"I'm telling you, I was there in Manhattan! Seriously! I was standing less than thirty feet away from that S-guy!" Flash boasted dramatically, puffed up with pride like he'd personally saved the city.
"He had to be at least ten feet tall! His muscles were definitely on my level! His eyes shot out freezing beams, and he could breathe fire! And before he left, he looked right at me! Like he was saying, 'Kid, nice work. Keep protecting yourself!'"
Not far away, Clark and Peter overheard Flash's latest round of complete nonsense and nearly lost it.
Thankfully they weren't sitting close enough for him to hear them laughing.
"Ten feet tall? Freeze vision? Fire breath? That idiot even got the powers mixed up," Peter snickered, turning to Clark beside him. "Clark, how come I never knew you could do that? Flash spent all of last night at home playing World of Warcraft. He got camped by some high-level player for hours."
Gwen, sitting across from them, watched Clark with a soft, amused expression and couldn't help laughing too.
At this point, everyone at the table except Mary Jane and Eddie knew Clark's identity.
That was all Peter's fault, of course.
The night Clark had told him, Peter had held the secret for less than an hour before Cindy and Gwen both found out too. Naturally, both had been completely stunned.
"If Thompson ever finds out that the guy he's worshipping like some kind of god is the same Clark Parker he calls a nerd every day at school," Gwen said with a grin, "I guarantee his face would be a hundred times better than if he swallowed a live frog. Though honestly, he'd probably just turn into a full-on fanboy and start following Clark around."
Cindy, now fully aware of Flash's reputation, nodded in agreement. "That's the beauty of an information gap. But seriously, Clark, your exit last night was way too flashy. Right now not just America, but probably the whole world, is trying to figure out what the 'S' stands for."
Clark swallowed the last bite of his sandwich in one go, picked up a napkin, and dabbed at his mouth with exaggerated elegance. The light flashed across his glasses like he was some tiny genius detective from an anime.
"Being a little high-profile is useful," Clark said quietly. "At least it tells rats like Kingpin, the kind hiding in sewers and back alleys, that New York has a pair of eyes on them now."
He lowered his voice further.
"And Stark shutting down his weapons division helped me more than anything. That press conference soaked up half the media attention for me. News cycles are fragmented now. If I stay quiet for a while, public interest will move on to the next shiny thing soon enough."
"The general public forgets fast. Quick test. Gwen, do you remember what you ate three days ago?"
"Sure. Pizza," Gwen answered instantly, without even thinking.
Clark covered his face.
Of course he had asked someone with a genius IQ and a spider-enhanced memory what she ate three days ago.
These were not normal people.
"Okay, fine, bad example. You remember. But if you asked Flash, he'd have no idea. His brain only stores violence."
"That's probably true..." Peter said, leaning in a little, still worried. "But Clark... what about S.H.I.E.L.D.?"
"Relax. Nick Fury's too smart to be stupid about this," Clark said, taking a sip of coffee. "As long as he's sure I don't mean the world any harm, he won't just stay out of my way, he'll probably help smooth over missing surveillance footage and impossible camera angles. He's not going to corner someone who could punch a hole through New York if he had a really bad day. He's one of the smartest people on the planet. He won't make this personal."
He paused, then added:
"And I'm still a little worried about whatever they did with the ship I arrived in. There's Kryptonian tech in there. I'd rather they not accidentally build something with it."
That was one of the few things that genuinely bothered Clark, though he wasn't planning to go knock on S.H.I.E.L.D.'s door and ask for it back just yet. Kryptonian technology and language would be nearly impossible for them to fully crack anyway.
Then a very familiar perfume reached him, and Clark's brain immediately started buzzing.
Danger.
Real danger.
"What are you all whispering about? So secretive you couldn't even eat lunch with me?"
Felicia Hardy moved like an actual cat, making no sound at all as she approached.
Today she was wearing a dark wine-red sweater that fit her so well it should have been illegal, along with a black skirt that traced every last line of her figure.
"With glasses, you're even cuter, Clark." Seeing that he was actually wearing them made Felicia genuinely happy. It made him seem even more appealing, enough that she found herself drawn toward him almost without thinking.
She pulled out the chair beside him with perfect ease, but instead of sitting down, she braced one hand on the table and leaned in slightly. Her silver hair slid over her shoulder, coming close enough to brush his cheek.
Clark, utterly useless creature that he was, went red instantly.
And Gwen was sitting right across from him.
Gwen's internal alarm system went off so hard it might as well have had sirens. Her hands clenched. Her eyes narrowed.
"Felicia, I don't think there's actually an open seat here," Gwen said, still smiling at the unwelcome upperclassman. Her expression was pleasant. Her eyes said private property, keep out.
Felicia couldn't have cared less about Gwen's not-very-threatening hostility.
In her eyes, Gwen wasn't competition at all.
Surely no one honestly thought the childhood friend was beating the girl who drops out of nowhere from the heavens.
Right?
Right?
That was not how these stories usually worked.
"I heard you all talking about that S-guy," Felicia said softly, almost at Clark's ear.
"Funny coincidence, actually. I happened to be in Manhattan last night, up high somewhere, getting some air, and I just happened to witness that unforgettable miracle. That man's silhouette..." She smiled faintly. "Really something you don't forget."
As she spoke, she reached out and tapped Clark's arm.
Solid.
Very solid.
Clark practically short-circuited.
A girl like this was catastrophic for him.
He was a healthy teenage guy, all right?
Seventeen, almost eighteen.
And Kryptonian.
Inside his head, the virgin-alert sirens were now at maximum volume, shrieking at him to raise every defense system.
The little devil, however, only threw more coal into the furnace and made it worse, whistling cheerfully as the situation grew more dangerous.
Oh wow, oh wow! Hit back! Pin her against the lockers and tell her you're the guy from last night! Show her some real Kryptonian male charisma!
The little angel was currently being stomped under the little devil's boot, clinging desperately to the last remains of Clark's moral defenses and screaming, No! Clark! Self-control! Gwen is sitting right there! This turns into a war zone if you let your brain wander! Do not think the thoughts you are thinking!
Clark sat ramrod straight.
He looked like a stone statue that had accidentally met Medusa's gaze.
And yet on the outside, he still forced a confused, harmless, painfully sincere expression onto his face.