Superman: Dawnbreaker (DC Icons #4)(15)

“Someone from the debate team?” Kyle quipped humorlessly.

“Careful,” Paul said, glancing down at his shoulder sling, “or he’ll blindside your ass, too.”

The football players all nodded in agreement, and a right tackle named Bobby Hanson said, “It’s all good if you don’t wanna play, Clark. But did you really have to take Paulie out like that? All we got is a damn freshman in the backfield right now.”

“I’ll be back soon,” Paul said. “Trust me.”

“Guys, can we give Clark a break?” Tommy said. “He’s only apologized, like, a hundred times for what happened to Paul.”

As the guys grumbled a little, Clark looked at his former friend. He and Tommy used to be close in freshman year. Back when Tommy was opening up holes in the opposing defense for Clark to pummel through. Back when they used to sit around after practice talking about how hard it was to balance football and farmwork. Tommy wanted to be a vet; Clark, a farmer, like his dad. They used to have so much in common. It amazed Clark how quickly things could change.

He glanced around the diner, looking for his escape. It wasn’t that he didn’t like these guys. He liked them a lot, actually. And deep down he knew they liked him, too. But this was the way it worked with a team. When you were in the trenches together, fighting for a common goal, you were brothers. But as soon as you left the team, they dropped you. It was even worse in Clark’s case, because he’d been their best player. And it’s not like he’d gotten hurt or been ruled academically ineligible. The way they saw it, he’d simply walked out on them.

Clark spotted Bryan at a table at the other end of the diner. Just as he was about to head there, quarterback Curtis Baker spoke up for the first time. “Clark, you’re gonna swing by Tommy’s on Friday night, right? His family sold their farm, so we’re throwing one last rager for old times’ sake. Giving the place a proper funeral.”

Clark knew all about the party. Everyone did. But he’d never expected any kind of special invitation. And because it was the starting quarterback who had offered it, everyone else was now nodding in agreement. “Yeah,” he said. “I’ll probably stop by.”

“Just let us know what you need,” Paul added. “Whole milk. Two percent. Skim. We got you covered, Clark.”

Everyone cracked up.

The “milk drinker” dig didn’t bother Clark. If anything, it made him feel nostalgic. He missed the team parties Tommy’s parents threw at their farm after every home game. All the pizza they could eat. And all the pop they wanted. But because Clark had never really liked pop, he always asked for milk instead. It quickly became a running joke with the team.

Clark slapped hands with Tommy and a few of the other guys and moved on.

He was happy to see he’d have to pass Gloria on the way to Bryan’s table. She looked up as he approached, their eyes locking for two or three butterfly-inducing seconds before she turned back to a table of old-timers. He watched her interaction with the Kellers and the Smiths, two couples who met at the diner nearly every night to eat pie and drink coffee and play cards. Most restaurant owners wouldn’t let a table sit occupied for hours like that, but David Baez loved these guests. He’d sometimes even join them for a hand or two and would occasionally pick up their check.

Clark swallowed hard as he passed Gloria, close enough to catch the faint scent of her flowery shampoo. She pulled a pencil from behind her ear, which was lined with piercings. She wrote down the old folks’ orders—as if she didn’t already know—and placed the pencil back behind her ear as she moved toward the kitchen. The whole thing made Clark’s stomach tighten. Was he really getting flustered by the way someone took an order? And stuck a pencil behind her ear?

“Clark,” Bryan called out as he stood up. “Glad you could make it.”

Clark slapped hands with him and sat down on the opposite side of the table. “Where’s Lex?”

“Canceled on me last minute. He tends to do that.” Bryan pointed to the menu sitting in front of Clark. “Guess he doesn’t appreciate the utter genius of the rubbery diner steak.”

“You ever had one here?” Clark asked. “They’re really good.”

“I’ve only had the burger. And the fries. You’re right, though—food’s not bad.” Bryan’s face grew serious as he set down his menu. “Hey, I wanted to say…I appreciate you helping me out after we crashed onto your farm. Not everyone would have reacted so quickly. So thank you.”

Clark smiled as he nodded. “You’re welcome,” he said, feeling a warmth rise up to his scalp. He picked up his own menu.

As Bryan went back to quietly studying the food options, Clark glanced across the diner at Gloria. She was picking up an order at the food pass. He watched her spin gracefully and somehow carry four heaping plates to a family, then set them down without dropping so much as a leaf of lettuce. She gave the family a genuine smile before heading over to another table.

When Clark turned back to his menu, he found Bryan staring at him. “What?”

Bryan motioned toward the front of the restaurant, near the table where Gloria was now refilling someone’s coffee mug. “Don’t tell me you have a crush on that hostess, too.”

Clark shifted his eyes slightly toward the hostess stand, where Moira DeMeyer, a tall, blond junior, was wiping down menus. She and Lana used to be close friends back in middle school, but they didn’t hang out anymore. Clark knew Moira was one of the most popular girls at school, and a few years back she’d abruptly dropped Lana as a friend in favor of a group of “mean girls.” And that didn’t sit well with Clark.