Superman: Dawnbreaker (DC Icons #4)(9)
“Clark!” his mother called from downstairs, breaking the spell of his daydream. “Dinner’s ready!”
Clark cranked off the water and toweled dry and went to his room to get dressed. On his way downstairs, he imagined what it would be like to play football now. He pictured himself taking a handoff from the quarterback, juking left, then soaring into the air to avoid a wall of converging defenders. Not coming down until he’d crossed the goal line some forty yards later. Spiking the ball from up near the goalpost as the opposing defense stared in awe.
He pictured Lana cheering wildly from behind the bench.
Pictured Gloria cheering.
Tommy, Paul, and Kyle hoisting him up onto their shoulders and carrying him into the locker room to celebrate.
When Clark sat down at the table with his parents, his dad passed him the bowl of green beans, saying, “I was just telling your mother what happened.” He shook his head. “I’ve never seen anything like it, son. You saved three lives out there today.”
Clark beamed, thinking of that word again: hero.
Martha Kent eyed him as she buttered a roll. “As long as you’re being careful.”
“I just reacted.” Clark scooped himself a healthy serving of beans to go along with his chicken and mashed potatoes. His mom had always longed for a simpler, more peaceful life for him. A happy life. And she worried that the burden of his gifts would one day become more than he could bear.
“Your mother’s right, Clark.” Jonathan set down his fork. “What you did today…,” he began. “It really was a wonderful thing. I’m sure Montgomery Mankins would see to it that you’re set for life if he knew you saved his sons.”
Clark took a big bite of potatoes, mumbling, “But…”
“But we don’t want you taking any unnecessary risks. Like I was telling you earlier, some people in this world…they don’t appreciate anyone who’s different.”
“It could make things really difficult on you,” his mom added.
Clark glanced out the window. He knew his parents were only trying to protect him, but was it really fair to ask him to change who he was in order to appease closed-minded people? He turned back to them. “I understand what you guys are saying, but if I have an opportunity to help someone…I mean, shouldn’t I help them?”
“Of course,” his dad said. “We’re not asking you to turn your back on someone in danger.”
“But our main concern is you,” his mom said.
Jonathan nodded. “There’s a quote that comes to mind, son. From the Bible. ‘To whom much is given, of him will much be required.’ It’s a good thing for you to remember.”
They ate in silence for several minutes, Clark thinking about what his parents were trying to tell him. It was obvious his powers were intensifying. And he had a feeling that, as his dad’s quote said, more power would somehow lead to more responsibility. Would there ever come a time when he’d have to go against his parents’ wishes? When he’d have to step out of the shadows and reveal to the world who he really was?
He snuck a glance at his mom and dad, then closed his eyes briefly and listened to the muted sounds of his home. Forks clinking against plates. Rain pelting the thin roof above their small kitchen. Mice scurrying inside the walls of the attic and bugs burrowing holes into the wet soil outside.
This house.
The farm.
His parents.
If anything ever happened to any of them…
Clark opened his eyes, recalling Dr. Wesley’s cold stare. And the pictures he’d been taking with his phone. What had he been looking for? And why had he been looking for it on the Kents’ farm?
Deep down, Clark knew his parents were right. Being called a hero was nice, but he could never let anyone find out the truth about his powers. Not if it meant putting his family, and the farm, in jeopardy.
The following afternoon, as Clark was walking to the public library to meet Lana—their long-standing, post-chore ritual on Saturday afternoons—a bright red sports car came speeding down the highway toward him. When it got close, the driver swerved directly at Clark, as if trying to run him off the road.
Clark didn’t budge.
He stood his ground, staring right at the tinted windshield as the car whizzed past, missing him by a fraction of an inch.
“I’m right here!” he shouted after the car as it continued down the road.
Clark had never seen anyone drive so recklessly on Highway 22, the narrow two-lane road that connected many rural farms to downtown Smallville. The driver had to have been going a hundred at least. Nearly double the speed limit. And who was it, anyway? Clark had lived in Smallville his entire life and knew pretty much every car in town, which family owned it, and who might be driving. There were a ton of pickups, of course. And old sedans. And minivans. But nobody in Smallville owned a bright red sports car with tinted windows.
Had to be an outsider.
He readjusted the straps of his backpack and continued until he reached Alvarez Fruits and Vegetables, the covered produce stand run by Carlos Alvarez and his son, Cruz. It had been a staple of Highway 22 for as long as Clark could remember, and the Kents stopped by every weekend. He’d seen Cruz go from a shy elementary school kid handing out plastic bags, to a confident middle schooler who managed the cash box and translated whenever his dad needed help communicating with customers. Cruz was tall for his age. Almost as tall as Clark. So most people assumed he was in high school—until he opened his mouth, that is.