Sixth Period: Journalism
The Torch office was a small, cramped room tucked away at the very back of the school’s humanities wing.
It had clearly been a storage closet at some point in its long history and still heavily retained the dimensions of one.
A large, heavily scratched desk dominated the center of the room.
Dented filing cabinets lined one wall.
A massive corkboard on the opposite wall was completely covered in newspaper clippings, freshly printed articles, and hastily hand-drawn maps.
Alex stopped dead in the doorway.
The corkboard was already there.
The Wall of Weird.
It was much smaller than it would eventually become…
just a handful of yellowing clippings about the 1989 meteor shower and a few obscure articles detailing unusual events in the local area.
But the seed was already planted.
“Are you here for journalism?”
Alex turned.
She was quite a bit shorter than he had expected.
Blonde hair cut in a sharp, practical bob.
Piercing blue eyes that quickly assessed him in a single, sweeping glance…
cataloguing, categorizing, and filing him away in whatever massive mental database she kept.
She wore a bright yellow top and carried a battered messenger bag that was clearly stuffed too full.
Chloe Sullivan positively radiated energy.
She stood firmly in the doorway like she owned the place…
which, in a very real sense, she did.
The Torch was her absolute domain.
“Yes,” Alex said calmly.
“Alex Carter.”
“Chloe Sullivan. Editor-in-chief, chief reporter, head photographer, and general dogsbody of the Smallville Torch.” She extended her hand without hesitation.
He shook it.
Her grip was firm.
Totally confident.
“You’re new,” she stated.
It wasn’t a question.
“Transfer from the county system.”
Chloe tilted her head slightly, studying him with a blunt frankness that most people would find highly uncomfortable.
Alex just held her gaze calmly.
“Have you ever written for a newspaper before?”
“No. But I can thoroughly research, I can write, and I’m not afraid of asking questions that make people deeply uncomfortable.”
Something sparked in Chloe’s eyes.
Genuine interest.
“Well, Alex Carter, that is basically the entire job description.” She stepped past him into the cramped office and dropped her heavy bag onto the main desk with a thud.
“Fair warning… this is absolutely not the kind of newspaper that covers bake sales and junior varsity football scores. Well, we do cover football scores because Principal Kwan insists on it. But the real story in Smallville is…” She gestured dramatically at the Wall of Weird.
“…everything else.”
Alex walked slowly over to the corkboard and studied it intently.
Faded newspaper clippings about the meteor shower.
A printed article discussing highly unusual plant growth in the fields near Reilly Field.
A hastily hand-written sticky note that simply read: Ask Lana about the fairy lights…
October ’98?
“You’ve been rigorously tracking this,” Alex observed.
“Since middle school.” Chloe leaned back against the desk with her arms crossed defensively over her chest.
“Twelve years ago, a massive meteor shower hit this town, and ever since then, weird things have been happening. Totally unexplained phenomena. People suddenly exhibiting bizarre abilities that shouldn’t be biologically possible. The adults in this town treat it like some kind of open secret that absolutely nobody is allowed to talk about. But somebody should be talking about it.”
“And that somebody is you.”
“That somebody is us.” She pointed a finger directly at him.
“If you’re actually serious about being here.”
“I am serious.”
Before Chloe could even respond, the office door opened again.
Two boys walked in.
The first was Pete Ross…
shorter, dark-skinned, with an incredibly easy grin and a deeply relaxed posture that heavily suggested he was here more for the pleasant company than the actual journalism.
He wore a bold Metropolis Sharks jersey and carried a scuffed basketball loosely under one arm.
The second was Clark Kent.
Alex had carefully studied photos of Jonathan and Martha Kent in the library archives.
He had read Clark’s name on the faded adoption records.
He had known, purely intellectually, exactly who Clark Kent was and what he would eventually become.
But knowing something and physically seeing it in person were two entirely different things.
Clark Kent was tall.
Much taller than any high school freshman had a right to be.
He had messy dark hair, a strong, chiseled jaw, and a disarmingly open, honest face.
He moved with a careful, almost apologetic physical quality…
like a person who was constantly, acutely aware that he took up far too much space and was desperately trying not to bother anyone about it.
He looked perfectly ordinary.
That was easily the most extraordinary thing about him.
Alex knew that right behind those mild, friendly blue eyes was a being who could easily outrun speeding bullets, see through solid walls, and bench-press a fully loaded freight train.
A boy who would one day inevitably become the most powerful being on the entire planet.
Superman.
But right now, he was just a clumsy farm kid in a faded flannel shirt, awkwardly ducking through the doorway because he was genuinely worried about hitting his head on the frame.
“Clark, Pete, meet our newest recruit,” Chloe announced brightly.
“Alex Carter.”
Pete tossed Alex a casual, two-fingered salute.
“Hey, man. You new in town?”
“Group home out on Miller Road.”
“Oh.” Pete’s expression instantly shifted…
a quick, genuine flash of deep sympathy that he suppressed almost immediately.
Good instincts.
Alex honestly respected that.
“Well, welcome to Smallville. Chloe will work you half to death, but the company isn’t bad.”
“Lies,” Chloe said, rolling her eyes playfully.
“The company is excellent.”
Clark stepped forward and offered his hand.
“Clark Kent. Nice to meet you, Alex.”
Alex firmly shook his hand.
Clark’s grip was incredibly careful.
Deliberately, intentionally gentle.
It was the handshake of a boy who had learned the hard way that squeezing just a fraction too hard could easily shatter someone’s fingers.
Alex looked directly into Clark Kent’s eyes and saw exactly what he expected to see…
kindness.
Simple, uncomplicated, almost painfully earnest kindness.
The kind of raw goodness that made you desperately want to protect it, and the kind that made you want to slap some sense into it in equal measure.
This was the boy who would spend years tirelessly lying to everyone he loved simply because he was afraid of what they would think.
Who would consistently push away Lex Luthor until the bitter rejection eventually curdled into pure hatred.
Who would let Chloe’s deep feelings go entirely unacknowledged because he was too busy helplessly staring at Lana Lang’s green kryptonite necklace.
This was also the boy who would one day dive headfirst into a roaring tornado just to save a girl.
Who would willingly take a bullet for a complete stranger without a second thought.
Who would eventually become the ultimate symbol of hope for an entire planet.
Alex slowly let go of Clark’s hand.
“Nice to meet you too, Clark.”
The four of them quickly settled into the cramped Torch office.
Chloe immediately began assigning specific tasks for the first edition.
Pete groaned theatrically, slumping in his chair.
Clark just smiled warmly and accepted whatever she gave him without a single complaint.
Alex took a seat at the secondary desk and began meticulously sorting through the stack of old issues Chloe handed him, thoroughly familiarizing himself with the paper’s history.
Under the desk, safely hidden inside his backpack, the small piece of kryptonite hummed faintly against his side.
Outside, the warm Kansas sun was slowly setting.
Somewhere in Metropolis, a bald young man named Lex Luthor was furiously packing his bags for a new assignment…
banished by his cruel father to manage a failing fertilizer plant in a tiny farm town he had never even heard of.
Somewhere in a field on the quiet outskirts of Smallville, a boy named Jeremy Creek lay completely still in a coma in a hospital bed, twelve long years of pure rage building behind his closed eyes as the meteor rock in his blood slowly began to stir.
And in a small newspaper office in a small-town high school, Alex Carter looked up at the Wall of Weird, thought deeply about the massive storms that were rapidly coming, and began to plan.
He had been a wizard.
He had been a sorcerer.
He had been the literal embodiment of Magic itself.
Now, he was just a nobody again.
But he had been a nobody before.
Twice.
And each time, he had ruthlessly risen from absolutely nothing to become something truly extraordinary.
This time would be absolutely no different.
The only real question was exactly how high he would rise, and how much blood would be on his hands when he finally got there.
Alex smiled softly in the dim light of the office.
It was not a kind smile.