kent

black widow

Clark is slumped over his desk, and a string of drool threatens to drip onto his otherwise pristine physics notes. His breathing is quiet and even. The rise and fall of his back beats to a constant rhythm, and because he isn’t causing any noticeable disturbance, the teacher lets him sleep.

Also, having the highest grade in the class sort of guarantees a spot as the teacher’s favorite. Clark probably has a five percent lead on every member of the class.

What the teacher doesn’t realize though, is that Clark is a huge distraction. After scribbling some equation entirely comprised of variables that Carly will probably never remember, she can’t help but cast her eyes in his direction. His facial features are soft and angelic, and it makes her heart feel the same.

She taps her pencil on the paper, hoping that the noise will overpower his quiet breaths, but they still manage to float through the air and infest her brain. Clark has always been strangely addictive to her. But she needs to stay focused on the material being launched at her or else her grade will suffer along with her heart.

Out of the corner of her eye, she catches Taylor sweeping back a few, golden locks of hair. She tucks the strands neatly behind her ear and chews lightly on the inside of her lip. Her crystalline eyes drift over to Clark as well. Taylor’s eyebrows furrow ever so slightly before she turns back to her notes. She deliberately places letter after letter. The lead to her pencil cracks, and Taylor lets out a huff of frustration. She blows off the graphite dust and tabs the top of her pencil to produce more lead. Taylor begins again attempting to lessen the force of pencil on paper, but her grip is still iron.

Carly rolls her eyes, not really caring that Taylor is stressed about something. Carly has already decided that it is something trivial, especially in comparison the the constantly approaching end of the world. Because Carly thinks that someday woefully soon, the stars will no longer blaze and the rivers will freeze in their course and the world will crack about its axis. And she is stuck in a physics classroom, playing the part of the good girl just as her parents expect of her.

Carly looks at Clark and frowns, hoping that he is a good enough reason to stay. She looks back up at the Smartboard, expecting the confusion of elliptical orbits to overpower the confusion of emotions at war with each other. It does for some time, as she labors over what the difference between three various types of acceleration are. As usual, she draws a blank, and decides that this is beyond her comprehension. After all, she herself is proof that the unnatural does occur.

Just when Carly is about to slip into a physics induced coma herself, Clark stirs beside her. His hair is roughed up in different directions and his eyes are bleary. He rubs his eyes with one hand and pushes back his hair with the other, before slumping back forwards onto his desk. “Hey,” he whispers. “What are we doing?”

Carly furrows her brow. “I’m not quite sure. This is why you need to be the one who stays awake.”

He nods. The corner of his mouth turns upward in a smile and he shakes his head slowly. He lifts his head just enough to crane his neck around the person seated in front of him. His eyes widen as he realizes just how much information he has missed and he scrabbles to find his pencil. It has rolled to the floor. Carly scoops it up for him and offers the pencil to Clark. He lifts it from between her fingertips and looks down at his paper in determination.

Then, he looks back up to the board.

He realizes that it is a futile attempt. He flops back onto his desk and the pencil drops from his hands yet again. It clatters against the tiled floor. “I can’t do this,” he tells her. “I’ll just take a bad grade.”

She raises her eyebrows, knowing that Clark is far too perfectionistic to get a grade that even resembles an A-.

“I’m tired,” he says monotonously. “Like, really tired.” His face contorts in a yawn, as if to prove his point.