The morning sun cast a golden glow over Smallville High, its rays filtering through the trees that lined the school's front lawn, painting the grass with dappled light. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of autumn leaves and the distant hum of farm machinery, a reminder of the town's rural heartbeat. Students milled about the courtyard, their voices a low buzz of chatter—gossip about the upcoming homecoming game, complaints about algebra homework, and the occasional burst of laughter from a group huddled near the flagpole. It was a typical Wednesday in Smallville, the kind of day that felt comfortingly predictable, yet for Elizabeth "Beth" Harper, it was anything but.
Beth hadn't slept. Not really. Her night had been a restless tangle of thoughts, the memory of Clark's lips against hers replaying like a stubborn reel in her mind. The warmth of his breath, the hesitant brush of his tongue, the low moan that had vibrated against her mouth—it all haunted her, each detail sharper than the last. She'd lain in bed, staring at the ceiling of her bedroom, the faint glow of a streetlamp seeping through the blinds, her heart racing as she tried to shove the memory away. But it clung to her, stubborn and unrelenting, like the damp heat that still lingered in her core, a betrayal of her own body. By 3 a.m., she'd given up on sleep, tossing the covers aside to pace her room, the hardwood cold against her bare feet. She'd tried reading, then scrolling through her phone, but nothing could drown out the echo of that kiss—a kiss that was supposed to be a favor, a lesson, but had left her feeling like she'd crossed a line she couldn't uncross.
Now, standing in the crowded hallway of Smallville High, Beth felt the weight of exhaustion pressing against her temples, a dull ache that matched the knot in her chest. Her brown hair was pulled into a messy ponytail, strands escaping to frame her face, and her eyes, usually bright with a quiet confidence, were shadowed with fatigue. She leaned against her locker, the cool metal grounding her as she clutched her history textbook, pretending to skim the pages while her mind churned. The kiss. Clark's hands on her waist. The humiliating moment when Jonathan Kent had walked in. It was all too much, and the thought of facing Clark this morning had been unbearable. That's why she'd left for school alone, slipping out of her house before dawn, her sneakers crunching on the gravel path as she walked the familiar route without him.
They always walked to school together—a ritual since middle school, their steps synchronized along the winding roads of Smallville, trading stories about comic books or teasing each other about their terrible taste in music. But today, Beth couldn't face it. Not the easy banter, not the way Clark's broad shoulders filled the space beside her, not the risk of seeing Jonathan or Martha Kent, whose kind smiles would only amplify her shame. She'd texted Clark a vague excuse about needing to get to school early for a study session, but the truth was simpler: she was running from him, from herself, from the feelings she didn't want to name.
The hallway buzzed with activity as the first bell approached. Cheerleaders in their crimson-and-gold uniforms practiced a routine near the gym entrance, their ponytails bouncing in sync. A group of freshmen argued over a fantasy football draft, their voices loud and earnest. The school was gearing up for the homecoming pep rally later that day, and posters plastered the walls—bright, hand-painted signs announcing the Crows' game against the Granville Bears, with slogans like "Crush the Bears!" and "Go Crows!" in bold, uneven letters. The energy was infectious, the kind of small-town enthusiasm that made Smallville High feel like the center of the universe, but Beth felt detached, like she was watching it all through a fog.
Her eyes drifted to the end of the hall, where Clark stood by the water fountain, his tall frame impossible to miss. He was talking to Pete Ross, his hands animated as he gestured, probably recounting some story about the farm or a bad call in last week's football game. Clark looked… fine. Annoyingly fine. His dark hair was tousled, as always, and his flannel shirt hung loosely over his broad chest, the sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms that Beth now knew were deceptively strong. He laughed at something Pete said, his smile easy and unguarded, and for a moment, Beth envied his ability to move on, to act like nothing had changed. To him, maybe nothing had. The kiss was just practice, a means to an end, a way to prepare for Lana Lang—the girl who occupied his every thought, the girl who was everything Beth wasn't.
Beth's stomach twisted, a familiar pang of jealousy she hated herself for feeling. Lana was perfect—glossy black hair, a smile that lit up the room, and a grace that made every head turn. Beth, with her plain brown hair and quiet demeanor, felt invisible by comparison. Not that it was a competition, she reminded herself, but the thought did little to ease the ache. She turned back to her locker, shoving her textbook inside with more force than necessary, the metal door rattling.
"Hey, Beth!" Clark's voice cut through the noise, warm and familiar, pulling her out of her spiral. She froze, her hand still on the locker door, her heart lurching. He was walking toward her, his long strides eating up the distance, Pete trailing behind with a curious grin. Clark's blue eyes were bright, but she thought she saw a flicker of concern in them, a subtle crease in his brow that told her he'd noticed something was off.
"Hey," she replied, her voice flatter than she intended. She forced a smile, but it felt brittle, like it might crack under the weight of his gaze. "What's up?"
Clark stopped in front of her, his hands shoved into his pockets, a posture that made him look younger, almost boyish. "You weren't at the house this morning," he said, his tone light but with an edge of worry. "I waited, but you were already gone. Everything okay? You said you had a study session, but…" He trailed off, his eyes searching hers, as if he could read the truth in her expression.
Beth's throat tightened. She hadn't expected him to call her out so directly, and the concern in his voice only made her feel worse. "Yeah, I just… needed to get here early," she lied, her fingers fidgeting with the strap of her backpack. "Had to, uh, finish some history notes. No big deal." She avoided his gaze, focusing instead on a poster taped to the wall behind him, its edges curling from the humidity.
Clark tilted his head, seeming not entirely convinced. "You could've told me. We always walk together." His voice was soft, almost coaxing, and for a moment, Beth felt a surge of guilt for shutting him out. "I was worried you were, I don't know… mad or something."
"Mad?" Beth's eyes snapped back to his, surprised. "Why would I be mad?" Her voice came out sharper than she meant, and she winced internally, hating how defensive she sounded.
Clark shrugged, a small, uncertain gesture. "I don't know. You just… you've been kind of quiet since yesterday. And after, you know…" He lowered his voice, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. "The thing at my house. I thought maybe you were weirded out or… I don't know, upset."
Beth's face heated, the memory of the kiss flashing through her mind unbidden—his lips, soft and hesitant, the warmth of his hands, the way her body had betrayed her with a desire she couldn't shake. She crossed her arms, a defensive barrier, and forced a laugh that sounded too high-pitched. "Upset? Clark, come on. It was just a dumb thing. I'm fine. I just… didn't want to run into your parents, okay? After your dad walked in, it was mortifying. I'm avoiding the Kent house for, like, forever." She tried to keep her tone light, but the words felt heavy, laced with a truth she wasn't ready to face.
Clark's expression softened, a mix of relief and amusement. "Yeah, Dad can be intense. But he's cool about it, I swear. He's not going to make it weird." He paused, then added with a teasing grin, "You sure you're not dodging me, though? I mean, I'm not that bad to traumatize you, am I?"
Beth's heart skipped, and she felt the blush creep up her neck again. "God, Clark, shut up," she muttered, shoving his arm lightly, the contact brief but enough to send a jolt through her. "You're fine. I told you, you just need practice." The words tasted bitter, a reminder of why they'd kissed in the first place—for Lana, not for her. She turned back to her locker, busying herself with rearranging her books, anything to avoid his gaze.
Pete, who had been lingering nearby, chimed in with a laugh. "Wait, what's this about? Y'all holding out on me?" His tone was playful, but his eyes darted between them, sensing the undercurrent of tension.
Beth shot him a glare, her voice firm. "Nothing, Pete. Mind your own business."
She slammed her locker shut, the sound echoing in the hall, and slung her backpack over her shoulder. "I gotta get to class. See you guys at the pep rally."
She walked away before Clark could say anything else, her steps quick, her heart pounding. The hallway seemed to close in around her, the chatter of students and the squeak of sneakers on linoleum fading into a dull roar. She needed space, needed to breathe, needed to stop thinking about Clark's lips, his hands, the way he'd looked at her yesterday, like maybe, just maybe, he'd felt something too. But that was a dangerous thought, one she couldn't afford to entertain. He was her best friend. He was in love with Lana. And she was just… Beth.
The day unfolded in a blur of routine, the kind of structured chaos that defined Smallville High. First period was history, where Mr. Callahan droned on about the Industrial Revolution, his voice a monotone that lulled half the class into a stupor. Beth sat near the window, her notebook open but untouched, her pen tapping rhythmically against the page. Her eyes kept drifting to the glass, where the golden fields beyond the school stretched toward the horizon, a reminder of the wide, open spaces that felt so far from the confines of her own mind. She tried to focus on the lecture, but her thoughts kept circling back to Clark—his easy smile in the hallway, the way he'd tried to keep things normal, as if that kiss hadn't tilted her world off its axis.
By lunch, the cafeteria was a cacophony of clattering trays and overlapping conversations. The smell of overcooked pizza and tater tots filled the air, mingling with the faint tang of industrial cleaner. Beth sat at their usual table near the back, picking at a salad she had no appetite for, her fork stabbing at the lettuce in a futile attempt to stick to her diet. She'd been trying to lose weight for weeks, but the effort felt pointless, her reflection in the mirror never matching the image she wanted. Clark, Pete, Chloe, and Lana had joined her at the table, as they always did, their presence a familiar anchor despite the turmoil in her chest. They were talking animatedly—Chloe pitching a story for the Smallville Torch, Pete teasing Clark about a fumble at last week's football practice, and Lana laughing, her hand brushing Clark's arm as she leaned closer to him.
Beth stayed quiet, her eyes fixed on her salad, each crunch of lettuce loud in her ears. She gripped her fork tightly, the metal cool against her palm, as Lana's fingers lingered on Clark's sleeve, her touch casual but deliberate, her laughter bright and effortless. Beth's chest tightened, a familiar ache she tried to ignore. She stabbed another piece of lettuce, harder than necessary, the motion mechanical as she chewed, her mind elsewhere. Clark's voice cut through the chatter, warm and teasing as he responded to Lana, and Beth felt the weight of his attention on someone else, the sting of it sharper than she wanted to admit. She didn't join the conversation, didn't look up, just kept eating, her silence a shield against the feelings she couldn't name.
Chloe glanced her way, her sharp eyes catching Beth's withdrawal. "You okay, Beth? You're quieter than usual," she said, her tone light but probing.
Beth forced a smile, small and tight. "Just tired," she mumbled, pushing a piece of cucumber around her plate. "Long night." She didn't elaborate, and Chloe didn't push, though her gaze lingered a moment longer before she turned back to the group. Beth's eyes flicked to Clark, who was laughing at something Lana said, his blue eyes bright, seemingly oblivious to the storm in Beth's head. She looked away, focusing on her salad, the taste bland and unsatisfying, a mirror of her mood. The kiss lingered in her mind—his lips, his hands, the way her body had betrayed her with a warmth she couldn't shake—but here, at this table, with Lana's hand on his arm, it felt like a distant dream, one that didn't belong to her.
The pep rally that afternoon was the day's centerpiece, a burst of school spirit that transformed the gymnasium into a sea of crimson and gold. The bleachers were packed, students stomping their feet in rhythm as the marching band played a brassy rendition of "Sweet Caroline." Cheerleaders flipped and twirled on the gym floor, Lana at the center, her movements precise and radiant, drawing every eye. Beth sat near the top of the bleachers, her knees pulled to her chest, trying to lose herself in the crowd's energy. The rally was a Smallville tradition, a celebration of the Crows' underdog spirit, and for a moment, she let herself get swept up in it, clapping along as the football team jogged onto the court, their jerseys gleaming under the fluorescent lights.
Clark was there, on the sidelines with Pete, his enthusiasm genuine despite his usual reluctance to join the jock crowd. Beth watched him from her perch, his smile wide as he high-fived Pete, his eyes occasionally drifting to Lana. He seemed lighter, unburdened, as if yesterday's kiss was just a footnote in his mind, a minor detour on his path to winning Lana's heart. Beth envied that ease, that ability to compartmentalize. For her, the kiss was a wound that refused to close, raw and aching with every glance in his direction.
As the rally wound down, the principal announced the homecoming court nominees, and Lana's name drew a roar of applause. Beth clapped too, her hands moving mechanically, her smile tight. She didn't begrudge Lana—how could she? Lana was kind, smart, and effortlessly charming. But the weight of Clark's affection for her felt like a stone in Beth's chest, heavy and immovable.
After the rally, as students spilled out of the gym, Beth lingered on the bleachers, reluctant to join the throng. Clark spotted her and jogged up the steps, his sneakers squeaking on the polished wood. "Hey, you're not bailing on the game tomorrow, right?" he asked, his tone upbeat but with that same undercurrent of concern she'd heard before. "Pete's got us all roped into painting banners for the tailgate. You in?"
Beth hesitated, her fingers twisting the hem of her sweater. "Yeah, maybe," she said, her voice noncommittal. "I've got some stuff to finish up, but I'll try." She stood, brushing past him toward the exit, her shoulder grazing his arm. The contact was fleeting, but it sent a jolt through her, a reminder of the closeness she was trying to escape.
Beth pushed through the heavy gym doors, the cool afternoon air hitting her face like a splash of water, sharp and grounding. The school day was over, the final bell still echoing in her ears as students streamed out of Smallville High, their voices a chaotic blend of plans for the weekend and complaints about homework. The sun was dipping toward the horizon, casting long shadows across the parking lot, where pick-up trucks and beat-up sedans idled, waiting for their drivers. Beth adjusted her backpack, the straps digging into her shoulders, and started the walk home, her sneakers scuffing against the cracked sidewalk. She didn't look back, didn't want to risk catching Clark's eye or hearing his voice call after her again. She needed distance, needed to untangle the mess of emotions knotted in her chest before she faced him again.
The familiar route to her house wound through Smallville's quiet streets, past white picket fences and neatly trimmed lawns, the kind of idyllic scenery that made the town feel like a postcard frozen in time. The air smelled of hay and freshly turned earth, a reminder of the farms that surrounded the town, their fields stretching out like a patchwork quilt under the fading light. Beth's house was a mile from school, a modest two-story with peeling blue paint and a front porch that sagged slightly under the weight of years. The walk usually calmed her, the rhythm of her steps a steady counterpoint to her racing thoughts, but today it felt like a march toward nowhere.
She passed the Talon, Smallville's only coffee shop, its neon sign flickering in the dusk. Through the window, she could see Lana behind the counter, her apron tied neatly around her waist, serving a customer with that perfect smile. Beth's stomach twisted, a bitter mix of envy and self-loathing. She quickened her pace, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts, as if she could outrun the feelings clawing at her. The kiss with Clark—God, why couldn't she let it go? It wasn't supposed to mean anything. He'd asked her to help him practice, to teach him how to kiss so he wouldn't fumble when he finally got the nerve to ask Lana out. It was a favor, a transaction, nothing more. But the way her body had responded—her pulse racing, her skin tingling, the heat pooling low in her belly—had been anything but transactional. It was raw, real, and terrifyingly undeniable.
By the time she reached her street, the sky had deepened to a bruised purple, the first stars pricking through the haze. Her house came into view, the porch light glowing like a beacon, though it did little to ease the hollow ache in her chest. She climbed the steps, the wood creaking under her weight, and fumbled with her keys, the metal cold against her fingers. Inside, the house was quiet, her dad still at work. The silence was both a relief and a burden, leaving her alone with her thoughts. She dropped her backpack by the door, kicked off her sneakers, and headed upstairs, the familiar creak of the staircase a small comfort.
In her room, Beth collapsed onto her bed, the springs groaning under her weight. The ceiling stared back at her, the same cracked plaster she'd studied the night before, when sleep had been impossible. She could still feel the ghost of Clark's lips, the memory as vivid as if it had just happened—his hesitant touch, the way his fingers had tightened on her waist, the soft, surprised sound he'd made when she'd deepened the kiss. She pressed her palms to her eyes, trying to block it out, but the images only grew sharper, each one a knife twisting in her gut. She wasn't supposed to feel this way. Clark was her best friend, the boy who'd shared his comic books with her in fifth grade, who'd helped her fix her bike when the chain broke, who'd always been there, steady and safe. But now, safe felt like a lie, and steady was nowhere to be found.
She rolled onto her side, curling into herself, her knees drawn up to her chest. The room was dim, the last of the daylight fading through the blinds, casting slatted shadows across her bed. Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, and she ignored it, knowing it was probably Clark, checking in like he always did, seeming completely oblivious to the chaos he'd unleashed in her. She didn't want to read his message, didn't want to see his name on the screen, not when every word from him felt like a reminder of what she couldn't have. Instead, she reached for the worn copy of Pride and Prejudice on her nightstand, hoping Jane Austen's world might offer a momentary escape from her own turmoil. Her fingers traced the familiar cover, a bitter smile tugging at her lips—Elizabeth Harper, sharing a name with Elizabeth Bennet, but nothing more. Bennet was the heroine of her story, bold and witty, destined for a love that would reshape her world. But Beth? She was no protagonist, just a supporting character in Smallville's narrative, forever on the sidelines of Clark's life, watching as his heart belonged to someone else. Clark, with his earnest smiles and fumbling kindness, was no Mr. Darcy, no brooding hero poised to confess his love in a rain-soaked declaration. He was Clark, and she was just Beth, a girl whose feelings didn't matter in the grand script of his story. The thought stung, her eyes prickling with unshed tears, and the words on the page blurred, refusing to offer solace. With a frustrated sigh, she tossed the book aside, the paperback hitting the floor with a soft thud, its pages splaying open like a quiet surrender to her place in the background.
Her gaze drifted to the mirror across the room, catching her reflection—messy ponytail, tired eyes, the faint flush still lingering on her cheeks. She looked… ordinary. She hated how small she felt, how insignificant, and the realization made her chest ache with a mix of anger and despair. She stood abruptly, crossing to the mirror, and leaned in close, studying her face as if she could find some clue to why she wasn't enough. Her fingers traced the curve of her jaw, the slight freckles across her nose, and she wondered, not for the first time, what people saw when they looked at her.
The thought was a punch to the gut, and she turned away, her hands clenched into fists. She needed to move, to do something, anything to shake off the weight of the day. She grabbed her running shoes from the corner of the room, lacing them up with quick, jerky movements, and headed back downstairs. The evening air was cooler now, the sky fully dark, the stars bright against the velvet black. She jogged down the porch steps and started down the street, her pace steady but urgent, the rhythm of her footsteps pounding in time with her heartbeat. The road stretched out before her, leading past the edge of town where the fields began, vast and open under the night sky.
Running usually cleared her head, the burn in her legs a welcome distraction, but tonight it wasn't enough. Her thoughts kept circling back to Clark. She pushed herself harder, her breath coming in sharp gasps, the cool air stinging her lungs. The fields blurred past, the silhouettes of cornstalks swaying in the breeze, and for a moment, she felt like she could outrun it all—the kiss, the jealousy, the longing that twisted inside her like a living thing. But no matter how fast she ran, she couldn't escape the truth: she was falling for Clark, had maybe been falling for him for years, and the realization was as exhilarating as it was devastating.
She slowed to a stop at the edge of a field, her chest heaving, her hands on her knees as she caught her breath. The stars above were impossibly bright, a reminder of how vast the world was, how small her teenage problems should have felt in comparison. But they didn't. They felt like everything, heavy and inescapable. She straightened, wiping the sweat from her brow, and looked back toward town, the distant lights of Smallville glowing faintly against the horizon. Somewhere in that cluster of houses was Clark, probably at home with his parents, or maybe at the Talon, stealing glances at Lana. The thought made her throat tighten, but she swallowed it down, forcing herself to stand taller.
Beth turned back toward home, her pace slower now, the urgency drained from her limbs. The night was quiet, save for the soft chirp of crickets and the occasional hum of a passing car. She let herself imagine, just for a moment, what it would be like to tell Clark the truth.
By the time she reached her house, her legs were heavy, her body spent. She climbed the porch steps, the creak of the wood familiar and comforting, and slipped inside, the warmth of the house enveloping her. Upstairs, she stripped off her running clothes, the fabric damp with sweat, took a quick bath, and changed into an old T-shirt and pajama pants. She crawled into bed, pulling the covers up to her chin, and stared at the ceiling again, the shadows softer now in the glow of her bedside lamp. Her phone buzzed again, pulling her from her thoughts. She hesitated, then reached for it, her heart giving a small jolt as she saw "Clark Farm Boy" on the screen.
Did you get home? - 18:04
Missed you on the walk home. Let me know if you need to talk. - 20:40
I know you've got some studying to do, but if you can't hit the game tomorrow, how about swinging by the tailgate party after? - 22:04
She stared at the screen, thumb hovering over the keyboard, her mind racing. Clark's messages were kind, persistent, but they carried a weight she wasn't ready to unpack. The excuse about dinner was half-true—her dad would be home soon, and she did need to get something on the table. But it was also a convenient shield, a way to dodge the real reason she'd bolted home without saying much. The tailgate party invite, though… that was trickier. Clark knew she wasn't into the game, and skipping it wouldn't raise eyebrows. But blowing off the party might scream something's up louder than she wanted. She didn't want to seem too affected, too obvious about the flutter in her chest every time Clark's name popped up. She typed, hesitated, then sent:
Hey, sorry, got home fine, just had to rush to make dinner before Dad gets back. Long day, you know? Tailgate sounds fun, I'll try to swing by after studying. No promises though, gotta survive these notes first. 😅 - 23:30
Beth set her phone down on the nightstand, the screen's glow fading as she exhaled, trying to shake off the weight of Clark's messages. She didn't have the energy to dissect them, not tonight. Her stomach growled, a sharp reminder of the dinner she'd promised her dad. She swung her legs off the bed, the floor cool against her bare feet, and headed downstairs to the kitchen.
The kitchen was small, its faded yellow walls lit by a single overhead light that flickered slightly when it was first turned on. Beth opened the fridge, scanning its sparse contents: half a carton of eggs, some wilted lettuce, a block of cheddar starting to harden at the edges. She settled on something quick—scrambled eggs and toast, the kind of meal she could throw together without thinking. Her dad would be home soon, exhausted from pulling extra shifts at LuthorCorp, and she knew he'd appreciate anything warm on the table.
She cracked the eggs into a bowl, whisking them with a fork as the pan heated on the stove. The butter sizzled, filling the air with a comforting, familiar smell. She tossed in the eggs, stirring them with a spatula, her movements automatic. The toast popped up, slightly burnt at the edges, and she scraped butter across it, the knife scraping against the bread's crust. It wasn't gourmet, but it would do. She set two plates on the counter, dividing the eggs and adding a slice of toast to each, the clink of ceramic loud in the quiet house.
The front door creaked open, followed by the heavy thud of her dad's work boots on the hardwood. "Beth?" his voice called, rough with fatigue.
"In the kitchen," she replied, wiping her hands on a dish towel. Her dad, Tom, appeared in the doorway, his flannel shirt rumpled, his face lined with the kind of weariness that came from long hours and little sleep at LuthorCorp. His graying hair was mussed, and he carried the faint smell of industrial chemicals and dust from the plant.
"Hey, kid," he said, offering a tired smile as he dropped his keys on the counter. "Smells good."
"Just eggs and toast," Beth said, sliding a plate toward him. "Long day?"
He nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, double shift. LuthorCorp's got us running ragged with their new production quotas. Inventory's a mess, and we're short-staffed again." His tone was clipped, not unfriendly but closed off, like always. He didn't elaborate, and Beth didn't push. Conversations with her dad were like that—brief, functional, with no room for the deeper stuff she sometimes wished they could share.
"You?" he asked, leaning against the counter as he picked up his plate.
Beth shrugged, poking at her eggs with her fork. "Same old. School, homework, you know." She kept her voice light, not wanting to burden him with the chaos in her head—Clark, the kiss, the ache she couldn't shake.
He grunted, a sound that could've meant anything, and headed for the living room. "Gonna eat in front of the TV. Game's on," he said, already halfway out of the kitchen. Beth watched him go, the familiar routine settling over her like a heavy blanket. She sat at the small kitchen table, her plate in front of her, and ate alone, the soft clink of her fork against the plate the only sound. The eggs were lukewarm now, the toast soggy from the butter, but she ate anyway, her thoughts drifting back to Clark, to the way his voice had sounded in the hallway, warm and concerned, like he could sense her unraveling.
When she finished, she rinsed the dishes, stacking them in the sink, the water cold against her hands. The house was quiet again, save for the muffled drone of the TV in the living room, where her dad was likely already half-asleep in his recliner. Beth dried her hands and climbed the stairs back to her room, the weight of the day pressing against her chest.
She flopped onto her bed, grabbing her phone from the nightstand for one last check. A new message from Clark waited, just one word:
Ok - 23:45
It was classic Clark—short, simple, leaving her to wonder what he was thinking. She stared at the screen, her thumb hovering over the keyboard, but no reply came to mind. What was there to say? That she was falling apart over a kiss that meant nothing to him? That she was terrified of losing the one person who made Smallville feel like home? She set the phone down, face-up, the screen going dark as she rolled onto her back.
The ceiling stared back at her, its cracks familiar, unchanging. She pulled the covers up, the fabric soft and worn from years of use, and closed her eyes, willing sleep to come. Tomorrow was another day—homecoming, the game, the tailgate party she wasn't sure she'd survive. But for now, she let the quiet of the house envelop her, the faint hum of the TV downstairs a distant reminder of her dad's presence. Her breathing slowed, her body heavy with exhaustion, and as she drifted off, the memory of Clark's lips lingered, a quiet ache that followed her into sleep.