Meteor Freak

  Episode 3: Heatwave

  Date: Monday, August 15, 2011.

  Location: Smallville High School, Smallville, Kansas

  The hot summer sun beamed on Tyson's skin as he strode onto Smallville High's campus that Monday morning. A familiar voice called out before he could reach the main entrance. Kara's golden aura shimmered around her as she approached. "Remember when you said all the eyes would be on me as the new kid?" she asked with a hint of amusement.

  "Yeah, why?"

  With a flourish, Kara produced a copy of the Torch, the school newspaper. She handed it to him. "Thanks, by the way. No one's been talking about me. Your name is the one on everyone's lips."

  Tyson's eyes widened as he took in the front page. There he was, in all his glory, wearing nothing but his boxers with an 'S' painted on his chest. The headline screamed, "Scarecrow Tradition Exposed!"

  "Oh, man," Tyson groaned. He glanced up to see Kara already walking away.

  "So, you were thinking of asking me on a date because I'm such a gentleman and did you such a huge favor?" He called after her. "And I fed you pie, too. Don't forget that!"

  I never did get to try the pecan because of Greg." he mumbled. "

  Kara paused, turning back to face him. Her blue eyes sparkled with mischief. "The article says you're homeless."

  Tyson's mouth opened and closed, searching for words. "That's not... well, it's technically true, but…"

  "Sorry," Kara cut him off. "Where would you bring me after a date? To that hotel?" She shook her head, but her smile hadn't faded. "I don't think so. You didn't do me that big a favor. Maybe some other time."

  As Kara turned to leave, Tyson clutched his chest dramatically. "Shot down!" he exclaimed with a groan, feigning pain. "You wound me, Kara!"She just winked over her shoulder and continued into the building.

  With a sigh, he leaned against the nearest wall and began to read Chloe's exposé on the scarecrow tradition. The article was thorough, detailing the history of the hazing ritual and how it had been a dark secret at Smallville High for years. Her writing condemned the practice and praised Tyson's bold move at the Kickoff Dance. Students filed past him as he read, many casting glances his way or whispering to their friends. Tyson could feel their eyes on him and hear the hushed conversations.

  "Hey, Scarecrow!" a voice called out. A group of football players approached. "You think you're some kind of hero?"

  As the boys closed in, Tyson straightened up. "Time for round two?" he asked, not backing down.

  The football player stepped closer, his fists clenching at his sides. "You made us look bad. We've got to run extra laps all week because of you."

  "Sounds like you should be mad at your coach, not me," Tyson said.

  The situation seemed ready to escalate when a familiar voice asked, "Is there a problem here?"

  Tyson turned to see Chloe Sullivan with her camera hanging around her neck. The football players shifted uncomfortably, clearly not wanting to cause a scene in front of the school's reporter.

  "No problem," the lead player muttered, shooting Tyson a final glare before stalking off with his teammates. "Coach wanted to talk with both of you."

  Chloe watched them go before turning to Tyson with a grin. "How does it feel to be Smallville High's newest celebrity?"

  "About as comfortable as standing in a cornfield in my underwear."

  "Well, get used to it," Chloe said. "This story is huge. I've gotten calls from the Ledger and the Daily Planet asking for more details."

  Tyson's eyebrows shot up. "The Daily Planet? Isn't that in Metropolis?"

  Chloe nodded enthusiastically. "Yep. Looks like your little stunt might have some far-reaching consequences. In a good way, of course. Like ending the scarecrow tradition for good."

  "Wait a second, what state is Metropolis in?" He asked.

  "Delaware, duh."

  "And Gotham City?"

  "Across the bay in New Jersey. Did you miss middle school geography and US history?"

  "Nah. I'm just wondering why a newspaper from the other side of the country cares about a hazing ritual here in Kansas."

  As they walked into the school building, Tyson couldn't help but notice the sea of faces that turned to stare at him. Some students quickly averted their gaze when he looked their way, while others openly pointed and whispered.

  "I feel like I'm in a fishbowl," Tyson muttered.

  Chloe patted his arm sympathetically. "Don't worry, it'll blow over... eventually. In the meantime, want to help me with the Jeremy Creek piece I'm working on?"

  Before Tyson could respond, he caught sight of Lana Lang down the hallway by her locker, looking at him with an unreadable expression. When their eyes met, she offered a small, hesitant smile. He inclined his head and raised his eyebrows, his gesture soundlessly asking if she was alright. Lana gave a nod before turning away.

  "Earth to Tyson," Chloe said, waving a hand before his face. "You still with me?"

  Tyson blinked, refocusing on Chloe. "Yeah, sorry. Um, about that interview..."

  The bell rang, cutting off their conversation. Students began to hurry to their first classes, the hallway filling with the sounds of slamming lockers.

  "We'll talk later," Chloe said, "Don't think you're off the hook!"

  Tyson entered the classroom, scanning for an empty seat. To his left, Chloe moved to sit next to Lana. He mumbled, "Missed opportunity."

  Spotting a vacant lab table behind Pete and Clark, he made his way over, settling into the chair. Pete twisted around in his seat, a look of mock despair on his face. "Oh great."

  Clark glanced at his friend. "What?"

  "Every year, the incredibly aged Mrs. Kowalski kicks off biology class with an ancient sex ed film." Tyson groaned, and Pete continued, "Yep. It's practically a Smallville High tradition at this point."

  "Who told you that, your brother?" Clark asked.

  "My dad. Apparently, it's been the same film since he was in school."

  Clark's expression turned hopeful. "Well, I'm sure it can't be that bad."

  Pete snorted. "Trust me, it's worse than you can imagine. And having to sit through this during the worst heat wave in 20 years is torture."

  The room fell silent as the door at the front of the classroom swung open. A striking young woman entered. She was beautiful, with long dark hair and curves that her outfit did little to conceal. She wore a light, flimsy sundress that stopped just short of her upper thigh. The neckline plunged low, revealing a generous amount of cleavage. As she walked to the teacher's desk, every eye in the room followed her movement.

  "Good morning, class," she said, "I'm Miss Atkins, and I'll be your biology teacher this year."

  The fabric of her sundress clung to her curves, leaving little to the imagination, thanks to how much she was sweating. Every male head in the room swiveled to follow her. Tyson noted the slack-jawed expressions on his classmates' faces. Pete's eyes were as wide as saucers, while Clark looked like he'd been hit by a truck. Even Chloe's eyebrows raised. While Lana just looked confused.

  Tyson, for his part, was more interested in the green aura surrounding their new teacher. He mumbled, "Is being sexy a superpower?"

  Miss Atkins sashayed to the center of the room. She reached up to grab the projection screen and pulled it down, giving the class a tantalizing view of her backside. Clark leaned so far forward that he nearly toppled off his stool.

  "Careful there, farm boy," Pete muttered, elbowing Clark. "You're gonna hurt yourself."

  The temperature in the room seemed to spike. All around, students were fanning themselves or tugging at their collars. Even Chloe, who usually had a quip for every situation, was rendered speechless.

  "I'm really sorry about the air conditioning in here. But it looks like we're going to have to suffer through this together," she said with a sigh and a smile.

  Pete mumbled, "Bring on the pain."

  Lana tried to suppress her laugh.

  "Let's get ready for a movie." Miss Atkins said while closing the blinds. She turned back to face the class with a knowing smile. "Now, I know this subject can be a bit... uncomfortable for some of you. But I assure you, by the end of this semester, you'll all be very comfortable with the human body."

  A collective gulp echoed through the room.

  Tyson mumbled, "It's like she's doing the thirst-trap teacher bit on purpose."

  Lana caught his eye and turned her hand palm up toward their teacher and tilted her head as if to say, 'Can you believe this?'

  Miss Atkins walked to the projector, bending over to fiddle with the settings. Clark made a strangled noise in the back of his throat, and Pete had to cover his mouth to stop his laughter. Chloe grabbed an eraser and chucked it at Clark's head.

  As Miss Atkins straightened up, Tyson noticed that while everyone else in the room was practically melting from the heat, Clark seemed completely unaffected. Despite his flushed face and obvious discomfort, he wasn't sweating at all. Come to think of it, Tyson realized he wasn't sweating either. The room felt warm, sure, but comfortably so.

  "Let's get ready for a movie," Miss Atkins announced, her voice dripping with honey. "All right. Everybody try to stay awake."

  The projector clunked to life, its mechanical whirring filling the stuffy classroom. A monotone male voice droned from the speakers, accompanied by grainy footage of various animals.

  "All members of the animal kingdom, from the simplest one-celled organism to the most complex of mammals, engage in reproduction. This ensures that each individual creature can pass on its genetic information to future generations."

  Tyson glanced around the room. Most of his classmates were already struggling to keep their eyes open. Pete's head bobbed dangerously close to his desk while Clark's gaze drifted towards Ms. Atkins at the back of the room.

  "Animals rely on a variety of courtship methods. This remarkable reproductive process is set into motion by the act of copulation, also known as intercourse or coitus."

  A few nervous giggles rippled through the class. Tyson caught Chloe rolling her eyes.

  "In many species, the females attract their mates with chemical scents called pheromones. Pheromones elicit specific behaviors from members of the opposite sex and are secreted by glands or incorporated into other fluids such as perspiration."

  The narrator's words became a distant buzz as Tyson noticed Clark turning in his seat again. Following his gaze, Tyson saw Miss Atkins leaning against the desk at the back of the room. She reached down, caressing her leg with languid movements. Her fingers trailed up to her collarbone, tracing lazy patterns on her skin.

  Miss Atkins noticed Clark's stare and gestured for him to turn around. Clark reluctantly faced forward, his face flushed. Chloe, who had been watching the exchange, let out a sarcastic laugh, drawing Tyson's attention. He looked over to notice a sheen of sweat on Chloe and Lana's faces. The moisture glistened on their skin, accentuating their features in an almost cinematic way. Chloe's blonde hair clung to her forehead while droplets traced the curve of Lana's cheekbones.

  Chloe caught Tyson looking and smirked. She dragged her pen across her chest in an exaggerated motion, clearly mocking Miss Atkins' earlier behavior. Tyson stifled a laugh, shaking his head at her antics while the film droned on.

  "Chemical signals can be used to control the behavior of other animals..."

  Clark glanced back once more. Tyson watched as his friend's eyes widened, following a bead of sweat that trickled down between Miss Atkins' breasts. Suddenly, Clark's expression changed from fascination to panic. He whipped his head around to face the front, blinking rapidly.

  Tyson noticed the flickering of Clark's golden aura. Suddenly, it grew brighter. He leaned forward, whispering, "Clark, you okay?"

  Before Clark could answer, his face contorted. He began to pant, his eyes taking on a strange, glowing quality. Two wavy heat waves, nearly invisible, shot from Clark's eyes, hitting the projector screen in splotches. Tyson blinked, unsure if he had really seen what he thought he saw. But there was no denying the result.

  The screen began to catch fire.

  Chaos erupted in the classroom. Students leapt from their seats, shouting and pushing towards the door. Through the commotion, Tyson noticed Clark remained seated, wiping his face with a shaking hand.

  "Ok, everybody, walk, do not run!" Miss Atkins called out. "Leave your books. Let's go!"

  As students filed out of the room, Tyson looked around. This was a lab classroom; there had to be a fire extinguisher. He spotted the red canister in the back corner. He grabbed the fire extinguisher. Aiming at the burning screen, he pulled the pin and squeezed the lever. A stream of white foam shot out, quickly smothering the flames. The acrid smell of smoke mixed with the chemical scent of the extinguisher filled the room. He continued spraying until he was certain the fire was out. As the foam settled, he lowered the extinguisher and turned to survey the damage.

  The classroom was empty save for Clark, who stood frozen by his desk, staring at the ruined screen with a mixture of horror and confusion on his face.

  "Clark? You alright, man?"

  Clark blinked, seeming to snap out of his daze. He looked at Tyson, then back at the screen, his expression a jumble of emotions Tyson couldn't quite decipher.

  "I... I don't know what happened," he said.

  "It's a good thing you aimed for the projector. I thought you'd burn a hole in Ms. Atkins's clothes if you stared any harder." Tyson said with a laugh.

  Before either of them could say anything more, the sound of approaching footsteps approached from the hallway. The school resource officer peered into the room, scanning the smoke-filled space. Tyson held up the fire extinguisher with a triumphant grin.

  "We put it out," he declared proudly.

  The officer nodded. "Good job. Now get outside with the other students."

  Tyson saluted playfully and handed off the fire extinguisher as he left the room. Clark trailed behind him, lost in thought, his brow furrowed as if trying to piece together a complex puzzle.

  Outside, the summer air was thick with excitement and lingering tension. Students milled about gossiping. A firetruck pulled up, and firefighters spilled out, rushing into the building. For the next twenty minutes, Tyson, Clark, and the rest of the students waited as the firefighters inspected the school.

  Suddenly, a horn blared behind them. Heads turned as a sleek silver Lamborghini Countach pull up. The door flew open, and Lex Luthor climbed out in a hurry.

  Clark's face lit up when he saw his friend. "Hey, Lex!" he called out.

  Lex rushed toward where Clark, Tyson, and Pete were standing. But to everyone's surprise, he barely acknowledged Clark's presence, instead making a beeline for Miss Atkins, who stood nearby.

  "Hi!" Desiree called out, her voice warm and inviting.

  "Hi," Lex replied. The two embraced and kissed tenderly, oblivious to the stunned looks around them. Lex's face was a mask of concern as he pulled back. "Are you alright?"

  Pete and Clark exchanged looks of confusion.

  Desiree smiled reassuringly. "I'm fine," she said, "One of the students kept a cool head and put out the fire."

  Lex pointed out Clark and said, "Let me guess. The young Mr. Kent. He saved me from a car accident not too long ago. He's becoming quite the local hero."

  Ms. Atkins pointed to the boy next to Clark, "Come here for a second," she instructed. "Actually, it wasn't Clark. It was this young man, his name is..."

  "Tyson. Why am I not surprised? If I had a second guess, it would've been you. I'm grateful."

  "Grateful enough to let me borrow your car for a date?" Tyson quipped in response.

  Clark, however, looked utterly baffled. "And I'm confused," he muttered.

  Lex grinned broadly, suddenly remembering his manners. "You're right, and I'm sorry," he said, turning to Desiree. "I'd like you to meet Desiree Atkins. My fiancé. As for letting you borrow my car, I'll think about it."

  Desiree smiled at Clark and Tyson, her eyes twinkling. Clark's jaw dropped in shock and disbelief.

  Tyson chimed in, "Congratulations. Your wife is smoking..." He paused for effect. "Get it, fire joke… Too soon?"

  Pete laughed while Clark shook his head, still processing the news. Lex seemed unperturbed by the joke, his eyes never leaving Desiree's.

  In the background, a fireman declared, "All clear," and students began to file back into the school. Desiree squeezed Lex's hand goodbye, though he seemed reluctant to let go. "See you in class, Clark," she said before heading toward the building.

  Clark and Lex watched her go, their expressions a study in contrasts. Clark's face was confused, while Lex's radiated love and adoration.

  "Fiancé, huh?" Clark said, coming to stand beside Lex.

  Lex continued to stare after Desiree. "I've never been more sure of anything in my life." Suddenly, he snapped out of his reverie and rifled through his jacket pockets. "Oh... I was going to have this messengered, but since you're here..."

  He handed Clark a small white envelope. Clark looked at him in surprise before taking it and opening it. Inside was a card adorned with two engraved wedding rings on the front.

  "It's a wedding invitation," Clark said, his voice tinged with disbelief. "For this weekend."

  "I know it's short notice."

  "I don't know what to say."

  "You're supposed to say you'll be there," Lex replied with a hint of amusement in his voice.

  Clark glanced around, still processing the information. "Well, I'm surprised..." He trailed off, seeing on Lex's face how much it meant to him to have Clark there. Finally, he relented. "...and I'll be there."

  Lex's face broke into a wide smile. "Good," he said, clapping Clark on the shoulder. He started to head back toward his car, calling back, "Better get back to class. You never know when the next fire may erupt."

  As Lex climbed back into his Lamborghini, Clark studied the invitation. His eyes drifted to the school building, and he watched with concern as Desiree disappeared inside.

  Tyson, who had been observing the exchange nearby, noted that now that he was looking closely, Lex had the barest hints of a green aura around him, too. He realized it was always there; he just dismissed it when he'd first seen the man again at the pie stand. Maybe it was because he was too busy trying to dissuade Lex from noticing him. A bit late for that.

  His thoughts were interrupted by a tap on his shoulder. He turned to see a stern-faced man in a red jacket with 'Coach' emblazoned on the breast.

  "Principal's office. Let's go."

  "Now?" he asked. The coach nodded curtly. Tyson said, "I'd rather go back to Ms. Atkin's class."

  "Yeah, me too, kid. I'd also rather not deal with this, but neither of us is getting what we want." The coach held the entrance door open, gesturing for Tyson to go first. Behind him, Clark, Chloe, Pete, and Lana were the last few stragglers.

  "Hey, Kent," Coach Walt called out. "You've gotten bigger. Farm life is doing your body good. You look like you've got a lot of power."

  Clark turned, smiling slyly. "Thanks!"

  Coach Walt's eyes gleamed with interest. "So why aren't you on our team?"

  Clark's smile faltered slightly. "My dad needs me on the farm."

  "Well, your school needs you on the field," Coach Walt pressed. "We got a big game on Friday night. We're short players." He leaned in, his voice taking on a conspiratorial tone. "Look, look, I know your dad would understand."

  Clark shifted uncomfortably. "He's kind of stubborn."

  "Yeah, I remember. Jonathan Kent was one of the best athletes I ever coached. A lot of God-given talent." He clapped Clark on the shoulder. "It's in your genes, Kent."

  "Actually, I'm adopted."

  "Look, I'm giving you a chance to be a part of something special, a part of history." He gestured towards the nearby trophy case. "Now, I've seen you stare at your father's picture in that trophy case. Don't tell me you don't want to be a part of this." Clark's eyes flickered to the case. "Why don't you suit up?" Coach Walt continued, then jerked his thumb towards Pete. "Look at Ross here. He doesn't have a lick of natural talent, but he's got a truckload of heart."

  Pete, standing nearby, grimaced. "Thanks, I... I guess."

  Clark hesitated, "Let me think about it."

  Coach Walt's eyes narrowed. "Hmm. Boy your size, you're not afraid, are you?"

  "It's my Dad."

  "Kent, there comes a time when you gotta step out of your father's shadow and be your own man." He locked eyes with Clark. "Now what do you say? You ready to be your own man?"

  Clark glanced at Lana, then back at Coach Walt. "Count me in."

  Lana rolled her eyes and sighed, clearly disapproving of Clark's decision.

  Coach Walt's face lit up with triumph. "Good. I'll see you at practice today. Three o'clock. Don't be late." Then he turned and walked away with Tyson in tow.

  As they left, Pete looked at Clark in disbelief. He pointed at his ear and jokingly asked, "Hey, Clark. Hey, um, remind me what your dad said last time you asked him to play."

  Clark's smile faded. "He said no."

  Pete nodded, his voice bland. "He said no. That's what I thought." He patted Clark on the shoulder sympathetically. "Good luck convincing him otherwise."

  The bell rang, signaling the next period. Students filed back to their classrooms. But he stood there for a moment, glancing once more at the trophy case, his father's photo staring back at him.

  Meanwhile, Tyson found himself being led away by Coach Walt.

  "What's this about?" he asked. "Doesn't seem like you're rewarding me for putting out the fire."

  "We'll discuss it in a few minutes."

  When they reached the principal's office, the coach knocked firmly on the door. A muffled "Come in" sounded from inside, and the coach opened the door, ushering Tyson in ahead of him.

  Principal Kwan sat behind his desk, his hands folded in front of him. To Tyson's surprise, Whitney Fordman was already there, looking uncomfortable.

  "Have a seat, Tyson," Principal Kwan said, gesturing to the empty chair next to Whitney. The coach took up a position by the door, arms crossed over his chest. Principal Kwan cleared his throat. "Tyson, I'm sure you're aware of the article in the Torch about the... incident at the dance."

  "We take hazing allegations very seriously at Smallville High," he continued. "Coach Walt and I have been discussing the situation, and we felt it was necessary to address this with both of you present."

  Whitney shifted in his seat, finally looking up. "I already told you it was just a prank. We didn't mean any harm."

  Principal Kwan held up a hand, silencing any further outbursts. "Tyson, we'd like to hear your side of the story. Can you tell us exactly what happened that night?"

  "It happened pretty much like the article said. Whitney and some other guys from the football team jumped me. They took my clothes, painted an 'S' on my chest, and left me tied up in that field."

  Coach Walt's face darkened as Tyson spoke, his jaw clenching visibly.

  "And how did you get free?" Principal Kwan asked.

  Tyson hesitated for a moment, remembering Lex Luthor's timely arrival. "One of the employees at the nearby LuthorCorp plant found me and cut me down."

  Principal Kwan nodded, making a note on a pad. "Whitney, do you have anything to add?"

  "Look, I'm sorry, okay? It was stupid, and we shouldn't have done it. But it's just a tradition. It's been happening for years."

  Principal Kwan responded, "Gentlemen, this is a serious matter. Hazing has no place in our school, regardless of how long it's been occurring. Whitney, you and the other students involved will face disciplinary action. We're still determining the extent of that action."

  Tyson's eyes narrowed as the principal spoke. He realized that this was the perfect chance to get revenge on Whitney. "Principal Kwan, you seem to take hazing seriously. Do you take hate crimes seriously, too?"

  Whitney's head snapped up. His face paled visibly, and his eyes widened in surprise and growing alarm.

  "Of course," he answered, clearly caught off guard by Tyson's direct accusation. "We take all forms of discrimination and harassment very seriously.

  Coach Walt said, "What exactly are you implying?"

  "A new black student starts at Smallville and gets picked for a hazing ritual on his first day. That's not just random selection. It's targeting. How many black students are in this school? The only one I've seen besides myself is Pete Ross, and he's on the football team."

  Whitney's face flushed red. "That's not true!" he protested, turning to face Tyson. "It had nothing to do with race. We've done this to plenty of guys before."

  "Lack of options," Tyson countered. "I'm going to go out on a limb here and ask, how many black students have come through here and haven't been on the football team?"

  Coach Walt stepped forward. "Now, hold on a minute," he said defensively. "Whitney's not like that. None of my boys are. All of this is just a misunderstanding."

  Principal Kwan said, "These are serious allegations."

  Coach Walt's face was a mask of concern. "Now, let's not jump to conclusions here," he said, "Whitney's a good kid. He's never shown any signs of prejudice before. This whole thing has just gotten blown out of proportion."

  Kwan held up a hand, silencing the coach. "We can't dismiss these allegations simply because Whitney has a clean record."

  Whitney slumped in his chair, his face a mixture of shame and fear. "I swear, I didn't mean for it to be like that," he said, "I just wanted to keep the tradition going. I didn't think about it like that. I didn't realize..."

  "That's the problem," Tyson interrupted, "You didn't think. You didn't consider how it might feel for someone like me to be singled out, beaten, and strung up in a field."

  The room fell silent at Tyson's words.

  He looked at Whitney, who seemed genuinely remorseful, then back to Principal Kwan.

  "Seeing Whitney's response, I think I understand," Tyson said, "I don't think his actions were racially motivated." The tension in the room visibly eased. Whitney's shoulders sagged with relief while Coach Walt uncrossed his arms, his defensive posture relaxing. Tyson continued, "Part of the problem is the demographic here isn't diverse enough for the students to be sensitive to such things. Hopefully, this incident opens some eyes." He turned to face Principal Kwan directly. "I'm not looking to get Whitney, the other players, or even the team in trouble. I spoke with Pete Ross. He said that Whitney wasn't a bad person. Since he hasn't caused any problems for you in the past, I'm willing to accept that this was nothing more than a prank."

  Whitney's head snapped up, his eyes wide with disbelief. "Really?" he asked.

  Tyson nodded. Principal Kwan leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. "I appreciate your willingness to move past this, Tyson. However, as the principal of this school, I can't simply overlook what happened. There needs to be consequences for these actions, regardless of intent."

  "What if we used this as a learning opportunity?" Tyson suggested. "Instead of punishing the football players, you could have them participate in a diversity awareness program."

  Coach Walt nodded, warming to the idea. "That could work."

  Principal Kwan considered this for a moment before nodding slowly. "That's an excellent suggestion. We could bring in speakers or organize workshops. It could be a real chance for growth for our entire student body."

  Tyson suggested, "Having Whitney involved might encourage other students to take it seriously."

  Principal Kwan smiled, clearly pleased with how the situation was resolving. "I think we have the beginnings of a plan here. Whitney, you and the other students involved will still face some consequences for your actions, but I'll consider your participation in organizing this diversity awareness program."

  Principal Kwan's expression turned serious. "I'll be issuing a formal statement condemning the scarecrow tradition and making it clear that any student found participating in such hazing activities will face severe disciplinary action."

  Whitney shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Some of the older students and alumni might not like that," he said hesitantly.

  "Look, I get it." Tyson said, "The scarecrow thing is a long-standing tradition. But we're not living in the 1960s anymore. The world has changed, and it's time for this to change. Instead of leaving some poor kid alone in a field, why not take a scarecrow and dress it up in your rival's colors? You could tie it to the scoreboard for the whole school to see at the big game. Make it something to take pride in, to look forward to, rather than a cruel act that gets swept under the rug. You've got a chance to reshape a hazing ritual into a new tradition that celebrates school spirit. Don't you see? You could transform something negative into a source of pride for Smallville High."

  Whitney stared at Tyson, hesitation slowly giving way to dawning consideration. "A mock scarecrow..." he murmured.

  "It would sure beat slinking around some field. And think how fired up the crowd would get seeing that scarecrow hanging from the scoreboard. The whole school could get behind it."

  Whitney sat up straighter in his chair. "Yeah… yeah, that could work. I think the guys would go for it, too. It'd beat getting suspended."

  Principal Kwan stroked his chin thoughtfully. "I must admit, I like the idea of taking a negative tradition and giving it a positive spin. What do you think, Coach Walt?"

  The coach grinned and clapped Tyson on the shoulder. "I think it's brilliant. With the right promotion, this could energize school spirit around here." he added, "I'll talk to the alumni association."

  Principal Kwan stood up, signaling that the meeting was ending. "I think we've made some real progress here today. Tyson and Whitney, thank you for your maturity in handling this situation. I'll be in touch about the diversity awareness program and the statement regarding the scarecrow tradition."

  As they exited Principal Kwan's office into the empty hallway, tension lingered between Tyson and Whitney.

  "Why'd you change your mind?" Whitney asked uncertainly.

  "Because I'm not out to ruin your life, Whitney," he said, "You wanted to make an example of me, and I made an example of you. Now we're even." He started to walk away but then stopped and turned back. His voice took on a harder edge as he added, "And if any of your boys come after me again, I'm not gonna be so nice." Whitney's eyes widened slightly at the implied threat, but he remained silent. As he resumed walking away, Tyson called over his shoulder, "Have fun with your extra sprints and event organizing."

  Tyson disappeared around the corner, leaving Whitney reeling from the conversation, trying to make sense of everything that had happened. He had stood his ground, made his point, and turned the situation into something potentially positive for the school. Turning a corner, he nearly collided with Chloe, who was hurrying in the opposite direction.

  "Tyson!" she exclaimed. "What happened in the principal's office? Spill!"

  Tyson couldn't help but chuckle at her enthusiasm. "Easy there. It's not exactly front-page news."

  Chloe's eyes narrowed playfully. "Everything's front-page news in Smallville, especially when it involves our newest celebrity." She gestured to an empty classroom nearby. "Come on, give me the scoop. What did Principal Kwan say? Is Whitney getting expelled?"

  Tyson followed her into the classroom, closing the door behind them to avoid eavesdroppers. He leaned against a desk, crossing his arms as he considered how much to tell her.

  "No one's getting expelled," he said finally. "We came to an... understanding."

  Chloe's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "An understanding? What does that mean? Don't tell me you're going soft on them."

  He held up a hand to stop her. "It's not like that, Chloe. We're still making changes. Principal Kwan will issue a statement condemning the scarecrow tradition, and they're creating a diversity awareness program."

  Chloe's expression softened slightly, but she still looked skeptical. "That's a start, I guess. But what about Whitney and the other guys involved? They're just getting off scot-free?"

  "Not exactly. They'll face some consequences, and they'll be the ones organizing the diversity program. I figured that would be more productive than just punishing them."

  Chloe considered this for a moment, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "I see what you're going for. Make them part of the solution instead of treating them like the problem. Pretty clever." She nodded but still had a mischievous glint in her eye. "Well, I still think this whole thing deserves an in-depth article in the Torch. Care to go on record with any statements, Mr. Reformer?"

  "Nice try, Chloe. But I think I've had enough of the spotlight for now. Let's let the dust settle before we stir things up again, okay?"

  Chloe pouted playfully. "Fine, be that way. But don't think you're off the hook."

  Tyson sighed in mock defeat. "Alright, Chloe, you win. I've got a story for you."

  Chloe spun on him, her eyes lighting up like a child on Christmas morning. "What's the scoop?" she asked, practically bouncing on her toes.

  Tyson leaned in close, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Chloe Sullivan and Pete Ross dancing a little close. The newest football recruit and the Torch's editor, dancing in the dark."

  Chloe's face turned red. She groaned, covering her face with her hands. "Oh God, you saw that?"

  "I was naked, not blind." Tyson couldn't help but chuckle. "Don't dish it if you can't take it, Sullivan."

  Chloe peeked through her fingers with a reluctant smile. She dropped her hands and shook her head, laughing despite herself. "Fine. You win this round."

  "Hah. That makes me two and one today," Tyson said smugly.

  Chloe's embarrassment was momentarily forgotten. as she asked, "What was your loss?"

  Tyson's grin faltered slightly. "Shot down by Kara," he admitted, trying to keep his tone casual.

  Chloe's jaw dropped. "You asked a billionaire on a date?"

  Tyson shrugged, attempting to appear nonchalant. "Shot my shot and missed."

  "Wait, wait, wait. You can't just drop that bomb and walk away. Spill the details. When did this happen? What exactly did you say to her?"

  "It wasn't a big deal. We just talked at the farmer's market on Saturday. She seemed cool, so I thought I'd take a chance."

  Chloe wasn't about to let him off that easily. "And? What happened next? Come on, Tyson, you can't leave me hanging like this!"

  He chuckled, shaking his head at her persistence. "There wasn't much to it. I just came out and asked."

  "Well, got to admire your confidence. Not many guys would have the guts to ask out a Luthor on their third day in town."

  "Yeah, well, life's too short to wonder 'what if,' right?" Tyson said, trying to brush it off.

  Chloe's expression softened slightly. "Hey, for what it's worth, I think it's cool that you went for it. And who knows? Maybe she'll change her mind once she gets to know you better."

  "But speaking of getting to know people better..." She trailed off.

  Tyson groaned, realizing where this was going. "Chloe, no. We are not talking about you and Pete."

  "Oh, come on!" Chloe protested. "You can't just dangle that and then refuse to discuss it. That's torture!"

  Tyson couldn't help but laugh at her dramatic response. "Fine, fine."

  Chloe tried to appear casual despite the faint blush still coloring her cheeks. "How close is 'a little close'?" she buried her face in her hands again, but Tyson could see the smile she was trying to hide. "Oh God, was it really that obvious?"

  "Only to someone who was paying attention," Tyson reassured her. "Which, unfortunately for you, I was. Don't worry, you're a cute couple. But I don't know if it's meant to be. You were flirting with me in class during that video, after all."

  Chloe groaned again, "You know I was mocking the substitute teacher, Miss Hottie, or whatever her name is!"

  Tyson laughed. "I don't know. You seemed kinda into it."

  — Meteor Freak —

  As the final bell rang, signaling the end of classes at Smallville High, Tyson knew what he wanted to do after school.

  Test the powers he gained from Jeremy Creek and Greg Arkin.

  He headed towards the school's weight room. Pushing open the heavy door, the familiar scent of old sweat and metal greeted him. The room was empty but orderly, with weights neatly racked. Perfect for his purposes. Tyson approached the bench press, his eyes scanning the array of weight plates nearby. He loaded the barbell with 135 pounds, lay back on the bench, gripped the cold metal bar, and pushed. The weight felt like nothing more than a feather in his hands as he completed ten quick repetitions.

  Unsatisfied, Tyson added two more plates, bringing the total to 225 pounds. Again, positioning himself on the bench, he began to lift as if going through the motions without any resistance. Curious, he decided to push further. Two more plates were loaded onto each side, raising the weight to a hefty 315 pounds. This weight would challenge the most muscular athletes at Smallville High. Yet, as Tyson gripped the bar and pressed upward, he found it as manageable as the lighter weights.

  Tyson racked his weights, excited yet somewhat frustrated that he couldn't gauge his full strength. It was clear that using the weight room wouldn't suffice. He was beyond normal human levels of power, but how far beyond? The question nagged at him as he contemplated his next move.

  Unbeknownst to Tyson, Coach Walt sat in his office. Through the large window overlooking the weight room, he could clearly see Tyson's impressive display of strength. The coach watched, slack-jawed, as the young man effortlessly repped out three plates on the bench press. Tyson lifted more weight than any of his linemen, yet he was leanly built, like a safety. He leaned forward in his chair, unable to tear his gaze away from the spectacle before him. The possibilities of what such a player could do on the field were enticing.

  After meeting with that same boy and Whitney Fordman earlier that day, Principal Kwan delivered some troubling news. A group of seven of his football players were facing suspension for cheating. It left gaping holes in his roster.

  The timing couldn't have been worse, with Whitney and two of his linemen facing disciplinary action for the scarecrow incident. But now, as he watched Tyson's impressive strength, Coach Walt saw a potential solution to his problems.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  Tyson left the weight room, making his way towards the track. A gentle breeze rustled through the nearby trees, carrying the faint scent of freshly cut grass but with an undertone of manure from the nearby farms, making it slightly unpleasant. He glanced around, confirming that the stadium and track were empty. No teams had emerged for their after-school practices yet, granting him a window of opportunity to test his speed without prying eyes.

  Approaching the starting line, he again looked around to ensure he was alone before leaning forward.

  In a burst of movement, Tyson took off down the track. His legs pumped furiously, eating up the distance with each powerful stride. The wind whipped past his face as he accelerated. Tyson marveled at the sensation of speed, feeling as though barely touching the ground. Rounding the first curve, he realized he had no stopwatch, leaving him no way to tell his speed. Still, he pushed on, intending to gain a sense of his capabilities.

  Unbeknownst to Tyson, Coach Walt stood at his office window, his eyes fixed on the lone figure tearing around the track. The coach's jaw dropped as he watched Tyson's blistering pace. Walt could tell that what he was witnessing was extraordinary. Tyson completed his first lap and showed no signs of slowing down. His breathing remained steady, his form perfect as he continued to sprint. Coach Walt shook his head in disbelief. The speed was beyond anything he had seen in his years of coaching. As Tyson began his second lap, Coach Walt realized that the young man's speed was enough to make him a star receiver or running back. Combined with his strength, Tyson could be a game-changing addition to the football team.

  As Tyson rounded the track for a fourth time, he still hadn't felt the effects of his exertion and was hardly pushing his limits. He felt like he was out on a warmup jog but knew his pace was staggering.

  Coach Walt leaned closer to the window. He watched as Tyson seemed to find an extra gear, somehow increasing his already impressive speed for the final lap.

  Tyson crossed the finish line and gradually slowed to a stop. Despite the intensity of his workout, he felt surprisingly good.

  From his vantage point, Coach Walt saw Tyson's quick recovery. Most athletes would be gasping for air, but he wasn't, adding to the coach's growing fascination with the young man's potential. Stepping back from the window, he made up his mind.

  He had to get Tyson on the football team.

  With the recent disciplinary issues threatening their season, this boy's unexpected abilities could be key.

  As Tyson walked back into the school, he noticed a figure emerging from the building.

  "Hey there, son," Coach Walt called out as he approached. "That was some impressive running I just saw."

  Tyson didn't realize anyone was watching his display. "Oh, thanks, Coach," he replied casually. I'm just getting in a bit of exercise."

  "I ran track at my last school," he added, trying to downplay his performance.

  "A little exercise? Son, what I just saw was nothing short of extraordinary. Have you ever considered playing football?"

  Given his unusual circumstances and his short time in this world, Tyson had not given much thought to extracurricular activities. However, his bank account held tens of billions of dollars.

  What was the point of sports?

  He could afford college without needing a scholarship. He already earned enough attention at school that he didn't need the popularity boost. Though he could likely succeed on the field with his new strength and speed, what would be the end goal?

  "I hadn't thought about it," he admitted.

  "Well, you should," Coach Walt pressed. "With speed like that, you could be a star on the field. And I couldn't help but notice your performance in the weight room earlier. You've got quite the combination of strength and speed."

  "I appreciate the offer, Coach, but I'm not sure football is for me," he said.

  Coach Walt wasn't ready to give up. "Listen, I understand you're new here and might not be looking to jump into anything. But I'm opening a spot for you on this team."

  "I'll think about it, Coach," he said, hoping to end the discussion.

  Coach Walt clapped a hand on Tyson's shoulder. "That's good, son. Just give it some thought. I'll swing by your last-period class tomorrow and get you set up with some pads and a helmet."

  As Coach Walt turned to leave, Tyson narrowed his eyes. He had come out to the track to test his abilities, but in doing so, he had inadvertently drawn attention to himself. He didn't care for football, but it wasn't like he had many other things to do after school. His only other priority was finding a place to live that wasn't a hotel, but he wasn't in a rush to buy a house despite it seemingly being the only obstacle between him and Kara.

  Coach Walt strode back to his office. As he entered, he glanced at the clock. There was still some time before practice started, and he knew exactly how he wanted to spend it. Making his way to the small room adjacent to his office, where the sauna was located, he prepared the sauna for use. He adjusted the temperature controls, ensuring it would reach the perfect level of heat. Next, he turned his attention to the brazier, a metal container for burning coals. He carefully arranged a layer of coal inside it, ensuring it was evenly distributed. Then, for luck, he placed a few pieces of the local green meteor rocks among the coals in the brazier and then set it alight. As the coals began to heat up, he could already see a faint green tinge to the smoke rising from the container. Satisfied with his preparation, Coach Walt stripped down to a towel and entered the sauna.

  The heat enveloped him immediately, forming beads of sweat on his skin. He settled onto one of the wooden benches, leaning back and closing his eyes as he took a deep breath. The air was thick with steam, but there was an underlying sharpness.

  As he sat there, breathing in the green-tinged vapor, Coach Walt's thoughts drifted to his team's challenges. The suspensions left holes in his lineup, but things were looking up after adding Tyson and Clark Kent to the roster. With those two on the field, they might just have a chance to sneak past this week's game with a win. The more he breathed in the vapor, the clearer his thoughts became. He could see it all playing out in his mind's eye. Kent's size to break through the defensive line, followed by Tyson's speed outrunning their opponents. It was a combination that could turn the tide of any game.

  Coach Walt's muscles relaxed as the heat and the strange energy from the meteor rocks seeped into his body. He felt invigorated, his earlier fatigue melting away like the sweat dripping down his back. In this state, he could think more clearly and strategize more effectively. If he could keep Tyson and Kent on the team and get them to reach their full potential, they could be the key to salvaging this season. And once his other players came off suspension, combining their talents with these new additions... they'd be unstoppable.

  After a string of years of coming close but never quite clinching a championship, this could be their year. All he needed to do was convince Tyson to join the team and make sure Kent committed despite his father.

  As he sat there, surrounded by the steam and the faint green glow, Coach Walt began to formulate his plan. He'd need to be careful with Kent. The boy seemed reluctant, but Walt was confident he could win him over. Once Clark got a taste of what it was like to be part of the team, Walt was sure he'd be hooked. With Tyson, Walt would need to find a way to push him, to get him to tap into that potential he'd glimpsed and utilize it on the field.

  The coach took another deep breath, feeling the strange energy coursing through him. This was just another chance to prove why he was the most successful coach in Smallville High's history.

  The heat in the sauna intensified, and Coach Walt could feel the sweat pouring off him now. He glanced at the small clock mounted on the sauna wall. There was still some time left before he needed to head out to the field. He closed his eyes again. As he sat there, surrounded by heat and strange energy, Coach Walt felt more confident than ever. He could feel the passionate fire within him, ready to mold this team into champions. And nothing, he decided, was going to stand in his way.

  — Meteor Freak —

  Clark came in from outside, a concerned look on his face. Martha looked up from the kitchen counter. "Hi, Clark."

  Jonathan, glass in hand, turned and glanced at his son.

  "How was school?" Martha asked.

  Clark's voice was dry. "It was different."

  Jonathan poured two glasses of lemonade. "Do we like different?"

  "There was a fire during biology class," Clark said. Martha's eyes widened with concern as he continued. "It's OK, nobody was hurt," Clark assured them. "Tyson stopped it before it spread."

  Martha's face brightened. "Well, good on him."

  Clark leaned against the sink. "Except I think I started it."

  Jonathan set down the pitcher, looking displeased. "Wait, you wanna explain that? Please?"

  "I started to feel hot. And my eyes started to burn. All of a sudden, the spot I was staring at burst into flames."

  "Just by looking at it?" Martha asked, amazed.

  Clark's agitation grew. "Hello? Hi, I'm Clark, I'm the kid who can lift up tractors and run to school in two seconds. If that's not enough, Tyson noticed it was me."

  He stomped off to the edge of the kitchen, turning his back on his parents.

  Jonathan moved to stand behind Clark. "Son... hang on just a second. What exactly was going on when this happened?"

  "We had just met our new biology teacher, and we were watching a film," Clark explained.

  Martha's brow furrowed. "An educational film?"

  "A sex educational film," Clark clarified.

  Martha and Jonathan stared at Clark, realization dawning on their faces. Clark, on the other hand, looked supremely embarrassed. He went back to the table, grabbing a glass of lemonade.

  Martha spoke delicately. "Uhh...Clark... it's possible that whatever's happened has some sort of... hormonal... connection..."

  "Yes," Jonathan quickly agreed.

  As Martha spoke, Clark drained the glass of lemonade in a single gulp, then turned to find his parents staring at him with concern. "Great! So I'm maturing into a firestarter?"

  "No, son.. look... ummm..." Jonathan began. Martha looked at him encouragingly as he continued. "we've... just gotta get a handle on this thing, like we've gotten a handle on all your other abilities."

  Clark's frustration didn't abate. "Except all my other abilities didn't involve things bursting into flames!"

  Jonathan opened his mouth to say something, then closed it, realizing Clark was right. Martha tried to soothe him. "All the more reason for you to give it some time. Just... uh.. you'll... have to stay close to home, and, uh... and then we'll figure it out."

  Clark sighed, nodding in agreement, then stopped as he remembered something.

  "I can't," he said. Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out Lex's wedding invitation, handing it to Martha.

  Martha took the card. "Why? What's this?"

  Clark shook his head. "You're not gonna believe it..."

  Martha opened the invitation, her eyes widening as she read its contents. "Lex is getting married?" she asked disbelieving.

  Jonathan moved closer, peering over Martha's shoulder at the invitation. "To whom?"

  "Desiree Atkins. Our new biology teacher."

  Martha's eyebrows shot up. "The one who was showing the... educational film?"

  Clark nodded, his cheeks flushing slightly. "Yeah, that's her."

  "Clark," Martha began gently, "I know Lex is your friend, but don't you think this is a bit... rushed?"

  "Exactly! That's why I can't stay home. I need to talk to Lex, try to make him see reason."

  Jonathan's face hardened. "Now, hold on a minute, son. We just talked about you needing to stay close to home until we figure out this new... development."

  Martha placed a comforting hand on Clark's arm. "Sweetie, we need to prioritize your safety and the safety of others. If you can't control this new ability, you could accidentally hurt someone."

  Jonathan placed a hand on Clark's shoulder. "Just remember, son, we're here to help you. Whatever's going on with this new ability, we'll figure it out together."

  — Meteor Freak —

  The sun had set, and the streetlights kicked on, lighting up Smallville's main street as Tyson, Chloe, and Pete entered the Beanery. The cozy cafe buzzed with the chatter of patrons and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

  Tyson was finishing his story as they walked in. "I was walking off the track when Coach Walt asked me to join the football team. I tried gently brushing him off, but he ignored me and declared he'd be fitting me for pads tomorrow."

  "The audacity of that man. After what his players did to you, to try forcibly recruiting you to his team." Chloe rolled her eyes, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Yeah, next I'm gonna be joining the pompom brigade."

  Lana appeared behind them, wearing a green Beanery apron. "I hear there's a spot open."

  Tyson blinked in surprise. "Lana, you work here?"

  Chloe's eyebrows shot up. "W-what is this? Some cheerleading charity, like 'be a waitress for a night' type thing?"

  Lana chuckled. "Yes, except for the cheerleading and charity parts, and tips are always appreciated."

  "So you're a waitress for real?" Pete asked.

  "Even got the perky name tag to prove it," Lana quipped, tapping the plastic rectangle pinned to her apron.

  "First day?"

  "Ever," Lana confirmed with a nod. She gestured to her outfit. "Strict dress code 'no jewelry' and no open-toed shoes."

  Tyson's eyes took her in. "You look the part."

  Lana's smile faltered slightly. "Now, if I could only tell the difference between a half-caf, decaf, and a non-fat latte."

  "In that case, I'll have a regular coffee," Chloe said, sliding into a booth.

  Pete followed suit. "Hey, make that three."

  Lana asked, "No Clark?"

  "Think he's stuck at the farm doing chores. Uh. Its not so hot when the sun goes down, otherwise its brutal." Tyson said, trying to cover for him.

  As Chloe and Pete settled into their seats, Lana set her tray on the table, momentarily distracted by another customer's request. Tyson noticed the forgotten tray and grabbed it. "Be right back," he told his friends before returning it.

  "Hey, Lana, you forgot this," Tyson said, offering the tray.

  Lana's cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "Thanks, that's been happening a lot today."

  "First days are always rough," Tyson offered sympathetically. "Remember mine? Ended up walking through town shirtless." He paused, lowering his voice. "You sure you're okay after what happened this weekend? I mean, you got kidnapped, quit cheerleading, and got a job. I want to make sure there's not something else going on."

  "I'm okay. Thanks to you… You almost sound disappointed that I quit cheerleading."

  Tyson shrugged. "Not my business. Coach Walt approached me today to recruit me for the football team. Showing off for you would've been one of the few perks."

  Lana smiled. "You walked me home after the dance like a gentleman, and you saved me from my stalker-kidnapper. You'll have to find another way to impress me next that isn't football," she said lightly.

  "My mom was a cheerleader, and so was my aunt. I figured it was time to break the vicious cycle." She glanced around the bustling cafe. "I have four shifts a week here. You can stop by anytime you like. If you want to see me more often, I mean."

  Before Tyson could respond, the head waitress's sharp voice cut through their conversation. "Lana, table 3 has been waiting for their drinks for 5 minutes. If they go cold, it's coming out of your tips."

  "Right, sorry."

  The head waitress frowned. "Don't be sorry, just be faster."

  As Lana prepared to dash off, Tyson leaned in and whispered, "Don't worry, I'll leave a good tip to make up for whatever she takes."

  Lana smiled gratefully. "You don't have to do that. I need to learn. I'll figure this out."

  Returning to his friends, Tyson slid into the booth beside Pete. Chloe asked, "So, what's the scoop? Lana Lang, former cheerleader turned waitress extraordinaire?"

  Pete chuckled. "Man, I never thought I'd see the day. Lana always seemed so perfect, you know? Like she had it all figured out."

  "Maybe that's the problem. Sometimes, figuring it out means you're just following someone else's plan."

  Chloe nodded thoughtfully. "True. But still, it's a pretty big change. I wonder what Whitney thinks about all this."

  As if on cue, the bell above the Beanery's door chimed, and Whitney Fordman stepped inside. His eyes scanned the room, landing on Lana as she balanced a tray of steaming mugs. Tyson watched as Whitney approached her, their conversation too quiet to overhear. Lana's posture stiffened, and she smiled as she spoke to her boyfriend or ex-boyfriend.

  Tyson wasn't sure of their relationship status.

  "Looks like someone's not too happy with Lana's career change," Pete observed.

  Chloe snorted. "Well, it doesn't exactly fit the 'football star and cheerleader' cliché, does it?"

  Whitney's face clouded with disappointment as he turned away from Lana. His shoulders slumped slightly. He headed to the table where some teammates sat. The jocks greeted him with nods and fist bumps. Tyson, Chloe, and Pete watched the scene unfold from their booth. They weren't close enough to hear the entire conversation, but Whitney's voice carried, allowing them to catch snippets.

  "Coach needs to see us on the field right now," he said.

  The jocks exchanged confused glances. One of them, Mike, a burly linebacker, checked his watch. "Now? It's almost eight."

  "Yeah, I know. But Coach was pretty clear. Said it couldn't wait."

  Another player, Trevor, groaned. "Man, I just ordered a burger. Can't it wait until tomorrow's practice?"

  "No can do. Coach sounded serious. We need to move."

  The group grumbled but began to gather their things. As they stood up, Lana approached with a tray of drinks.

  Back at their booth, Chloe leaned in, her reporter's instincts kicking into high gear. "Okay, is it just me, or was that weird?"

  Pete agreed, "Yeah, since when does Coach Walt call emergency meetings this late?"

  As they speculated, Lana approached their table, her smile back in place despite the hint of worry in her eyes. "Sorry about the wait, guys. Three regular coffees," Lana announced. She set them down with only a slight wobble.

  As Lana returned to her duties, the trio continued their conversation. Chloe sipped her coffee for a minute, then grabbed her coat. She announced, "I'll see you tomorrow. I want to go see what the team is up to." She rushed out, passing Lana, who was holding a tray of drinks.

  Lana glanced towards Chloe's retreating figure, momentarily distracted. She didn't notice a man approaching from the other direction. As she turned, she collided with him, the tray of drinks slipping from her grasp and crashing to the floor. Sounds of shattering mugs filled the air, followed by a smattering of applause from amused customers.

  Tyson grabbed the napkin container from a nearby table. He then moved to Lana's side and knelt to help her clean up the mess.

  "Thanks," Lana said gratefully, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

  She quickly gathered the larger pieces of broken ceramics while he mopped the spilled drinks. As they finished cleaning, she rushed to the counter to replace the dropped coffees. He watched as she brought it to a table where Lex Luthor sat, his attention focused on a laptop in front of him. Curious, Tyson approached.

  Lex looked up. "Lana. What happened? Did Nell put you out on the street?"

  "No. I decided to join the workforce. I spent most of my savings going to France this summer, and I'm not sure cheer is for me anymore."

  "Good for you," Lex replied, "I'm sure you'll be the employee of the month in no time." He closed the file he had been studying.

  Lana's lips quirked into a self-deprecating smile. "Right now, I hold the record for most dishes broken in a single day."

  Lex chuckled. "Next time, I'll ask for my cappuccino in a styrofoam cup." His eyes twinkled with amusement as Lana turned away to get another order. His gaze then fell on Tyson. "Rumor has it you'll be joining the football team."

  He sat down across from Lex and asked, "How'd you hear about that?"

  "Coach told some of the players, and they told their friends, and Kara overheard."

  Tyson sighed. "I told the coach I wasn't interested, and he didn't take no for an answer. He acknowledged what I said, promptly ignored it, and told me he'd see me after school tomorrow."

  "Ah, one of those types," Lex nodded in understanding. "I deal with that a lot. Do you know what character trait is most indicative of corporate success?"

  Tyson considered for a moment before guessing, "Charisma?"

  "Good guess," Lex said but shook his head. "Charisma doesn't hurt, but no. Number one is intelligence." He paused before adding, "Number two is more interesting, though. Disagreableness."

  Tyson's face scrunched up in confusion. "Really?"

  "It's easier to push your agenda, sell your product, or achieve your goals when you don't let people tell you no," Lex explained. "Getting what you want is the path to success. Aside from being smart enough to find a better path."

  As Tyson mulled over Lex's words, he asked, "What are you working on? Wedding planning?"

  Lex groaned, his earlier amusement fading. "If only. I'm trying to figure out which poor bastards should get the ax. My father wants me to cut twenty percent of my workforce."

  "Any way around it?" Tyson asked.

  "Once my father has made his mind up, he's not easy to turn around."

  Lana reappeared, setting drinks down on the table. "If it makes you guys feel any better, you should have seen the look on my aunt's face when I took this job, not that I was eavesdropping or anything." She perched herself on the arm of Tyson's chair, her hip brushing against him. Tyson glanced up at her, surprised by the contact. He let his arm settle around her waist. Lana glanced down at him briefly but didn't mention it and seemed comfortable with his touch.

  "I guess we are in the same boat," Tyson mused.

  Lex raised an eyebrow. "Maybe you and me. Lana at least stood her ground and did what she wanted. I caved." He lifted his coffee mug in a salute. "Lana, you have inspired me."

  Tyson grinned. "Me too. I'm going to become a rebel just like you."

  Lana laughed. "You've been here less than a week, and you're already the king of standing up to jocks, Tyson. But, I suppose now you're becoming one of them…"

  Tyson interrupted, "Maybe I'm just infiltrating to take them down for good from the inside."

  Lana laughed. "In that case, long live the revolution."

  "Cheers," Lex said as he sipped his drink. Lowering the mug, a dollop of whipped cream clung to his nose.

  "How is it?" Lana asked expectantly.

  "It's perfect."

  "Okay," she nodded, walking away to tend to other customers.

  Tyson turned to Lexs. "Is that what you ordered?"

  "Not even close," Lex replied dryly.

  Tyson's gaze fell on the drinks Lana had left. "And these drinks she brought?"

  Lex shrugged. "Not mine. Thought they were yours."

  Tyson rolled his eyes and stood up, gathering the drinks to return them to Lana. Before he left, he turned back to Lex. "Maybe you should use that advice you gave me. If disagreeableness and intelligence are the paths to corporate success, use them. Disagree with your father and find a smarter way to do things."

  Lex's expression shifted, a thoughtful look crossing his face. He glanced back at his spreadsheets. "Maybe I will."

  Tyson nodded, satisfied, and returned the drinks to Lana, who thanked him with a grateful smile before rushing to deliver them to the correct table. He then went to the counter, pulled out his black card to settle the tab for himself, Pete, and Chloe, and added a generous $100 tip. With his black card, it wasn't as if money was an issue. As he stepped out of the Beanery, the clock on his phone read 8:30 PM. With nothing else planned for the evening, Tyson decided to head towards Smallville High, wondering if Chloe might still be at the Torch.

  His stroll abruptly halted when he noticed a series of flashing lights emanating from the direction of the football field. He changed course, moving toward the source of the commotion. As he approached the field, Tyson spotted a familiar figure perched at the top of the bleachers. Chloe hid poorly with her camera trained on the scene below. Tyson effortlessly scaled the bleachers using his agility, landing silently beside her.

  "What are you recording?" he whispered, leaning in close.

  Chloe jumped, barely stifling a scream. She whipped around, eyes wide with shock. "Don't do that!" she whisper-yelled, her hand covering her mouth. Tyson raised his hands in apology, but his sheepish grin showed he wasn't remorseful of his sneaking.

  She pointed at the field urgently. "Look."

  Coach Walt paced angrily below and berated the suspended players gathered before him. But what truly caught Tyson's attention was the eerie, glowing green aura that now surrounded the coach. The aura hadn't been there when he and the coach spoke after school. In the intervening hours, something must have happened to grant Coach Walt powers. As the older man's anger intensified, the sprinklers began to malfunction. Instead of spraying water, they shot out jets of fire, illuminating the night with bursts of orange flame.

  "This is Wall of Weird material," Chloe muttered, her camera clicking as she captured the scene. The players huddled together, trying to avoid the unpredictable bursts of fire. "This seems dangerous," Chloe said, lowering her camera and turning to Tyson concerned. "What should we do?"

  Tyson weighed their options. They could call for help, but who would believe them? And by the time anyone arrived, the evidence might be gone. He thought about his newfound abilities, wondering if he could intervene without revealing himself. As he watched Coach Walt gesticulate, another burst of flame erupted from a sprinkler. An idea began to form in his mind.

  "Maybe I will join the football team after all," he said.

  Chloe's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "What? Are you crazy? Did you not just see the fire-breathing sprinklers?"

  Tyson shrugged, his eyes still fixed on the scene below. "Think about it. If I'm on the team, I'll have a front-row seat. We could figure out what's causing this, maybe even stop it before someone gets hurt."

  Chloe bit her lip, considering his words. "I don't know, Tyson. It could be dangerous. We don't know what we're dealing with here."

  "But if I'm on the inside, we might have a chance to find out. Plus, it'll give me a legitimate reason to watch Coach Walt and the team."

  "You know, that's not a bad idea. It would give us access we wouldn't have otherwise. And having an inside source on the football team could lead to some interesting stories for the Torch."

  Tyson chuckled. "Always the reporter, huh?"

  "You know it. But seriously, be careful. We're dealing with more than just high school drama here."

  As they watched, Coach Walt's tirade began to wind down. The flames from the sprinklers sputtered and died out, leaving the field in eerie darkness. The players, looking shaken, began to disperse.

  "We should go," Chloe whispered, packing up her camera. "Before someone spots us."

  — Meteor Freak —

  Tyson stood on the football field. His mind wandered as Coach Walt barked instructions for another drill. The late afternoon sun beat down on the players, their helmets and pads glistening with sweat. Tyson found himself more interested in the smattering of people sitting in the stands than learning the plays Coach Walt seemed passionate about.

  Among them was Lana Lang. Tyson wasn't sure why she was in the stands since she was no longer on the cheer squad, but her gaze seemed to move between Tyson and one of the assistant coaches.

  Kara, surprisingly, also sat alone in the corner, watching him intently. Their eyes met across the distance.

  "Tyson! Pay attention!" Coach Walt's voice boomed across the field.

  Tyson adjusted his helmet and tried to look engaged. He glanced around at his teammates, most of whom seemed equally bored. There was more standing around and listening to Coach Walt than actual physical activity. As he half-heartedly jogged through a play, Tyson noticed a figure approaching from the parking lot. It was Trevor, one of the suspended players who hadn't shown up to practice until now. Coach Walt immediately zeroed in on the newcomer, his eyes narrowing.

  "Trevor!" Coach Walt called out in barely contained anger. "Wait over there." He pointed to a side entrance to the stadium. Then he turned to the assistant coach and ordered, "Coach Teague, during the next break, why don't we have Tyson do some eye-openers? Maybe it will help him focus a bit."

  Tyson watched as Coach Walt strode toward Trevor. The coach's body language set off alarm bells. Reaching Trevor, he grabbed the boy's arm roughly, and smoke rose from where the coach's hand made contact.

  "Aah! Coach!" Trevor cried out in pain.

  "Talking to the school newspaper, Trevor? I thought you were brighter than that."

  Trevor fell to his knees in agony as Coach Walt maintained his burning grip. "Coach! I didn't say anything. You gotta believe me! She was at the field last night! She's got a picture of us in the sprinklers!"

  "All right," Walt said, releasing Trevor's arm. "Go home. I'll take care of this."

  Trevor remained on the ground, cradling his injured arm as the coach walked away. The assistant coach approached Tyson, bringing his attention back to the field when he shouted, "Tyson, still daydreaming! It's time for some eye-openers."

  "Coach, I don't even know what that is."

  Coach Teague, a college-aged handsome man with stylish short brown hair, smirked. "You're going to find out. And you won't forget it."

  Coach Teague lined up the defensive line and Whitney on one side of a row of pads spaced on the ground. "Pick a gap, and the defense knows what to do." He tossed Tyson a ball.

  Tyson shrugged and tucked the ball into his elbow. He jogged forward and turned into the third gap between pads. The defender had been shuffling, following Tyson. As he turned into the gap, the lineman wrapped him up, charging forward and forcing him backward before depositing him on the ground.

  Tyson was unhurt, but he started laughing. "Okay, I see how it is. Message received."

  Kara and Lana, sitting separately in the stands, both watched intently as Tyson lined up again and the next lineman stepped up. Tyson went through the drill again and was once more deposited on his ass. As he got up, he looked to the stands. Lana seemed slightly upset, while Kara raised an eyebrow. Tyson turned his head and winked at her, which Lana couldn't see from her angle.

  Kara raised her arms, palm up, and gave him a look that said, 'Well?'

  Coach Teague loudly said, "Apparently, you haven't learned from your mistakes. Focus on the field, not the stands. Line up again Tyson. Fordman, you're next."

  Whitney lined up. The look in his eye promised a hard hit. He'd seen Tyson looking at Lana in the stands. But Tyson was unbothered by his glare. This time, Tyson jogged out, but when he picked a gap, and Whitney charged forward, he didn't hold back. He rammed into Whitney, hitting the quarterback hard enough to reverse his momentum. Whitney flew back, landing on his ass and banging the back of his helmet on the ground.

  Tyson stepped over Whitney and looked down at him. He mockingly asked, "Is that right, coach? I think I'm starting to get how these drills are supposed to be done."

  Coach Teague blew the whistle. "That's enough. Water break." He knelt next to Whitney, who was dazed on the ground. Whitney sat up and tried to stand, but he stumbled, falling back down. Teague pointed at one of the other players and said, "Go get the trainer. Fordman, stay down until you get looked at."

  As the player ran off to fetch the trainer. Tyson jogged toward the water cooler but didn't stop.

  Whitney was his distraction.

  Sure, he was getting tired of Whitney's bullshit, but having the team fawning over their quarterback, freed him to check on Trevor, who still knelt off to the side of the stadium.

  "You okay, man?"

  Trevor looked up at Tyson, fear and pain evident in his eyes. Without a word, he scrambled to his feet and took off running, still clutching his burned arm.

  Determined to find out more, Tyson headed into the school building. Walking down the hallway, he spotted Coach Walt standing outside the Torch office with his eyes closed in concentration.

  Suddenly, a flame erupted from the newspaper office, followed by Chloe's terrified scream.

  Tyson sprinted down the corridor. The acrid smell of smoke filled his nostrils. He kicked open, the wood splintering under the force of his strength. Smoke billowed out into the hallway as he rushed inside. Inside, flames licked across the walls. Chloe was trapped inside, huddling under a desk, covering her face with her shirt.

  Tyson rushed into the burning office. "I've got you," he said as he scooped Chloe up.

  She clung to him tightly as he carried her bridal style out of the burning office and into the hallway. Her body trembled against his chest, and he could feel her rapid heartbeat. As they emerged from the smoke-filled room, Tyson glanced down the hall. Coach Walt was nowhere to be seen.

  "Are you okay?" he asked, still holding Chloe close.

  Chloe nodded, her voice shaky. "Yeah, I think so. Tyson, how did you..." but her words were cut off by violent coughing. Before she could continue asking her question, the fire alarm blared throughout the building.

  The sprinklers kicked on, raining down on them. The sound of running footsteps and shouting voices filled the air as the few remaining students and teachers participating in various clubs began to evacuate to escape the fire and the water.

  Tyson gently lowered Chloe, keeping a supportive arm around her waist. "We need to get out of here," he said, guiding her to the nearest exit.

  As they made their way through the crowded hallways, Tyson's mind raced. He knew Coach Walt was behind the fire, but how could he prove it? And more importantly, how could he stop him before someone else got hurt?

  Chloe leaned heavily against Tyson as they pushed through the doors and into the fresh air outside. "The Torch office caught fire," she explained, her voice still rough from the smoke. "If you hadn't been there..."

  Tyson scanned the crowd that evacuated the building, looking for any sign of Coach Walt.

  "How did you know I was in trouble?" Chloe asked, drawing Tyson's attention.

  He hesitated, unsure of how much to reveal. "I was in the hallway and heard you scream," he said, hoping it sounded convincing.

  "Why weren't you at practice?"

  Tyson hesitated. "I saw Coach Walt sneak away in the middle of drills. Something seemed off, so I followed him. I had a bad feeling," he said. "I trailed him, but then I heard you scream. I rushed in, and the whole place was already on fire."

  "It spread so fast," Chloe said, "Unnaturally fast. And we both saw what Coach is capable of on the field." She looked up at Tyson, her eyes wide. "Do you think he started the fire?"

  Tyson agreed, "It was him. That fire was no accident."

  Chloe looked up at Tyson, her eyes filled with fear. "What do we do?" she asked, her voice still shaky from the smoke.

  Tyson's expression hardened as he considered their options. "You stay here," he said firmly. "Get checked by the EMTs when they arrive. Let them check you and make sure you're okay after breathing in all that smoke." He glanced around, scanning the chaos unfolding around them. "I'll go tell Principal Kwan about Coach Walt."

  "Shouldn't we tell the police?"

  Tyson shook his head. "We can, but will they believe us? We're just a couple of kids, and it sounds unbelievable. But if it came from Kwan, it might carry more weight."

  "Hate to say it, but you're right," Chloe admitted reluctantly. "Okay, I'll stay and get checked out."

  He turned to head back into the building, but Chloe grabbed his arm. He looked down at her questioningly, and she urged him close as if she were going to tell him a secret. He leaned in, and she looked into his eyes. Her blonde hair clung to her face, darkened by the water from the sprinklers. Her green eyes sparkled with an intensity that caught Tyson off guard. Droplets of water traced paths down her cheeks. Her clothes were soaked through, clinging to her petite frame.

  She surged forward and kissed him, her lips soft and warm against his. Tyson was surprised, but he accepted and returned the kiss.

  When she leaned back, Tyson smirked. "What about Pete? Do you have a thing for football players now? It's the uniform, isn't it?"

  Chloe's cheeks flushed. She looked up at him, her eyes filled with gratitude and admiration.

  "You saved my life," she said, "You're my hero."

  "Don't be so dramatic, Sullivan," he said lightly.

  She mumbled, "Way to ruin the moment." Then loudly said, "Ugh. Just go. This is the last time I'll reward you for a good deed!"

  Tyson laughed and threw her a wink before jogging back into the building.

  Rounding a corner near Principal Kwan's office, Tyson skidded to a halt. Coach Walt stood in the middle of the hallway, his eyes closed and his face contorted in concentration. Tyson's gaze darted to Principal Kwan's office door just beyond the coach. With a sinking feeling, he realized Walt was going after the principal, too.

  Thinking quickly, Tyson called, "Hey, coach, I need some help with some of these plays."

  Walt's eyes snapped open, his face twisting with anger. "Tyson, get back on the field," he barked.

  But Tyson kept approaching. Walt's eyes narrowed dangerously. The coach's hand shot out, gripping Tyson's arm tightly. "I said, get back on the field," he growled, his voice low and menacing. Tyson's arm began to burn and singe where Walt held him. "Fine. The locker room, then. I'll show you your place on this team."

  Coach Walt dragged Tyson through the locker room and into his office. The smell of sweat and old equipment filled the air, mingling with the putrid scent of burned flesh from Tyson's arm. The coach slammed the door behind them, his face contorted with rage.

  "Look, I don't know what the hell your problem is, but you do not want to tick me off right now," Walt snarled.

  Tyson winced slightly at the pain of his burned arm but scoffed at the coach's words, meeting his glare defiantly. "Or what? You'll do to me what you did to Trevor?" He held up his arm, displaying the angry red burn mark. "A little late for that."

  "Trevor should have kept his mouth shut!" he spat. "And you need to keep your head down and focus on the game. It's time you learned your place on this team."

  The coach lunged forward, grabbing Tyson by his practice jersey. He felt the heat emanating from the coach's hands, singeing the material.

  Tyson briefly thought to himself that this was the exact same thing that Whitney had done. Is this something they do during practice that becomes ingrained in football player's fight repertoire? He considered kneeing Walt in the balls like he had Whitney, but he didn't need to resort to such tactics anymore.

  Shoving hard, Tyson sent Coach Walt flying backward, breaking his grip. Walt crashed through the sauna door, and the wood splintered under the impact. As he tumbled inside, he knocked over the brazier. Hot coals and meteor rock scattered across the floor, and smoke rose from where they landed.

  For a moment, everything was still. Then, Coach Walt snarled. His eyes closed in concentration, his face a mask of fury. Suddenly, the whole room burst into flames. The fire spread with unnatural speed, engulfing the sauna and spilling out into the office. Flames crawled up the walls and danced across the ceiling, turning the small space into a furnace. The inferno roared around Tyson. He felt the pain but stepped through the wall of fire, regardless. His clothes lit and smoldered.

  His skin had transformed into a grotesque landscape of weeping blisters and charred flesh, and angry crimson patches spread across his arms and face.

  An overwhelming urge to scratch consumed him, and he yielded to it.

  His fingers raked across his ruined skin, and something extraordinary happened. The burned tissue peeled away in thick strips, falling to the floor like shed snake skin. Underneath, impossibly, lay fresh pink skin without so much as a scar. Tyson stared at his renewed flesh with fascination. This must have been part of Greg's power. Bugs molt, right? He'd have to look into it later.

  Coach Walt watched in horror as Tyson continued to peel away the burned layers. "How did you do that?"

  Tyson didn't answer. He simply stared at the coach, unimpressed. Walt's shock quickly turned back to anger. With a guttural yell, he swung his fist at Tyson's face.

  But Tyson was ready. Using the superhuman speed he'd stolen from Greg Arkin, his hand shot out, catching the coach's fist mid-swing. Walt's eyes widened in disbelief as Tyson effortlessly held his punch at bay. The two stood there, locked in a standoff amidst the burning office. The flames cast flickering shadows across their faces, highlighting the growing fear in Walt's eyes.

  "You think you're special?" Coach Walt questioned. "I've seen hundreds of kids like you. You're all just a bunch of punks wasting your God-given talent. It was me that raised them up to greatness and made something out of them. Without my help, you'll end up a nobody."

  He struggled to free his hand from Tyson's grip, but it was useless. The boy's strength was far beyond anything he'd encountered before. Panic began to set in as Walt realized he was no longer in control of the situation. He shouted, "Let go of me!"

  And Tyson did.

  Coach Walt believed he regained control of the situation.

  Before the coach could smile in triumph, Tyson pushed forward, driving his legs and wrapping Walt in his arms. He tackled the man into the smoldering ruins of the sauna. Walt crashed hard against charred wooden beams, grunting in pain.

  Spotting a glowing green meteor rock amidst the debris, Tyson snatched it up. Energy crackled around his clenched fist as he summoned Jeremy's electrical powers. Walt raised his hands in a feeble attempt to shield himself, but it was too late. Tyson grabbed Walt's wrist with one hand and held the meteor rock in the other.

  The coach's eyes widened in shock. His body convulsed violently as electricity coursed through him, and Walt jerked uncontrollably. The smell of ozone filled the air, and sparks danced between them. As the electricity flowed from Tyson, Walt felt a connection forming, as if the current was opening a channel between them. Through this electric link, he sensed something more.

  He felt heat, a raging inferno.

  Instinctively, Tyson knew what he was feeling. It was Coach Walt's power over fire, the ability he'd used to set the Torch and this office ablaze.

  Focusing his mind on that fiery energy, Tyson visualized it as a tangible force, an inferno contained within Coach Walt's body. Then, using his electrical powers as a conduit, he began to pull.

  The effect was immediate and intense. Coach Walt's eyes widened in shock and fear. He struggled, trying to break free from Tyson's grip, but the electrical current locked them together. His mouth opened in a silent scream as the fire within him slowly drew out. Tyson felt the heat rushing into him. It was overwhelming, like trying to contain a wildfire within his veins. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he struggled to control the influx of power.

  Coach Walt's body began to sag, and his strength faded as his power was stripped away. The man's eyes, once filled with rage, now showed only confusion and terror. As the last vestiges of fire were pulled from Coach Walt, Tyson felt a surge of energy.

  Finally, the connection broke. Coach Walt collapsed to the floor, unconscious and drained. Tyson stumbled backward, his body crackling with excess energy. He looked down at his hands, watching as small arcs of electricity, tinged with flickering flames, jumped between his fingers.

  He knelt next to Coach Walt's form, making sure the man was still breathing and checking his pulse. It was steady, if a bit weak. As the adrenaline began to fade, Tyson became aware of the damage around them. It extended past the sauna and office. The entire locker room was scorched.

  If the fire department and police weren't already here, they would arrive soon. Tyson picked the big man up in a bridal carry and began walking outside, where emergency personnel would be.

  Principal Kwan rounded the corner and took in Tyson with wide eyes. His clothes were scorched and melted, but the young man appeared uninjured."What in the world happened here?" he asked, looking from Tyson to Coach Walt's unconscious form.

  Tyson tried to create a plausible explanation that didn't involve superpowers or meteor rocks. "Coach Walt... he started the fire in the Torch office. And another in the locker room. I think he passed out from smoke inhalation."

  "Are you sure he started the fire?"

  "He was the only person in the area, besides Chloe Sullivan, who was in the Torch, working on an article at the time," Tyson said, hoping the principal wouldn't press for details.

  Principal Kwan looked skeptical but seemed more concerned with the immediate situation. He stepped beside Coach Walt, checking his breathing. "We need to get medical attention for him," Kwan said, pulling out his cell phone. "And the police will want to hear about this."

  — Meteor Freak —

  Clark Kent stood in the middle of one of the Kent farm's fields with his eyes fixed on a scarecrow mounted on a wooden post. Jonathan Kent clapped his son on the shoulder. "Alright. Rule number one. Always practice away from the barn. Come on," Jonathan said, guiding Clark several paces away from the scarecrow.

  "Dad, I don't get it. I thought the whole point was to stop this from happening."

  "Well, in order to find the off switch, first we need to find the on switch, right?" Jonathan explained patiently. "Now, I want you to remember exactly what you were thinking about the first time it happened."

  Clark stared at the scarecrow, uncomfortable. After a few seconds of silence, Jonathan clapped him on the shoulder and encouraged him, "Come on."

  The young man shifted his weight, clearly ill at ease. "Dad... this might be easier if I was..."

  "Alone," Jonathan finished. "Yeah. Sorry." He gave Clark another supportive pat on the back and started to walk away.

  "Thanks," Clark mumbled.

  As Jonathan headed back toward the barn, Clark returned his attention to the scarecrow. His face scrunched up in concentration, but nothing happened. He stared at it for another long moment, then suddenly whispered, "Lana."

  In an instant, Clark's eyes began to glow, and heat waves shot from them. The scarecrow exploded into a ball of flames, the fire crackling and consuming the straw figure. Clark's face lit up with a proud smile, and he looked over his shoulder at his dad.

  Jonathan, witnessing the display from a distance, chuckled and shook his head in amusement.

  Later, in the Kent kitchen, Clark stood before a container of popcorn. Martha and Jonathan watched as their son aimed his heat vision at the foil-covered pan. The foil slowly rose as the corn inside began to pop.

  Jonathan leaned against the kitchen counter, a hint of pride in his voice. "Five scarecrows, two water barrels, and our mailbox later..."

  "Dad, you were right. Once I understood what triggered the heat, I was able to control it without thinking about..." He hesitated for a moment before finishing, "sex."

  As the word left his mouth, the Jiffy Pop container exploded, sending popcorn flying in all directions. Martha and Jonathan exchanged amused glances.

  "You sure about that, son?" Jonathan asked, unable to hide his smirk.

  Clark, seemingly oblivious to the irony, walked over to pick up his backpack. "Trust me. Next time I have a date, I'll be able to take her out without setting her on fire."

  Jonathan's amusement grew. "Well, that's a relief."

  Martha and Jonathan hugged and shared a quick kiss, though their faces betrayed a hint of lingering concern at the unique challenges they faced in raising a son with extraordinary abilities.

  The scent of slightly burned popcorn lingered in the air as Clark said, "So now that I've got everything under control… I was wondering if I could join the football team."

  — Meteor Freak —

  Tyson walked away from the school building. He had just finished giving his statement to the authorities, carefully omitting anything incriminating from his confrontation with Coach Walt. As he stepped into the late afternoon sunlight, he spotted a familiar figure leaning against a tree.

  Kara was standing in the shade. When she saw Tyson approaching, she pushed off the tree and fell into step beside him. He couldn't resist the urge to quip, "Changed your mind? Are you interested in seeing my hotel room?"

  Kara rolled her eyes, but to Tyson's surprise, she replied, "Actually, yes."

  Tyson raised an eyebrow, caught off guard by her response. "Oh?"

  "Not about the hotel room," Kara said, rolling her eyes. "I assume you've heard about this fiasco with Lex getting married?"

  He recalled overhearing Lex and Clark's conversation earlier. "You don't seem enthusiastic," he observed.

  "There's something wrong with him. This is all so uncharacteristic. But he won't listen to me." She paused, then added, "Lionel's going to throw a fit when he realizes that Lex didn't make her sign the prenup."

  "Oof," Tyson winced. "But that does seem suspicious."

  Kara nodded in agreement, her concern was written all over her face. Tyson couldn't help but joke to lighten the mood, "So because Lex is getting married, you've realized how short life is, and you need to live it to the fullest, so you're coming back to my hotel room?"

  Kara snorted, shaking her head at his antics.

  "Yeah, I didn't think so," Tyson chuckled. "So what's up? You want me to throw the bachelor party?"

  This time, Kara laughed outright. "No," she said, "I want you to be my date for the wedding."

  Tyson stopped walking abruptly. "Wait. You're actually asking me on a date? Didn't you shoot me down yesterday?"

  "Don't make a big deal out of it."

  "The prettiest girl in school asks me out, and I need to keep it cool," he mused, then a grin spread across his face. "I can do that."

  Kara rolled her eyes again, but Tyson caught the hint of her smile. He turned and changed directions, and she moved to keep pace with him. "Where are you going?" she asked.

  "We need to get you a dress and find me a suit."

  On one hand, he was thrilled at the prospect of being Kara's date. On the other, he couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to this situation than met the eye. Kara's concern about Lex's behavior nagged at him. He had only been in Smallville for a short time, but from his meta-knowledge, he knew that Lex Luthor was not one to make rash decisions, especially regarding money and family matters. His falling in love quickly wasn't nearly as strange as his not insisting on a prenuptial agreement. He wondered if it had anything to do with Miss Atkins having an aura.

  Scratch that. It definitely had to do with her power. She was using her 'sexy' superpower on Lex.

  As they made their way down the street, Tyson glanced at Kara. Her face was thoughtful, and he could almost see the gears turning in her mind. He wondered what she hoped to accomplish by bringing him to the wedding. Was she simply looking for moral support, or did she have something else in mind?

  As they walked, Tyson noticed the occasional brush of Kara's arm against his. "So," he began, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen between them, "any particular color you had in mind for your dress?"

  Kara seemed to snap out of her thoughts. "I hadn't thought about it," she admitted. "I've been more focused on figuring out what's going on with Lex."

  Tyson nodded understandingly. "Well, maybe we can kill two birds with one stone. We'll find you a knockout dress that'll turn heads and allow us to observe Lex up close."

  "You catch on quick," she said approvingly. "There's a boutique a few blocks from here. It's not exactly high fashion, but it's the best we've got in Smallville. As for your suit..." She trailed off, giving Tyson an appraising look.

  Tyson raised an eyebrow. "What? Don't think I can clean up nice?"

  "No, I'm sure you can. I was just thinking we might need to make a trip to the private tailor Lex uses. He's in town but exclusive. Otherwise, the selection here is... limited."

  Tyson pulled out his black card from his wallet. "That's fine. We can use this."

  Kara shook her head. "You won't need that. I asked you to be my date, and it's a Luthor wedding. We'll cover it."

  Tyson scoffed. "Yeah, right. I'm not letting you pay for your dress, or my suit, or the corsage, or anything else." She raised an eyebrow, surprised. "I haven't forgotten our conversation on the bus," he explained. "I don't care that you're a Luthor. I'm going to treat you like any other pretty girl deserves to be treated. Plus, I can't have you actually thinking I'm homeless."

  Kara looked at him skeptically, searching his face for any sign of insincerity. Tyson continued, undeterred by her scrutiny. "I was thinking maybe blue to match your eyes or a yellow-gold to match your hair and aura."

  Kara studied him for a minute before saying, "Blue."

  "Blue it is. Unless they've got something that looks killer on you in gold. Actually, now that I'm thinking about it, something white would look awesome, but alas, since it's a wedding, that's not allowed. White would be good though; we should get one anyway. You can wear it on our second date."

  Kara's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Oh god, are you just doing this so you can see me modeling dresses for you?"

  "Of course not. We'll just be in and out. Do you think I have nothing better to do all afternoon than to watch the best-looking girl in school change outfits repeatedly?"

  Kara rolled her eyes once more, but yet again, she failed to hide the ghost of a smile. The boutique came into view, a quaint storefront with mannequins displaying various dresses in the window. Tyson held the door open for Kara. The bell above the door chimed as they entered, and a saleswoman greeted them with a warm smile.

  "Ready to make me look presentable?" Kara asked.

  "You could wear a potato sack and still be the most beautiful girl at that wedding. But let's see if we can find something to make even Lex Luthor's bride jealous."

  Kara chuckled, shaking her head. "Ugh, you're just buttering me up, so I model for you more."

  Tyson grinned, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "If it makes you feel any better, I already solved your Lex problem."

  "Oh really?" Kara said skeptically.

  "The reason he's falling for her is because she has a power granted by the meteor rocks," Tyson said matter-of-factly.

  Kara froze, her hand hovering over a rack of dresses. "What did you say?"

  Tyson leaned in closer, lowering his voice. "Remember what I said about your aura? I can see the aura around people with powers. Miss Atkins has one." Kara's eyes widened, and her full attention shifted from the dresses to Tyson. He continued, "My running theory is that she has a sexy superpower that she's using to seduce and control Lex."

  Kara just blinked twice, staring at him. After a moment, she said, "I can never tell if you're serious or not."

  Tyson's face remained earnest. "I'm serious, Kara. Think about it. Lex Luthor, I don't know him well, but he seems like a smart and reasonable guy, until he suddenly falls head over heels for a woman he barely knows? And not only that, but he's willing to marry her without a prenup after a few days? Come on."

  Kara's brow furrowed as she considered his words. "But... meteor powers? That's..." Her face cycled through a range of emotions: disbelief, confusion, and finally, a grudging acceptance. "Let's say I believe you. What do we do about it?"

  "Well, that's where you come in," Tyson said, picking up a sleek blue dress from a nearby rack. "We attend the wedding, keep a close eye on Miss Atkins, and look for any evidence of her using her powers on Lex."

  Kara nodded slowly. "And if we find proof?"

  "Then we figure out a way to break her hold on him," Tyson replied. "But first things first, we need to make sure you look absolutely stunning. It'll give us an excuse to be near Lex and his bride-to-be."

  "Alright, let's do this. But Tyson?"

  "Yeah?"

  "If this turns out to be some elaborate joke, I swear I'll make you regret it."

  Tyson's grin widened. "Noted. Now, are you going to try on that dress, or do I need to keep buttering you up?"

  Kara rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress a smile. "Fine."

  As Kara disappeared into the changing room, Tyson leaned against a nearby wall to wait.

  She walked out of the dressing room and did a little twirl. The blue dress hugged her curves perfectly, accentuating her slender figure. The fabric perfectly matched the hue of her eyes. The dress featured a low-sweeping neckline that highlighted her collarbones and showed off some of her cleavage, while the skirt flowed gracefully to mid-thigh. A back swept low enough to be scandalous, stopping just above her pelvis and revealing all her toned muscles.

  Tyson's eyes widened, and he let out a low whistle. "Christ, it's like it was made just for you. If you're not buying that one for the wedding, it's an acceptable trade for the white one for our second date."

  Kara blushed before firing back. "You seem awfully convinced you're getting a second date." She paused, her expression turning thoughtful. "I was just thinking, why wait until after the wedding? Then they'll be married, and there will be more issues with no prenup."

  Tyson seemed to think on it for a second. He nodded sagely, and his face grew mock-serious. "Because if we do things before the wedding, I won't get that date with you."

  Kara stared at him deadpan. "You're willing to risk Lex losing tens of billions of dollars from his inheritance to go on a date with me?"

  "You're priceless, Kara," Tyson replied without hesitation.

  She shook her head, a mix of amusement and disbelief in her eyes. "I don't know if that's sweet or stupid."

  Tyson had a lopsided grin as he responded, "Like I said, I don't care that you're a Luthor."

  Kara studied him for a moment, her expression unreadable. She seemed to be weighing his words, trying to determine if he was being sincere or if this was all part of some elaborate game. Finally, she let out a small chuckle and turned back towards the dressing room.

  Tyson called after her, "So, what'll you try on next?"

  Behind The Scenes

  - For this story, I'm trying to condense the first four seasons of Smallville into a singular year. So, in this episode, the primary story is from Season 1 Episode 3: Hothead and parts of Season 2 Episode 2: Heat.

  - I forgot that Lex was a meteor freak. Tyson should have seen his aura in the last chapter, so I snuck it in here. My bad.

  - Tyson trying to push white on Kara despite the dress being for a wedding was a subtle (or not) Power Girl reference.

  Support Plug

  CoreQuest.