The Supergirl of Smallville

by Team Acenaut

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Written for the SGI Collaborative Story Workshop 3.1

Downloaded from the SuperWomenMania.com StoryBank

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CHAPTER 1

Ma Kent frowned at her son.

"Clark!  Slow down!  Just because you have super-speed, that doesn't mean you have to gobble your breakfast."

Clark looked up sheepishly.

"Sorry, Ma.  It's just that your pancakes are especially good this morning."  He held out his empty plate.  "Could I have another stack, please?"

Ma Kent began pouring batter onto the skillet.  "Are you sure you have time?" she asked.  "You don't want to be late for school."

"Don't worry, Ma.  Today's the day our class is going rock-hunting at Gopher Gulch.  Mr. Frick told us to meet in the school parking lot at 9:00."

"Well, it's nearly 8:30 now," said Pa Kent, setting down his empty coffee cup.  "And unless I'm mistaken, you haven't done your chores yet."

"Be right back."  Clark rose from the table and disappeared in a burst of super-speed.  The screen door had barely swung shut before he was back in the kitchen.

"All done, Pa," he said, sitting down to a stack of pancakes hot off the skillet.

"You got those bales of hay down from the loft?"

"Yup."

"And unloaded those bags of chicken feed from the pick-up?"

"Yup."

"And mended that section of the north fence?"

"Good as new."

Ma Kent sat down and poured herself a glass of orange juice.  "Goodness!" she said.  "I'm surprised your clothes didn't catch fire -- again."

"Gee, Ma," said Clark.  "That hasn't happened for months.  See, Pa?  I know how to control my super-powers.  How much longer do I have to keep them a secret?"

"Now, son, we've been over that.  You're a mature and level-headed young man, and you use your powers with good judgment, and your ma and me, we couldn't be prouder.  But you're not even fifteen yet, and -- well, folks might be leery of the notion of someone that young having that much power."

"Besides," said Ma.  "Once people know that you have all those amazing powers, we'd never have a moment's peace.  You'd never have a moment's peace.  Folks would be wanting you do things for them morning, noon, and night -- not to mention scientists wanting to poke at you and reporters asking you all kinds of questions -- "

Clark's face fell.  "So what you're saying is, I've got to keep my powers a secret forever?"

"We didn't say that," said Pa.  "Your mother and I have been giving it a whole lot of thought, and we've had a few ideas.  But the time's not right yet."

"So how much longer am I going to have to wait?"

"Be patient, son.  Another year or two ... "

"Two years?"  Clark was dismayed.

Pa Kent grinned.  "You sound like me, when your grandpa told me I'd have to wait till I was fifteen to drive the tractor."

"Don't fret, Clark," said Ma.  "You're going to do great things with those powers of yours, and it wouldn't be right for us to stand in your way."

There was a knock at the screen door. 

"Hello, Mr. Kent ... Mrs. Kent.  Hi, Clark!"

Lana Lang was standing on the doorstep.  She was wearing blue jeans and a red cotton shirt, and a wide-brimmed straw hat shaded her face from the sun.  Clark rolled his eyes.

"Hello, Lana," said Ma.  "Come in!"

"Thanks."  She stepped into the kitchen.  "My dad's driving me to school this morning, and I wondered if we could give Clark a lift."

"Well, that's very thoughtful of you, Lana -- isn't it, Clark?"

"Yeah.  Thanks," Clark muttered.

"Great!" she beamed.  "I'll go tell Daddy you're coming."  She turned and ran out the door.

"Aw, Ma, do I have to?" wailed Clark as soon as Lana was out of earshot. 

"Now, Clark, mind your manners," said Ma.  "Lana and her father were nice enough to offer you a ride, so wipe that pout off your face and get in that car."

Clark sighed.  "Yes, Ma."

Pa Kent grinned.  "Cheer up, Clark.  That Lana's a mighty pretty girl.  I'm guessing that a year or two down the road. you'd be singing a different tune if she was to offer you a ride."

"Huh!  Not me!  She's nothing but a pest!"  Clark slung his knapsack over his shoulder and stalked out of the kitchen.

Ma Kent started to clear away the breakfast dishes.  "Lana is a pretty girl, isn't she?  It's a shame her hair got darker as she grew older.  She had such beautiful red hair when she was little."

"And a temperament to go with it," Pa chuckled.  "Remember the day I took Clark and Lana to the playground when they were about four years old?  There was an older boy picking on little Suzy Prentiss.  Lana just tore into him -- butted her head into his stomach and knocked him over.  By the time he got his wind back, Lana and Suzy were long gone." 

"Well, she's had a crush on Clark for years.  I just hope he wakes up and realizes what a prize she is before someone else walks off with her.�

Sighing, she carried a stack of dishes to the sink. �But then, most people never realize what they've got until it's gone."

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A faded sign by the side of the road proclaimed "GOPHER GULCH."

The school bus turned off the road and rattled across an unpaved parking area, coming to a stop beside a row of weather-beaten picnic tables about twenty feet from the edge of a low bluff.  Mr. Frick had driven ahead ; he climbed out of his station wagon and waited as the eighth graders filed out of the school bus.

"All right, students, gather round," he called out.  He waited for the youngsters to quiet down and form a semicircle around him.

"A lot of people think that Kansas is a flat, boring place where nothing ever happened," he began.

"They got that right," muttered Doug Wilson.  A few of the other students snickered.

Mr. Frick ignored the remark.  "But that isn't true," he continued.  "Millions of years ago, the spot where we're standing right now lay at the bottom of a vast inland sea.  Then, millions of years later, the sea dried up, leaving behind a wide savannah where dinosaurs roamed.  And then, long after the dinosaurs had all died off, glaciers a mile thick covered this spot, carrying rocks from thousands of miles away -- rocks that stayed behind when the glaciers melted.  And we can read about these things -- not in the pages of a book, but in the rocks and landforms around us."

He swept his arm toward the bluff behind him.  "Gopher Gulch isn't a gulch, strictly speaking," he said.  "It's the bed of an ancient lake that dried up thousands of years ago.  And the walls of this lakebed tell the geological history of this area.  See the different layers of rock?  Who remembers what scientists call those layers?  Gretchen?"

"Strata," said Gretchen Becker.

"That's right, Gretchen.  Those strata were laid down at different times in this region's past -- older strata at the bottom, younger strata on top.  Now ... you all have a sheet of paper that tells you what kinds of rocks you can find here and how to identify them.  I want you to buddy up and find as many of those rocks as you can.  You also have a sheet of adhesive labels.  Remember to label each rock with your name and the kind of rock it is.  Think of it as a scavenger hunt."

"How much time do we have?" asked Jeff Cassidy.

Mr. Frick glanced at his watch.  "It's 9:40 now.  Let's say two hours.  Bring your rocks back here and set them on the picnic tables.  Then we'll have lunch, and after lunch we'll take a look at what you've found.  Okay?"  The students nodded.

"One last thing," said Mr. Frick.  "It's a hot day -- so wear your hats, stay in the shade as much as possible, and don't over-exert yourselves.  Do you all have canteens?  Good.  Use them.  I don't want anyone getting dehydrated.  I'll be right here if anybody needs me.  Any questions?  Okay, then -- buddy up and happy hunting!"

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TWO HOURS LATER ...

Mr. Frick was handing out bag lunches from a cooler on the back seat of his station wagon.  "Hello, girls," he said, handing a bag to Lana and another to her buddy Suzy Prentiss.  "How did your rock-hunting go?"

"Pretty well," said Lana.  "I think we found everything on the list.  And I found a funny rock I can't identify.  Maybe you can tell me what it is."

"Well, I'll take a look at it right after lunch," said Mr. Frick.  He took a bag out of the cooler and handed it to Doug Wilson.  "Hello, Doug ... "

Lana looked around.  Clark Kent, Pete Ross, and a couple of other boys were sitting at one of the picnic tables.  They probably wouldn't want a couple of girls joining them.  Suzy had taken a seat at another table with Lizzy Snyder and Gretchen Becker.  Lana was just about to join them when she noticed a boy sitting by himself in the shade of a tree, holding an open book in one hand and a ham sandwich in the other.

He was a slender young man with wavy brown hair, a long thin nose, and a serious expression in his blue eyes.  Lana recalled that his name was Lex.  He was new to the school ;  despite the lateness of the year, he had enrolled just a couple of weeks ago.  I guess he hasn't made any friends yet, Lana thought sympathetically.  She watched as he turned a page in his book, absent-mindedly chewing his sandwich.

"Coming, Lana?" Suzy called.

Lana turned and waved at her friend.  "You go ahead.  I'll catch up with you later."

She walked over to where Lex was sitting, still absorbed in his book.  "Hi," she said, smiling.  "Can I join you?"

Lex looked up, blinking in surprise.  He smiled shyly.  "Uh -- sure!" he said, putting down his book and gesturing to a spot beside him.

Lana sat down and reached inside her lunch bag.  "I'm Lana Lang," she said, taking out her sandwich and a carton of milk. 

"Hi, Lana.  It's nice to meet you.  I'm Lex Luthor."

Lana grinned.  "That's funny -- we have the same initials."

"Yeah -- we do."  Lex seemed happy to have someone to talk to.  I guess he's just shy, thought Lana.  She nodded at the book Lex had set down.  "What are you reading?"

"Microbe Hunters, by Paul de Kruif.  It's all about people like Louis Pasteur and Walter Reed.  I want to be a medical researcher some day, and find cures for diseases -- like Dr. Salk."

"Sounds good," said Lana.  "I love to read.  So does my dad.  He still reads to me every night before I go to bed.  Right now he's reading The Hound of the Baskervilles."

Lex's eyes lit up.  "I love Sherlock Holmes!"

"Me too.  And before that, he read me The Scarlet Pimpernel."

"I've never read that."

"Oh, it's great!  It's about a man who risks his life to save people from the guillotine during the French Revolution.  He's an English nobleman named Sir Percy Blakeney, and he pretends to be stupid and lazy so that nobody will suspect that he's actually the Scarlet Pimpernel."

"Huh.  I'll have to read it sometime."

"You should.  It's so exciting and romantic.  And the author wrote a lot of other books about the Scarlet Pimpernel.  I want to read them this summer."  Lana suddenly realized that in her enthusiasm, she hadn't even unwrapped her sandwich.  "So how come you're interested in medicine?" she asked, removing the wax paper.  "Is your dad a doctor or something?"

Lex's face clouded over.  "No.  He was a chemist at the DuPont laboratory in Crawfordsville.  He died in an automobile accident last year."

Lana winced.  She placed her hand on Lex's arm.  "I'm sorry ... "

"It's all right.  You didn't know.  My mom's a nurse at Crawfordsville Hospital.  We moved to Smallville to be close to my Uncle Max.  He owns the John Deere dealership out on Steuben Road.  And he does crop-dusting with his airplane.  He says he'll give me flying lessons when I'm a little older."

"Neat!"

"Yeah.  So what does your dad do?"

"He's a professor of archaeology at the state university.  He's an expert on the Osage and the other Indian tribes that lived around here.  He spends his summers digging up the fields around Smallville.  Sometimes I help."

"That sounds interesting."

"Well, field work can be pretty monotonous.  Even my dad admits that.  But it is kind of neat to find pottery and arrowheads and things and try to imagine how people lived back then."

Lana swallowed the last bite of her sandwich and took an apple out of her bag.  "So did you find all the rocks on the list?"

Lex nodded.  "Yeah.  And I even -- here, let me show you."  He dug into his knapsack and pulled out a whitish rock.  He handed it to Lana.  "This looks like an ordinary piece of limestone," he said.  "But if you look closely, you can see the outlines of fossil shellfish."

Lana squinted at the rock.  "I don't see anything."

"Hold it sideways.  The shadows will make them stand out."

"Oh, yeah!  Wow!  That's really interesting."  Lana handed the rock back to Lex and reached into her own knapsack.  "I found something unusual myself," she said.  "What do you suppose this is?"

Lex leaned forward and peered closely at the rock cupped in Lana's hands.  It was about the size of an egg and appeared to be a cluster of translucent crystals, purple in color.

"That is unusual," he said.  "It looks like amethyst, but the crystals have an unusual shape.  May I?"  Lana placed the rock in Lex's hands.  "Hmm ... it's heavier than I would have guessed."

He handed the rock back to Lana just as Mr. Frick called out, "All right, students, gather round!  Let's see what you've found!"

Lex stood up and slung his backpack over his shoulder ; then he held out his hand to help Lana up.  Lana shoved the rock into her pocket and took Lex's hand.

"Well," she said, brushing some dirt from the seat of her blue jeans, "maybe Mr. Frick can tell us what it is."

Lana and Lex strolled over to the picnic tables.  Students had already begun laying out the rocks they'd found.  Lana took the purple rock out of her pocket and gazed at it curiously.  I wonder if it's valuable, she thought.

She heard Clark's voice behind her.  He and Pete Ross were engaged in an animated conversation about baseball.  Lana turned around, smiling brightly.  "Hi, Clark!" she chirped, holding out the purple rock.  "Look what I found."

Clark glanced down at the rock in Lana's hands.  "That's swell, Lana," he said, politely but without much interest ; then he turned back to Pete.

Somewhat crestfallen, Lana put the rock into her knapsack and smiled apologetically at Lex.

"That's Clark Kent," she said.  "His dad owns a farm next to our property.  He and I grew up together.  We've known each other practically our whole lives."

Lex nodded vaguely.  "Is he your boy-friend?" he asked, glancing down.

Lana could feel her face reddening.  She was glad Lex wasn't looking at her.  "Oh, no," she said.  She tried to sound nonchalant.  "He's just -- you know ... a really old friend."

"Clark!"  It was Pete's voice, sharp with alarm.  "Clark, are you okay?"

Lana spun round.  Clark was swaying unsteadily as Pete tried to hold him upright with a hand on each shoulder.  His face was pale, his eyes were glassy, and his head hung limply to one side.  A murmur of curiosity and alarm spread through the crowd of students.

"What happened?" Lana asked, her heart pounding.

"I don't know," said Pete.  "We were just standing here talking, and all of a sudden he -- he turned white and started to pass out."

Lex had stepped forward to support Clark from behind.  Together, Pete and Lex lowered Clark to the ground and laid him on his back.  "Somebody get Mr. Frick," said Lex.  He pulled a bandana from his pocket and soaked it with water from his canteen ; then he laid the wet bandana across Clark's forehead.

"Lana, give me your canteen," he said.  Lana's eyes, wide and tearful, never left Clark for a second as she fumbled in her knapsack and pulled out her canteen.  Lex took it from her outstretched hand and unscrewed the top.  He began splashing water on Clark's chest and arms as Mr. Frick came forward.

"Step back, people," he said, kneeling by Clark.  "What happened?"

Lex spoke.  "It looks like heat exhaustion, sir."

Mr. Frick checked Clark's pulse, then his breathing.  "I think you're right, Lex.  You did the right thing, trying to cool him down."

He stood up.  "All right, people, listen up!" he shouted.  The students fell silent and looked at Mr. Frick with anxious faces.  "Clark has what we call heat exhaustion," he explained.  "Basically, that means he got too much sun.  He's going to be all right, but I've got to drive him to the hospital in Crawfordsville.  I'll need somebody to ride along, to keep applying cool compresses."  Lana started to raise her hand, but Pete had already stepped forward.  "Okay, Pete.  Help me get him in the back seat of my car.  The rest of you, collect your rocks and get on the bus.  And remember -- Clark's going to be okay."

Mr. Frick patted Lex on the shoulder.  "Good work, Lex."

The other students began talking among themselves in low, worried tones as Pete and Mr. Frick carried Clark to the station wagon and laid him on the back seat.  They gathered up their rocks from the picnic tables and started filing into the school bus.

Lana stood staring down at the spot where Clark had lain. 

"Lana?"  It was Lex.

Lana shook her head and smiled weakly.  "Wow," she said.  "That was great -- what you did."

Lex shrugged.  "Just a little first aid I learned in the Boy Scouts."

"Well, you're going to be a great doctor -- I can tell."

Lex grinned.  "Thanks."  He peered at her, frowning.  "Say, are you okay?"

"Uh ... yeah."  Actually, she did feel kind of funny.  A strange tingling sensation seemed to be spreading through her body, and she felt ... light -- almost as if she were standing shoulder-deep in water.  Gosh, I hope I'm not coming down with that heat exhaustion, too, she thought.  But she shrugged it off.  She didn't feel faint, or sick.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she repeated.  "I guess I'm just worried about Clark.  It was kind of a shock to see him pass out like that.  I don't think he's ever been sick a day in his life."

"Well, if he's that healthy, he'll be fine as soon as the doctors get some fluids in him.  Say, we'd better get on the bus."

Lana nodded.

"Looks like Lana's got a boy-friend."

Lana blinked.  That was Suzy's voice, and it seemed to be quite close to her ear.  But that was impossible.  Lex was the only other person standing within thirty feet of her. 

Five or six students were still waiting in line by the open door of the school bus.  Lana saw that Suzy was one of them.  Her head was close to Lizzy Snyder's, and they seemed to be laughing at some private joke.

Lana shook her head.  That was weird, she thought.  I hope I'm not hallucinating.  She sighed.  She just wanted to get home.

CHAPTER 2

Clark tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids refused to move.

His body felt as if it had been drained of energy.  He was aware that he was lying on his back, and that some unfamiliar force was holding him there, pulling him downward, gently but irresistibly.  He was tempted to surrender to his weariness, to relinquish consciousness, to sink back into oblivion ... but he fought it.

Where was he?  He heard the voices of men and women, speaking in low, serious tones --  "Bed two is throwing more PVC 's" ... "Give him another sub-lingual nitro" ... "BP is 130" ...

Panic rose within him, dispelling the mist of fatigue, and with an effort he opened his eyes.  A white expanse of ceiling met his gaze.  He turned his head.  He was lying on a narrow bed with stainless-steel railings, surrounded by white curtains.  He tried to use his x-ray vision to look through the curtains, to see where he was -- but nothing happened.

Then he noticed something that banished every other thought from his mind.  A bottle half-full of a clear liquid was hanging upside-down from a metal contraption by his bedside.  A long thin plastic tube was attached to the bottle, terminating in a metal needle -- a needle that had been inserted into his right arm and held down with a few strips of tape ...

The wave of panic mounted and surged.  Clark could feel his heart pounding in his chest.  My super-powers! he thought.  What's happened to my super-powers?  His x-ray vision was gone ... his invulnerability was gone ... and this unfamiliar force pulling down on his limbs -- was that gravity?  He squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to rise off the bed -- but nothing happened.  Opening his eyes, he grabbed the railing of his bed with his left hand and squeezed with all his strength -- but instead of crumpling like tin-foil, the stainless-steel bar remained firm and unyielding in his grip.

Desperately, Clark pushed himself into a sitting position.  He had to get out of this bed ... find out where he was and what had happened to his super-powers ...

"Now calm down."

A pretty brunette in a nurse's uniform was standing by his bed.  She placed her hands on Clark's shoulders and gently pushed him back down.  Dumbfounded, Clark stared up at her.  She was only an inch or two above five feet, and couldn't have weighed more than a hundred pounds; yet she was holding him down as if he were a baby -- a helpless baby ...

The nurse smiled reassuringly.

"There's nothing to be worried about, Clark.  You just got a little too much sun today, that's all.  You're in Crawfordsville Hospital, and we'll have you as good as new in no time."

"The needle -- the needle -- " Clark stammered.

"You got dehydrated, Clark.  Your body needs fluids, and that's what the needle is for.  Now why don't you just lie back and rest?  Your parents will be here soon."

Clark felt a strange and unpleasant sensation in his stomach.  A gagging noise rose in his throat as he sat bolt upright.  The nurse grabbed a stainless-steel pan from the bedside table and held it in front of him.  Clark leaned over the pan and vomited.  He sat, gasping and coughing, as the nurse raised the back of the bed.

"Feeling better now?"

Clark looked at her blankly.  He'd never felt so wretched, or so frightened, in his life ...

"I -- I guess so," he said weakly, lying back on the bed.  The nurse wiped his face with a damp cloth, then poured some ice water into a paper cup and handed it to him.  Gratefully, Clark took a sip.  He closed his eyes and sank into a merciful oblivion.

---------

Clark opened his eyes.  The pretty nurse was standing by his bed, inspecting the fluid in the bottle.

"Oh, good, you're awake," she said.  "Your parents are here, and I'll go find Dr. Scott."

Moments later, Ma and Pa Kent were standing at his bedside, staring in disbelief at the needle in their son's arm.

"Clark, what happened?" asked Pa.

"I don't know, Pa.  The last thing I remember, I was talking with Pete.  The next thing I know, I'm lying in this bed."  He lowered his voice.  "And it's not just -- that," he said, nodding at the needle.  "All my powers are gone!"

"Oh, Clark, that's terrible!" exclaimed Ma.

"And you have no idea how idea how it happened?" asked Pa.

"No! I -- "

"Mr. and Mrs. Kent?"

A thin, bespectacled man in a white jacket was standing at the foot of Clark's bed, along with the nurse.  He held out his hand.  "I'm Dr. Scott."

Pa Kent shook the doctor's hand.  "Pleased to meet you.  I'm Jonathan Kent, and this is my wife Martha.  What happened to our boy?"

"Clark's teacher brought him in a couple of hours ago.  It looks as if he came down with heat exhaustion during a field trip today.  Has anything like this ever happened to him before?"

"No, never," said Ma Kent.  "He's always been a strong healthy boy."

"Well, his vital signs are certainly good.  But his teacher says that his canteen was still full.  Apparently he hadn't been drinking water all morning.  That can lead to serious problems on a hot day."

"Will he be all right?"

"He should be fine.  But just to be on the safe side, I'd like to keep him here overnight and run a few additional tests -- "

"Er -- is that really necessary, doctor?" Pa Kent asked hastily. "Like my wife said, Clark has always been a strong healthy boy.  If he's not feeling better in the morning, we can take him to our family doctor."

Dr. Scott pursed his lips.  He knew how frugal the local farmers were, how reluctant they were to spend a penny on anything that wasn't absolutely necessary.  Still, the boy's signs were quite good ...

"All right, Mr. Kent," he said.  "As soon as the bottle has run, Nurse Johnson can check your son's orthostatic vital signs.  If everything looks okay at that point, I guess you can take him home."

"Thank you, doctor," said Pa.

"I'll be back in a minute with a form for you to sign," said Dr. Scott.  He turned and strode off, followed by the nurse.

"Don't worry, Clark," said Ma, laying a hand on her son's arm.  "Whatever happened to you, maybe it's just temporary."

"But what if it isn't?  What if -- "

"Then we'll deal with it," said Pa, quietly but firmly.  "Let's not talk about it now.  Somebody might hear.  Let's just get you out of here before the doctor has a chance to find out that you're not from around these parts."

Dr. Scott stuck his head through the curtain.  "Mr. and Mrs. Kent?  If you'd come with me, I have some paper work to go over with you."  He looked at Clark.  "Well, Clark, I hope you've learned a lesson today.  Next time you're out in the hot sun, drink plenty of water.  You may be a strong healthy young man, but after all ... you're only human."

Clark nodded numbly.  Only human ...

CHAPTER 3

The school bus came to a stop by the Langs' mailbox.  Lana stepped off, her knapsack slung over her shoulder, and gazed up the long dirt driveway toward the two-story farmhouse with the wide front porch.  A light breeze carried the smell of fresh-baked chocolate-chip cookies.  Wow, thought Lana.  Mom must be making a batch for a church bake sale if I can smell them all the way out here.

Lana glanced at the mailbox.  It was empty.  Her mother or father must have brought in the mail already.  Lana had taken half a dozen steps toward the house when she stopped suddenly.

Wait a minute, she thought.  How could I tell the mailbox was empty?  I didn't open it.

She walked back and pulled down the hinged front of the mailbox.  Sure enough, there was nothing inside.  Lana shook her head.  That was strange.  She remembered how she thought she had heard Suzy's voice earlier that afternoon.

Lana felt uneasy.  Was she having hallucinations?  Had she gotten too much sun that day, like poor Clark?  She'd better tell her parents, she decided.  Her mom was such a worry-wart -- she'd probably want to take her to Dr. Adams right away.  But her dad always looked at things calmly.  Maybe she just needed a good night's rest.

It was funny, though -- she didn't feel tired at all.  If anything, she felt refreshed and full of energy.  But she still felt ... light.  She couldn't think of any other word to describe it.  She remembered how Mr. Frick had once explained that because of the moon's smaller mass, people would weigh less there.  She imagined that this was what that must feel like.  And there was still that funny tingly feeling all over her body.

As she approached the house, Lana saw that the family's Studebaker was parked in the driveway, not far from the porch steps.  A jack was holding up its front end, and her father's legs were protruding from underneath.  A grunt, and a sound of scraping metal, told her that he was busy with some sort of repair job.

"Hi, Daddy."

Professor Lang's hearty voice boomed from underneath the car.  "Hiya, Pumpkin!  How was the field trip?"

"It was awful.  Clark got heat exhaustion.  He passed out and Mr. Frick had to drive him to the hospital."

"Your mother and I heard."  Professor Lang wriggled out from beneath the car.  He looked up at his daughter and spoke reassuringly.  "That must have been pretty upsetting.  But don't worry.  Clark's a healthy boy.  I'm sure he's feeling better already."

"I hope so.  What's wrong with the car?"

"Just changing the oil filter -- or trying to.  The darn thing's screwed on so tight I may need to get Charles Atlas to remove it."  Professor Lang disappeared back under the car as Lana turned toward the house.

Mrs. Lang was coming down the porch steps.  "We heard about Clark," she said.  "What a terrible thing.  I've been praying for him all afternoon.  His parents are on their way to Crawfordsville right now."  She peered closely at her daughter.  "Are you feeling all right, honey?" she asked.

"Yeah ... well, actually, I do feel kind of funny.  Not sick or anything," she added, seeing the look of alarm in her mother's eyes.  "Just kind of weird and ... tingly."

"Oh, dear."  Mrs. Lang put her hand on Lana's forehead.  "You don't seem to have a temperature.  But you'd best go inside and lie down for a bit."

"All ri -- " 

Lana saw something out of the corner of her eye.  Instantly, she spun round to face the driveway.

Of all the strange things that had happened to her that day, this was by far the strangest.  It was as if everything around her had suddenly stopped moving -- or rather, were moving very, very slowly, like a movie being played in slow motion.  She saw that the jack had slid out from beneath the car.  It was leaning away -- ever so slightly -- and the front end of the car hung poised several feet above the ground, descending -- ever so slowly -- toward her father, who was still lying underneath it ...

"Daddy!"

She was running toward the car, her mind filled with one thought -- to reach it before it fell on her father.

The jack was leaning at a forty-five degree angle as Lana's hands reached out toward the front fender.  Gripping the fender from underneath, she stepped forward and tensed her shoulders, straining her arms upward, willing herself to keep the car from falling ...

Mrs. Lang cried out in alarm.  Lana had ... disappeared.  One moment, Mrs. Lang had been feeling Lana's forehead ; the next moment, Lana was gone, vanished, leaving nothing behind but the straw hat which was lying on the ground by Mrs. Lang's feet.  Automatically, she was stooping to pick it up when she heard her daughter's voice.

"Daddy, are you okay?"

Mrs. Lang turned and saw her little girl holding up the front end of the family's car as if it weighed nothing at all.

Professor Lang had scrambled out from underneath the car.  He stood up hastily, brushing dirt from his trousers but never taking his eyes off his daughter.

"Lana!  What on earth -- ?"

Lana blinked.  The world was moving at its normal speed.  What just happened?  She had seen the car about to fall on her father, she had run forward, she ...

She looked down.  She was holding up the front of the Studebaker in her bare hands as if it were ... well, something really, really light.  Experimentally, she raised and lowered her hands, watching the car rise and fall, rise and fall ...

Mrs. Lang was standing beside her husband, clutching Lana's straw hat tightly in her hands.  "Lana!" she gasped.  "How -- how --?"

"I don't know!" wailed Lana.  The sheer impossibility of the situation was sinking in.  "It's just -- the car feels so light!"

"I think -- I think I can explain it, dear," said Professor Lang.  "I've read about things like this.  In sudden emergencies, the body releases a chemical called adrenaline.  It gives people the -- the strength to do ... well, things like that!"  Lana, only half-listening, was still raising the car up and down, up and down.  A grin of sheer delight was slowly spreading across her face.  This was so neat!

"Er -- Lana," said Professor Lang.  "Maybe you'd better set the car down now, Pumpkin -- before the adrenaline wears off."  

"Just a minute, Daddy."  A sudden realization was dawning in Lana's mind.  That funny tingly feeling -- that was me getting strong!  And I don't think it's about to wear off ...

She was holding the car waist-high with both hands.  Carefully, she brought her hands closer together until they were touching under the midpoint of the fender ; carefully, she removed her right hand.  She found that it was just as easy to support the car with one hand as with two.  She raised her left hand until it was level with her shoulder, then with the top of her head, lifting the front of the car higher and higher off the ground.  She raised her left arm until it was extended straight over her head.  The Studebaker's chassis settled back on the rear axle with a soft groan.

Mrs. Lang gasped.  Professor Lang cleared his throat.  "Lana?"

Holding the front end of the car overhead, Lana stepped underneath it and stretched out her right arm.  Her fingers closed around the casing of the oil filter.

"What were you saying, Daddy?" she asked.  "That you'd need to get Charles Atlas to loosen this oil filter?"  

Carefully, trying not to crumple the casing, she gripped it firmly and gave it a gentle counter-clockwise twist.  There was a harsh grating sound as rusty threads scraped against rusty grooves, and a moment later the filter was loose.  Lana gave it a few more turns and handed it to her father.

"Maybe I should change my name -- to Charlotte Atlas!"  Grinning, she lowered the car carefully to the ground as her father stared, dumbstruck, at the metal cylinder in his hand.

"It's -- it's a miracle!" exclaimed Mrs. Lang.  "God gave Lana the strength to lift that car and save your life, Henry -- just as He gave Joseph the strength to roll the stone from the well at Haran!  He -- "

She broke off, staring at her daughter.  "Lana!" she gasped.  "Your hair!"

"What about it?"  Lana's hair, no longer confined by the straw hat, was loose about her shoulders.  Lana took a strand between her thumb and forefinger and held it in front of her eyes.  "Omigosh!  It's -- "

Eagerly, Lana stooped to examine her reflection in the car's side mirror.  Her hair, no longer a nondescript brown, fell in long waves of fiery red.  Open-mouthed, Lana ran her right hand through it.  It felt soft as silk and gleamed like burnished copper as it glided smoothly between her fingers and bounced against her shoulder.

"Why, your hair hasn't been that red since you were five years old!" exclaimed Mrs. Lang.

Professor Lang chuckled.  "You're a regular pumpkin-head again!"

Lana was hardly listening.  She held out her right arm and bent it slowly at the elbow.  She squeezed as hard as she could, running her left hand along the bump of her bicep.  Her arm felt firmer and tauter than she remembered, but her muscle seemed no larger than before.  Yet somehow she had the strength to lift an automobile with one hand.  Just how strong am I? she wondered.  She looked around for something heavier to test her new-found strength.

Too bad we don't own a pick-up -- or a tractor, she thought.  But the car had seemed to weigh nothing at all, and she was certain that no vehicle shy of a --well, a locomotive, at least -- would offer her any challenge.  Her eyes fell on the old elm tree that stood fifty feet from the house, on the side facing away from the road.  It had been dead for several years, and its bare branches stood out against the late afternoon sky, seventy feet above the ground.

Without a word, Lana strode over to the tree.  Stooping slightly, she wrapped her arms around the trunk and prepared to get a grip with her hands.

"Lana!" her father called.  "What are you doing?"

Lana turned her head.  "Just checking on something, Daddy," she said.  "You keep saying you're going to cut this tree down anyway, right?"

"Well, yes, but ... "  Professor Lang didn't finish the sentence.  He watched -- intent, hardly blinking -- as Lana turned her attention back to the tree.

"Henry," whispered Mrs. Lang.  "You don't think our little girl is strong enough to pull that tree out of the ground, do you?"

"Let's find out," her husband murmured.

Lana gave the trunk a squeeze.  There was a splintering sound as the rough bark and the wood underneath yielded to the pressure of her embrace.  Glancing down, Lana saw that her fingers had penetrated the trunk as if it were soft clay.  Taking a deep breath, tensing her muscles, she began to straighten up, pulling upwards with her arms ...

There was a soft rumble underfoot as the tree slid upward, smooth as a piston, in Lana's grip.  The turf around the base of the tree began to split and heave ; roots burst through the surface of the lawn, caked with dark soil.  Squaring her shoulders, Lana continued to pull upward ...

A thick root popped out of the ground directly under Lana's right foot.  She staggered backward, still clutching the trunk, tearing the tree out of the ground like a loose tooth.  She stumbled about, desperately trying to regain her balance as the tree swayed precariously in her embrace ...

Awkwardly, she swung the tree into an upright position and set it down on the lawn.  She stepped back, stumbled, fell ... Her father was shouting something at her.  She looked up.  The tree was tottering ; now it was leaning toward the house, beginning to fall.  In another moment, it would crash through the roof ...

Lana sprang to her feet.  An instant later, she stood in the path of the falling tree.  Raising her arms, she placed the palms of her hands against the rough grey bark and pushed -- pushed with all her strength ...

Spinning like a baton, the tree shot upward.  It soared a hundred feet into the air, paused for a fraction of a second, then descended majestically, landing with an earth-shaking thump and a snapping of dry branches, just a few yards from the barbed-wire fence that separated the Langs' property from the Kents' back pasture.

There was a long moment of silence.  Uh-oh, thought Lana.  She looked at her parents.  They were staring at the spot where the tree had landed.  Probably they were too surprised to be angry -- yet.  Still, Lana felt that a little pre-emptive contrition was called for.  "Oops!" she said, ducking her head and grinning apologetically.  "I'm sorry!"

Professor Lang turned round slowly, scanning the flat landscape in every direction.  Pastures and cornfields lay quiet and deserted in the hot late-afternoon sun.  He released a pent-up lungful of air.  "Well," he murmured.  "I hope nobody saw that."

Then he turned to his daughter.  "Pumpkin," he said, "let's -- let's take it easy for now, okay?"

"Yes, Daddy," Lana replied meekly.  Her mother had hurried forward and laid her hands on Lana's shoulders.  "Lana," she said.  "Lana, honey, you've got to be careful with this -- this gift of yours.  You -- "

She broke off, staring.  Mrs. Lang was half a head taller than her daughter, but now Lana's eyes were level with her own.  "Lana!" she gasped.  "You're taller!"

Professor Lang cleared his throat.  "No, dear," he said.  His voice was dry, matter-of-fact, as if nothing could surprise him at this point.  He pointed toward Lana's feet.  "She's floating!"

Lana looked down.  She wiggled her feet.  Sure enough, she was floating several inches above the ground.  She closed her eyes and concentrated, willing herself to rise into the air.  Was it working?  She opened her eyes.  Her feet seemed to be about level with her father's head ; she could look directly down on his bald spot.

"Whee!"  Effortlessly, Lana rose higher and higher until she could look down on the roof of the house.  "Look, Daddy!  Look, Mom!  I can fly!"

Spreading her arms, she tipped forward, then soared into the air -- just like Peter Pan in the movie.  She banked to the left, rounding the corner of the house, then glided low over the roof of the porch.  She flew all the way round the house, then rolled over on her back and flew round the house again, kicking her legs joyfully.  She made a loop around the chimney and lowered herself gracefully to the ground.

"Did you see?  Did you see?"  Lana's eyes were shining.  This was the best yet!  She ran over to her parents.  "Can I go over to Suzy's?  Please?  I want to show her!  I'll be back in time for dinner!  Oh, and Clark!"  She giggled, imagining the look on Clark's face when he saw her lifting his father's tractor overhead.  "Wait'll he sees how strong I am!  He'll flip! I bet -- oh." 

Lana's face fell.  In her excitement, she had forgotten about Clark ...

"No, Lana," said her mother firmly.  "I think we need some time to -- to think about all this."

Lana turned to her father.  "Please, Daddy?"  She gave him her best puppy-dog look.

Professor Lang shook his head.  "Sorry, Pumpkin," he said gently.  "Your mother's right.  We need to think about this before you go showing anyone else.  Okay?"  He stooped and looked into his daughter's eyes.  "Okay?"

Lana sighed.  "Okay, Daddy."

"That's my girl.  Now go wash up for dinner.  Pot roast, mashed potatoes, carrots -- and chocolate-chip cookies for dessert.  And after dinner ... "

"Family meeting?"

"That's right.  Oh, just one thing before you wash up."  He pointed toward the fallen elm tree.  "Do you think you could carry that tree back here -- carefully! -- and set it down in back?  I wouldn't want Jonathan to see it and start asking questions."

CHAPTER 4

The light of a full moon came slanting through the window of Lana's bedroom.  Lana lay on her back, her hands clasped behind her head, hovering about eighteen inches above the bedspread.  She had put on her pajamas and turned off the light an hour ago, but she was still wide awake, thinking of the wonderful abilities she now possessed.  As if she could fall asleep after all the excitement of that afternoon!  Besides, she didn't feel the least bit tired or sleepy.  Her body seemed to be charged with an inexhaustible supply of energy.

She had spent the last hour experimenting with some of her new powers.  Lying on her back, she made herself rise into the air, then sink slowly back onto the mattress, then rise again all the way to the ceiling.  Then she flew around her bedroom in slow, lazy circles.  How easy, how natural it already seemed!

She discovered that she could see everything in the darkened room -- the cracks in the ceiling, the pattern on the bedspread, the grain of the floorboards -- with perfect clarity and in minute detail.  What's more, she could see through things.  Lying on her back, she stared through the ceiling into the attic ; rolling over, she gazed through the floor of her bedroom into the living room below, where her father was still sitting up, frowning thoughtfully at the wreaths of smoke that drifted from his pipe, no doubt turning over in his own mind the amazing transformation his daughter had undergone.

Lana wondered if her hearing had been enhanced as well.  She shut her eyes and listened, sorting through a myriad of sounds that reached her ears from all directions -- the fluttering of a moth against a window screen, the dripping of the faucet in the kitchen sink, the ticking of her father's wristwatch.  Concentrating, she could hear, from her parent's bedroom at the other end of the hall, her mother's soft, regular breathing.

Lana and her parents had sat talking round the kitchen table for two hours after dinner.  Mrs. Lang declared that Lana should start using her powers right away to help people in trouble.  Lana was somewhat surprised:  Her mother had always been such a worry-wart.  But Mrs. Lang was certain that Lana's powers were a gift from God, and that they shouldn't go to waste.  "Lana saved your life today, Henry," she said.  "Think how many other lives she could save, think how many people she could help, think of all the good she could do -- like a ... like a guardian angel."

Lana had given her mother's hand a grateful squeeze.  "That's exactly what I want to do, Daddy," she said.  "Use my powers to help people.  Like the Scarlet Pimpernel.  Why, if I'd had these powers just a few hours sooner, I could have flown Clark to the hospital in no time!"

But Professor Lang had advised caution.  He pointed out that Lana would need to learn how to use her powers skillfully and with good judgment.  "Otherwise, she might hurt someone accidentally -- or cause an awful lot of damage without meaning to."  Besides, once Lana's powers became public knowledge, all sorts of people would descend on the Langs' house like a swarm of locusts -- "people with advertising contracts and movie deals and crazy get-rich schemes ... Scientists would want to examine you, reporters would be asking us all kinds of impertinent questions  And the military might try to take you away from us, turn you into some kind of secret weapon ... "

"Come on, Daddy," Lana said.  "This is America, not the Soviet Union!"

Professor Lang had merely grunted.

In the end, it was agreed that Lana would keep her powers a secret for the time being.  She could use them at home ; she could use them elsewhere as long as there was no possibility of being observed.  She'd learn the extent of her powers, and how to control them ; and in the meantime, the three of them would try to figure out some way around Professor Lang's concerns.

Now, up in her dark bedroom, Lana sighed.  She was beginning to feel bored.  It had been fun to experiment with her super-vision and super-hearing, but she had so many other powers.  If only I could fly out the window, she thought.  Like Wendy in Peter Pan.  Just for a little while ...

She sat up suddenly, crossing her legs Indian-style while floating above the bed.  Why not? she thought.  No one will see me.  All the farmers around here go to bed early.  An impish grin dimpled her cheeks as she considered the idea.  Her parents hadn't actually forbidden her to fly out her bedroom window ... and she'd be back in just a few minutes ... and if they caught her, well, she could say that she'd gone out for a breath of fresh air ...

Giggling with excitement, she floated across to the window.  She knew from experience that the floorboards of the old farmhouse creaked and groaned whenever she stepped on them -- but now she could move across her bedroom in perfect silence, unsuspected by her father in the room below.

It was a balmy night.  The window was open, but covered by a screen held in place by half a dozen screws.  Lana carefully inserted her thumbnail into the slot of the screw in the upper left corner, and turned it gently counter-clockwise.  The screw yielded without any show of resistance.  In less than a minute, all six screws were lying in a neat row on the windowsill.

With bated breath, Lana removed the screen and laid it quietly against the wall.  A breeze drew the curtains outside, seeming to beckon her.  There was nothing now between her and the moon-silvered lawn below ... nothing between her and slumbering Smallville and the wide world beyond ...

Lana knelt on the windowsill and stuck her head outside.  The soft breeze of a June night caressed her cheek and tousled her hair.  She hesitated for just a second ; then she pressed the palms of her hands against the window frame and launched herself out into the night.

She floated just outside the window for a moment.  She looked around, her eyes shining with anticipation and delight -- along with a dash of nervousness at her own audacity.  She glanced down at the back yard -- at her mother's garden and her father's tool shed and the picnic table and the clothesline.  It was all so very familiar -- and yet somehow she felt as if she were seeing it for the first time.

I guess things will look different from up here, Lana thought.  I'd better start getting used to it.

She looked at her yellow pajamas, wondering if she should go back into her room and put on a dark robe.  Nah, she decided.  I'll just make sure I'm too high up to be seen.  She spread her arms, arched her back, and shot upwards like a Fourth of July rocket.  Faster and faster she rose, her face lifted to the starry sky, the wind tossing her hair about and tugging at her pajamas.  Better slow down, she thought.

Slowing to a halt, she looked down, wondering how high she was.  A couple of thousand feet, she guessed.  Her house looked as tiny as a Monopoly piece.  The surrounding countryside lay spread out below her like a road map.  Her eyes followed the two-lane road that ran past her house, all the way to the dark cluster of buildings that made up the town of Smallville :  the bank and the post office, the diner and the general store, two churches -- Catholic and Methodist -- and an old wooden building that housed the library, the police station, and the town's one fire engine.

Spreading out from this tiny hub lay other buildings : the school, the orphanage -- and there was the John Deere dealership that Lex's uncle owned.  A small plane stood in an adjacent field.  Lana grinned, wondering what Lex would say if he knew that she could fly without a plane.

Oh, and there was Suzy Prentiss's house.  Lana used her super-vision to peek into Suzy's bedroom.  Suzy was sleeping peacefully in her pink nightgown, her golden hair fanned on her pillow ; and Lana smiled to see that she was clutching the tattered stuffed dog that she had had for as long as Lana could remember.

Two miles away, off to her right, Strawberry Lake gleamed in the moonlight.  Lana scanned its shoreline with her super-vision.  Fishermen sometimes went there at night, and Lana had heard that older kids liked to spread blankets by the lake and neck.  An image arose in her mind -- an image of her and Clark ... She put it aside.  But the only creature stirring at Strawberry Lake tonight was a deer that had stepped cautiously from the woods to take a drink.

Impulsively, Lana spread her arms and swooped down, gliding inches above the lake's mirror-smooth surface.  The Milky Way spread out behind her reflection like a pair of gossamer wings.  She dipped a finger into the water.  A V-shaped ripple moved across the lake, breaking up her reflection, as she flew back up into the sky.

That's enough for now, she thought.  I'd better get back to my room.  

The Kents' farm lay between the lake and her house.  I wonder how Clark's doing, she thought.  She cast her super-vision through the roof of the Kents' house and into Clark's bedroom.

Clark was lying wide awake in the darkened room, staring morosely at the ceiling.  He looks so worried, Lana thought.  He's probably thinking about what happened to him today.  That must have been so frightening for him.  She felt a pang of guilt.  Here she was, having so much fun with these wonderful powers of hers, while poor Clark might have died of heat exhaustion ... She shook her head sadly.  If only I'd had these powers a few hours sooner ...

Doctors and nurses scurried aside as Lana flew down the hospital corridor.  Clark lay unconscious in her arms.  She slowed down and alighted by the door of an empty room.  She carried Clark inside and laid him gently on the bed.

Clark's eyelids fluttered.  A moment later, his gorgeous blue eyes were gazing into hers.

"Lana?" he asked, confused.  "What -- ?"

Lana laid her finger ever so lightly on his lips.  "It's all right, Clark," she said, smiling.  "You fainted in the hot sun, and I flew you to the hospital.  But you're going to be all right, I promise.  I'll get a doctor to look at you ... "

"Lana, you -- you saved my life."

"Oh, Clark, I'd never let anything happen to you.  I'll always look after you."

Clark began to sit up.  Lana laid her finger on his chest and pushed him back down onto the bed.  

"Clark Kent!" she scolded him.  "You just lie back down and rest.  I'm going to get a doctor."  She giggled as he struggled to push himself upright.  "It's no use, Clark.  You can't resist me and you know it."

Clark grinned up at her.  "Who says I want to?"

Lana's eyes softened.  "Oh, Clark ... "

"Oh, Lana ... '

She closed her eyes and leaned forward.  She could hear Clark's heart pounding as she brushed her lips tenderly against his ...

"Eeeek!"

Branches snapped ; leaves rustled ; and a flock of starlings flew off, chirping indignantly.  Lana was entangled in the upper branches of the locust tree that stood in the corner of the Langs' back yard.

"Oops."

Carefully, she crawled out.  Floating fifty feet above the lawn, she looked herself over.  A branch had ripped open the right leg of her pajamas, from the knee all the way to the cuff.  Uh-oh, thought Lana.  I'd better sew that up and hope Mom doesn't notice.  But then she realized something :  There was -- quite literally -- not a scratch on her.  The skin of her leg was smooth, unbroken ...

Lana blinked.  I guess I'm scratch-proof, she thought.  I wonder if I'm ... anything-else-proof?

Well, there'd be time to find that out later.  She wasn't hurt, but her mishap had left her feeling slightly shaken.  She'd better be getting back to her room.  

She saw that the kitchen light was on.  Peering through the wall with her super-vision, she saw her father standing by the open door of the refrigerator.  What was he doing? ...

Lana giggled, wagging her finger.  Oh, Daddy! she thought.  Well, if he caught her out of her room, she could tell Mom he'd been drinking milk right from the bottle!

But Professor Lang was still downstairs when Lana finished putting the screen back in her bedroom window, still downstairs when she lay back on her bed and pulled up the covers.  Even now, she wasn't sleepy or fatigued, but ... mmm ... contentedly, she closed her eyes.

Five minutes later, when Professor Lang paused outside the door of Lana's bedroom, he could hear her breathing -- slowly, rhythmically, peacefully.  He chuckled softly.  My little girl's had quite a day, he thought.  I had a feeling she'd sleep well tonight.

CHAPTER 5

TEN DAYS LATER ... 

Lana hopped off the school bus, waved good-bye to Suzy, took a handful of letters out of the mailbox, and hurried up the long dirt driveway.  The school year was over, and Lana was looking forward to the best summer ever.  There were so many things she wanted to do with her wonderful new powers!

Her bookbag bounced against her shoulder blades as she hurried toward the house.  She was careful not to use her super-speed.  Suzy might be watching her from the school bus, and she'd be bound to wonder how Lana could run so fast.  Besides, her brunette wig might fall off.

"Hi, Mom!"

Mrs. Lang looked up from her ironing.  "Hello, Lana.  How was the last day of school?"

"It was great."  She set her bookbag down on a chair.  "We have to read A Tale of Two Cities over the summer.  Do you think Daddy would read me a chapter a night, now that we've finished The Hound of the Baskervilles?" 

"I'm sure he'd be happy to.  But you could read it yourself in just a couple of minutes, couldn't you?  Last week you read the entire Encyclopedia Britannica in less than half an hour."

"Read and memorized," said Lana.  "I know.  But it's more fun when he reads to me."

Mrs. Lang folded the shirt she'd been ironing and set it on the kitchen table.  "That's very sweet of you, dear," she said, carefully laying another shirt on the ironing board.  "Your father will be happy to know that you're still his little girl, despite these amazing gifts of yours ... Speaking of which," she added, "could you do me a favor?  I lost an earring, right here in the kitchen, about an hour ago ... "

Lana was already scanning the kitchen floor, swiftly but methodically, with her super-vision.  "I see it," she said.  "It rolled under the refrigerator."

Lana reached behind the refrigerator and pulled out the plug.  Placing her hands flat against its sides, she lifted it carefully and set it down a few feet away.  She picked up the earring and handed it to her mother.

"Thank you, dear."  Mrs. Lang put the earring back on.

"Happy to help," Lana replied, putting the refrigerator back in place.  "I -- "  Her super-acute sense of smell suddenly detected the aroma of scorched cloth.  "Mom, the iron!"

Mrs. Lang turned round.  The hot iron had fallen over onto the shirt.  Tiny flames were springing up around its perimeter.  Lana stepped forward and set the iron upright ; then she patted out the flames with her bare hands.

Mrs. Lang inspected the shirt ruefully.  "Well, I guess this shirt is ruined.  Are your hands all right?"

"Just fine," said Lana, holding her palms up.  "I seem to be fire-proof.  I'm beginning to think I'm impervious to just about everything."

"Well, until you know that for sure, be careful."

"Hey, Pumpkin!"  Professor Lang hung his battered tweed cap on the back of a chair as he strode toward the refrigerator.  "How was the last day of school?"

"It was great."

Professor Lang poured himself a glass of milk.  "Listen, Dan Miller is letting my graduate students dig on his property this summer.  I thought you and I might drive out there after dinner.  You could check out the site with your x-ray vision."

"It's a date."

"Super."

Mrs. Lang began folding a pair of khaki trousers warm from the iron.  "Lana was wondering if you could read her A Tale of Two Cities this summer."

"Sure thing."  He squinted up at the ceiling.  "How does it begin?  It was the best of times ... "

----------

" ... it was the worst of times ... "

Clark read the first line of the book, then turned to the last page.  His heart sank.  Three hundred and ninety-seven pages!  It would take him weeks to read it -- word by word, sentence by sentence, page by stupid page.  Two weeks ago, he could have read the entire novel during the bus ride home.  Now ...

The dull, familiar ache of anxiety gnawed at him.  How can I go on living like this? he wondered.  Everything was so difficult now -- from getting up in the morning, tired and groggy, to going to bed at night, sore in every muscle.  Schoolwork, chores ... and the constant, inescapable tug of gravity.  What he wouldn't give to be able to shake off its shackles, to leap into the air, to fly -- if only for a minute!

Clark shoved the book into his hip pocket and pulled open the screen door.

"Hi, Ma."

Ma Kent looked up from the piecrust she was rolling.  "Hello, Clark," she said.  "How was your day?"

Clark shrugged.  "It was okay, I guess."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"What is there to talk about?"

Blinking behind her thick spectacles, Ma Kent regarded her son sadly.  She could hardly imagine what it must have been like for him, having those amazing powers -- and what it must be like to have lost them.  No wonder Clark seemed moody, withdrawn, anxious ...  She could only hope that with time he would come to accept what had happened to him.

She and Jonathan had sat up late every night since that afternoon at the hospital, talking about Clark and the loss of his powers.  They kept their voices low, for Clark had been sleeping badly ever since that awful day and they didn't want him to overhear. 

"Just think of all the things he used to be able to do," Ma had said.  "And he never knew what it was to be any different.  But now -- "  Tears welled up in her eyes.  "It must be like being blind and deaf and crippled, all at once."

"He's not blind and he's not deaf and he's not crippled," her husband had retorted.  "For gosh sakes, Martha, just look at the muscles on the boy.  He may have lost those fancy powers of his, but he's no worse off than any other boy his age -- and a lot better off than some."

Jonathan Kent wasn't an unkind man -- far from it -- but like most men of his generation he'd known his share of hardship, and he had little patience with those who complained about their lot in life.

"What's for supper?" asked Clark.

"I'm afraid for you and your pa, it'll be meat-loaf sandwiches and a slice of angel food cake.  He spent the whole afternoon baling the north forty, and he needs your help getting the bales into the barn.  Then the two of you will take the combine and help Mr. Miller get his crop in."  She handed Clark a brown paper bag packed with his cold supper.

Inwardly, Clark groaned.  He had just gotten home from school and right away he had chores to attend to.  What a miserable summer this is going to be, he thought.

----------

FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER ...

"Ooof!"

The bale dropped to the bed of the pick-up with a heavy thump.

"Remember, Clark." said his father.  "Lift with your back, not with your arms."

"Right."  Stooping, Clark slid his gloved fingers under the baling wire ; then he heaved the bale over the tailgate with a loud grunt.  He drew his arm across his sweaty forehead while Pa Kent carried the bale over to the growing stack in the corner of the barn.

Clark was out of breath, his arms and shoulders ached, and he could feel his heart pounding in his chest, hard and fast.  He'd never realized that there were so many ways of being uncomfortable.  He was sweating profusely in the heat, his eyes were red from all the dust and pollen in the air, and bits of hay had fallen down his collar, making him itch.  Could things be any worse? he wondered.

"Owww!"

As if in answer to his question, the end of a piece of baling wire scratched his forearm.  Clark stared aghast at the line of blood oozing from the gash.  He'd never seen his own blood before.

"I'd better put some iodine on that," said his father.  He took a small bottle from a shelf in the barn and hopped up on the tailgate.  "This will sting a little," he warned.

Clark rolled his eyes.  What else is new?

He winced and let out a cry as his father dabbed iodine on his scratch.  "Oh, come on," said his father.  "It can't be that bad."  Then his face softened.  "I'm sorry, son.  I know this is all new to you."  He put the stopper back on the iodine bottle.  "Now let's get the rest of those bales into the barn, then we'll have our supper, and then we'll take the combine over to Dan Miller's."

Clark nodded glumly.  The thought of spending the rest of his life on the farm filled him with dread.  I may never get my powers back, he thought, but one thing's for sure -- whatever it takes, I'm going to get away from this farm and away from this crummy little town ...

----------

Clark bounced and swayed in his seat as the combine jolted across Mr. Miller's field.  Pa Kent slowed it to a halt, then turned the ignition key.  The roar of the engine ceased abruptly.  

"Now let's find Dan," said Pa, climbing down from his seat behind the wheel.  "We should have a good ninety minutes of daylight left."

What's so good about it? Clark thought sullenly as he hopped down.

Three figures, silhouetted against the western sky, were walking toward them.  "There's Dan," said Pa.  "And that's Henry Lang and your friend Lana.  I guess Dan is going to let Henry dig around on his land this summer."

Lana raised her arm over her head and waved it back and forth in a wide arc.  "Hi, Clark!" she shouted.

"Aw, geez," Clark muttered.  As if his day wasn't bad enough ...

His father poked him.  "Mind your manners, son.  I know you're upset about ... what happened to you, but don't go taking it out on Lana."

"Yes, Pa."

"After all -- it's not as if she had anything to do with it."

CHAPTER 6

JULY ...

"Lana!" exclaimed Mrs. Putnam, holding the screen door open for her visitor.  "What a nice surprise!  Come on in!"

"Thank you, Mrs. Putnam."  Lana stepped into the living room, her arms wrapped around a large cardboard carton.  "My mom asked me to drop this off while she's doing some errands here in town.  It's for the church rummage sale -- mostly dresses and things that I've outgrown."

"Well, isn't that thoughtful of her!  Thank you, Lana.  You can just put that down by the sofa.  Would you like a glass of lemonade?"

"Yes, thank you."  Lana set down the carton as Mrs. Putnam disappeared into the kitchen.

"Oh, by the way, Lana," Mrs. Putnam said, opening the refrigerator.  "There's a box by the coffee table.  It's got some of my daughter's old books in it.  Now that she's grown up and moved out, I'm giving them to the rummage sale.  I know you like to read.  You're welcome to take any of them."  Lana heard ice cubes clinking in a glass.

"Thank you."  Lana began rummaging through the box.  She was too old for most of the books, but she thought she should take a couple to be polite.  She held up two Nancy Drew books as Mrs. Putnam came out of the kitchen, carrying a tray with two tall glasses of lemonade and a plate of ginger-snaps.  "I'll take these, if I may."

"Of course, dear."  Setting the tray down on the coffee table, she lowered herself into a chair and reached for one of the glasses.  "Phyllis loved Nancy Drew."

Lana bit into a ginger-snap.  "What's in that other box?" she asked, nodding toward an open carton by the sofa.

"Oh, just some of my son's old comic books," said Mrs. Putnam.  "I'm surprised I didn't throw them out a long time ago.  I was going to donate them to the rummage sale, but I doubt that anyone would want them."

Lana glanced at the box without much interest -- until she saw the cover of the comic book resting on the top of the stack.

A pretty brunette in a red-and-yellow costume was flying up through a thundercloud -- just as Lana had done during that big storm last week.  "WOW COMICS," proclaimed bold yellow letters across the top of the cover.

Fascinated, Lana picked up the magazine for a closer look.  The girl was wearing a red skirt and a red short-sleeved blouse, both trimmed with yellow, and a large yellow thunderbolt was emblazoned across her chest.  A pair of snug yellow boots and a fetching white cape completed the costume.  Lana glanced at the bottom of the cover and read "MARY MARVEL, THE WORLD'S MIGHTIEST GIRL, SOARS TO NEW HEIGHTS OF ACTION ... "

 Lana looked at the next comic book in the stack.  There was the same girl, in a short-skirted version of the same costume, sitting atop a mountain peak.  A scroll in the lower right corner of the cover proclaimed "Starring MARY MARVEL, the 'SHAZAM' GIRL ... "

Lana blinked.  Who was this Mary Marvel character?  Whoever she was, she seemed to have super-powers just like her own.  She could fly ... she was called "the world's mightiest girl" ...

"Er ... Mrs. Putnam," said Lana.  "Could -- could I take these, too, please?"

Mrs. Putnam looked surprised.  "Certainly, dear, if you'd like.  Goodness knows, I can't imagine anyone paying money for those musty old things."

Lana swallowed the last bite of her ginger-snap and finished her lemonade.  She got up and put the two Nancy Drew books into the box of comic books.  "I'd better be going," she said.  "My mom should be finished with her errands by now.  Thank you for the lemonade -- and for these."  She lifted the box off the floor.

"You're welcome, dear.  Thank you for dropping off those clothes.  Can you carry that box all right?  It's kind of heavy."

"It's okay."  Lana smiled.  "I think I can manage."

--------

SEPTEMBER ...

Lana sat down in the front row of the bleachers, near the 50-yard line.  The football team was running drills by the end zone, and cheerleading tryouts were in progress not far from where Lana was sitting.  The sky was hazy, and the heat of late summer lay on the playing field.  But school would begin in another week, and the cool crisp days of autumn would soon follow.

Lana smiled as she thought back over the last three months.  It had been the best summer ever.  Every day had been a wonderful adventure as she tested her amazing powers -- awkwardly and hesitantly at first, but with growing confidence and skill as the weeks went by.

She had juggled granite boulders in the vast empty tundra high above the Arctic Circle ; she had swum alongside whales in the Pacific Ocean ; she had gone skinny-dipping in the red-hot lava of a Polynesian volcano.  Best of all, she had spent hour after hour flying high above the earth, sometimes drifting lazily with the clouds, sometimes rocketing ahead at speeds that split the air behind her with a low rumble like thunder.

There seemed to be no limit to what she could do.  There was nothing so heavy she couldn't lift it, nothing so fast she couldn't outrace it, nothing that could cause her the slightest harm or the least discomfort. 

Yes, it had been a wonderful summer.  But Lana was looking forward to her first year of high school, and to spending more time with her friends.  In fact, that was why she had dropped by the football field this afternoon.

Mrs. Johanssen., the cheerleading coach, was watching Suzy Prentiss perform her solo routine.  Suzy's ponytail bounced against her shoulders as she hopped up and down, shaking her pom-poms and shouting "Go, Crows!"  She turned a cartwheel and landed nimbly on her tiptoes, her arms stretched up over her head and a dazzling smile lighting up her face.

Lana stood up and applauded enthusiastically.

"Thank you, Suzy," said Mrs. Johanssen, making a note on her clipboard.  "Next?"

Suzy ran over to the bleachers and sat down next to Lana.  "Hi, Lana.  Thanks for coming."

"You looked great."

"Thanks, but I doubt I'll make the cut.  I'm only a freshman."

Lana used her super-vision to steal a peek at Mrs. Johanssen's clipboard.  "Don't worry.  I have a feeling you're going to get called back."

"Do you think so?"

Lana smiled.  "I know so."

"Come on."  Suzy stood up.  "Let's check out the football players."

Lana and Suzy strolled downfield.  "Oh, I'm having a slumber party Friday night," said Suzy.  "Can you come?"

"Well, I'll have to check with my parents, but I don't see why not."  Lana smiled.  It would be fun to get together with her friends before the new school year began.

"Great!  We're going to do each other's hair.  I saw a hairstyle in a magazine that would look really cute on you."

Uh-oh, thought Lana.  She couldn't let her friends find out that her brunette hair was a wig ... 

The football players were lined up in two rows, facing each other, ten yards apart.  Coach Stevens stood between them, holding the ball in one hand and a whistle in the other.  At a blast from the whistle, the boy at the end of one row ran forward, grabbed the ball, and rushed the opposite line.  Two boys lunged toward him, knocking him to the ground with a bone-jarring thump that made Suzy wince.

"Golly," she said.  "I can't imagine anyone standing up to that -- can you?"

Lana suppressed a giggle.  "I sure can't."

The three boys were getting up.  "All right, Ross," shouted the coach.  "Walk it off."  Pete Ross removed his helmet, shook his head, and trotted off toward the sideline.

The next boy ran forward and took the ball from the coach's hand.  Lowering his head, he sent the first of his would-be tacklers sprawling with a shoulder check.  He dodged to the left and ran past his second opponent.  Legs churning, he left his pursuer far behind and kept on running until a blast from the coach's whistle called him back.

"Way to go, Kent!" shouted the coach.  "Just save some of that for the first game!"

Suzy's eyes widened.  "Oh my gosh!  Is that Clark Kent?  Boy, he sure filled out over the summer.  Look at those shoulders!  And did you see him knock down that senior?  With him on the team, we might have a shot at a championship!"

Uh-oh, thought Lana.  Suzy had never shown any special interest in Clark before, but now ... Lana cast a sidelong glance at Suzy's pretty face, her shiny blonde hair, her blue eyes.  What chance will I have if she sets her sights on Clark?  And Suzy had filled out quite a bit herself over the summer ...

... not that I couldn't give her a run for the money in that department -- if I wanted to.  Somewhat self-consciously, Lana tugged at her loose cotton blouse.  She had her reasons for letting people think that Lana Lang was a scrawny brunette ...

She glanced at her watch.  "I should get going," she said.  "Let me get back to you about that slumber party.  We, uh, might be going to Topeka on Friday to visit my grandparents."

"Hm?  Okay."  Suzy hardly seemed to be listening.  She raised her arm over her head and waved at Clark.  "Hey, Clark!  You looked super out there!"

----------

OCTOBER ...

Up in her bedroom, Lana was sitting cross-legged in mid-air, bent over a comic book that lay open on her lap.

She had read and re-read all of the Mary Marvel comics that Mrs. Putnam had given her, but she never tired of looking at them.  Carefully, now, she turned a brittle, yellowing page.  There was Mary Batson, saying the magic word that transformed her into the world's mightiest girl:

And there she was, beating up some crooks ...

... and dragging them off to jail:

Mary Marvel was such an amazing heroine -- strong and brave, helpful and kind-hearted ... Why, she was just like the Scarlet Pimpernel -- except that she was a girl ... and had super-powers ... A far-off look came into Lana's eyes as she closed the comic book and began to daydream about wearing a colorful costume like Mary Marvel's and having adventures like hers ... And why not? she thought.  I have all her powers, plus a few others ...

Unfortunately, the comic books never explained how she kept her everyday identity a secret.  Mary Marvel looked just like Mary Batson -- except for the costume, of course.  And how come her costume never got burned or torn?  Probably it was just part of the magic that gave her powers ...

Lana's mother tapped on the open door.  "Dinner will be ready soon," she said, coming into the bedroom.  "Time to come down and set the table."

"Okay, Mom."

"Goodness," said Mrs. Lang.  "Are you reading those old comic books again?"

Lana grinned sheepishly.  "I know they're kind of silly," she said. "But think about it, Mom -- I could be just like Mary Marvel ... using my powers to help people and fight crime."  She held up the comic book she'd been reading.  Mary Marvel was swooping across the cover, driving her fist through an open newspaper and into the jaw of a scowling, heavy-faced man:

"MARY MARVEL CRUSHES CRIME!" proclaimed the headline on the newspaper.

Mrs. Lang peered at the comic book.  "I don't know, Lana," she said.  "Putting out fires and finding lost children is one thing, but don't you think you should leave crime-fighting to the police?"

"But I could help the police.  I could find stolen loot with my super-vision, and I could chase getaway cars with my super-speed -- "

Mrs. Lang was shaking her head.  Where did Lana get such ideas?  Probably from that television show The Untouchables ...

"I don't think you should be fighting anybody, dear," she said.  "Not even criminals.  You could easily hurt somebody with your super-strength.  You wouldn't want that, would you?  And besides, there's hardly any crime here in Smallville, thank goodness -- and what there is, Chief Parker can handle just fine on his own."

"I guess."  Lana was kneeling on the floor, putting the comic book back into the box she kept under her bed.

"Oh, by the way," said Mrs. Lang.  "Lex Luthor called while you were out earlier.  He wants to know what time you want to meet him at the library Saturday to work on that history report."

"Thanks.  I'll call him back after dinner."

"He seems like a nice young man," said Mrs. Lang.  Her tone was casual, but she watched her daughter closely.

"Hmmm?"  Lana stood up.  "Yeah, he is."

She hadn't blushed, or averted her eyes ... Mrs. Lang tried another approach.  "So," she said, "will you be going to the fall dance next week?"

"I -- I don't know yet."  Mrs. Lang caught the slight hesitation in her daughter's reply, and saw her eyes shift toward the bulletin board that hung over her desk.  Pinned to the board was an article clipped from the Crawford County Courier.  "FRESHMAN QB TAKES CROWS TO STATE QUARTER-FINALS" ran the headline, right above a photograph of Clark Kent in his football uniform, his helmet tucked under one arm and a broad grin on his face.

"I mean, no one's asked me," Lana explained.  "Maybe I'll go with a couple of the other girls ... "

Her voice trailed off.  She tilted her head to one side, gazing intently at her mother's face.

"Mom, could I borrow your glasses for a moment?"

Mrs. Lang raised her eyebrows in surprise, but she took off her glasses and handed them to her daughter.

Lana turned to face the mirror over her dresser.  She smoothed back her red hair and set her brunette wig in place; then she put on her mother's glasses.

There! she thought.  The wig, plus the glasses ... I look like a completely different person.

"Mom," she said, studying her reflection, "I think I need glasses ... "

----------

JANUARY ...

Lana rinsed the last of the dinner dishes, dried it with a glance of her heat vision, and handed it to her mother.

Mrs. Lang put the dish away in the cupboard.  "Do you have much homework tonight, dear?"

"I finished all my reading assignments on the bus," Lana replied.  Sitting in a back seat, she'd been able to flip through the pages at super-speed without being observed.  "All I have left is math."

Sitting down at the newly-cleared kitchen table, she opened her algebra book and took a sheet of paper from her binder.  She scanned the assignment at a glance.  Factor each polynomial completely ... 

Mrs. Lang watched, fascinated, as Lana's pencil raced across the sheet of paper at super-speed.  Nearly invisible, it moved steadily down the sheet of paper, leaving line after line of neatly written numbers and symbols in its wake.

"Done!"  Lana wrote her name at the top of the paper, folded it neatly, and tucked it inside her textbook.

"That must have been a difficult assignment," Mrs. Lang remarked dryly.  "It took you, what, all of five seconds?"

"Well, you know what happens if I write too fast," Lana grinned.  "I wouldn't want Mr. Hanley to wonder why my homework paper is all shredded and scorched."

Professor Lang strolled into the kitchen and turned on the radio.  There was a hiss of static as he adjusted the knob, followed by the voice of an announcer for a Crawfordsville station.

" ... winter storm is still moving across the tri-county area, making conditions extremely hazardous.  Listeners are advised to remain in their homes, or -- if they are out on the roads -- to drive with extreme caution ... "

Lana stood up.  "Okay if I go out and patrol the roads until the storm lets up?"

Professor Lang glanced at his wife, then nodded.  "I think that's a super idea."

Lana hurried upstairs to her room.  A heartbeat later, she was back down in the kitchen, tucking her red hair under a black ski mask.  She had changed into a pair of dark ski pants, a black windbreaker, and black woolen gloves.

"Be careful, dear," said Mrs. Lang.  "We know you're invulnerable, but still -- "

"Don't worry, Mom."  Lana pulled the mask down over her head.  The next moment, she was out the front door and leaping upward into the pitch dark and the driving snow ...

But neither the snow nor the darkness hindered her super-vision as she began patrolling the roads that stretched across the level farmland.  And she felt perfectly comfortable, despite the bitter cold, the piercing wind, the stinging snow.  She flew low, about fifty feet above the ground, knowing that few people were outside and confident that she was well camouflaged in her dark clothes.  

Minutes passed, turning into an hour, as Lana flew tirelessly back and forth.  She vaporized patches of ice with her heat vision.  She scattered snowdrifts with her super-breath.  From time to time she saw the headlights of a car or truck, feeble in the swirling snow; but the few drivers out on the road seemed to be moving with caution, and there were no accidents for her to deal with.

Eventually the storm began to let up, and Lana decided to head home.  The moon, peeping through tatters of cloud, cast a sheen on the snow-covered landscape below.  Flying over a field to the north of Strawberry Lake, Lana glanced down and noticed a shivering figure, dark against the snow.  It was a fawn -- and its right foreleg was caught in a trap.

Lana knew that farmers set traps to keep deer away from their crops during the growing season, and that many of them shot deer for venison.  Lana felt sorry for the animals, but she understood the farmers' point of view.  But this ...

The fawn tried to limp away as Lana flew down.  "Don't be afraid," she murmured.  "I'm here to help you."  She stroked the fawn's back, using her heat vision to bring warmth back into its half-frozen legs.  Soon the fawn stopped shivering and began rubbing its nuzzle against Lana's windbreaker.

Lana knelt down and grabbed the steel jaws of the trap.  The powerful spring was no match for her super-strength, and in a moment she had pried it open and freed her new friend.  She frowned at the contraption in her hands.  It wasn't her property, but it had no business being out here in the middle of winter ... Impulsively, she crumpled the trap into a ball and heaved it toward Strawberry Lake.  She heard the crack of breaking ice, and a soft kerplop as the mangled wad of metal sank to the bottom of the lake.

"Now where's your mother?" Lana asked.  Her super-vision quickly spotted a doe hiding in the shadow of some trees that fringed the lake.  Lana gave the fawn a gentle slap on the rump, and it trotted off, limping slightly, toward its mother. 

Airborne once again, Lana noticed the headlights of a pick-up pulling out of the high school parking lot.  A quick peek revealed that it was being driven by Robbie McMillan, captain of the basketball team, and that Clark was in the passenger seat.  Robbie must be giving Clark a ride home after practice.  The storm was over and the road was clear; still, Lana decided to escort the pick-up at a discreet altitude, just in case ...

* * *

Clark hopped out of the pick-up.  "Thanks for the lift."

"Any time," said Robbie.  "Just remember what I told you:  When you rebound, box your opponent out first, then jump."

"I'll remember that.  See you tomorrow."  Clark shut the door and began wading through a shin-deep snowdrift toward his front door.  Shivering, he hunched his shoulders and turned up the collar of his jacket.  It had stopped snowing, but a bitter wind was whipping loose flakes against his face.  Man, I hate winter, he thought.

His mother was waiting up for him, wrapped in a flannel nightgown and a thick robe.  "There you are," she said as Clark wiped his feet on the doormat.  "I was worried about you.  The man on the radio said the roads were dangerous."

"They weren't that bad," said Clark, hanging up his hat and scarf.  "Robbie gave me a ride home."

"I put some sandwiches and milk out for you.  And a slice of apple pie.  I know you still have homework to do."  

"Thanks."  Clark picked up a sandwich from the plate on the kitchen table and bit into it hungrily. 

"Good night, Clark," said his mother.  "Don't stay up too late."  She shuffled upstairs as Clark gulped down half the glass of milk.

Clark stared morosely at the stack of schoolbooks on the kitchen table.  Playing football -- and now basketball -- meant that his father cut him some slack on chores, but he needed to keep his grades up or he'd be off the team ... Swallowing the last forkful of pie, he picked up the books and plodded upstairs to his room.

A knot of frustration tightened in his stomach as he opened his algebra book and stared at the homework problems with weary eyes.  This stuff used to be so easy.  Now he could barely understand it.  Factor each polynomial completely ... What was the point?  But if poor grades kept him off the team, he could kiss his chances of winning an athletic scholarship good-bye.  And then he'd be stuck in Smallville forever ...

He was getting sleepy and the bedroom was cold and drafty.  Yawning, shivering, he forced himself to look at the first problem:  x squared plus 5x plus 6 ... Groaning, he laid his head on the desk.  I'll just rest my eyes for a minute ...

Passing the open door of Clark's bedroom at half past five the next morning, Ma Kent saw that he was fast asleep at the desk.

----------

APRIL

"Strike three!"

A groan of disappointment rose from the bleachers as Sean Casey, the Crows' top slugger, shuffled away from the plate, dragging his bat mournfully behind him.

The Crawfordsville outfield began trotting toward the benches; the Smallville outfield began getting into position; and the umpire and the coaches huddled by the pitcher's mound.  Lana strolled toward the wooden booth where Lex was keeping score and phoning updates to KROW, a local radio station that broadcast from a tiny building on Steuben Road.

Lex was holding the receiver to his ear; he winked at Lana but held up a finger for silence.

"Ready?" he asked his listener.  "Okay.  Cooney and Barrows struck out.  Flynn singled; Blake doubled.  Then Casey struck out.  That's right.  Bottom of the eighth, Gophers 4, Crows 2."  He paused, listening.  "Probably.  I think they're discussing it right now.  I'll let you know."

He hung up and smiled at his visitor.  "Lana!  I didn't know you were a baseball fan."

"Well, I'm not a very happy fan at the moment.  Can you believe Sean struck out?"

"I know.  He just let those first two pitches sail past him."

"It must be the curse."

Lex raised an eyebrow.  "The curse?"

"Yeah.  Haven't you heard that story?  Back in 1920, Smallville's best hitter moved to Crawfordsville -- and in all the years since then, the Crows haven't won a single game against the Gophers."  Lana nodded toward the pitcher's mound, where the umpire and coaches were still talking animatedly.  "What do you suppose they're talking about?"  She could hear every word, of course, but she wasn't going to let Lex know that.

"Probably whether to stop the game."  The sky had been overcast all afternoon, but the clouds now hung low in the sky, dark and menacing.  A breeze had sprung up, foreboding rain.

Lana frowned.  "Oh, no!  If they stop the game now, it'll go down as another loss for Smallville."  She thought quickly.  Clark had just been brought in as pitcher, and he'd have a turn at bat in the bottom of the next inning -- assuming there'd be a next inning ... If anyone could break the curse, she felt, it would be Clark.

"Well, let's keep our fingers crossed," she said.  "Excuse me -- I, um, better get my umbrella ... just in case ."

Lana stepped out of the booth, ducked behind the bleachers, and hurried toward the school building.  Slipping around a corner of the gymnasium, she quickly removed her dress, her wig, and her glasses and hid them behind a row of trash bins.  Beneath her loose outer clothing she was wearing a pair of khaki shorts and a Crows t-shirt.  Pausing only to pull her baseball cap snugly over her red hair, she flew straight up toward the black clouds blanketing the sky.

Moments later, she burst through into the sunlight.  Heavy with rain, the clouds stretched all the way to the horizon like a dark and sullen sea.  Hovering above them, Lana puckered her lips and started to inhale.  Her chest swelled as she breathed inward, filling her lungs with hundreds of cubic feet of air, until ...

That's enough, she decided.  She saw that the thin fabric of her t-shirt was straining against her torso.  She drew her mouth into a tiny round aperture, puffed out her cheeks, and started to exhale.  A thin but powerful stream of air shot from her lips.  The rain clouds began to stir; propelled by Lana's super-breath, they piled up into high banks and began gliding eastward.  A rift opened in the clouds, widening rapidly and allowing a shaft of bright sunlight to fall on the baseball field thousands of feet below.

Lana continued to blow.  The rain clouds were gathering momentum and sailing briskly off to the east.  The patch of sunlight grew, chasing the dark line of shadow off the field.  With her super-vision, Lana could see faces turned toward the sky -- the umpire and coaches, the players on the field, the spectators in the bleachers.  An awed murmur rose to her ears; amazement gave way to joy as the umpire called out "Play ball!"

Cheers resounded from the bleachers as Clark Kent strode toward the pitcher's mound and the Crawfordsville batter stepped up to the plate.

Back to the game, thought Lana.  That's one assist that won't show up on the scorecard!

* * *  

Lana stepped into the booth and set two bottles of Coca-Cola on the table.  "Thanks again for letting me watch the ninth inning with you."

"Any time," said Lex.  "Best seats in the house."  He took his hand off the mouthpiece of the telephone and lifted the receiver to his ear.  Mr. Hertz, the manager of KROW, had asked Lex to announce the ninth inning live.

Lex spoke into the phone as Lana picked up one of the bottles.  "Folks, if you're just tuning in, I'm speaking from the Smallville High School stadium, where the Crows are playing their long-standing rivals, the Crawfordsville Gophers.  It's the bottom of the ninth inning, and things look very much as they did at the bottom of the eighth.  The Crows are behind, 4 to 2; they have two outs and two men on base.  Freshman Clark Kent is at bat.  One ball, one strike -- and the Gophers' pitcher has called for a time out."

Lex cleared his throat before continuing.  "Kent was called in to pitch at the top of the ninth.  He struck out three batters and gave up just one base hit.  It looks as if Smallville's 'Boy of Steel' will be a force to be reckoned with on the baseball diamond, just as he is on the football field and the basketball court ... All right, the catcher is back behind the plate ... here comes the pitch ... ball two."

Lana was leaning forward in her chair, gripping the unopened bottle, intent on the game.  Her eyes never left Clark for a moment as Lex continued to speak into the telephone.

"The pitcher is winding up ... here it comes ... Kent swings ... he hits!"  The crowd in the bleachers was on its feet -- cheering, whistling, applauding.  Lex raised his voice.  "The ball is going up ... up ... and away!  It's a long drive into deep center field!"  The roar of the crowd swelled to an ecstatic crescendo.  "Here comes Englehart ... Cassidy ... and Clark Kent is back at home plate!"

Lex and Lana were on their feet.  Lana was hopping up and down, shaking the Coca-Cola bottle and squealing with excitement.

"Ladies and gentlemen, you can mark your scorecards!  Smallville wins, 5 to 4!  The Crows have broken the curse!"  Spectators were rushing onto the diamond and hoisting Clark on their shoulders.  Eyes shining, Lana set the bottle on the table and threw her arms around Lex.

"Wasn't that amazing?"

The receiver fell unheeded from Lex's hand.  He was aware of nothing but Lana's arms wrapped around his shoulders, her body pressed against his ... pressed hard ...

Pfft!  The cap flew off the Coca-Cola bottle;  thick white foam rose up its neck and ran down its side and onto the table ...

"Uh ... Lana?"  Lex's voice was strained.  "Could you -- a little less -- ?"

"Huh?"  Lana blinked.  "Oh my gosh!"  She released Lex and stepped back.  Her hand flew up to her mouth.  "Are you okay?"

Lex took a deep breath and gave her a wobbly grin.  "Yeah, I'm fine -- thanks!"

"I'm sorry," Lana said sheepishly.  "The excitement ... Clark ... adrenaline, you know?"

"I guess.  But don't be sorry!"  He blushed.  "Say, Lana ... I was wondering ... the spring dance ... "

"Hmm?"  Lana was only half-listening.  "Uh, excuse me, Lex -- I'm going to congratulate Clark."

The next moment, Lex was alone in the booth.  Self-consciously, he adjusted the front of his trousers, picked the receiver off the floor, and began wiping Coca-Cola off the table with his handkerchief.   

There was nobody on the porch, or in the living room, or in the kitchen.  Lana opened the door to the basement and peered down the stairs.

"Mom?  Daddy?"

Mrs. Lang came rushing up the stairs, followed by her husband.

"Oh, Lana!" she cried, throwing her arms around her daughter.  "Thank goodness!  Your father and I were so -- "  She stepped back, staring at Lana's tattered attire.  "Lana!  What happened to your clothes?"

"Sorry, Mom.  I got into a fight with a twister."

"Well," Professor Lang remarked dryly, "I guess I don't need to ask who won."

Lana sighed.  "I'll tell you all about it later.  Right now I want a nice hot bath."

Her father nodded.  "Of course.  Just not too hot, okay?"  A few weeks earlier, Lana had used her heat vision to bring her bathwater to a rolling boil.  The steam had blistered the ceiling plaster and peeled away the wallpaper.

Lana grinned.  "Okay."  She hugged her parents.  "Love you."  She trotted up the stairs to the second floor.

----------

AN HOUR LATER ...

"Well," said Professor Lang, "it sounds like you did a super job!"

"Yes," said Mrs. Lang.  "I'm very proud of you, Lana ... even if you did take a risk by flying around in the open -- and in the daytime."

Lana was sitting at the kitchen table, dressed in a terry-cloth robe.  A towel was wrapped around her hair like a turban, and the three pieces of brightly colored cloth lay neatly folded in front of her.

"Well," she explained, "I did check with my super-vision to make sure nobody was around.  But would that have made a difference?  Should I have let the tornado destroy the Kents' home just because someone might have seen me?"

"Well, no, of course not, honey," said Mrs. Lang.  "But we've gone over this.  Once people know that you have these amazing powers -- "

"But people won't know that I have super-powers," said Lana.  "That is, they won't know that Lana Lang has super-powers.  Look, I've been wearing a brunette wig ever since the day I changed.  I've been wearing glasses for six months.  I wear loose clothes to hide my figure, and I pretend to be shy and awkward.  Just like Sir Percy Blakeney pretended to be stupid and lazy so that no one would suspect he was the Scarlet Pimpernel."

Lana saw that she had her parents' attention.

"Now if I wore a colorful costume like Mary Marvel's whenever I do something super in public," she went on, "and if I used a flashy name like hers ... why, who'd ever guess that the red-headed girl with super-powers was secretly mousy Lana Lang?"

"But do you think you're ready, dear?" asked Mrs. Lang.

"I've been practicing with my powers for a year now," Lana pointed out.  "I've memorized books on first aid and firefighting and all sorts of things I'll need to know.  It's just a matter of time before some big emergency happens in broad daylight -- and you said yourself that I shouldn't sit back just because people might see me."

"Lana did stop a tornado today," said Professor Lang, filling his pipe.  "I'd say she's ready to handle just about anything."  He patted his pockets, looking for a match.

"Here, Daddy," said Lana.  "I'll get that."  She focused her heat-vision on the bowl of his pipe.  The tobacco began to glow red-hot and an aromatic plume of smoke rose into the air.

"So the only problem now," Lana went on, "is how to keep my costume from falling apart every time I go into action.  And I think I may have found a solution."  She nodded at the three pieces of cloth on the table and explained how she had found them.

Professor Lang was intrigued.  "And you say they're indestructible?" he asked, scrutinizing the red cloth.

Lana nodded.  "I can't tear them, or scratch them, or burn them."

Mrs. Lang was fingering the yellow cloth.  "Where do you suppose they come from, Henry?"

"Well, I heard on the radio that the tornado destroyed a wing of the DuPont laboratory outside Crawfordsville.  And I know that DuPont has been developing some ultra-tough new miracle fabrics.  There was an article about a material called 'Kevlar' in Scientific American a few months ago.  But this goes way beyond anything I've heard of."

"Wherever this cloth came from," said Lana, "I can use it to make an indestructible costume for myself."

"I don't know, Lana," said Mrs. Lang.  "If it belongs to DuPont -- "

"Oh, I'm sure a big company like DuPont won't miss three pieces of cloth," said Professor Lang.  "They must have other samples -- and notes, lab reports ... "

"Besides, Mom, you said my powers are a gift from God," said Lana.  "And now, just when I need an indestructible costume, this cloth practically falls out of the sky!"

Mrs. Lang pursed her lips, considering.  "Well." she said at last, "I suppose we could say that this is a case of finders-keepers."

"But aren't you forgetting something, Pumpkin?" asked Professor Lang.  "You can't cut this cloth with scissors, or poke a needle through it.  So how are you going to make a costume from it?"

Lana leaned back and gazed thoughtfully at the ceiling.  Idly, she cast her x-ray vision up through two floors and into the cluttered attic ...

A broad smile spread across her face as she sat up again.  "Just leave that to me, Daddy," she said.  "I've got an idea."

                                                                                   ----------

THREE DAYS LATER ...

"Okay," said Lana.  "You can look now!"

Her parents opened their eyes.  Lana was standing in front of the fireplace.  She had removed her wig and glasses.  Throwing her shoulders back and placing her hands on her hips, she struck a dramatic pose as she modeled the costume she'd been at work on for the last three days.

A blue jersey hugged every contour of her torso and clung tightly to the sleek musculature of her arms.  A strip of yellow cloth encircled her hips, and a short blue skirt fell halfway down her thighs.  Snug red boots accentuated the lines of her calves, and a red cape hung from her shoulders to her waist.  And emblazoned in red across the front of her jersey was a stylized "S" set in a shield-shaped outline like the escutcheon of a knight.

"Well?" she asked, turning around and striking a few more poses.  "What do you think?"

"I don't know, Lana," said Mrs. Lang.  "Isn't it a little ... tight?"

"That's the way the cloth fits, Mom.  It's very clingy.  Besides, a snug fit is aerodynamically efficient."

"And the skirt -- don't you think it's too short?"

"It's no shorter than what the cheerleaders wear.  And I didn't have that much material to work with."

Mrs. Lang shook her head.  "I don't know," she repeated.  "It just doesn't look like something I'd want my daughter to wear in public."

"That's the point, dear," Professor Lang said.  "Lana is the last person anyone would expect to wear something that, um, dramatic.  How'd you do it, Pumpkin?"

Lana grinned.  "Simple.  I unraveled the cloth ... then I wove this costume on Grandma Potter's old loom up in the attic!"

"Lana!" gasped Mrs. Lang.  "I didn't know you could work a loom!"

"I couldn't, three days ago.  But I'm a pretty quick study."

"Very impressive," declared Professor Lang.  "But something just occurred to me.  If you want to protect your, uh, 'secret identity,' you shouldn't go around leaving fingerprints on everything you touch."

"Way ahead of you, Daddy."  Lana reached into a pouch in the lining of her cape and took out a pair of red gloves.  She pulled them on.  They fit snugly over her hands and flared dramatically along her wrists.

"And here's something else I've been thinking about," said Lana.  "I've looked at the geological survey maps of Crawford County, and I'm pretty sure I can dig a structurally stable tunnel from our basement out to the woods near Strawberry Lake.  That way, nobody will see me flying out of this house when I'm in my costume."

Professor Lang nodded approvingly.  "Super," he said.  He turned to his wife.  "Well, dear, it looks like our Lana has thought of everything.  What do you say?"

Mrs. Lang still looked dubious, but she slowly nodded her head.  "I suppose.  And those colors do go nicely with your hair and complexion."

"Just one thing, Pumpkin," said Professor Lang.  He pointed the stem of his pipe at the emblem on Lana's jersey.  "What does the 'S' stand for?"

"Guess."

"Hmmm ... Susie Strong?"

Lana giggled.  "No!"

"How about ... Smallville Sensation?"

Lana shook her head.

"I've got it!  Scarlet Pimpernel!"

"Silly!"  Lana tossed her head, once again striking a defiant pose.  "It stands for ... Supergirl!"

CHAPTER 8

TWO WEEKS LATER ...

Hank pulled up by the Smallville Orphanage.  He set the parking brake and shut his eyes for a moment.  He'd been delivering propane since five o'clock, and he still had two more stops to make before lunch.  Sighing, he stepped out of the truck.  These double shifts were taking it out of him, but he needed the overtime. 

Making sure the hose was securely attached to the supply valve, Hank dragged the other end toward the old livery stable and connected it to the tank by the entrance.  The wooden double doors were shut, but he could hear noises inside.  It sounded like the youngsters were watching a movie.

He took out a large red handkerchief and mopped his face.  It had been hot for the past week -- hot and dry.  He checked the reading on the tank, then reached into his shirt pocket.  Dang!  Now where did I leave my pencil?  Sighing, he walked back to the truck.

He was reaching into the glove compartment when he heard the sudden roar of flames.

----------

Lana was strolling toward the Smallville Public Library when her super-hearing alerted her to an unusual sound.  It was a muffled pop -- like the sound a Bunsen burner makes when it's lit, only louder -- and it came from the direction of the orphanage.

Lana lowered her glasses and cast her super-vision off to her right.  She absorbed every detail of the scene at a glance:  the propane truck -- the sandy-haired man fumbling with the supply valve -- the black hose, writhing about like an injured snake and spewing fire -- and the flames consuming the front wall of the old stable.  Her x-ray vision revealed that six children, and one of the orphanage matrons, were trapped inside.

Uh-oh, thought Lana.  This looks like a job for ...

She was already hurrying toward a little grove of poplars, sweeping the area with her super-vision.  The coast was clear ; there was nobody around to see what she was about to do ...

In a blur of super-speed, Lana pulled off her dress and laid it on the ground.  She removed her wig and her glasses, her saddle shoes and bobby sox, and rolled everything up into a bundle.  She rolled down the sleeves of her super-costume, pulled on her boots and her gloves ... and in the blink of an eye, the mousy teenager had transformed herself into --

Supergirl!

Lana could barely suppress a giggle of nervous excitement at the thought of going into action, publicly, for the first time.  But there was no time to lose.  She picked up the bundle of clothes at her feet and flew straight up into the leafy canopy of the tallest poplar.  She shoved the bundle into a cleft in the trunk, then -- faster than a speeding bullet -- rocketed toward the orphanage.

The hose was still thrashing about, vomiting flame, as Lana swooped down toward the propane truck.  A quick check with her x-ray vision revealed that the supply valve was firmly shut.  Still, she'd better make sure the burning gas didn't get any closer to the truck.  She grabbed the end of the hose and squeezed, suffocating the flame. 

She turned toward the driver.  "Get the truck away from here!" she shouted.  "Move!"

The driver was staring at her, open-mouthed, but at the sound of her voice he jumped into the truck and released the parking brake.  Lana heard the truck rumble off as she turned toward the burning stable.

The front of the stable was a sheet of flame that crackled and roared as it poured billows of black smoke into the sky.  Lana saw that the blaze had crept round the side of the building -- and that a jet of blue flame was spurting from the open valve of the propane tank. 

Uh-oh, she thought.  If that tank explodes before I can get those kids to safety ...

A searing wind tossed her hair about and tugged at her cape as she ran toward the tank.  She yanked it off the wall and held it over her head, then soared up, up into the air.  She drew her arms back and heaved the tank high over a stubbled cornfield.  Two beams of incandescent heat shot from her eyes, igniting the tank into a colossal fireball that drew oohs and aahs, and even some scattered applause, from the crowd that had begun to gather below.

Lana swooped back down to the orphanage.  The town's one and only fire engine had arrived, and half a dozen volunteer firemen were moving about -- connecting hoses, setting up pumps -- under the direction of Smallville's veteran fire chief Amos Parker.  Locals, young and old, were converging on the scene from every direction, a few to help, most merely to gawk.

A murmur of astonishment rose from the crowd as Lana smashed her way through the flaming wall of the stable.  Scanning the smoke-filled interior with her super-vision, she stepped forward and gathered a child under each arm ; then, moving as quickly as she dared with her precious load, she ran back outside and set the children down in the shade of some trees a hundred yards away.  A streak of blue and red, she dashed back to the stable and returned with two more children ; and in just a few more seconds, she was setting down the last two children ... dazed, breathless, sooty-faced and teary-eyed -- but safe.

But the matron was still in the burning building.  Lana's legs churned like a flywheel and her feet tore a rut along the lawn as she raced back into the stable.  The entire building was now ablaze ; the fire roared like a torrent and threw out a wall of heat like a blast from a forge.  Desperately, Lana peered through the smoke ...

Outside, the crowd watched in horror as the stable came crashing down.  The walls buckled, the roof caved in, and a thousand sparks flew upward through the smoke like a swarm of fireflies.  Chief Parker shook his head grimly.  Anybody inside that building was beyond saving now ...

Suddenly, a charred timber flew upward from the blazing wreckage, spinning like a baton ; then another ; and a shape, indistinct in the smoke, rose into the sky.

Lana hovered for a moment above the flames, looking around her, getting her bearings.  Her red cape no longer hung from her shoulders ; it was wrapped around something that she held cradled in her arms.

Slowly she descended, touching down some distance from the burning heap of lumber.  Carefully she laid down the bundle in her arms ; gently she unwrapped it.  The matron lay motionless on the grass.  Her eyes were closed, her breathing was shallow and labored.  But she was alive.

A fireman was already hurrying forward with an oxygen tank and a mask.  Lana stood up, putting her cape back on, and surveyed the scene.  Chief Parker and his men were laboring away, trying desperately to quench the blaze and prevent it from spreading to the main building ; but the antiquated pumper was fighting a losing battle.

Lana sprang into the air.  She had an idea.

Moments later, she was hovering over the placid surface of Strawberry Lake.  She flung out her arms and began spinning like a human top.  Faster and faster she spun, whipping up a vortex that began drawing water up out of the lake.  Lana rose higher and higher, pulling the column of water up with her until it reached a height of fifty feet.

Still spinning, Lana began making her way back to the orphanage, pulling the waterspout across cornfields and pastures until she was directly above the flaming ruins of the stable.  She stopped spinning -- and two thousand cubic feet of water came splashing down, dousing the blaze with an enormous hiss and a cloud of steam.

Lana strode across the sodden lawn and approached Chief Parker.

"Er -- hello," she said.  She felt somewhat nervous, speaking to someone in her new persona.  Smile, she told herself.  Act confident -- just like Mary Marvel.  "I got everyone out safely," she said.  "I'm, uh, sorry I couldn't save the building."

"Don't be," said Chief Parker.  "That old stable was a firetrap.  I've been trying to get the trustees to tear it down for years."  His mild blue eyes regarded Lana curiously.  "Who are you, miss?" he asked.  "And how -- how --?" 

"I'm ... Supergirl," Lana replied.  Somewhat self-consciously, she put her hands on her hips and threw her shoulders back.  "And I just want to help people."

A corner of Chief Parker's mouth twitched.  "Well ... Supergirl ... I'm Amos Parker.  I'm Smallville's fire chief -- and police chief -- and I want to help people, too.  So it looks like we have something in common."  He regarded Lana with growing wonder.  "I'm sixty-two years old," he said at last.  I've seen a lot of things in my lifetime -- automobiles and airplanes and rockets and talking pictures and television and who knows what else.  My grandson even tells me I'll see men walk on the moon someday.  But I must say, I never expected to see -- "  He shook his head.  "It beats me how a pretty little gal like you can do those things.  But if it hadn't been for you -- well, a lot of people might have lost their lives, and I'm not just talking about the young'uns in that tinderbox."

Lana blushed and looked down.  "It's what I'm here for," she said.  "Any time you need me -- "

"Well, could you drop by my office sometime this afternoon?  You can help me write up my report on this fire.  And maybe tell me a bit more about yourself."

"I'll do that," Lana smiled.  "But right now I've got to be going.  See you later, Chief Parker."

Turning, Lana was about to spring into the air when she felt a tug on her cape.  She looked down.  A little girl -- one of the children she had rescued -- was gazing up at her with wide, solemn eyes.

"Ascuse me," she said.  "Did you save my kitty, too?"

Lana knelt down and smiled reassuringly.  "I didn't see your kitty inside, sweetie," she said.  "And I have very good eyes.  I bet he ran outside when the fire started."

"Then where is he?"

"Let me see if I can find him."  Lana thought for a moment.  Where would a frightened kitten run off to?  She looked up and scanned the branches of a nearby tree with her x-ray vision -- then another -- then ... Aha!

"Is your kitty gray, with one white foot?" she asked the little girl.

The girl nodded.

"Well, I see him way up in that big elm tree over there."

The girl's eyes widened.  "You can see him all the way over there?"

"I told you -- I have very good eyes.  Shall we go get him?"

The girl nodded.

Hand in hand, Lana and the little girl strolled over to the elm tree and gazed up into its leafy branches. 

"Do you want to help me get him down?"

The girl nodded.

Lana leaned over and picked up the girl.  "Now I'm going to fly up into those branches.  You're not scared, are you?"

The girl shook her head.

Lana rose, slowly and gently, up along the trunk of the tree.  "Watch your head."  She wove her way carefully among the branches until they were eye to eye with a scruffy grey kitten who crouched low on a branch and regarded his rescuers suspiciously through narrowed green eyes.

"Nice kitty," said Lana, holding out her hand.  The kitten swiped at it.

The little girl tapped the kitten on the nose with a forefinger.  "That's not very polite, Mr. White Paw!" she said scoldingly.  "We've come to wescue you!"  Sulkily, the kitten allowed the girl to pick him up.

"All set?" asked Lana.  Mr. White Paw glared at her ; the girl nodded.  Lana carried her two passengers back down to the ground.  The other five children had gathered round the tree.  They jumped up and down excitedly as Lana set the girl back down on the ground.

"Can you give me a ride?" asked another girl eagerly.

"Me too!" cried a little boy.

"Me three!" chimed in another.

Lana laughed.  "I'm sorry," she said, "but I have to go now.  But I'll come back and give you all rides some day soon -- okay?"

She took a few running steps and launched herself up into the air.  Faces looked up ; fingers pointed ; and a loud murmur of excitement ran through the crowd. 

"Three cheers for Supergirl!" Chief Parker shouted through his bullhorn.  "Hip hip ..."

"Hooray!"

"Hip hip ... "

"HOORAY!"

"Hip hip ..."

"HOORAY!"

Lana hovered, blushing yet poised, before the cheering crowd.  She smiled and waved ; then she turned and flew off.

Clark Kent pushed his way through the crowd.  He'd missed all the excitement and looked around for someone who could tell him what had happened.

"Wow!" he exclaimed, staring at the charred remains of the stable and the soggy ground.  "What happened here?"

"Never mind that," Pete Ross told him.  He pointed toward a small black figure moving across the pale blue sky.  "Look up in the sky!"

Clark squinted, shading his eyes with his hand.  "What is it?  A bird?  A plane?"

"It's Supergirl!"

And Clark, dumbstruck, peered after the figure until it had disappeared from sight. 

CHAPTER 9

THE NEXT DAY ...

The wind streamed through Lana's hair and snapped at her cape as she flew along, following the two-lane road that stretched from Smallville to Shelbyville like a black ribbon.  Finally! she thought.  I can fly around in broad daylight, without worrying that someone might see me.  Off to her left, a woman was hanging laundry on a clothesline in her back yard.  Lana smiled and waved as the woman stared up at her.

Maybe I should start patrolling Smallville every afternoon, she thought, just so people can get used to seeing me up in the sky ...

But right now she was on an errand for Chief Parker.  Fighting had broken out between two meat-packers' unions in Shelbyville.  Chief Parker's brother-in-law Jimmy Whelan was the head of one of the unions, and he'd been warned to back down -- or else.

"Jimmy sent his wife and kids off to Kansas City, but he refuses to leave Shelbyville," Chief Parker had told Lana.  "He's half Irish and half German, and as stubborn as they come.  Needless to say, I'm worried about him.  So is my wife.  Could you -- well, keep an eye on him for me?"

"Don't you worry, Chief Parker," Lana had replied.  "Nobody's going to hurt your brother-in-law -- not if I have anything to say about it!"

Lana felt quite proud of having been entrusted with such a big responsibility, and she was determined not to let Chief Parker down.  She had decided to pay Mr. Whelan a visit.  She would introduce herself, explain that she'd be looking out for him ...

Now she was approaching the outskirts of Shelbyville -- a depressing town of crumbling brick warehouses, cinderblock taverns, and derelict vacant lots.  Jimmy Whelan lived in one of the housing tracts that spread out beyond the city limits, and Lana soon located his house with her super-vision.  It was a plain one-level house, virtually indistinguishable from its neighbors, but the name on the mailbox outside told her that this was the house she was looking for.

Her eyes grew wide with alarm as she peered inside the house with her x-ray vision.  Mr. Whelan -- Lana recognized him from a photograph Chief Parker had shown her -- was sitting on a sofa in the living room, tense with fear, staring up at two roughly-dressed men who stood menacingly over him. One of them was tapping a baseball bat against his left palm; the other -- a smaller, wiry man -- was holding a length of lead pipe inches from Mr. Whelan's face.

Lana listened in with her super-hearing.

"Now," the smaller man was saying, "can we tell our boss that you're gonna play ball with us -- or do we have to get rough?"

It looks as if I picked a good time to drop by, thought Lana.  She swooped down to the front door and let herself inside.  The door to the living room had been closed and locked.  Lana grabbed the doorknob and pushed.  There was a squeal, followed by a splintering sound, as the bolt tore through the casing of the lock and the wood of the door frame.  Lana stepped inside to confront Mr. Whelan's visitors.

They had been standing with their backs to the door ; now they spun round, startled by the noise and by the sight that met their eyes -- a pretty redhead in a colorful costume who stood facing them with her gloved hands set defiantly on her hips.

"Stop picking on Mr. Whelan, you -- you bullies!"

"Who's the skirt?" said the smaller man.  "This your daughter, Whelan?  I thought you sent your wife and kids away."

"Run along, sweetcheeks," said the man with the baseball bat.  "We don't want any Girl Scout cookies."

Lana ignored them.  "I'm Supergirl, Mr. Whelan, and I'm not going to let these men hurt you."  She turned to the two intruders. "I suggest you leave this house immediately -- oh, and you can give this message to your boss:  Mr. Whelan is under my protection now."

"Hey, you got us all wrong, doll-face," said the larger man.  "My friend and I, we just dropped by to have a nice friendly chat about baseball -- ain't that right, Frankie?"

"Yeah," grinned his partner.  "Baseball.  Now you just run along, girlie -- hey!"

Lana had snatched the lead pipe from his hand at super-speed ; now she was wrapping it around his wrists as smoothly as if she were tying a ribbon around a parcel.  Before the man knew what was happening, his hands were bound tightly by the twisted pipe.

"What the -- ?"

Lana laid a forefinger on his chest and pushed.  The man staggered backwards into an armchair.

"Don't move," Lana warned him.  She turned toward the other man, who had stepped back involuntarily.  He held out the baseball bat, his hand shaking, his face pale.. 

"Get -- get out of here!" he said.  Questions were swarming in his mind.  Who was this girl -- what was she doing here -- and what the hell had she done to Frankie?  "This ain't none of your business!  I'm warning you, missy!" he said, shaking the bat in Lana's face.  "If you know what's good for you -- "

Lana yanked the bat from his outstretched hand and broke it over her knee.  She flung the pieces to the floor and took a step forward.  She could hear the man's heart pounding frantically in his chest as he retreated, never taking his eyes off her, until his broad back was pressing against the wall.  Lana reached out and grabbed the front of his shirt ...

Terrified, the man began flailing about with his fists.  His arms were longer than the girl's, and he managed to swing his right fist directly into her abdomen with a strength born of desperation ...

"Owww!" he bellowed.  His knuckles were throbbing, and tears sprang into his eyes.  It had been like punching a slab of steel.

Lana tilted her head to one side and arched an eyebrow.  "Awww," she cooed.  "Did the widdle girl give the big stwong man a boo-boo?"  She frowned.  "Who sent you?" she demanded, giving the man a vigorous shake.

"N - nobody!" he gasped.  "I told you -- "

Lana rolled her eyes.  "I know, I know -- you just dropped by to talk about baseball."

They were standing by a window.  Lana reached out and raised the sash with her free hand.  "Maybe a little fresh air will clear your head."  She leapt through the opening and up into the sky, dragging the man behind her ...

The man had squeezed his eyes shut.  He felt a hollow sensation in the pit of his stomach, as if he were going up in a fast elevator.  A few moments later, he could feel himself slowing down, then coming to a stop.  It seemed strangely quiet, and a cool wind was blowing across his sweaty forehead.

Cautiously, he opened one eye.  The red-haired girl was standing in front of him.  One hand was resting on her hip, the other was still clutching his shirt.  He glanced down.  His bowels turned watery with terror when he saw that they were hundreds of feet up in the air, the cars and houses below them seemingly reduced to the size of toys ...

"Let go of me!" he shouted.

The girl raised an eyebrow.  "Really?"

He corrected himself hastily.  "I mean -- I mean, don't let go!"

"Don't worry, Mr. -- "  Lana used her x-ray vision to inspect the wallet in the man's hip pocket.  "Mr. Stroud.  I'll set you down safe and sound just as soon as you tell me who sent you and your friend to hurt Mr. Whelan."

"We weren't gonna hurt him -- honest!  We were just gonna put a scare into him -- "

"You mean like this?"  Lana released her grip on Stroud's shirt.  He plunged, screaming, toward the ground far below ...

The next moment, Lana swooped down and caught him by the ankle.  She dangled him upside-down, still high above terra firma. 

"Now let's see if the blood rushing to your head helps your memory," she said.  "For the last time, who sent you?"

"Tony!  It was Tony!"

"Tony who?"

"Fat Tony!  Tony D'Amato!"

Lana nodded.  She recognized the name.  Chief Parker had told her that "Fat Tony" was the head of the rival union -- and the biggest racketeer in the tri-county area.

"That's better," she said.  "And where can I find Mr. D'Amato?"

"He -- he gets around, you know?  Try the Diamond Bar.  He's got an office in the back room ... "

"Where's that?"

"Corner of Main and Canal." 

Lana smiled.  "Thank you, Mr. Stroud.  You've been very helpful.  I'll take you back down now.  Oh, and you don't have to worry about taking that message to Mr. D'Amato."

She smiled.  "I'll deliver it personally."

----------

The Diamond Bar was a low cinderblock building at the corner of Main and Canal.  Lana swooped down and landed nimbly on the sidewalk by the front door.  A neon sign in the window advertised Duff Beer ; another proclaimed "GIRLS! GIRLS!! GIRLS!!!" in garish purple letters.

Lana felt somewhat nervous as she stood in front of the door, listening to the cacophony from within.  She had never set foot in a place like this before, and she wondered what her mother might say.  But she straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin resolutely, reminding herself that she had nothing to fear -- and a job to do.

She opened the door and stepped inside.  It was dark in the Diamond Bar, even though the clear twilight of early summer lay on the street outside.  Her eyes needed no time to adjust to the dim light, however, and she glanced swiftly around the bar.  Fifty or sixty men, recently released from their shift at the plant and eager to start spending their paychecks, crowded the bar and filled the tables.  Loud banter and raucous laughter, accentuated by the clatter of billiard balls, nearly drowned out the Tony Bennett song wafting from the jukebox.  The air was thick with cigarette smoke, and Lana's nose wrinkled in distaste at the mingled smells of stale beer and cheap liquor.  Several hard-faced women were sitting among the men at the bar, and a couple of scantily-dressed girls, who looked only a few years older than Lana, scurried back and forth with trays of drinks.  Few of the patrons seemed to have taken notice of the colorfully-garbed newcomer.

Lana strode up to a vacant space at the bar.  "Excuse me," she said to the bartender.  "I'm looking for Tony D'Amato."

The bartender, a broad-shouldered man with a thick mustache. peered curiously at Lana through the haze of cigarette smoke.  "Listen, miss," he said.  "In the first place, Mr. D'Amato don't see anybody without an appointment.  In the second place, didn't you read the sign on the door -- 'NO ONE ADMITTED UNDER THE AGE OF 18'?  You look a little young to me."

"Aw, let her stay, Mitch," said a plump man in a badly-fitting corduroy jacket, perched on the stool to Lana's left.  He grinned wolfishly.  "Can I buy you a drink, honey?"

Lana ignored him.  "Please?" she asked the bartender, tilting her head to one side and batting her eyelashes, the way she'd seen Lauren Bacall do in the movies.  "It's very important.  I have a message for him from Frank Patterson and Jasper Stroud."  She lowered her voice confidentially.  "It's about Jimmy Whelan.  Mr. D'Amato needs to hear it right away."

The bartender frowned, considering.  Evidently the names meant something to him.  He chewed the fringe of his mustache for a moment, then jerked his head toward a door at the back of the room.  "Right through that door," he said.

Lana smiled sweetly.  "Thank you so much."

"I wonder if she's looking for a job," said the man in the corduroy jacket as Lana walked off.  "Whatever she does, I'd hire her."

"For crying out loud, Stan," said the man sitting next to him.  "She's got 'jailbait' written all over her.  The pretzels here are older than she is."

"You know what they say," said the bartender, drawing a beer.  "Sixteen will get you twenty."

----------

Wham!

The door of Tony D'Amato's private office flew open, swung round on its hinges, and banged against the dingy plaster wall.  Lana strode into the room, taking in every detail at a glance:  the metal filing cabinets, the pool table, the threadbare armchairs, the cluttered desk.  A thin, narrow-faced man in a grey suit was slouched in one of the armchairs, twiddling a billiard cue.  A man in khaki trousers and a sleeveless jersey sat impassively on a wooden chair, his massive arms folded across his chest.  And behind the desk sat a jowly, heavy-set man with iron-grey hair and deep-set eyes.

Startled by the unexpected intrusion, the three men stared as Lana shut the door and turned to face the desk, her red-gloved hands set defiantly on her hips.

"Are you Tony D'Amato?" she asked.

The heavy-set man regarded her from beneath a pair of bushy grey eyebrows.  "At your service," he replied.  His voice was soft and husky, and he spoke with slow deliberation, as if he were accustomed to choosing his words carefully.  "Can I help you, miss?  If you're looking for cheerleading tryouts, the high school is on the other side of town."

"Maybe she wants a job at the Paradise or the Pussycat," said the man in the armchair.  Reaching forward with his billiard cue, he ran its tip up Lana's thigh and lifted the hem of her skirt.  "She's got the goods -- "

Lana spun round, eyes blazing.  Her arm was a blur as she slapped the cue aside, breaking it in two and sending the pieces clattering across the room.

"Hey!"  The thin man was on his feet, his face flushed with anger.  Lana raised her chin and glared back at him.

"Louie, sit down."  The man behind the desk had not raised his voice, but he was clearly giving an order and expected to be obeyed.  Louie sat back down, regarding Lana sullenly through narrowed eyes.

"Please forgive my associate," said Tony.  "Sometimes he forgets to extend the proper courtesy to our guests."  He frowned at Louie, then smiled affably at Lana, exposing the glint of a gold tooth.  "And now, what may I do for you?  Are you indeed seeking employment in one of my establishments?  I can always use an attractive young lady such as yourself in the capacity of a cocktail waitress.  Or perhaps you are a singer, or a dancer, Miss -- ah?"

Lana tossed her head.  "You can call me Supergirl."

A smile flickered at the corners of Tony's mouth.  "My," he said.  "What a ... colorful sobriquet."

"And I don't want a job in one of your sleazy bars," Lana went on.  "I've just come from Jimmy Whelan's house, where I stopped two of your hoods from beating him with a baseball bat."

Tony's eyes remained fixed steadily on Lana.  "You have me mistaken for somebody else, miss," he said.  "I am a humble but honest entrepreneur.  My taverns and cabarets provide refreshment and entertainment for the hard-working people of Shelbyville.  I do not have the pleasure of this Mr. Whelan's acquaintance, and I certainly do not employ any ... ah, 'hoods,' as you call them."

"It's no use, Mr. D'Amato.  Mr. Whelan will be happy to testify against you, and so will the two thugs you sent after him.  Now you and I are going to pay a little visit to the Shelbyville police station -- "

"Now you listen to me, missy," Tony rasped.  "If you are an officer of the law, show me your badge and your warrant.  If not, these premises are the property of the Businessmen's Social Club, and you, young lady, are trespassing."  He placed his palms on the desktop and pushed himself out of his chair.  "Bruno," he said, addressing the brawny man on the wooden chair, "kindly escort our guest outside."

Bruno shifted his toothpick to the other side of his mouth and rose slowly to his feet.  He strolled toward Lana and placed a massive hand on her elbow.  "Come along, miss," he mumbled.  "Mr. D'Amato is a busy -- ow!"

It had happened in an instant.  Bruno was kneeling on the floor, his wrist held tightly in Lana's hand, his face contorted with pain.  "Ow!" he groaned.  "You -- you broke my wrist!"

Lana raised Bruno's arm and inspected it quickly with her x-ray vision.  "It's not broken," she informed him.  "Don't be such a crybaby.  Put a little ice on it and it'll be fine."

Louie had leaped up from his armchair.  "So -- this dame knows judo, huh?"  He grabbed Lana's free arm and tried to turn her toward the door.  "What the --?"  It was like trying to move a marble statue.  He tugged harder ...

Without letting go of Bruno, Lana reached behind her with her right hand and seized Louie by the front of his shirt.  An effortless sweep of her arm sent Louie flying over her head.  He landed in the armchair, knocked it backwards, and went tumbling toward the pool table.

Tony was still standing behind the desk.  His face was pale and there was a glint of fear in his deep-set eyes.  "Now you listen here," he said.  He spoke rapidly now, and his voice cracked with emotion.  "Get out of my office.  Get out right now, or I'll -- "

Lana caught a movement out of the corner of her eye.  She raised her hand and closed her fingers around the billiard ball that Louie had hurled at her.  Smiling, she squeezed the ball slightly -- and a crack split it in two.  She squeezed harder -- and the ball broke into half a dozen pieces.  One final squeeze reduced the ball to a coarse powder that trickled through her gloved fingers and onto Tony's desk.

Tony stared open-mouthed at the heap of chalky powder ; then he raised his eyes and glared at Lana.  "I don't know how you did that, missy," he said.  "But if you're not out of here in three seconds, I'll -- I'll -- "

Lana took a step forward.  "You'll do what?"

"I'll call the police, that's what," he rasped, banging his fist on the desktop.

Lana's arm was a blur as she swung her own fist down on the desk, splitting it down the middle with a loud crack.  The two halves collapsed inward, and the litter of papers slid down to the bottom of the "V."  Tony reached out and grabbed his "Businessman of the Year" trophy just as it was about to fall to the floor.

"Go ahead and call the police!" said Lana.  "I'm sure they'll be very interested in what Mr. Whelan has to say -- and those two thugs you sent to beat him up."  Lana was scanning the wall behind Tony with her x-ray vision.  Aha!  A framed photograph of Frank Sinatra -- inscribed "To my pal Tony" -- concealed the door of a combination safe.

"And I'm sure they'll be very interested in these ledgers," she went on, taking down the photograph and setting it on the floor.  She drew back her fist ...

"Hey!" Tony sputtered.  "What do you think you're doing?"

Lana didn't bother to reply.  She drove her fist into the wall with the force of a pile driver.  Chunks of plaster fell to the floor and there was a groan of crumpling metal as her fist went through the front of the safe.  She dug her fingers into the jagged hole and peeled the metal back as if it were tin-foil ; then she reached inside and took out a well-thumbed ledger.

"That's private property!" Tony hollered.

Ignoring him, Lana flipped through the ledger at super-speed, scanning its contents at a glance.  "Mr. D'Amato!" she said reproachfully.  "Why, you should be ashamed!  Bribery -- extortion -- racketeering -- it's all here!"  She shut the book and tucked it under her arm.  "What will those people outside think when they hear about this?  I bet they'll make you give back that trophy.  And what do you suppose your friend Mr. Sinatra will say?"

She seized Tony's shirtfront and lifted him six inches off the floor.  Tony grabbed her arm with both hands in a futile effort to break her grip.  His eyes shifted desperately toward the other two men.  "Don't just stand there!" he bellowed.  "This is assault!  Go on -- drill her!"

Bruno had risen to his feet.  He was holding a .38, but he simply gazed at it stupidly.  "Please, Tony!" he said.  "Don't make me do it!  I -- I got a daughter her age -- "

"You moron!" snapped Louie.  He grabbed the gun from Bruno and pointed it at Lana.  "Hey, doll-face!" he shouted.

Lana pushed Tony back against the wall and turned to face a round of bullets from the gun in Louie's hand.  Hands on hips, shoulders thrown back, she let the bullets ricochet from her torso.  They went flying in all directions, making pockmarks in the plaster walls and denting the metal filing cabinets.  The last bullet bounced off her left shoulder and drilled a neat hole in the grimy window.

Louie stared at the .38 for a moment, then flung it toward Lana as hard as he could.  She caught it deftly in her right hand and began to squeeze.  The gun crumpled in her grip ; then the gray metal began oozing between her fingers like soft clay.  She tossed the misshapen lump back at Louie.  "Here, catch," she said.  "You can use it for a paperweight."

She turned back toward Tony.  "And now, Mr. D'Amato, you and I have a date with the Shelbyville police."

Tony was still leaning against the spot where Lana had pushed him.  His face was ashen and his jowls were trembling.  "Who -- what -- who are you?" he stammered.

"I told you -- I'm Supergirl."

Lana reached out and grabbed Tony by the front of his shirt.  Louie and Bruno looked on, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, as Lana dragged Tony toward the door.  She yanked the door open and strode back into the smoky din of the Diamond Bar, pulling Tony behind her?