The locker room air felt heavy, ionizing under the sheer pressure of Jeremy's restraint. Whitney Fordman stepped into Jeremy's personal space, the scent of expensive cologne and athletic sweat masking the much sharper scent of ozone that Jeremy was trying to suppress.
"Traditions are what keep this town together, Creek," Whitney said, his hand reaching out to grip Jeremy's shoulder. "Maybe a night out in the field will help clear those twelve years of cobwebs out of your head."
Before Jeremy could decide whether to short out the school's entire electrical grid or just the internal wiring of Whitney's brain, a shadow fell across the row of lockers.
"Hey, Whitney. Leave him alone."
Clark Kent walked toward them, his movements deliberate but his face unusually pale. As he got within six feet of Jeremy, Clark's stride hitched. He didn't stumble, but his shoulders slumped as if a physical weight had been dropped onto them. He looked like he was fighting the urge to gag, his skin taking on a faint, sickly gray hue under the harsh gym lights.
Whitney rolled his eyes, spinning around to face the farm boy. "Back off, Kent. This doesn't involve you. We're just welcoming the local legend back to the fold."
"He's had enough 'welcoming' for one lifetime," Clark said, his voice straining. He was squinting now, his eyes darting toward Jeremy's pocket—the one containing the meteor rock—with a look of pained confusion. "Coach is looking for you, Whitney. Something about the playbook for the Metropolis game. You might want to get to the office before he starts handing out laps."
Whitney stiffened. The threat of extra cardio or a seat on the bench was the only thing in Smallville that carried more weight than a Luthor's checkbook. He glared at Jeremy, then at Clark, before shoving past them both.
"This isn't over, Creek," Whitney muttered. "You're still a jinx. And you, Kent? You're starting to get on my nerves."
As the heavy double doors of the locker room swung shut behind the jocks, the silence that followed was deafening. Jeremy stayed rooted to the spot, his hand still white-knuckled around the rock in his pocket. He watched Clark, fascinated and wary.
Clark was leaning against a locker, his breathing shallow. He forced a weak, shaky smile onto his face—the kind of smile a man wears when he's trying to pretend he isn't being stabbed in the gut.
"You... you okay, Jeremy?" Clark asked. He didn't move any closer. In fact, he seemed to be intentionally keeping a five-foot "buffer" zone between them.
"I'm fine," Jeremy said, his voice a low, guarded rasp. He noticed the way Clark's hands were trembling. "Are you? You look like you're about to pass out."
"Just... flu season, I guess," Clark lied, his voice thin. He glanced at Jeremy's pocket again, a flicker of something—fear? realization?—crossing his eyes before he masked it with that quintessential Kent sincerity. "I should probably go get some air. My mom's waiting for me at the truck. See you tomorrow, Jeremy?"
"See you tomorrow, Clark."
Clark turned and walked away, his pace hurried, almost frantic. Jeremy watched him go, the "Static" in his own blood finally settling into a calm, predatory hum.
He knows, Jeremy thought. He doesn't know what I am, but he knows the rock hurts him. And he's hiding it just as hard as I am.
Jeremy walked out of the school and found the silver sedan idling near the curb. Dominic was behind the wheel, his eyes fixed on the rearview mirror, watching Jeremy's every step. Jeremy climbed into the back seat, leaning his head against the cool glass of the window.
He felt the meteor rock through the fabric of his jeans. It was his shield against the world, his stabilizer against the lightning... and apparently, it was the one thing that could bring the strongest boy in Smallville to his knees.
He didn't have a theory yet. He didn't understand why a piece of a dead planet made an alien sick and a "freak" stable. But as the car pulled away from the school, Jeremy felt a dark sense of satisfaction.
He wasn't just a boy out of time. He was a variable that neither Lex nor Clark had accounted for.