DISCLAIMER: Smallville and its characters belong to DC Comics and the WB and their respective creators. I own nothing. Also, this story takes place right after the fourth episode.

After a few uneventful tugs, Iím able to free the dusty, old cardboard box from the tiny corner it was wedged into. I recoil when the horrible smell of dust, aged cardboard, and rotten fruit hit me. I really wish my uncle hadnít buried this box next to a cart of rotting bananas. Holding it as far away from me as I can, I set it on the ground and peel off the tape that binds the top. Inside is a collection of old cassette tapes. I groan. How am I going to find that blessed speech in the middle of all of this chaos? I create a clear spot on the floor next to it and begin my search.

Why am I doing this again? Lana Lang and I have never even really spoken that much since I came to Smallville. Forget about being friends. In fact, Iíve wanted to hate her ever since I met her. I know. That sounds very unfair, but cheerleaders and I have never gotten along.

The problem is sheís not your typical cheerleader. Usually, when you have a cheerleader with perfect brown hair, innocent "Iím so cute" hazel eyes, and a bright smile, theyíre actually incredibly stuck up and rude. Lana isnít like that. As far as I know, Lana has never been like that. Sheís nice to everyone, and itís incredibly sincere. Sheíll even say hello to you in the hallway if you share a class. She may be absolutely beautiful, but you canít even hate her for it.

But, thatís not the real reason I would ever hate her. Oh, sure, Iíd love to have perfectly straight hair that falls where you want it. Instead, I have chin-length blonde hair that wonít curl under. It kind of goes where it wants to. No, Iím actually happy with who I am. Lana is Lana, and Iím Chloe. Iím fine with that. The one little thing I really resent her for is something that she doesnít even know she has, and thatís Clark Kentís heart.

I pause in the middle of my search and smile. What I wouldnít give to have the goofy smile he gives Lana directed at me. Clark isnít really like any of the other guys I know. Fifteen-year-old guys are supposed to be stupid and into moronic things like video games, skateboarding, and offensive movies. Clarkís not like that. Heís smart and sweet and always seems to be there when you need a helping hand.

He has these blue eyes that could almost see into your soul. Itís almost as if he could see through you. His smile is incredible with dimples that just add to it. His lips are full, which is always a plus on a guy, and his black hair never looks like it's been brushed. He always smells of Dove soap and Gain laundry detergent. I know; itís sad that I know these things. If he ever wears cologne, Iíll probably pass out.

Yeah, if only Lana really knew what she had. Clarkís adoration is the only thing in Lanaís life I would love to have. She can have everything else; I just want him.

I stop musing and continue my search. Finally, after going through three piles of musty cassette tapes, I find the one Iíve been looking for. Grinning, I tuck it into my pocket and shove the other tapes back into the box. I kick it into a corner because I donít want to wrestle it back onto that shelf and head towards the open door.

I still donít understand why Iím doing this. No, I take that back; I do. I saw the sincerity in Lanaís eyes when she told me about her mother and wanting to read her graduation speech. Well, Iíve done her one better. I have it on tape. As much as I want to, I canít think of her as my rival. Actually, she doesnít even have Clark. Iím just hoping that one day Clark Kent will turn around and notice me. Until that day Iíll be good old reliable Chloe and be there for both Lana and Clark.

Back