Riverview Alternative you were just coming out of?”
“Um, is it?” she asked innocently.
“Lois,” he chided gently. “You didn’t.”
“Of course I didn’t,” she defended indignantly. “I was just checking on… something, and I…” she trailed off and slumped in defeat. “Oh, Clark, I did, didn’t I? This is terrible! I’ve become one of those awful, controlling mothers who won’t let her grown kids cross the street without approval! What’s gotten into me?” she wailed. Clark pulled her into a hug, regardless of the fact that they were in the middle of a busy sidewalk.
“It’s okay, honey,” he soothed. “You were just trying to do what’s best for your kids. There’s nothing wrong in that.”
“I just don’t want him to get hurt again like last time,” she mumbled into his chest. “It was so hard on him and I just wanted to see her and know that…” She paused and then brought her head up to meet her husband in the eye. “She’s hiding something, Clark. I can tell.”
“Does she love him?” Clark asked gently. A smile touched Lois’ lips.
“Yes. She does.”
“Then they’ll work it out between themselves. We somehow managed.” Clark wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and they started walking down the street together.
“Yeah, we did.” Lois tucked her body in close to his.
“By the way, I actually picked up a bottle of wine earlier this afternoon. And some groceries too, so how do a couple steaks and some new potatoes sound to you?”
“They sound perfect.”
