Small towns tend to talk, and well, Smallville is certainly no exception to this rule. Despite Clark’s disdain for the low-hanging fruit of the grapevine, it does pique his interest from time to time. Although that might be a secret he’ll take to the grave.

It started with whispers at first — About the old farm up the road. Something about it being bought out by some uppity fuddy-duddies, who had hired some help to work on the land and fix up the house. He had brushed the rumors off at first. After all, a sixteen-year-old had much more important things to focus on. Like going to school and spending time with his friends. Helping his parents around the farm. Or, fighting crime and protecting his little town with the secret responsibility of being Superboy.

“It’s uh…” Clark began before the words died in his throat, fingers tugging at the starched collar of one of his nice shirts, his mother’s famous pie in hand. “Boysenberry,” he flubbed out. “I meant Blackberry!” the walking disaster of a teenage boy tried to correct, before realizing he had missed the mark again.

“Berry,” he settled on. “It’s a berry pie. I can’t remember which one at the top of my head, though. Sorry about that.”

He’s nervous. Why is he nervous? All his parents wanted to do was have him deliver their love to the newest residents of the town who ended up being actually real. It’s no mountain of a molehill. But no one had said anything about one of his next-door neighbors being the same age as him and...Cuter than a speckled puppy underneath a cabbage leaf. And that’s saying something, considering Krypto was back home.

“Ma and Pa would’ve come here themselves. But things get pretty busy, running a farm and all,” he tried to explain, hoping the smile on his lips hid the tremor in his voice. “But I just wanted to tell you that we’re right down the road, in case you need anything. Neighbors should look out for each other after all.”

Good grief.

This was quickly becoming more awkward than a cat in a room full of rocking chairs.