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About A Girl
by Sara

"Chloe, do you know anything about where Lana's been lately?"

You asked me, yesterday, if I could tell you anything about where Lana's been. I could have told you no. I could have lied. Instead, I blinked once, asked "how should I know?" and resumed talking about an article I was writing. You left the subject alone.

After we parted, I went to class and sat staring at my notebook, thinking of all the possible answers I could have given you. Lies, mostly. "She got a new job." "She's had a lot of schoolwork." "She's been spending all her extra time with Whitney." "She's started a garage band." "She's training for the Olympics."

The truth.

"She and I have been together every possible minute. We are good friends now, best friends, more than friends. Girlfriends. She's my girlfriend, Clark, we're dating. Every moment I'm with her I find another reason to like her, to want her. To love her. I love her, she loves me. She wants to tell, but I know it would hurt you and I'm not ready to do that yet. But I have her, I've had her, in my bed, on her couch, in the offices of The Torch when no one is around. She's mine, she's been mine, and that's where she been lately. With me."

I could tell you, Clark, everything you could possibly want to know about Lana Lang. Her favorite color (pink, but I bet you knew that), her favorite band (The Beatles, who would have thought?), what she really wants to do with her life (move to Paris after college and paint for a few years, then become a social worker), where she likes to be kissed (the back of her neck, softly).

I just can't tell you where she's been. The trick is to ask the right question. I can tell you a lot of things about Lana, if you know what to ask.

See, I know about where she's been, Clark.

But I'll never tell.

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