Lois & Clark Forums Forums Active Threads Today

Complete Vignette
Comments

Story

Um...yeah.

Hope you enjoyed it

Summary: Lois and Clark have hit a roadblock in an investigation they’ve been working on for weeks. When Perry offers up an unconventional lead that might allow them to crack the case, Clark reluctantly agrees.

Author’s note: I…don’t know. Read at your own risk. This came from somewhere. I think it was a challenge issued by KSaraSara on Discord, which arose in the general chaos that happened after KateSO posted some generated images of Superman pole dancing… So, um, enjoy?


Nope
By Bek


“Nope! Nuh-uh. Perry, you can’t be serious?!”

“Now, Lois, take it easy. I’m sure Clark’s a total professional, and he can handle it. Right, Clark?”

“As his wife, I’m vetoing this idea. It’s just not okay!”

“Need I remind you, Lois, of the time you went undercover and ended up in a skin-tight chicken costume with bright yellow feathers?”

“Butt out, Jimmy, no one was asking you!”

“Lois, I think we should let Clark speak for himself on this one.”

The whole room turns to me. Lois has that look—the one that says if I don’t agree with her, she’s never going to speak to me again. Jimmy’s just…grinning. And Perry, well, he looks like he’s confident I’m going to agree.

I don’t think I’ve ever liked an idea less than this one. But we’ve been chasing this story for weeks now, and this is the first real lead we’ve had.

“I, uh…”

Lois’s eyes narrow. If she had heat vision, I’d be a pile of ashes right now.

“Don’t say it, Clark.”

I grimace and back up a step. And she shakes her head, because she knows what I’m thinking.

“Ah, I—”

“Clark!”

“Lois, it’s the only lead we’ve got. It’ll be fine, I promise. Trust me?”

She’s so mad, she can’t even respond. She throws her hands up in the air and storms out, and I flinch as the door slams shut behind her.

Then I let out a long breath and look up at Perry. “When do I start?”




The Body Shop.

God, what have I gotten myself into?

The back door is unlocked, and I let myself in. I’m immediately met by a young woman, who takes my “name”—Charlie King—and with a wink that somehow travels my whole body, she turns and leads me to a tiny dressing room.

I’m a little surprised that there are really no…auditions or anything. But Perry said he knew someone who knew someone, and somehow, I guess I was just…put on their “roster.”

“You’re third up tonight. Costume’s on the rack.”

“Got it,” I say. And it’s not until I shut the door and turn around that I truly understand how bad this idea really, really is.




Yeah, it’s about as bad as I thought.

The same woman who brought me into the dressing room knocks on my door not five minutes later and yells, “You’re up!”

And I…try. Nerves of steel? Nope.

She knocks again, yells something else that contains a few expletives, and then pushes the door open. Her eyes widen with a hungry look as she sees me.

“Ohhhhhh, yeah, that’ll do,” she says with another wink. “Almost better than the real thing. Come on.”

I’m going to die of embarrassment.

Or something like that.

Over the din of the music—god, they’re really playing “I’m Too Sexy”—I can somehow hear a very familiar heartbeat, and I nearly blow my cover right there, even as this woman is grabbing my arm to push me past other half-naked men and staff members.

What is she doing here?

I look through the walls, out to the main room, ignoring the nausea as I see the packed room, everyone’s eyes glued to the stage where I suppose I’ll be “dancing” any minute now. And there she is. Sitting right in the front row. Wearing some terrible blonde wig that looks about as fake as the costume I’m wearing right now.

She’s got a martini and a bunch of dollar bills.

God. She’s gonna kill me. I mean, if I were vulnerable.

“What’s the matter, got stage fright? You’re on, big boy!” The woman pushes open the door just as a new song starts—“Pour Some Sugar on Me”… God, nope, I’m not living this down, ever—and then she shoves me out there.




It’s worse than I thought.

I should have listened to my wife. And she knows it. Whenever my eyes catch hers, I can’t tell if she’s laughing at me or if she’s still angry. She’s definitely…possessive. Security almost threatens to remove her the first time she shoves another woman out of the way when I get a little too close to the edge of the stage. And I’m trying to tune out everything and just, uh, “dance” while I scan the room, but all the catcalls and cheering and…leering make it all really, really difficult.

Just as the last verse begins, I finally see who I’m looking for, and I dance toward Lois, moving as best I can with the music. God, this spandex is itchy, which is saying a lot since my skin is invulnerable. And the cape isn’t nearly long enough to cover…me.

When I reach just in front of Lois, she’s looking at me differently. A look I definitely recognize. And I have to shake myself to remember where we’re at.

I do some move that’s supposed to look sexy or something, and she’s cheering along with the rest of the crowd as she reaches up and stuffs a few dollar bills in the “belt” of my costume. Good cover, I suppose. I lean over closer.

“Back table, closest to the bar.”

She nods, and before I can straighten up, she stuffs another couple of dollars in my belt. And the music ends.




“Here’s to Lane and Kent! Hottest team in town! Another front-page scoop, and another criminal behind bars!”

With a huge grin on his face, Perry holds up the morning’s edition, and the newsroom erupts in cheers. That should be the end of it.

But I’m not that lucky.

I get plenty of shoulder pats and a few handshakes from my colleagues. Then Ralph walks up, the sneer on his face at least a mile wide.

“Congrats, you two!” he says, raising both eyebrows in tandem as he looks from me to Lois. He steps a little closer to me and prods me with his elbow. “Heard there was a ‘super’ performance!”

“Shut up, Ralph,” Lois says, and she grabs my arm and starts dragging me toward her desk. “Come on, Clark. We’ve got work to do.”

Ralph is unfazed as he follows behind us. “Wish I’d been there to see it,” he continues. “You know, to, uh, learn from the best of the best.”

I groan, but my cheeks are hot, and I can feel Lois about to explode. “Ralph…” I warn. But he keeps going.

“I’ve always wanted to see how you top investigative reporters work, you know, to…uncover the bare truth.”

He laughs at his own joke, and Lois snaps. She spins around and starts laying into him with words I didn’t even know were in her vocabulary.

And I just stand back and watch.

I should probably stop her. I should probably step in, make sure no one gets hurt. Or, uh, make sure Ralph doesn’t get hurt.

But I don’t.

Nope.



Comments

Chapter 9

Please put any comments here. Thank you!

In case you are just joining us: TOC

Chapter 9

The hospital corridors were quieter in the morning, the usual rustle of overnight charts and murmured updates giving way to the soft shuffle of nurses beginning rounds. Kal stepped out of the elevator, tapping his cane lightly against the
linoleum. He didn’t need a guide. He remembered the route to her room with practiced clarity.

Room 428. Third door on the left past the nurses' station. But as he neared it, he slowed. Her voice floated into the hallway—low, clipped, unmistakably irritated.

“I’m fine, I can walk.”

Kal knocked lightly against the doorframe. “You always say that when you’re about to fall over.”

Inside, Lois looked up from where she stood, one hand braced against the edge of the bed, the other clutching her discharge papers. “You’re early.”

“You’re upright.”

“Barely,” added a nurse, who was gathering the last of Lois’s vitals from the machines. “She’s been pacing since they cleared her to leave.”

Lois rolled her eyes, but Kal could hear the smile behind it. “Since you’re here,” she said, reaching for her phone, “let me call Perry and tell him he doesn’t need to come get me.”

Kal crossed the room, his cane angled carefully to avoid the IV stand. “You sure you’re up for this?”

“Would you believe me if I said yes?”

“No.”

“Then I won’t bother trying.”

She dialed quickly, holding the phone between shoulder and ear while she eased herself down onto the edge of the bed.

“I’ll get her home,” Kal said quietly, more to himself than to the nurse still making notes on a chart.

The nurse gave him a once-over, then nodded. “Just make sure she actually rests. And keeps the ice pack on.”

Lois ended the call and dropped the phone into her bag. “Perry says to tell you you’re braver than he is,” she muttered, reaching for her coat. “They’re making me ride out like I’ve broken both legs.”

“It’s standard procedure,” the nurse said patiently, jotting something onto a clipboard.

In the lobby, Kal moved to her side as she stood, careful not to rush her. When her hand brushed against his arm for balance, she didn’t pull away—and neither did he. They exited the hospital together, Lois leaning slightly but not heavily.

The sun had just started climbing over the Metropolis skyline, casting soft gold through the city streets, when the taxi pulled up outside Lois’s apartment building. Kal stayed close as they made their way to her apartment, quiet during the ride, quieter still while helping her settle in.

Lois winced as she shifted on the couch, adjusting the ice pack nestled against her ribs. “I’m not made of glass, you know.”

“You sure?” Kal asked, not looking up from where he stood by the kitchen counter, carefully pouring hot water into two mismatched mugs. “Because the way you just hissed at that movement tells a different story.”

She rolled her eyes. “I was exhaling.”

“You were wincing.”

“I can do both.”

Kal didn’t answer. He picked up the mugs—one in each hand—his grip precise, practiced. He moved slowly across the room, navigating around the coffee table and stopping in front of her with the same ease he’d used the night before in the hospital. She took the tea with a muttered “thanks,” holding it between both hands like a peace offering.

They didn’t say much after that—just sipped quietly, letting the silence settle.

As Kal knocked on her door the next morning, he prepared himself for the fact that Lois was going to want to get back in the action today. Lois didn’t sit idle and it had taken every bit of his coercing to keep her at the apartment. Today, he knew all of his efforts to get her to rest would be unsuccessful.

He hadn’t hovered, exactly, but he hadn’t been far either. She didn’t mind. Not really.

But she wasn’t used to stillness.

“This is killing me,” she muttered.

Kal raised an eyebrow. “The pain?”

“The waiting.”

She leaned forward—too fast—and winced again, biting back a curse. Kal didn’t say anything. Just waited, letting her gather herself.

“I need to get back to work,” she said after a beat. “I need to do something.”

“You need to heal.”

“I’m healing.”

“You’re pretending.”

Lois glared at him over the rim of her mug. “What happened to not hovering?”

“I’m not hovering,” Kal said calmly. “I’m sitting. While you argue with yourself.”

That earned him a narrow-eyed look, but not a retort. Outside the window, the early morning light stretched across the street. The city felt muffled, somehow—like everything had slowed to match her pace. She hated it.

“I’ve already fallen behind,” she said. “Whatever Intergang is doing—we both know they’re not going to wait around while I ice my ribs.”

Kal’s fingers tapped the edge of his cup, thoughtful. “Then we go slow. We work smart. You rest between leads.”

“You’re not going to try to stop me?”

He shook his head. “I know that’s not possible.”

That pulled a smile from her—small, but genuine.

“Besides,” he added, “you’d find a way around me.”

“You’re damn right I would.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the weight between them easing slightly.

Then Lois leaned forward again, slower this time. “We need to start with zoning records. The shell companies. Something isn’t right there. It’s too clean. Too deliberate.”

Kal nodded, setting his tea aside. “I’ll make the calls.”

“And I’ll pull the archived tax filings. There’s a storage facility near City Hall that’s been used by the old redevelopment committee. It’s a mess, but—”

“You’ll need a ride,” Kal said, already standing.

Lois opened her mouth to argue, then caught herself.

“I’ll need a ride,” she repeated, grudgingly.

Kal reached for his coat. “Then let’s get to work.”

They left the apartment without much more discussion—Lois clutching a folder of scribbled notes, Kal moving with quiet focus as he guided her to the car. Neither of them said it out loud, but something had shifted. They weren’t picking up where they left off—they were figuring out how to move forward, together.

Working together again felt strangely familiar—and yet, undeniably different. Kal remained tense, alert, trying to keep from easing back into the natural way he worked together with Lois as Clark. It was like walking a minefield, and he felt like he was one wrong step away from the explosion that was Mad Dog Lane.

Following a step behind Lois, they made their way through a long-forgotten municipal archive. The low hum of overhead fluorescents buzzed against the dusty silence of the records room. Lois narrated aloud as she flipped through files, reading summaries, clucking disapprovingly at redactions.

Kal listened closely, occasionally chiming in with questions, analysis, or follow-ups she hadn’t considered yet. They had slipped into a rhythm quickly—not the same as before, but close enough to unsettle them both.

“I missed this,” Lois said once, almost under her breath, but loud enough for him to hear.

Kal tilted his head toward her. “Digging through tax records in a moldy basement?”

A small huff of a laugh. “Working with someone who keeps up.”

He didn’t answer, just nodded slightly, letting the compliment hang between them.

They uncovered a pattern—properties in the Southside changing hands too quickly, tied to fake companies, eventually linking back to shell corporations. One name surfaced again and again: CostMart. It was subtle. Intentional. Clean on the surface, but too tidy. A front for something bigger.

The connections weren’t definitive—not yet—but they were enough. Enough to point to Intergang’s expansion into Oklahoma, specifically Norman.

That night, Kal couldn’t sleep.

He lay in his hotel bed, listening to the muted sounds of the city, Lois’s earlier words echoing in his mind. I missed this. He had too. The back-and-forth, the energy of chasing a lead, of fitting pieces together until the truth took shape.

But it came with something else. A pressure he hadn’t felt since before the accident. Not just the weight of the story, but the feeling that he should be doing more.

That pressure came to a head the next afternoon.

They had split up temporarily—Lois checking a source downtown, Kal reviewing a city council archive on zoning disputes. As he waited outside the building for his ride, he heard it. A voice. A scream. Somewhere nearby, someone was in trouble.

He stiffened.

It wasn’t a cry for help—yet. But it was the beginning of one.

Kal’s grip tightened on his cane. His hearing focused, filtering background noise until he found the source. Alleyway. South by southeast. Half a block.

He started toward it.

Then froze.
He didn’t know the layout. Didn’t know what he would walk into. If he moved wrong—if he acted on instinct and was wrong—someone could get hurt. He could hurt someone.

And he couldn’t risk that.

His heart pounded in his ears. He stood there, torn between instinct and paralysis, until the tension finally broke with sirens in the distance. Someone else had called for help. Someone else would handle it.

But the damage was done.

He returned to the hotel shaken, quieter than usual.

Lois noticed immediately. “You okay?”

Kal nodded. “Just tired.”

She didn’t press. He didn’t elaborate.

The next morning, Kal packed his things.

Lois stood in the doorway, arms crossed. “You’re leaving.”

“I need to follow the Oklahoma lead,” he said simply. “It’s where the trail leads next.”

She stared at him, unconvinced. “You sure that’s the only reason?”

Kal hesitated, then shook his head slightly. “No.”

Lois waited.

“There was a moment yesterday,” he admitted. “Someone was in trouble. I heard it. I wanted to help.” He looked down at his hands. “But I froze. I didn’t trust myself to move.”

The silence stretched.

“I’m not ready,” he said softly. “I want to be. I’m trying to be. But I’m not there yet.”

Lois didn’t say anything for a long time. Then, finally, she nodded. “Then go figure it out.”

Kal gave her a faint, grateful smile.

“I’ll call when I have something,” he added.

“You better,” she replied. “Because if you don’t, I will come to Oklahoma and chew you out in front of the entire newsroom.”

Link to Chapter 8

Thank you all for your patience, again. Life.... Yeah. It's been great but stressful.

Hope you love this chapter!
-Bek

*hides*

Sorry, y'all. Life is life-ing. Here's chapter 8!

And if you need it:
Link to TOC
Link to Chapter 7





By early Saturday afternoon, the storm finally subsided, and the clouds cleared up outside, the sun bringing with it a pleasant warmth.

Martha took the opportunity to coax Clark out onto the front porch, and the three of them sat outside and had a late lunch of sandwiches, strawberries, and fresh-out-of-the-oven brown butter chocolate chip cookies. Jonathan spoke quietly while they ate, telling Clark a little bit about the farm. He explained that the farm had been in Jonathan’s family for four generations and that their main crops were corn, wheat, and apples. He told Clark about the pond, how he’d love to take Clark there and show him how to fish sometime. And he explained how he’d helped his dad rebuild the barn after a fire had destroyed the original structure when he was just about Clark’s age.

Martha watched silently as Clark picked at his food, not with disinterest but with…discomfort, maybe? He kept eyeing the cookie on his plate and then attempting to take another bite of his sandwich, but he seemed…

Her eyes widened with realization, and she sighed, a little too loudly. Jonathan cut off mid-sentence, and Clark glanced up at her briefly, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes.

“Martha?”

“Sorry, Jonathan,” she said, forcing the smile back on her face. She looked at Clark again, who was now staring at his plate, his jaw clenched tightly. “Sweetie, hey, are you…still full from breakfast and your snack a couple hours ago? You don’t have to eat your whole sandwich before you have your cookie.”

And Clark did what he usually did when he was unsure. He closed his eyes tightly and didn’t say anything, his little body tensing up as though he was preparing to…what? Get in trouble?

She frowned as she glanced up at Jonathan, who watched Clark with a soft expression.

“Hey, buddy, how about this…” Jonathan started, and he paused until Clark opened his eyes just a little and shot a careful glance Jonathan’s way. Then Jonathan smiled brightly at him. “You take…one more bite of your sandwich—it’s really yummy, isn’t it?”

Clark nodded quickly.

“Yeah, Martha makes the best sandwiches. Anyways, you take one more good bite, and then you can have your cookie. How does that sound? Do you think you can do that?”

“Y-yes, I—I think so.”

“Great! Martha, what do you think?”

The child turned to look at her, and she saw the tiniest bit of hope in his beautiful dark eyes. She really didn’t want to put any stipulation on him getting to eat his cookie, but she understood why Jonathan had made the suggestion, and that broke her heart even more. So she just smiled brightly and nodded.

“I think that’s a great idea. One more good bite should be plenty.”

Part of it was that Clark really needed to eat. Doc McMillan had told them he was indeed severely underweight, small for his age in a way that Doc suspected had nothing to do with Clark just being a small boy.

Also—and she understood this, but again didn’t really like it one bit—Clark seemed to need to have a “rule” or…something. He obviously was not used to being given options, to being given…anything. And she could easily see the uncertainty, the unease he felt whenever he was given a choice or asked some opened-ended question. She definitely didn’t want to make him uncomfortable.

She also didn’t want him to feel obligated to make himself uncomfortable—to make himself eat more than his body could currently handle—just to get the “reward” of being allowed to have his cookie.

And Jonathan seemed to understand her concern, even without her saying anything out loud. He gave her a tight smile and nod as though to reassure her, and her discomfort faded just a bit. She took the final bite of her own sandwich as she watched Clark pick up his sandwich with trembling hands. He took a big bite, as though he felt that was required of him, and then ate the last strawberry on his plate, for good measure.

Then, after he swallowed, he reached for the cookie, some eagerness in his eyes and a small smile on his lips. He paused just before his fingers touched the cookie, and his face fell as he looked at Jonathan.

“Can I…?”

“Of course, buddy,” Jonathan answered, sounding stoic and confident. But Martha heard the hitch in his breath as they both saw Clark’s expression light up—just a little.

“Th-thank you,” Clark said, and he glanced at Martha briefly before picking up the cookie and taking the tiniest of bites.

He didn’t say anything, but his face told it all—his eyes closed lightly as he chewed, and his lips curled up at the corners.

“It’s good, right?” Jonathan said, smiling at Clark.

Clark nodded and opened his eyes, and they flickered with a brightness, an eagerness that made Martha’s heart soar.

She blinked back tears and turned her attention back to her now-empty plate in her lap. Jonathan had to go do the afternoon chores—feed the animals, milk the cows, get started on just a little bit of the cleanup he had to do after the storm. And she had some cleaning and a few other things she needed to get done. Clark was still supposed to be resting as much as possible—orders from Doc—but she was reluctant to suggest he go take a nap or to leave him on his own for any amount of time.

And she really wasn’t quite sure why the reluctance. He was a ten-year-old boy. Certainly he would be used to… She closed her eyes tightly and tried to steady herself as her heart stuttered.

He wasn’t a normal ten-year-old boy. He hadn’t had any sort of normal childhood. She knew that, just from how he acted and what Jonathan had told her about that house he’d lived in. As far as they knew, he hadn’t had any formal schooling, and she was fairly sure he didn’t know how to read or write, add or subtract… She recalled too how awkward he’d looked trying to color in the dinosaur coloring book that morning—like his fingers weren’t even sure how to hold the crayon. Once she’d shown him, he figured it out pretty quickly, but…

“I’ve gotta get out to the barn,” Jonathan said, pulling Martha out of her introspection. She looked up at him and nodded. “And I spoke with Wayne this morning. The storm really tore through overnight, knocked down several trees and part of the fence line at the back of his property, where it meets up with old Schuster’s field. He asked if I might help him out to fix that up this afternoon too. Actually…” Jonathan paused, and his eyes darted briefly to his watch and then Clark. “I maybe should go do that first. But if you need me to stay close by…?”

She heard all the words he didn’t say, of course. And she smiled and shook her head. “Go on over to help Wayne. Clark and I will be fine hanging out here, won’t we, sweetie?”

Clark had just stuffed the last of his cookie in his mouth—having foregone his tiny bites for much larger ones, and his mouth was completely full. He stopped chewing and looked at her almost nervously, but nodded.

Jonathan grinned. “Good then. I’ll be back before dark.” He stood and picked up all of their plates. “Lemme take these inside for you, and then I’ll head out.”

“Thank you, Jonathan.”

A few minutes later, she waved goodbye as Jonathan climbed into the pickup and then started it up and drove off down the driveway toward the main road. A light breeze set the wind chimes jingling, and she took a deep breath and then stood up herself, turning to Clark with a smile.

“I’ve got some chores of my own to do, but first…” She hesitated as she watched him bite his lower lip and drop his eyes. What was going on in that little mind of his, and how could she…make him feel better? She took another deep breath, and he looked back up at her.

God, his eyes… They were so full of so many things, and she felt a fierce protectiveness come over her like nothing she’d ever felt before. She reached out her hand. “Come on, sweetie, let’s head inside and… Say, do you like Legos? Jonathan picked up a really neat rocket ship Lego set from Sadie’s while he was out this morning.”

Clark took her hand slowly, but his face showed confusion as he stood with her help. “I—I don’t know wh-what Legos are,” he said quietly. And before she could respond, he asked, “C-can you…show me?”

The question was both heartbreaking and hopeful, and fresh tears threatened as she nodded enthusiastically. “Of course! Oh my, you’re in for a big treat! Legos are so fun!”

And he held onto her hand tightly as she led them back inside.



“Here, now, turn the page, and let’s see how it ends…”

Clark eagerly reached up and turned the final page, keeping a steady hold on the book as he leaned back against Martha’s chest. She looked over his shoulder, smiling at the familiar words. She had read this book to the first-grade class from Smallville Elementary when they had gone on a field trip to the library several weeks ago, and they’d all loved it just as much as Clark seemed to.

She tightened her arm around him in a small hug, and he pointed to the first word in the sentence, which was written in all capital letters.

“What does it say?”

“It says, ‘“SO, catch!” calls the Once-ler. He lets something fall. “It’s a Truffula Seed. It’s the last one of all. You’re in charge of the last of the Truffula Seeds. And Truffula Trees are what everyone needs. Plant a new Truffula. Treat it with care. Give it clean water. And feed it fresh air. Grow a forest. Protect it from axes that hack. Then the Lorax and all of his friends may come back.”’ The end!”

“Oh, wow,” Clark said, his voice low. He looked up at her in awe, the biggest smile she’d seen from him yet plastered on his face. His eyes almost sparkled. “The Once-ler was…not a good person, but he…changed.”

Martha nodded. “Took him a little while to figure it out. He didn’t care at first how his actions affected others, right?”

Clark nodded and looked back down at the book, his tiny little fingers reaching out to trace under the first few words on the last page.

“But then,” she continued, “he realized how he was hurting all the animals and plants, and how damaging it was.”

She watched quietly as Clark seemed to process this, and he frowned.

“But…but one little boy…isn’t enough to—to ch-change…” His voice was small, and he seemed to shrink into her a bit, closing the book.

“Oh, sweetie, no. One person, little or not, certainly can change the world. Even if that just means changing the world for one person, making one person’s life better.”

Clark touched the front cover of the book and then smiled a little, and Martha’s breath caught. The expression—the little hint of a smile on his lips—seemed to be getting easier for him, and each time, it seemed to last a little longer.

She hugged him tighter again, her heart feeling so happy and full when he didn’t tense up this time. She wanted to tell him how much he’d already changed her world—how much he’d already made her small part of the world so much better. But she held back, watching him as he traced the letters on the front of the book with one finger, his smile slowly fading.

“What are you thinking, sweet boy?” she asked quietly, and his hand stilled.

He shook his head but then mumbled, “Um, I…” and tapped his finger on the first word, “The,” at the top—a red word set in the yellow tufts of a Truffula Tree.

“Do you…know all the letters?”

He closed his eyes and shook his head again, and this time she did feel his body tense up. “N-no. I…I’m not…not smart, and… Pa said—”

“Do you want me to teach you, sweetie?” She hated interrupting him, but a strong wave of anger had flowed through her when he mentioned not being smart, and even though she probably needed to learn all she could about how Clark had been raised, she really had no desire to hear what Jacob Peterson had told Clark about himself. Or to have Clark have to repeat whatever those untruths had been now.

“Y-yes, p-please,” he answered, unsteadily, but with a little hope in his voice. “I know…this is—is a T.” He pointed to the first letter in “The” and then looked up at her, uncertainty in his eyes.

“That’s absolutely right. It’s the letter T. And the way it’s written there is called ‘capitalized.’ Every letter has two forms—uppercase or capitalized and lowercase.”

Clark bit his lip and lowered his eyes back to the page, moving his finger to point to the next letter. “Wh-what is this one?”

“That’s an H, but it’s lowercase, and the next letter—”

“Is an E?”

“Yes! Very good. And the letters T-H-E together spell the word ‘The,’ as in The Lorax.”

“T…H…E… ‘The.’” He pointed at each of the letters as he said them and then looked up at her, the hint of hope in his expression again.

With a huge smile and another nod, she brought both arms around him and hugged him gently. “Yes, sweetie, that’s so great! That’s just right.”

He let her hug him, and then quickly, as though he were worried she would soon tire of this, he pointed to the next word. “This says, ‘L-Lorax’?”

“Exactly. The letters are…”




Link to Comments