Summers

6: The Greatest Thing You'll Ever Learn

There had to be some rule about how siblings act around each other and Scott was determined to figure it out. Alex followed him around and copied everything he did when they lived together. Now, after only two years as the little brother, Scott found himself wanting to be like Clark. Not in everything; reading and writing held little appeal to him. Clark had a way of making people like him without trying and he didn't even know it. He also managed to do awesome things by just being himself.

For example, they were in Metropolis right now because Clark did his homework. His teacher entered the paper he wrote into the Daily Planet's Excellence in Youth Journalism contest. When he got word confirming him as a finalist, he wrote back, politely declining because he couldn't afford to fly out. Something about his letter impressed the Daily Planet so much they paid for two round trip tickets. Clark could have taken Ma but he hauled Scott along instead because he thought Scott could find more information on his parents and Alex there.

So, yes, he wanted to be like Clark. Clark was kind of super.

"It's awfully nice of you to let us stay at your place," Clark told Perry White, the editor of the Daily Planet. "Just let us know which chores we should pick up--"

Mr. White guffawed. "Don't let my wife hear you say that or she'll never let you go back home. It's no trouble at all, Clark. You wrote a good piece and deserve real recognition for me."

Scott snickered at Clark's deep blush. "Is the Military Archives close to your office, Mr. White?"

"What, you're a burgeoning writer, too? The full archives are in Maryland, son, but there's a regional section here. There's precious little they can give you unless you're next of kin though."

"My birth father was in the air force."

"That's different. You got his service number or his social security number?"

Scott had no idea what those even were. He turned to Clark who shook his head. "No, sir. We just have a name and his last place of assignment. We tried to get more information from Scott's old social worker but she doesn't work in the same place and they didn't forward us to her new office in time."

Perry eased his car through a winding, tree-filled boulevard. "That makes it a little harder. You tried the archives out in Kansas, I'm guessing."

"They didn't believe me," said Scott.

"We didn't have enough information to get through their privacy screening," Clark amended.

"It's all in how you ask. Now if you go up to the National Archives and demand your father's records without any proof of identity, of course they won't give you anything. They're very strictly confidential." Perry snorted, a nonverbal indication of his feelings regarding those security measures. "But you can piece together a lot with the accessible information out there. Lots of people track down their family tree; it ain't illegal."

"I'm not tracking them down. I need something official so we can find my brother." Scott leaned over Clark to better ignore his disapproving expression. "No one knows where his adopted family went but if I have proof that my dad was in the military, maybe the government can help. My mom was doing engineering experiments for the air force, too. That's two people in the military."

For the first time in his life, Scott understood what the Kents meant when they talked about his blank expression. Mr. White said nothing with words or with his face as he continued to drive. He could be thinking about ways to help with research, or ways not to help with research, or ways to tell them nicely that it was kind of hopeless or anything. There was just no way to tell. No wonder the Kents sometimes got frustrated with him.

"The military and state adoption agencies are two very difference creatures," said Mr. White. "Just because they're both government agencies, it doesn't mean they're directly connected. If you want, I can get someone at the office to help you navigate the archives and the library but you may not get as far as you hope."

"Thank you, sir," said Clark.

The White home was old-fashioned, faced with stone and brick with a steeply gabelled roof and white shutters. The yard was tiny but then this wasn't a farm. An oak heavily laden with snow bowed over the garage; clumps fell as Mr. White drove in. "Alice! We're home!"

"I'm in the kitchen!"

Mr. White winked at them. "Don't you believe her when she says she made dinner. The woman can whip the whole office into shape with one look but her entire culinary repertoire is casserole, casserole and more casserole."

"While yours is nothing but burgers," said Mrs. White, her hands at her hips. "Welcome to our house, you two. Let me show you your room for the weekend."

When his old family was stationed at Virginia, Scott lived in a house kind of like this. But this place looked both newer and older; everything looked more old-fashioned but they gleamed with care. Not that his old family was messy; they were military. But they didn't take care of the house. Scott guessed it was hard to care for a place when you knew you wouldn't live in it for long. Dozens of framed relatives watched them as they climbed up the stairs. A lot more were of a younger Mr. White in combat fatigues but holding a camera instead of a gun.

"Here you are." Mrs. White opened the door into a spacious guestroom with two twin beds. "I'll let the two of you settle while we wait for Keith to come back from band practice. It should only be in another half hour unless you're hungry?"

"No ma'am," Scott and Clark chorused.

As soon as she felt, Clark fell back on the bed. "Gosh! I'm still queasy from that plane flight. I don't know how you managed not to get sick."

"That's nothing. Big planes like Boeings are a lot more stable than the small, private ones Dad use to take us up on. Every time he took a turn, you felt it."

Clark's complexion took on a green shade. "Remind me to never get on a small plane."

Scott flopped back onto his bed as well, arms spread wide like wings. He remembered his dad letting him sit on the copilot's chair when they had the floatplane in Anchorage. Every pitch, roll and yaw moved through him on that chair and the view from the windshield... it was like flying on your own power.

"You should try flying more," he told Clark. "It's awesome."

All the kids involved in the contest joined a tour of Metropolis which would end at the Daily Planet offices. Scott tagged along with Clark because there was nothing to do at the Whites' place even though the tour wasn't that interesting either. Most of it was on a double-decker bus with an open roof as the guide talked about Financial District, Chinatown, Little Bohemia, Centennial Park and Glenmorgan Square. Scott actually wanted to go in and watch a Monarchs game, not just drive by it. He yawned on his seat as Clark took a hundred pictures.

The bus dropped them off at the lobby of the Daily Planet. A harried receptionist emerged from behind her station to address the small group. "Unfortunately, there's been a bit of a mix-up. We're about to do a fire-drill; with a building this size, those last about half an hour. We have some vouchers for Dana's next door if you all want to grab something to eat. By the time you come back, we should be ready for you."

The group shuffled out, clumping in little cliques. Him and Clark trailed behind the rest by default; teenagers in the big city didn't want to be with a "kid" like Scott.

"You can go with them," Scott said.

Clark shrugged. "That's all right. I like hanging out with you. Unless you're getting too cool to talk with your big brother."

He rolled his eyes. "So, did you get a chance to read everyone else's article?"

"Yes, actually. I really like the one by--"

"Hey fuckchop!"

Him and Clark whipped their heads around, as did everyone else in the sidewalk, to look for the source of the shrill, furious yell.

"Yeah, you fuckchop assholes with the lawnmower yutcuts. The ones who think your camos give you the right to pick on people."

Clark politely manoeuvred the two of them through the thick crowd, most of whom had lost interest and were marching to wherever again. They passed two girls also from the contest then a larger co-ed group before Scott finally got a glimpse of the yeller. She stood taller than Scott with short black hair and an expensive-looking sweater. The people she shouted at were more impressive: three Marines in fatigues. With muscles. Lots of muscles.

"Stay here," Clark whispered to him before sidling up beside the girl.

The Marines re-crossed the street to their side. "You want to say that again?" one of them asked.

"Sure." The girl lifted her chin. "You're fuckchop assholes with lawmower yutcuts who think just because you're wearing camos and dollar-store medals, you can make fun of people. Look everyone! Your tax dollars at work, training meatheads laugh at people with a mental handicap." She pointed at the Marines then at a guy whose features marked him as someone with Downs Syndrome as she addressed the crowd. "Do you know what they were doing behind that guy's back? They were copying the way he walked and talked. You do your uniforms proud, boys. What kind of commendation do you get for complete and utter douchbaggery? Let me guess; it's probably a giant, steaming douchebag. Semper fuck you!" She saluted with her middle finger.

"Whatever, man, let's go." The other Marine jerked his head in the direction they'd been walking.

"I want your service and squad numbers, soldier!" the girl yelled out after them. "I know people in the army who can put you on Colonel Sanders' regiment for the rest of your life!"

One of the other contestants grimaced. "You're crazy, Lane! C'mon, guys, before she badmouths a gangster and gets us shot."

The rest of the crowd dispersed, some shaking the girl's hand, some glaring disapprovingly. Scott caught up to Clark just as he reached her side.

"Uh, hi." Clark said. "Your name's Lo--"

She whirled around. "I suppose you're going to be all rah-rah, my-country-right-or-wrong like the rest of those bozos?"

"Actually, I--"

"Well, you listen to me, hayseed, I may not like everything the military does but when they put on that uniform, they represent us to the rest of world and I, for one, don't think a bunch of prejudiced, steroid-popping, gun fuckers adequately embodies the sane people of America."

"You have a--"

"And for the record, I didn't come to this contest to made friends. I came to win. So I don't care if you sit with me or not; I don't fraternize with the enemy anyway unless I'm undercover to slice their feet off from under them. Also Dana's Diner sucks!" With that, she pushed past him in the opposite direction of the diner.

"She's kind of crazy," Scott said. Her comments about the military stung. He knew Clark was a good writer but now he wanted him to win just to lord it over that girl. "Wait, are we following her?"

"She's walking around Metropolis by herself. I just want to make sure she won't get hurt."

"Won't get-- Did you see what she said to those Marines? If anyone tries to jump her, she'll probably scream them to death."

"She's upset."

"No kidding. I wondered why she yelled swear words at strangers across a six-lane road."

Clark grinned down at him. "Look at you. Twenty-four hours in The Big Apricot and you've already discovered sarcasm. Let's go, we're going to lose her."

They could only be so lucky. Scott half-jogged to keep up with Clark's giant strides. They walked for a long time. The streets turned rough by Metropolis standards. The trees lost their fences, trashcans overflowed, hooded figures walked around with their heads down. Sea salt and gasoline tanged the air. They were in Hobb's Bay. Scott sidled closer to his brother. The girl pushed a set of doors under a stained awning with the words "Ace o' Clubs" painted on it. Scott had a bad feeling about this but he followed Clark in.

They were in a pub. Scott knew his eyes were big as dinner plates.

"Why are you following me?" the girl demanded as soon as they walked in.

"We wanted to make sure you're okay," said Clark.

"He wanted to make sure," Scott corrected.

She sniffed. "Well, you should turn right around. They don't serve minors here."

Scott began to say, "You're a--" but she slapped a hand over his mouth.

"Not according to my driver's license." She flashed the ID proudly. Seeing Clark's face pruney with disapproval, she rolled her eyes. "Of course I'd be stuck with the one boyscout in all of Metropolis."

"You don't even look twenty-one," Clark said. "And Margot Coates sounds completely fictional."

"That's what you think." She waved at the sole server in the pub. "Gimme something Belgian and the monster nacho platter. If you don't have Belgian, just get me whatever stout you have on tap. And if you don't have stout, you should get your license revoked."

The server peered down at her. "Lemme see your ID."

"Glad you asked." "Margot" handed it over, looking bored.

With one final glare, the server handed it back. "What about those two?"

"Cousins from Podunk, North Dakota. I'm babysitting them for the night and all they want to do is gawk at the local supermart. Give them a soda. Might want to make it warm and flat just in case they can't hold their sugar."

Why were they still here? Scott jabbed Clark in the ribs with no results. He didn't know if Clark didn't feel it or didn't care.

"I'm sorry the others called you names," said Clark. "Standing up for that man was very brave."

"Whatever."

"It was! It was very... heartfelt."

"It was bitchy," she corrected.

"I wouldn't have put it that way."

"Well, I am. I'm appropriating the word; I consider it positive." Her beer and their sodas arrived in chipped glasses immediately followed by a pile of nachos so high, there was no way they'd be able to eat it all. "Margot" pulled a pack of cigarettes from her purse then offered it to Clark.

"No, thank you," he said. "You really shouldn't smoke, Lois."

She smirked as she lit the cigarette. "No drinking, no smoking. What do you do for fun, hayseed?"

"I like to read a lot and write, of course, but there's also camping and fishing and, of course, driving the tractor. I swear, sometimes I sit up there, looking out at the land and it's prettier than a little red wagon in the sunset." Clark deepened his twang; he didn't usually talk that way. It made Scott think that maybe he was making fun of Margot/Lois/Crazycakes right back.

She certainly didn't look impressed. "Excuse me, I might vomit."

Clark grinned. "Don't do that. You'll ruin your beer."

That made her laugh. Really, she was insane. There was Clark making fun of her and she laughed! Scott didn't understand girls at all. At least Lana was normal. Sulkily, he took a nacho. That caught her attention.

"What's your story, slim? Tagging along the eagle scout here to get a merit badge?"

Scott shook his head, pointing at his mouth to excuse himself from talking to her.

"Yep. Merit badge. Hey, want to see something cool?" She sucked on her cigarette then made the smoke blow out of her nose. It rose to circle her hair.

"That's gross," said Scott.

"Hey, the mosquito bites. You're a military brat, too. Or you were. I can tell. We all sit up straight like we got rods up our asses."

Scott stiffened his posture even more.

"Scott's dad was in the air force and his mom was jet engineer," Clark said proudly.

"That right? I guess you got out while you could. Not that I blame you. Those small-dicked jet weenies are the worst of the bunch--"

He didn't know how he did it so quickly, but one minute Scott's ears steamed with affront and the next, he held an empty glass. Orange soda dripped down Lois' face and shirt. Clark's mouth gaped open.

"Scott! That was..." Clark turned to Lois. "I'm sorry. He's still recovering from his dad's death and--"

Lois cut his apology off with a flick of her hand. Pointing her sodden cigarette at Scott, she said, "You're a brat."

"You're mean," he retorted.

"Yes, I am. But I also didn't know your dad was dead. If I did, I wouldn't have maligned the size of his penis. I'm sure it was tumescent and did his country proud."

Clark groaned and let his head slam on the table. The nacho mountain quaked. "Can we please get back to the Planet before my little brother learns any more language that'll get him paddled when we go home?"

They did go back and the tour of the Daily Planet was even more boring than the one on the bus. To top off the worse vacation in the history of ever, in the contest dinner that night, Clark and Lois tied for first place. Scott thought Clark deserved it more; Lois probably did hers by beating people up until they talked. She was mean during the ceremony, too, which Scott pretty much expected because if there was anyone who could be a sore winner, it would be her. So he had no information on Alex and had to spend the rest of the night with the meanest person ever. He officially hated Metropolis.

"I'm never going back there," he declared.

Clark smiled and it was obviously one of his "look at my cute baby brother smiles" so Scott put on his headphones and stared out the window.

"Hey." Clark plucked the headphones off one ear. "Even if I do like it and I move out, I'm never going to leave you. It's not like I'll have a hard time finding a way to visit." He wiggled his index and middle finger in a walking motion.

Scott continued to glare but Clark would have none of it. He poked Scott's side again and again exactly where it tickled the most. He couldn't help but laugh so he poked Clark, too, through that stupid "I ♥ the Big Apricot" shirt until the stewardess told them the plane was about to take off so please stay seated and Clark started to look like he was about to puke.

Scott adjusted his blanket around his legs. "Clark?"

"Mmm?"

"Thanks for trying. Y'know, with the government archives."

"I'm just sorry it didn't work out. We won't stop looking, Scott. I promise. We'll find Alex."

"Mmm." Scott adjusted his blanket then placed his barf bag in Clark's chair pocket just in case. He didn't want to tell Clark just yet because he couldn't quite process it either but the frantic need to find Alex had dulled somewhat. Yes, he was disappointed that Perry White couldn't help with the military records but he knew Alex was safe with his new family. Just like he was safe with the Kents. He leaned against his brother's strong shoulder and went to sleep.