Small-town rumors spread fast, and every tree has eyes.
I already knew that.
Now I had proof.
What kind of proof?
Whitney.
Whitney, Lana’s boyfriend, was waiting for her on Nell’s porch.
I don’t know if Lana herself saw him.
I can’t say for certain, but I suspect she did.
Otherwise, what was that little “thank-you kiss” on the cheek about?
Women.
She wanted to tease her boyfriend, and now I had to deal with a jealous teenager.
Although, to be fair, Whitney only had himself to blame.
Why wasn’t he the one walking her to the cemetery and back?
I refuse to believe that, as her official boyfriend, he didn’t know about her occasional nighttime trips there.
And if he didn’t know, then he wasn’t much of a boyfriend.
Either way, that was her problem.
Whitney was now my problem.
So what was I supposed to do about him?
This was a small town.
Around here, problems like this tended to get settled with fists.
If you’d asked me that morning, I probably would have said, “So what?
We’ll throw a few punches.
What’s the big deal?” Getting your blood flowing and taking a little facial massage was probably good for a young man’s health.
Now, though, the weight classes had suddenly become very, very different.
Dangerously different.
For both of us.
Well, there it was.
My “friend” had just dropped a problem in my lap.
Still, I’d deal with it when it came.
As for the evening, technically, it was already night.
The clock was showing half past one, and it had been a pleasant night.
“Spending the night with a girl” sounds pretty unambiguous.
But the thing is, sex isn’t the greatest pleasure in life.
It’s pleasant, obviously.
Nobody is going to argue with that.
But flirting?
Actual flirting?
Emotionally, I think it’s richer.
It’s difficult to put into words something you only really understand with age.
How do you explain that waiting for a gift can sometimes be more enjoyable than receiving it, even when the gift is exactly what you hoped for?
How do you explain that talking to a girl you’re in love with, getting closer to her and slowly winning her over, can sometimes be more enjoyable than finally reaching the end of that journey?
You can’t explain it.
Nobody would believe you.
It’s something you have to experience yourself.
But once you understand these simple things, you can appreciate the moment.
You can enjoy something as simple and innocent as talking beneath the stars.
*
*
*
Breakfast was a family affair.
My satisfied grin naturally made my mother curious, while my father’s expression was considerably more suspicious.
“Want to tell us where you were last night, Clark?”
Jonathan had finally decided to ask the obvious question.
“I drove to Metropolis and went to a strip club.”
I answered with a perfectly serious expression.
Martha froze with her mouth open, her sandwich halfway to her lips.
Jonathan immediately started coughing.
“Then I broke into an ATM, picked up three prostitutes, and spent the rest of the night bouncing around with them in a cheap motel where they don’t ask for ID.”
I kept the same serious expression.
The half-eaten piece of buttered toast slipped from Martha Kent’s fingers and clattered onto her plate.
Jonathan Kent’s eyes bulged like a cartoon mouse’s.
That was enough.
I couldn’t keep a straight face anymore.
I doubled over laughing.
“You should have seen your faces!”
“Clark!”
Mom sounded simultaneously outraged and relieved.
“That was a pretty good joke, son.”
Dad finally managed to smile.
“But please don’t scare us like that again.”
“I won’t promise.”
I gave him a deliberately evasive answer.
“But you cleared your head?”
His expression became serious again.
“Completely, Dad.”
I shrugged and concentrated on Mom’s cooking.
“Do you want to talk about…”
He hesitated.
“You know.
That.”
“I would.”
I shrugged again.
“But after thinking about it properly, I realized you probably don’t have anything else to tell me.
You already told me everything you know, right?”
“Well…”
Jonathan thought about it.
“Probably.”
“You can’t tell me the name of the planet I came from.”
I counted on my fingers. The source of this chapter is g.com.
“You can’t tell me how many people like me are currently on Earth.
And you probably can’t answer the biggest question either.”
“Whether they’re looking for me.”
Jonathan lowered his head.
“Yeah.”
He sighed.
“Those are some questions.”
“And everything else…”
I shrugged.
“What exactly has changed now that I know I’m an alien?”
I looked at my father.
“I already knew about my powers.
I’m still trying to figure out my weaknesses.”
I took another bite.
“And my attitude toward myself?”
I smiled.
“I certainly haven’t started hating myself.
So let’s just call it an interesting experience in self-identification.”
Jonathan sighed.
“You really have grown up.”
“Speaking of growing up…”
I looked at him.
“Am I right in assuming that you don’t hire farmhands because of my…”
I made quotation marks with my fingers.
“Strangeness?”
“You’re worried somebody might see something they shouldn’t?”
“For the most part.”
Jonathan sighed.
“Two men can’t properly manage fifteen hectares.
You know that.”
“I’m not stupid, son.”
He sighed again.
“But one man…”
I pointed at myself.
“And one alien with super strength and super speed…”
I grinned.
“That might work.”
“What are you suggesting?”
He frowned.
“That I start using my abilities around the farm.”
“What?”
“I’ve been thinking about it.”
I leaned back.
“If I really push myself, I could plow the entire field without a tractor in…”
I thought about it.
“Two minutes, maybe.”
Jonathan stared at me.
“Mowing would be a little more complicated.
I haven’t worked out the technique yet, but I don’t think it’ll take much longer.”
I shrugged.
“And as for removing tree roots, that’s not even worth mentioning.”
“You’re not the only one who knows how to calculate, son.”
Jonathan sighed.
“Obviously.”
I wasn’t going to argue.
“For appearances, we could rent or lease a modern multifunctional combine.
Three seasons should be enough to pay it off, and we’d still make a profit.”
I smiled.
“How about that?”
“Risky.”
Jonathan rubbed his chin.
“A modern combine on a lease is a serious amount of money.
What happens if we have a bad harvest?
Or another problem with the agricultural buyers?”
He frowned.
“We already have a loan hanging over us.
I’m not sure they’ll approve another one.”
“There is a risk.”
I nodded.
“But the potential payoff is worth it.”
“And somebody could see you.”
Mom finally joined the conversation.
“While you’re doing it.”
Her point was hard to argue with.
“That would destroy everything we’ve worked for.”
I looked at her.
“Hm.”
So who was actually in charge of this family?
Apparently, it wasn’t the person who liked to sit there looking stern with his eyebrows drawn together.
“Fine.”
I gave up.
“That idea’s out.”
I thought for a moment.
“Then here’s another proposal.”
“It’s fall right now.
I walked around the property yesterday and looked things over.”
“Most of our unused acreage is covered in weeds.
Actually, not even weeds anymore.
There’s a decent amount of young undergrowth.”
I grinned.
“With my abilities, clearing all of it would take about five minutes.”
Jonathan’s eyebrows rose.
“Then we dry it, burn it, spread the ashes, and save money on fertilizer.”
“What for?”
My father’s interest was obvious now.
“Fruit orchards.”
I smiled.
“We could turn all that unused land into orchards.”
“Modern varieties.
New cultivars.
They start producing fairly quickly.”
I counted.
“Three to five years and we’d have a harvest.”
“An orchard requires just as much maintenance as a field.”
Jonathan was thinking practically.
“But it’s much less noticeable from the outside.”
I countered.
“It doesn’t require heavy machinery.
I could handle the maintenance myself.”
“And the harvesting.”
“The storage problem.”
Mom raised another objection.
“Don’t store it.”
I shrugged.
“Process it into semi-finished products right here.
Concentrate can then be shipped to processing plants.”
Martha shook her head.
“You’re overlooking a lot of details.”
She paused.
“But the biggest one is the initial investment.
Saplings cost money.
And considering the amount of land you’re talking about, the total gets pretty substantial.”
“Fair point.”
I nodded.
“But since we can’t use my muscles to make money yet, why not use my brain?”
Jonathan frowned.
“What exactly do you mean by your brain?”
“Could we afford a used computer and a satellite Internet connection?”
Martha thought about it.
“Probably.”
“I’m pretty good at programming.
That’s what my teachers say, anyway.”
I shrugged.
“So why not try making money that way?”
I explained.
“Freelancing is becoming more popular.
Basically, you work from home.
You get a job through the Internet, complete it on your own computer, send the result to the client, and get paid through an electronic or bank account.”
I raised a finger.
“Initial investment: the computer and Internet connection.”
Another finger.
“Minimal risk.”
Martha considered it.
“If it’s work you can do from home…”
She nodded slowly.
“Try it.”
Then she frowned.
“But we don’t have the spare cash for a brand-new expensive computer.”
“A used one will be enough to start.”
I smiled.
“I’ll run into Metropolis myself, check the classifieds and flea markets, and put together a working system.”
“If I buy the components separately and assemble everything myself, it’ll be cheaper.”
“Can you handle that?”
Jonathan sounded slightly doubtful.
“My teachers say I’m pretty good at it.”
I shrugged.
Martha intervened.
“Let’s do this differently.”
She thought for a moment.
“Go check the prices first.
Figure out how much the whole thing will cost.”
“Okay.”
I didn’t argue.
“Did you return Lex’s car?”
“We decided it would be better if you did it yourself.”
I sighed.
“Great.”
I stood up.
“Unpleasant, but necessary.”
I headed for the door.
“All right.
I’m going.”
“The keys are in the ignition.”
“Got it!”
I shouted from the doorway.