Meteor Freak

Episode 1.2 - Smallville Part 2

Date: Friday, August 12, 2011.

Location: Smallville High, Smallville, Kansas

As he approached the school, Tyson caught sight of his reflection in a darkened window. His hair was disheveled, his skin still bore faint traces of dirt, he was covered in dried blood though his injuries had healed, and all he wore still were his boxers. A mischievous grin spread across his face as an idea took root in his mind.

"Might as well make an entrance," he muttered to himself, pushing open the doors to the school.

The hallways were deserted, and most of the students were already at the dance. Tyson reached the Torch office, finding his backpack right where he'd left it, tucked beneath one of the desks. Rummaging through the bag, he ensured his phone and wallet were still there. With newfound confidence, Tyson made his way toward the gymnasium, where the dance was in full swing. He paused outside the doors, dropping his bag, then he pushed them open and strode into the room.

The effect was immediate and electric. Heads turned, conversations halted mid-sentence, and the music seemed to fade into the background as all eyes locked on Tyson. He walked forward, ignoring the shocked gasps and whispers that rippled through the crowd.

Near the center of the dance floor, Chloe was dancing with Pete, her face flushed with excitement and laughter. Pete was the first to notice Tyson's dramatic entrance, his eyes widening in disbelief. He froze mid-step, his mouth hanging open.

When Chloe noticed Pete's sudden stillness, she turned to follow his gaze. Her expression morphed from confusion to shock in an instant.

"Oh man," Pete managed.

Across the room, Whitney and Lana swayed to the music, lost in their own world. They remained oblivious to the commotion until the crowd began to part, creating a clear path straight toward them.

Tyson strode forward with purpose, his eyes locked on Whitney. The quarterback's back was to him, but Lana's eyes widened as she caught sight of Tyson over Whitney's shoulder. Her gasp of surprise finally alerted Whitney to the approaching figure. As he turned, his face paled visibly. Recognition, followed quickly by guilt and fear, flashed across his features. He took an involuntary step back, his arm falling from Lana's waist.

The music continued to play, but the gymnasium had fallen into an eerie silence otherwise. Students gave Tyson a wide berth as he approached Whitney. The tension in the air was palpable, everyone holding their breath in anticipation of what would happen next.

Tyson stopped just a few feet from Whitney. For a moment, neither spoke, the silence stretching out between them like a rubber band pulled taut. Whitney was the first to break the silence, his voice wavering slightly. "Look, man, it was just a prank."

A stern-faced teacher, Mrs. Grayson, strode purposefully through the parting crowd. Her lips were pressed into a thin line as she positioned herself between Tyson and Whitney.

With a curt nod to the DJ, the music stopped. The sudden silence amplified the tension in the room.

Mrs. Grayson's eyes swept over Tyson's nearly naked form, her nostrils flaring in disapproval. "Young man, you cannot be here dressed like that. It's completely inappropriate."

Tyson's gaze, fixed on Whitney, slowly shifted to meet Mrs. Grayson's. His eyes narrowed as he accused, "Oh, now you're gonna step in?" he said, not holding back his bitterness and barely contained anger. "Where were you when I got jumped earlier?"

Mrs. Grayson's brow furrowed, her gaze darting briefly to Whitney before returning to Tyson. "Mr. Fordman and the football team were all preparing for the game after school," she stated matter-of-factly. "Whatever prank you're trying to pull has earned you detention." Her voice hardened as she added, "On your first day, no less."

A ripple of whispers spread through the crowd at this revelation. The new kid showing up nearly naked to the dance on his first day after being chosen as the scarecrow? It was the kind of drama Smallville High hadn't seen in years.

Tyson shrugged, his posture relaxing slightly. The anger in his eyes was replaced by something colder, more calculated. "Fine. I see how it is," he said, his voice carrying a note of resignation tinged with something darker. As he spoke, Tyson reached up, his fingers brushing against the green stone hanging from his neck. It seemed like an innocuous movement to most of the onlookers.

But to Whitney and Lana, that simple gesture carried a world of meaning.

Lana's eyes widened as they locked onto the familiar pendant. Her hand instinctively moved to her neck, finding it bare. The realization hit her like a physical blow. She had given Whitney her necklace earlier that day, a token of affection before the big game. Now, inexplicably, it hung around the neck of this new student who had burst into the dance, looking as if he'd been through hell.

The implications were clear. Whitney had been involved in whatever had happened to Tyson. The necklace was proof, a damning piece of evidence that linked Whitney directly to Tyson's current state.

Lana glanced at her boyfriend, her eyes a mixture of shock, disappointment, and dawning anger. Whitney, for his part, looked as if he might be sick. His face had drained of all color, and his eyes were wide with panic as he realized he'd been caught.

Tyson noted their reactions with grim satisfaction. He had made his point without saying a word.

Tyson's voice cut through the tense silence of the gymnasium, his words sharp and accusatory. "Is this normal in Kansas?" he asked, "You just hang black guys in your fields?"

The question hung in the air, heavy and uncomfortable. Students shifted nervously, exchanging uneasy glances. Tyson's words had implications that were impossible to ignore, casting the night's events in a much darker light.

Mrs. Grayson's face paled, her earlier stern demeanor crumbling in the face of this new accusation. She opened her mouth to speak, but Tyson continued, his voice growing louder, ensuring everyone could hear. "I mean, who would it have been if it wasn't me?" His arm shot out, finger pointing directly at Whitney. "Pete?"

At the mention of his name, Pete Ross flinched visibly. He was one of the few black students at Smallville High.

Whitney winced. He wasn't the only one. Many other students, particularly those on the football team, looked away, unable to meet Tyson's accusing gaze.

Standing near Pete, Chloe reached out and squeezed his arm reassuringly. Her eyes, however, were fixed on Tyson, and her expression reflected a mixture of horror and journalistic interest.

Lana took a step away from Whitney, her eyes wide with shock. She looked at her boyfriend as if seeing him for the first time. The silence that followed Tyson's words was deafening. The reality of what had happened, framed in this new context, seemed to settle over the crowd like a heavy blanket.

Tyson's gaze swept across the room, taking in the shocked and uncomfortable faces. "What, no one has anything to say now?" he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You were all laughing and having a good time a minute ago. Where's that Smallville spirit?"

A few students had the decency to look ashamed, averting their eyes or staring at the floor. Others whispered among themselves, the sound a low, uneasy buzz in the otherwise silent gym.

Whitney, his face ashen, took a hesitant step forward. "Look, man, it wasn't like that," he began, his voice shaky. "We didn't mean-"

"You didn't mean what?" Tyson interrupted, "You didn't mean to beat me and drag me and throw me in the back of your truck? Strip me down? You didn't mean to hang me in a field?" With each question, his voice rose, filling the gymnasium with his righteous fury.

Whitney flinched with each accusation, unable to form a coherent response. The other football players involved in the "prank" looked equally uncomfortable, shifting nervously where they stood.

Mrs. Grayson, finally finding her voice, attempted to regain control of the situation. "Now, let's all calm down," she said, her voice lacking its earlier authority. "We need to discuss this in a more appropriate setting-"

"Appropriate setting?" Tyson scoffed, cutting her off. "Like where? The principal's office? Where you can sweep this under the rug and pretend it never happened?" He shook his head, releasing a bitter laugh. "No, I think right here, right now, is plenty appropriate."

The tension in the room was palpable. Students who had come to dance and celebrate now found themselves unwilling spectators to a confrontation rapidly spiraling out of control.

Lana, her face a mixture of shock and disgust, turned to Whitney. "Is this true?"

Whitney opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. His silence was damning enough. Desperate to salvage the situation, he tried again. "Look, it's a tradition…"

"A tradition?" Tyson repeated, his voice dripping with disdain. "So you're telling me this has happened before? How many other black guys have you hung out there, Whitney? What kind of tradition is this…. An annual reenactment of what happened to Emmett Till?"

The question hung in the air, unanswered. The implications were clear, and they were damning. Mrs. Grayson, realizing the situation was rapidly spinning out of her control, attempted to intervene once more.

"That's enough."

Tyson replied, "You're right. I think it was." Without waiting for Mrs. Grayson's response, Tyson turned on his heel and began walking towards the exit. The crowd parted before him.

As he reached the gymnasium doors, Tyson paused. He turned slightly, his profile silhouetted against the bright hallway beyond. His voice, laced with sarcasm and a hint of challenge, carried clearly through the still-silent gym.

"Go Crows!"

With that parting shot, Tyson pushed through the doors and disappeared into the hallway.

The gym erupted into a cacophony of voices when the doors swung shut behind him. Students turned to each other, excitedly discussing what they had just witnessed. Phones were pulled out, fingers flying across screens as the gossip spread like wildfire.

Mrs. Grayson, momentarily stunned by Tyson's abrupt exit, quickly regained her composure. She clapped her hands sharply, trying to regain control of the situation. "Alright, everyone, that's enough excitement for one night. Let's get back to the dance."

She gestured to the DJ as she spoke, who hesitantly started the music again. The familiar beats filled the air, but few students seemed inclined to return to dancing. Near the center of the gym, Chloe and Pete stood frozen, their eyes locked on the doors through which Tyson had exited.

"Did that just happen?" Pete asked.

Chloe's journalistic instincts were in overdrive. Her eyes gleamed with the promise of a story. "Oh, it happened alright," she replied, already mentally composing the article for the Torch.

Across the room, Lana had taken a step back from Whitney, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her voice was low, but the hurt and anger in it were unmistakable. "Whitney, why?"

Whitney opened his mouth to respond, but Coach Walt appeared at his side before he could. The coach's face was grim as he placed a hand on Whitney's shoulder. "Fordman, we need to talk. Now."

As Whitney was led away, Lana stood alone on the dance floor, her mind reeling from the events of the last few minutes. She glanced towards the gym doors.

— Meteor Freak —

Tyson pushed through the main doors of Smallville High, retrieved his backpack, and pulled out his wallet. As he walked, he tried to recall the layout of Smallville from his earlier wanderings. He remembered seeing a Holiday Inn on Main Street, not far from the school. It wasn't fancy, but it would do for the night.

The streets were quiet as Tyson made his way through town, his bare feet padding softly on the sidewalk. A few cars passed by, their occupants no doubt heading home from the festivities.

As he approached the edge of the school grounds, his mind drifted to the events of the dance. The looks on everyone's faces, the shock, the whispers. And Whitney's expression of guilt and fear. Overall, Tyson felt satisfied with the chaos he'd caused, but another part wondered if he'd gone too far.

Lost in thought, Tyson almost missed the voice calling out behind him.

"Hey, new guy!"

Tyson knew that voice. Slowly, he turned around to face the speaker. Lana Lang stood a few yards away. An ethereal green aura seemed to shimmer around her, faint yet unmistakable. Tyson blinked, unsure if his eyes were playing tricks. But the glow remained, highlighting the soft curves of her face and the tumble of dark hair across her shoulders.

She watched him with an expression balanced between curiosity and concern, her brows drawn together ever so slightly. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Tyson became acutely aware of his state of undress, standing there in nothing but his boxers.

"Lana. Shouldn't you be at the dance?"

She took a few steps closer, her eyes never leaving Tyson's face. "I could ask you the same thing," she replied. "Although I guess you're a bit underdressed for the occasion."

"Yeah, well, it's my first day, I was told the dress code was pretty relaxed this year. Someone must have been playing a prank on me because that teacher was not amused," he responded.

A ghost of a smile flickered across Lana's face, but it quickly faded. Her eyes dropped to the necklace around Tyson's neck, and her expression hardened.

"That's my necklace," she said, quiet but intense. "I gave it to Whitney this morning. How did you end up with it?"

"It's a long story. One I'm not sure you want to hear."

"Try me," she challenged. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like my boyfriend did something terrible to you. And I need to know why." Tyson hesitated, weighing his options. Before he could decide, Lana spoke again, her voice softer this time. "Look, I know we don't know each other. But what happened in there," she gestured back towards the school, "that wasn't just some prank. Something happened to you, and Whitney was involved. I need to understand."

Tyson shrugged. His nonchalant attitude was at odds with the situation. "Typical jock shit," he said, "I'm the new guy. Whitney went after me because he was jealous. He didn't like how I looked at you earlier; we fought, and I lost." He paused before continuing. "They strung me up in the field. I made a wisecrack about the necklace, so he put it on my neck." Lana's eyes widened, her hand flying to her mouth in shock. But Tyson continued, his tone still surprisingly light. "Not a big deal, to be honest. The hazing bit with the scarecrow is pretty good since the mascot is a crow. Hanging up someone in a field isn't a bad touch. I respect the originality. I'd rate it 7/10 overall." He shrugged again as if discussing the weather rather than his own ordeal.

She was surprised by Tyson's attitude. Slowly, her smile returned, and her posture relaxed. "You're handling this all pretty well."

Tyson's lips quirked up in a wry half-smile. "Starting over in a new school, in a whole different state, hasn't exactly been smooth sailing," he said, "But that pack of meathead jocks clearly didn't stop to think how stringing up the new black kid in a field might come across."

Lana studied him for a moment, taking in his casual demeanor. There was more depth to Tyson than met the eye.

He shook his head, his expression turning thoughtful. "I suppose I did provoke him." He took on a mock, serious, sage-like tone, "But you're just so darned pretty I couldn't help but stare." He reached up, unclasped the necklace, and held it to Lana. The green stone glinted in the streetlight as it dangled from his fingers.

Lana reached for it slowly, her fingers brushing against the rough warmth of his palm as she took it. She looked down at the pendant, rubbing her thumb over the smooth facets of the meteor rock, then glanced back up to meet Tyson's gaze.

Relief washed over her as he returned her necklace. "Thank you," she said softly. "For keeping it safe."

"No problem. Pretty girls should have pretty jewelry."

Lana studied him momentarily, taking in the intelligence lurking behind the casual humor in his eyes. He seemed honest enough and had protected her necklace despite his ordeal. But there was an edge to him. She wasn't sure what to make of this boy who seemed to take his torment in such a calm stride. But she couldn't deny her interest was piqued.

"We should get you cleaned up," she said, gesturing to the crusted blood that hadn't been washed off by the sprinklers inside. "My house isn't far. We can get some ice on that lip."

Tyson raised an eyebrow, amusement glinting in his eyes. "Already inviting me back to your place? We only just met."

Lana rolled her eyes but couldn't keep the smile from her lips. "Come on," she said, turning toward home.

Tyson held up a hand. "Wait. That's not how this is supposed to go. It's not the gentlemanly way. Let me try again." He squared his shoulders and met her gaze directly. "May I walk you home, Lana?"

Lana's eyebrows shot up in surprise. She studied him for a moment, taking in his earnest expression. Blood still crusted his lip, yet he stood tall, waiting politely for her response.

"Sure," she said finally, if you're up for it after the day you've had. Must be cold out here."

Tyson shook his head. "August in Kansas isn't so bad," he said, gesturing for her to lead the way. As they fell into step, he added, "Besides, I hear strange things happen in this town. Can't let you walk alone."

Lana glanced at him sidelong. "So you already know about the weirdness here?"

"I met Chloe, remember?" he responded with a laugh.

As they began to walk, Lana cast him a sidelong glance. "Most people would be furious after what happened to you. How are you so calm about it?"

His bare feet made barely a sound on the cracked sidewalk as he considered Lana's statement. After a few paces, he spoke. "It's just high school. In the moment, it feels like everything that happens now will define you forever. But a year from now?" He shook his head. "How much of it will matter?"

His eyes glinted with humor. "Besides, this isn't over. I made it pretty clear their hazing ritual was less prank and more hate crime. No way that's allowed to continue. Generations of Smallville nerds will be thanking me someday."

Lana studied him as they walked. "You've really thought this through," she said.

"Well, I had some time to consider it, hanging out in that cornfield," Tyson replied, pulling another laugh from her.

They walked in companionable silence for a few moments, the quiet of the small town enveloping them. The streets were mostly empty, with only the occasional car passing by. As they walked, Tyson couldn't help but notice the way Lana kept glancing at him. There was curiosity in her eyes, but also something else. Concern? Guilt? He couldn't quite place it.

"Listen," Lana said suddenly, stopping in her tracks. "I'm sorry about what Whitney did. It's not... it's not like him. Usually."

"You're not his keeper, Lana. His choices aren't your burden."

Lana's eyes clouded, her shoulders slumping. "I know, but... I can't help feeling like I should have seen this coming."

Tyson lifted his hand, pausing for a heartbeat before gently grasping her shoulder. "He's your boyfriend, not your responsibility."

Lana peered up at him, her eyes roving his face. "That sounds like the voice of experience talking," she murmured.

Tyson's lips curved into a crooked grin, a glint of humor in his eyes. "Nah, I'm just making this up as I go. Been getting lucky so far, I guess."

"Lucky?" Lana quipped, "So your master plan wasn't to get jumped and strung up in that cornfield?"

"Hey, now I take that back," Tyson shot back, his grin widening. "Truth is, I did it all on purpose. You know, so that I could walk the second prettiest girl in school home after the dance."

Lana's steps faltered, her cheeks flushing faintly as she glanced at him in askance. "Second prettiest?"

Tyson nodded, his expression intentionally vague. "Yeah. I mean, have you met the other new kid, Kara? She's pretty stunning, too." He paused, lips pursed in mock contemplation. "It's a toss-up."

Lana smiled at his flirtatious wording. Tyson smiled, too, but kept his gaze averted. "I can't tell if you're being serious about any of this."

Tyson's lips quirked. "It's my new kid mystery aura. Keeps people guessing."

Halting, Lana turned to face him fully, hands planted on her hips. "That's not an answer."

Tyson held up his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, you got me. Of course, I'm not serious. I wouldn't be so shallow as to rank people by prettiness."

Lana's eyes narrowed, though there was a hint of amusement there. She gave a dramatic roll of her eyes. "Uh-huh. Sure, Casanova."

Tyson laughed. "Hey now, no need for name-calling just because you find me utterly charming."

"Charming?" Lana scoffed, though her lips twitched with the barest hint of a smile. "More like incorrigible."

Tyson's grin only widened at that. "I'll take incorrigible. Means there's still hope for me yet." He winked playfully.

Lana shook her head, unable to contain her smile any longer. "You're ridiculous."

"Maybe so," Tyson agreed amiably. "But admit it, you like me anyway."

"I suppose you're not entirely intolerable."

Tyson laughed again. "I'll take it."

They turned onto a street, and Lana pointed to a house across from a farm. As they approached her house, he felt a twinge of regret that their walk was ending.

Lana's steps slowed as they approached the white picket fence bordering her family's yard. She turned to face Tyson, her expression serious, and her lips pressed in a thin line.

"Thank you for walking me home. And for telling me what happened today. I know it couldn't have been easy."

"Talking with you was quite easy, actually. I wouldn't mind doing it some more."

Lana looked thoughtful. "I know you said you're okay, but if you ever need someone to talk to about today or anything else, I'm here."

"Thanks, Lana. I appreciate that. But don't tempt me. I have to keep some secrets, after all. Or my new guy mystery aura will fade."

Lana laughed melodically, the sound like chimes in the quiet night. They stood there for a moment, the night air cool around them, the silence comfortable. Finally, Lana took a step back toward her house.

"Will you be okay getting back?"

"The walk will do me good. Goodnight, Lana."

"'Night, Tyson." She turned and slipped through the gate, casting one last glance over her shoulder before disappearing into the house.

He watched the door close behind her, then turned and headed down the moonlit street with his backpack hanging from one shoulder and still wearing only his boxers.