no hope;

Kelli had an unhealthy obsession with the Scotts. It had begun with a PTA meeting Clark was dragged into, innocent enough, sure; but it had ended here, with Clark grumpily hunching over as he sat in a mall bench, eyes glued to the ground. 

She swore to him up and down that it was not a playdate, despite calling Vivien and murmuring about just that. A playdate. Oh, well Mrs. Scott and I planned for their daughter to go to the mall with Clark, isn’t that just the sweetest? No, in fact, it is not at all the sweetest, and it was the last thing Clark wanted to be doing with his afternoon. He’d only spoken to Greta a few times, solely because his mother had been egging him too, and apparently she’d taken that as them being best buddies. And then she scheduled this playdate. And forced Clark into it.

“I don’t really care where we go, y’know?” Shit. That was lame. She was always a little lame. Clark had a tendency to make it worse, though. She supposed that’s what it was to like someone. They made you lame.

“I just mean — I’ll be just as happy eatin’ Taco Bell as I would be at some fancy restaurant in Paris.” Turning her head to properly face him, the sheepish smile turned to a full grin as it stretched across bright features. “If you’re there, I’m game.”

Clark didn’t think Hallie was at all lame, but he sure as hell believed that she had the tendency of making him a lot more lame. Lameness associated with mutual feelings is a two way street, apparently.

“So, I was hoping you had some spare clothing on you because I may or may not have spilled my lunch on me.”

“You’re in luck, kiddo,” he began, whipping his backpack around to his front, beginning to rifle through it’s contents. Eventually, after what appeared to be years of digging, he produced a t-shirt from the abyss of the pocket, and he unfurled the wrinkled mass with pride. Inscribed on it’s front were the words “Chicks Love The Shaggin Wagon,” and a photo of the car from Dumb and Dumber. He held it out to her with a delighted grin. “Hope it’s to your liking.”

     A twitch of a smile edged on Kelly’s face but she attempted to appear annoyed at the young man, though it was obvious in her eyes that she wanted to smile. “You’re not sorry, don’t you lie to me.” She said, the smile breaking as he tried to put on an innocent grin, “I hope you know that you’ve ruined my day, man.”

Okay --- she wasn’t pissed. Good sign. In fact... she looked amused by the fact that he had swiped the last baked treat from the cafe, which was significantly better than what he had expected. “Honestly...” He brushed the crumbs off his chin, shrugging a shoulder. “It wasn’t even all that great.”

Of course Clark would ignore her attitude- he’d never taken it seriously. But she knew it was probably from a combination of his own laid-back attitude and the fact that he’d seen more of her temper tantrums than half of her prep friends. “Nate,” she muttered, looking down at the ground, not wanting to offer up more information.

“Right,” he replied, nodding in understanding. One word answer? Probably not in his best interest to pry for more, especially when she seemed to be at her wits end. “Well look, I got twenty bucks burnin’ a hole in my pocket, and 7/11 is only a couple blocks away...” 

“Wait, I’m coming with you!” she called, taking short, quick strides to make her way by his side. “It’s a lot of paint– I don’t want you to spill it or something.” She walked beside him as they made their way to the art room, braid bouncing with her steps. “Maybe this will help you learn that you actually need to do what I say,” she said, sending him a stern glance. “Being Vice President means having duties, and you can’t just neglect them.”

She stopped in front of the room to open the door, but alas– it was locked! “No, no, no,” she muttered, feeling her heart sink. She peered through the small glass panel, only to see that the room was completely empty. “Why are you closed?!” she cried, pressing her forehead to the door. “Tell us the reason!”

Clark had ignored all of her ranting and raving about “vice presidential duties” (though he did have to stifle a giggle at the word duties), but now he was paying full attention. She was yelling at a door, clearly distressed, and it was his time to shine. 

     “Did someone get the last muffin?” Kelly asked as she looked down the line of the cafeteria. “Damn, I was looking forward to that. Stomach bug has not been kind these past few weeks.”

Clark’s eyes widened, muffin crumbs spilling out of the corners of his mouth. “Sorry,” he muttered (or at least... attempted to with a mouth full of muffin), before swallowing and flashing her his most innocent grin.

april 23rd, 2013. the night clark got arrested.

Shit. That tone of voice did not sit well in Dallas’ stomach– Though, that could’ve easily been the bad mix of coffee, cookie dough, and half-melted gummy bears. Whatever it was, it made Dallas’ eyes widen as they caught against Clark’s and his stomach flip in on itself, over and over and over..

“…..I gotta take a shit.” With that, he’s bounding out of his seat and racing into the shop, ignoring the confused stares of customers and workers alike as he slams into the bathroom, locking it tight behind him. A look into the mirror made him cringe back in shock, for the sight of his limp locks surrounding a face that looked like it’d just recently been reanimated by Herbert West was not a sight he needed to see right now. Christ, did he always look like this? 

It was as though he’d waltzed into some shitty comedy. They always used the sudden need to take a dump as an excuse to get out of stuff --- right? 

Hey, maybe Dallas was just being a concerned, helpful, loving and supportive friend. Maybe he truly cared about what it was that Clark did after Dallas dragged himself away from the circle before he’d have to watch the world kiss the only person that he, himself wanted to kiss. Maybe he really did want to know if Clark and Hallie had a nice night together, alone, happy and full of sunshine and happiness and God, Dallas was about to vomit gummy bears all over the table.

His eyes raised to meet Clark’s once more, a pitiful attempt as a smile pulling at his lips. His head was really starting to hurt, now. “That’s, uh.. Pretty sweet of you. And stuff.” Yuck. “Why don’t you ever walk me home?” Double yuck.

Hm. Hmm. Clark’s eyebrows furrowed as his skepticism continued to grow. Though it wasn’t unusual for them to jokingly flirt back and forth (it’d almost been cemented as their thing, at this point), this didn’t have the same teasing feeling as it tended to. It just made him feel... guilty? Worried? Just plain fucking weird?

“Well, first, you have to – and by have to, I actually mean have to – go with me to get supplies. I have the balloons in my locker, so that’s not a problem, but I left the paints and banner paper in Mrs. Gutierrez’s room.” She tucked the folder underneath her arm and put on her game face. “We only have five hours to pull this together.”

Arden’s game face was oddly intimidating, as was Mrs. Gutierrez’s room. ...This night was not going to be an enjoyable one.