This is an 18+ commission! I take no credit for the ideas behind this fanfic, I am just paid for writing it. This will have explicit scenes, only for audiences over 18!

There's a dream Clara has, ripe with confusion and fluttering grogginess.

A blast of wind, sweet and familiar, coils around her face as she soars through the air. Clara has never gone flying, but these types of dreams with her in the clouds is... almost familiar. Like a distant part of her she hasn't quite found just yet. She's over Smallville, ducking through the whistling wind and circling down towards a small, quaint little part of town. To a familiar house she's passed several times on her way home. Langdon Lang's home.

She swoops down, letting her hair rustle in the wind as she lands gently on her balcony. A dream, no doubt. Flying is far past her abilities, especially flying to a crushes house with an ajar balcony door, as if wishing her to come inside. Beckoning her in. And Clara has no reason to refuse, not when the call was so tempting and sweet. Her feet sway mere inches off of the floor as she draws herself forward, ready to enter his bedroom.

The details around his bedroom are... blurry. She can't make out much of it, except for the bed in the center of it. Dreams always do have lacking details in the unassuming parts, she supposes. And there, in the center of the bed, is Langdon. Messy, ruffled hair peeking out from underneath the thick, layer blankets draped over him.

Clara allows herself to float over, glancing down at his tucked in body. Cute. Langdon had always hate a cute side to his handsome, built figure. She considers brushing a hand along his cheek but refrains, instead settling to brush it along his even locks of hair. Clara isn't sure how long she spends there, just letting her fingers coil through the softness, but the blissful silence is broken through by Langdon's voice.

"Clara..."

She snaps her gaze down towards him, her eyes wide from being caught. But Langdon looks so peaceful, with a slight blush growing on his cheeks and a warm, wide smile.

"I want you," He whispers out, such sweet words to hear. Clara wants to rush forward, wants to close the gap and finally get closer to him -

And crash lands onto her bed as the roosters chirp out down by the barn.

Clara stills, blinking through her grogginess and pushing aside her tumbled sheets as she glances at the clock. Earlier than normal, her alarm hasn't gone off yet. She's dizzy, almost, as if she did land down onto her bed from a few feet of hovering, but Clara shakes that off. Likely part of the dream.

Clara can barely keep down her grin as she rolls out of bed to the smell of crisp bacon grilling away in the kitchen, or the fragrant smell of her Mother's famous blueberry muffins wafting up. She hops up, very eager to start the day as she tosses of her pajamas. Comfortable, but useless really. She's in the midst of kicking off her underwear when she pauses, glancing at herself in the mirror.

Clara brushes aside thick strands of hair that drape across her forehead. Eighteen years. That's how old she was. A whole eighteen. A solid adult now. It's crazy to think about, but she can't keep down her giddy expression as she stares at herself.

And what an adult she had turned out to be. Clara was almost proud of her physical appearance. No, she is proud of what she looks like. Clara knew she was easily top five in her school if she had actually tried. Tall and busty, with thick thighs and bulging muscles. Strength came easily to her, and so did looks.

Thick breasts, 34DD to be specifically. Heavy mounds of flesh with pretty pink nipples that sit, perked and prime. Standing just below 6 feet tall, her hourglass body looked fantastic. Thin waist, yet thick breasts and equally thick thighs, as got as a pornstar and as strong as an ox.

Clara thinks, that if she could dust up her face with a little foundation and gloss her lips, she would be the most attractive girl in the school. And that gives her a sense of pride, almost.

Then she glances towards the clothes she tossed over her dresser, and can't help the aching frown that crosses her lips. Almost.

If Clara was allowed to show off her looks, she would be knocking the other girls in school off of their pedestals. She knows plenty of men and women would pay top dollar for her body. Much less one that's entirely natural. But she can't. She's unnaturally busty and muscular, and drawing unwanted attention in her direction wasn't an option. So baggy clothes were used to hide her muscles, messy buns to hide her slick raven hair that always seemed to glisten under the sun.

Clara hates it, but it's necessary.

With a huff, not quite ready to admit defeat and toss on some clothes, she trudges forward towards her telescope. Sixteenth birthday present. She's repurposed it for something... more fun.

Spying was a strong word. She much prefers just... watching. Clara likes to peak in on Langdon here and there, to see how he's doing. She can't catch much in her telescope, since there was only one window in his room that faced her's, but she can see directly to his bed if he leaves that window wide open. On this particular day, he's shirtless, and Clara can see utter Langdon perfection through her little device as she watches him from her bed. There's a squirming need that perks up, starting from the dream and now boiling over into something new and fresh.

Clara is unexplainably needy. It's a gnawing need that churns in her chest, in her gut, demanding attention at the most inconvenient of times. A slow-rolling need for passion, for desire, for touch and affection. Clara can't give it all of that, not when she's single and she knows the man she wants is very much committed to someone else.

She won't be interrupted. Breakfast is still halfway in the works. They'd be busy for the time being. Plenty of time for her to deal with her own problem.

She makes sure the curtains are drawn, and the room is dimmed, and tucks herself into the corner of her bed while she hears their car roar out in the driveway. Her core aches as she lays against a mountain of pillows.

Peeling back her hands, Clara can only shiver as she watches a trail of her excitement stick between her thighs. Wet and sticky with her dripping need.

Clara sighs and tosses them off her bed, widening her legs. One hand reaches up to cup at her uncovered breasts, rubbing her right nipple, as the other one trails down her flat stomach, teasing her left thigh, before finally reaching her clit.

She's slow, at first. That's how Clara would imagine it. Her fantasies bring out a lovely little image she's been contemplating forever now. Langdon, in a loose shirt and jeans, would show up at her house. Her Dad would redirect the needy boy to the barn, where he would find Clara working. She'd be in next to nothing. Just a pair of short shorts and a crop top because of the blistering heat. Langdon, oh, he'd be so excited.

Clara hums out silently to herself, letting her thumb rub little circles along her clit. Nothing too much yet. Just warming herself up for the fantasy.

Langdon would be breathless at the sight of her. Clara would drop the bucket of feed she had been carrying, stumbling over excuses, but Langdon would rush forward and demand answers as to why she would cover up such beauty. Clara wouldn't be able to help herself, and neither would Langdon, she could imagine. They would be upon one another in seconds, tongues rolling against one another and waists grinding before Clara would tug him away, upwards, towards the loft in the barn.

Clara sighs and widens her legs, imagining Langdon peeling off his shirt. Clara would rip off hers, discard it like a worthless pesky thing. Finally, she would touch his abs, trailing her hands along them, and he'd cup her breasts, bite and tease her nipples as his tented erection would poke up.

Clara hisses at the pleasure and digs a finger into her cunt, moaning out as she clenches down on it. She's not going to last. She needs to speed this along, she's already been so pent up.

Langdon would be needy, too. So fucking needy. He'd be big and hard, just for her, sweaty and horny as he'd line up with her bare cunt. Clara wouldn't even have time to pull off her panties, she just would peel them to the side and let him line up against her.

Yes, yes, inside.

Impossibly thick, warm, and firm inside of her. Filling her just right. Immediately, Clara squirms on her bed, pinching her nipple and fucking two fingers into her tight walls as she felt herself clench down around her fingers. Oh gods, he'd be so perfect inside of her. She wants him. Wants his panting breath against her ear, his bare chest pressing against hers. Clara would lock her legs around him, giving no escape as they'd testingly rock against one another. Dirty little things fucking in the loft of the barn, hay digging into her bare back.

"Ah, Langdon," Clara breaths out, both in real life and the fantasy as he begins to pick up thrusts into her. Every time he snapped forward, his cock would pound deep into her, messing her up in ways she couldn't even describe. Nothing but pure, lustful bliss would coat her body as Clara would hold on for the ride.

Her fingers widen for a bit as she plummets them into her soaked pussy, cheeks flushed as she rolls her thumb perfectly against her clit. In a way, she imagines Langdon would do. He'd be the perfect gentleman, even during sex. Would let her wrap her legs around him, even with her abysmal strength, and would reach one hand down to steady behind her left thigh as the other would begin to make slow, constant rolls against her clit as his cock would make filthy noises come out of her.

Langdon would let out soft breaths of pleasure against her shoulder as he'd duck his head down and fuck into her, with heavy and pristine thrusts that would ruin her. In real life, Clara moved her fingers in sync with the images in her mind, wishing he was doing that to her at that moment.

Her fingers twitch as she arches her back, and stifles a moan by biting her bottom lip as her insides begin to clench around her fingers. Her release spills out, gushing around her fingers and making a mess of her knuckles while she imagines Langdon being the one to do it. Clara pinches her nipple as she lets her body roll through the orgasm, and chokes on her breath as every muscle in her body tenses from pleasure.

Finally, both the fantasy and orgasm subside. And Clara is left sitting on her bed, her fingers coated in her release, with only her bra on. Her cheeks flushed. And a pleasant afterglow hanging in the air.

___

Once the obvious situation is all cleaned up, Clara tosses on a plain gray hoodie that doesn't compliment her looks at all and trudges downstairs to go see her parents.

Her Mother, frail with age but as radiant as the sun itself, was moving muffins from the pan to the cooling rack. Her hair, now littered with light hairs, was tied back into a slick ponytail. Clara's Father gave her a toothy grin as she bounced down the last two steps, and quickly stepped forward to give her a bear hug.

"My little girl, look how big you've gotten!" He practically roars out. "Already so tall, too! I remember when I was able to pick you up."

"Yeah, when I was eleven," Clara teases back, quickly moving her arms around his waist to pick him up a foot. Jonathan lets out a snort as his daughter carries him over to the kitchen table, plopping him back down into his usual seat. "Now I can pick you up, old man."

"Old? Hah, says the birthday girl. Are those gray hairs I'm seeing?"

Clara laughs and lightly pushes his hand away from her head, going over to peek at the muffins her Mother was making. A full, heavy breakfast was laid out before them. Bacon, pancakes, muffins, fruit salad.

"Happy birthday, hun," Martha whispers, like a prayer, and presses a quick kiss against her daughter forward. "Are you sure you want no presents? Your Father and I can go drive out to town and take a gander."

"I swear, I'm fine! I'd prefer nothing... except maybe letting me join the cheerleader team?" Clara knows it's an empty attempt, especially with the way her Mother looks at her afterward.

That was one of the rules Clara always had to abide by. No after-school activities that included physical use. Softball, soccer, football... anything that she might accidentally go too far in were banned in her house. It's a rule she's been trying to bypass for months, especially when it comes to cheerleading. Just watching the other girls in her class soar through the air in cute uniforms and cheerful cries...

"No, Clara, you can't," Martha says in her sweet, yet stern, tone.

"But I'm eighteen."

"But you still can get taken away," Her Mother counters sharply, her expression looking guilty and strained. "If you throw a girl too high or wear those outfits, people might start asking questions. No. I can't risk it. We can't. I'm sorry, Clara, but it's a no."

Clara wilts at the declaration. She understands, but at the same time, it's unfair. She didn't choose this. Just because of her unusual biology, she now couldn't do so much. No sports. No cheerleading. No cute clothes. It drives her crazy, but Clara only responds by biting her bottom lip and nodding. Because she understands why those rules exist, and she loves her parents enough to listen.

"Now," Martha says, trying to lighten up the mood for the birthday girl as she gestures out towards the wide array of food before them. "Who's hungry?"

___

School comes with her friend's excited murmurs of her birthday from her friends, all of whom crowd around her with giggles and high fives. About time, they had claimed. Almost everyone in their grade was eighteen by that point. Clara was the last in the friend group to finally become an adult. She thanked their kind words of congratulations and went about her day with a hop in her step.

The gym came with a blur of changing clothes and whistles that echo throughout the gymnasium. Clara is quick to throw on a blank pair of sweatpants that have faded to a tinted orange from wear and tear, and a plain t-shirt that goes underneath her usual hoodie. Soon enough, she's standing in a circle of students as two of her peers begin their ascension up a thick, sturdy rope attached to the ceiling.

The instructor, a balding man with a crooked eyebrow, hollars out plain motivational quotes ripped straight from the generic cat posters she's seen strewn about his tiny, private office. The students seem to mostly tune out his songs of encouragement and focus on the task at hand. Two girls dangle from ropes with sweat coated shirts as they haul themselves up.

Clara isn't looking at them, though. She's looking at Langdon.

Their football captain, to be specific. Since gym class was split into boys and girls due to their limited ropes, the boys were walking back to the dressing room with high fives and back pats. Langdon hovered in the rear of the group, making sure everyone was ready to go as they traveled back to change out of their sweaty clothes.

Clara trails after his figure with her eyes, a gnawing sense of desire growing in her as she watched him. A bright, radiant smile. Jolly voice. Handsome features and a can do attitude. Clara isn't in love, but there's a warm, gooey feeling that spreads through her chest everytime she looks at him.

Langdon just has... that aura to him. That sense of drive a lot of her peers didn't have. It's almost addictive, the way he carries himself. Clara wants to spend all of gym watching him.

She would have, too, if her friend didn't elbow her and hiss out for her to pay attention to their class. Clara awkwardly drags her gaze back to the girls on the ropes, and tries not to sigh as she watches them struggle with something she knew she could easily accomplish.

And then there's a sudden, pounding headache that causes a gasp to be torn from her lips. She hunches forward, her eyes straining as she dug her nails into her hoodie.

"Are you alright, Clara?" Their coach barks out. Clara immediately straightened her back despite the annoying pain in the front of her skull, and shoots out a quick grin.

"Never better!" Clara snips out. Attention was never a good thing to draw. She was fine.

"Good. Then you can do the rope climb," The coach says, gesturing to the ropes. He claps firmly, as if deciding that was the perfect course of action. "You and your friend right there."

If Clara turned left, she's sure she'd see brown eyes, full of rage, staring up at her. With a strained smile, Clara nods, and they go towards the ropes. It's easy to ascend, but Clara keeps her pace slow, matching her friends as they hoist themselves into the air. Once they reach the top, she turns to her friend to congratulate her on the height, but pauses.

Why is she looking at her friends muscles?

Clara startles and tries to turn whatever this hallucination is off, but finds that she can't. Her skull continues to ache as she stares forward, wide eyed as her ability persists without her permission.

"What's wrong?" Her friend asks, and it's sudden enough to cause Clara's fingers to slip, and she's tumbling backwards onto the floor.

With a sharp landing, Clara groans as pain echoes throughout her back. Cracking her eyes open again, on the floor, leads to her peeking at the wall. As if some god up above wants to continue to mock her, she somehow almost seems to be peering through the wall, as if it wasn't there.

Into the boy's locker room. Oh god.

She blinks, trying to wipe her eyes, but when she opens them again she finds that she can't look away. What greets her is a wonderland of bare muscular chests, of her classmates in nothing but boxers as they tug out shirts from their lockers. A few of them were even drenched in water, with towels around their waists as they find their way back to their lockers to change.

One of those people, with only a thin towel protecting them from total nudity, is Langdon. His hair ruffled from a quick shower. His abs dripping water that trail down his front, and god, Clara can't look away.

Langdon is an utter trophy to look at. Clara knows she's pretty deep into her one sided crush of him, but she wants him nonetheless. Since he was the football captain, he had thick, trained abs that trailed down his front torso. A broad set of shoulders he had from exercise. Wide hands she imagined she could perfectly match with her own, rough from use.

Langdon seemed to be joking with one of his friends while Clara watched on through the wall, unable to let her eyes drift away from the delectable scene before her. A thin, fluffy white towel hung just below his belly button. A towel that he was beginning to unravel to put on his underwear, and why is she seeing this?

Clara snaps her eyes shut and jolts her head in the other direction, trying not too stare at the wall like an idiot.

Finally, after a few more attempts, her weird... vision fizzles out and Clara no longer is seeing the tempting scene before her. Right on time, too, since her teacher was walking over to make sure she was alright. The birthday girl waves him off with a smile and rushes off to the girls locker room, locking herself into the bathroom at the end and splashing a handful of water against her face. Cold, freezing water that helps her ground herself.

That wasn't real. It couldn't have been. Imagination, right? Yeah. It had to be. After that weird dream this morning, she's just... running high on need. She saw him shirtless this morning and now her body is just going through changes. It's normal. It has to be. The excuse is pathetic, but as Clara stares at her reflection, very not see through, she sighs and goes to close up the tap water.

That has to be the explanation.

___

Clara dwells on it.

She dwells on it a lot more than she should. It's the type of thing one doesn't excuse from their mind. The way his figure perfectly shone in the light, or the way his muscles moved when he went to go open his locker. So little was left to the imagination, and yet, imagine was all she could do.

Langdon was her crush, her sweet, daydream of a man. Handsome, strong, charismatic, smart, just... gods, just everything about him.

And she almost saw his...

Yep, okay, Clara is very much dwelling on it. It wasn't real, it couldn't have been, but it's a sight now planted within her mind.

She sits at lunch about two hours later, the school day half over, after having taken a very quick shower in the girls bathroom. A shower very much needed, as it helped distract her from the thoughts temporarily. A nice, cold splash of water to keep her dirty thoughts clean for the time being. But the water had since wore off, and she is certainly thinking about him all over again.

Clara lets her eyes snap back to the sight before her. To her left, the cheerleading tryouts were going on. In the air woman flew, her classmates doing flips and twirls that she wanted to do. Behind a table, she could see the cheerleading captain, a nice girl named Kimber, clapping on encouragement towards the others. Clara liked Kimber. They weren't best friends, but they sat together in a few classes and always shared notes. Kimber was sad that Clara still couldn't do applications, and Clara very much shared that sentiment.

Then, to her right, was him.

Langdon was wearing a loose top and shorts while he stood in the middle of the field, shouting out instructions to the men applying to the football team. Wind bristled through his hair as he continued onwards, so stern and confident in every move he had.

Clara almost laughs at the irony of it as she chews on her packed muffin in her lunch. Two things she wanted, just out of reach, on either side of her. No matter where she looked, she could only see what she couldn't have. Cheerleading. Langdon. A bit of a dramatic way to view it, but Clara was fine with that. Let her be a bit dramatic. She can't apply to the one group she wanted to, and the man she loved was with someone else.

The aroma of a perfectly baked lunch lingers in her nose as she chomps down on the last bite of her meal, situating herself in the bleachers more comfortably. Lunch was always a nice break in the day. A little snippet of time for the woman to lean back and enjoy the moment of peace and tranquility until her next class eventually dragged around. Of course, today was anything but quiet and pleasant, but watching her peers continue on with their sports and club tryouts was a fun little sight to behold.

She envisions herself at those stands. Scribbling her name down onto those tacky sheets of paper and rushing forward to join the tryouts. Hurling herself through the air in a dazzled twist of their school colors. Once she'd land, she would run forward to the football tryouts, and would embrace her boyfriend in a fit of giggles and glee. Langdon would lean forward, steal a kiss from her, and maybe a look or two at her cute outfit and body as well.

Instead, she's broken from her little fantasies as a classmate's excited shout fills the air. Britney Fordham. An excitable woman with a tendency for loud voices and a hatred of math. Sometimes was seen stalking the walls with her typical iced coffee and messy bun early in the mornings. By no means a terrible person.

But by the way she launched herself into Langdon's arms, god, Clara wished she was. It'd make hating her easier.

How she wished she could be the one in his arms. Clara could imagine that. Her ideal world. Where she was wearing a frilly cute skirt of their school colors, her hands sore from shaking pom-poms all day. Where Clara would finish with the cheerleading tryouts and would skip across the field, letting the breeze brush across her face and bare legs as she rushed forward. Langdon would be waiting, ever so patient for his girlfriend, with a wide smile and open arms. The girl no longer bound by baggy clothes would meet his hug, wrapping herself around him to never let go.

Langdon would kiss her cheek. She can imagine it. Feel the slight peck of his lips against her skin as his hand would draw meaningless lines against her back. Then they would go maybe grab a quick drink from the vending machine as they tried to sweat off their activities. Maybe Langdon would pay for hers, too. Would give her the favorite flavor of gatorade and they would sit on the edge of the curb, chugging their drinks and giggling about nothing important.

They would hold hands. Clara thinks she would be careful, would gently cup each finger with her own to make sure her strength wouldn't harm a single inch of him. Langdon would be so gentle in return, wrapping an arm around her shoulders or combing his fingers through her slick, black hair. She can imagine his torso against her back as he'd randomly hug her from behind in hallways, when they would pass one another on the way to class.

Clara bites down a grumble of complaint as Britney Fordham kissed Langdon's jawbone, trailing up to kiss his bottom lip before finally giving him a short, sweet, real kiss. It's painful to watch, making Clara's gut and heart churn uncomfortably. She wants, ever so desperately, to be the one doing that to him. To be the person in his arms, the woman of his life. But life is unfair, as Britney giggles and gushes random words Clara doesn't bother to make out, that Langdon seems to smile at. They whisper amongst one another, like a little silly secret only they could understand was being shared, and their hands so easily slip into one another's as they smiled warmly.

Lunch continued. And Clara, alone in the stands, can only watch on in jealous silence as another woman claimed what she wanted to.

___

The new biology teacher, a short perky woman with a thin blue flower dress, introduces herself with nothing but smiles and soft, gentle words. Clara doesn't pay her much mind. She's got decent legs, but Clara knows she'd top her if she wore more revealing things. Clara is certainly a bit jealous of her outfit, though. The dress is cute, and frames the woman's bare legs perfectly. Clara can imagine it'd suit her rather nicely.

She lets the tip of her pencil brush against her lips as she begins to knaw at the object blankly. The teacher tugs down a projector screen and seems to be continuing on about some introduction video they'd be watching for class. She's not too involved, but Clara makes sure to tune in enough to catch the name of the worksheet they'd have to fill in later. Only around half of the men around her were paying attention to the words, most openly gawking at the teachers bare thighs and neatly combed hair.

Clara, before she can get a grip on them, finds her thoughts slipping away to more pleasant ones. More pleasant thoughts about a particular male that she was so deeply attracted to that her mind wouldn't let her forget.

Clara's imagination took hold rather quickly. Oh her, in a cute frilly blue or red dress. Her hair up, all nice and tucked up into a ponytail. Langdon would be the only one in class in this little fantasy, sitting alone at the desk as he watched his girlfriend stalk up. Clara likes to think they'd have been teasing one another for awhile, in that scenario. Langdon would be single. Alone. Yearning for the touch of a female that Clara was all too happy to provide.

Her fingers would trail down his bottom lip, past his neck, and to his collarbone. Tease his shirt, of course, because Clara would want to savor it. She would lean down, swipe a taste of his lips against hers before she would kiss along his neck. Might nibble a bit too; keep him guessing. Langdon would gasp and arch into her touch, and he'd taste good. Clara is sure of that.

He'd reach up, his fingers patient but persistent, and would gently trail up her sides and rest right at the edge of her breasts. Clara would let him have a feel, maybe even a peek. She did look a lot that morning, after all. Clara could practically feel the wood underneath her bum as she perched upon the wooden desk, and would tug at the strings of her revealing dress to let the front sag. Just enough for Langdon to get a little peek. Maybe he would hesitate, nervous and blushing as his fingers twitched to feel up her bra.

Clara perks up suddenly, realizing she's hunched forward in her desk, her pencil chewed to hell and back as she was getting turned on by her fantasies. Shit. She's in biology, watching a video about the animal kingdom for a worksheet later, and she's getting excited.

If it was just a small twinge of arousal, Clara thinks it would have been fine. But it wasn't. Clara can't one back into the video. She's too busy shuffling her legs to widen because she's practically dripping down there. Clara got horny in class daydreaming about Langdon. Of course that was her luck.

Clara stifles a moan as she moves again, widening her legs and peeking over at the rest of her classmates and the teacher. Thankfully she was in the back corner, and the teacher was watching the video with the class, so no one could see her flushed face through the darkness.

It's not even funny how aroused she is. All Clara can think about is the intense ache between her legs, and the stifling need to go deal with it. Clara stubbornly crosses her legs and stares forward intensely, trying not to think about the man she shouldn't be thinking about during class. Langdon has a girlfriend that isn't her. She can't do this, much less in biology class.

Of course, that's when she instantly gets an aching, awful headache. One that's familiar. One that pounces onto her like a wild, stray cat and digs its claws into her head. Clara winced, trying to stare forward at the projector screen as animals ran around through the grass. Tried to ignore her burning arousal, the horrible headache, and thoughts of Langdon dripping wet in the locker room.

She barely manages to notice that her heat vision is suddenly rising before the projector screen catches on fire.

Five small, accidental holes tear through the thing like paper as they suddenly begin to spread flames across the plain white surface. She can feel the heat flickering through her eyes as she desperately tries to reign it in, but it's too late. The entire projector is absolutely swimming in fire at that point, and she's on her feet just as her classmates are. Embarrassment and horror flood her as a question of 'Did I do that' crosses her mind, and the fire alarms begin blaring as everyone starts to rush out of the room.

The rest of the classes were canceled that day due to an unforeseen fire that started in a biology classroom. And while Clara was so embarrassed about that whole day, she's also ever so relieved. Because she can go home and pretend whatever was happening to her was just her imagination.

___

Clara is a mess when she gets home, practically shaking her head as she passes her Mother. Looking guilty as all hell, no doubt, but she lets herself collapse into the living room couch as her Pa circles around the corner.

"The school called, are you okay? There was a fire in your biology class!" Martha says, frantic and worried as always as she moves forward to cup Clara's shoulder.

"It - I don't know," Clara breathes out, running a hand down her face. "I - I think I'm going through some changes. Maybe being eighteen is causing me more issues."

"What do you mean?" Her Father asks.

Clara shoots him a desperate, raw look. "I think my imagination is going too far - I mean, I think I saw through a wall or through my friends skin like I had x-ray or something, and t-then I was looking really hard at the the projector and I think it caught on fire, and - and -" She pauses, stumbling over her words as she stares up at her parents. "I didn't do it, right? I... I just made it up. A coincidence."

What Clara is searching for is confirmation. An agreeing nod from her Mother or a stern, gruff vocal agreement from her Father. Clara doesn't get that. Instead, she can only watch in shock as the two nod at one another and move to sit down on either side of her.

"I think it's time," Martha whispers, running her thumb gently along Clara's knuckles.

"Time?" Clara askes, her voice raw and strained from a day of so many events. What was going on? "Time for what?"

"For us to tell you the truth," Her Father finishes. He scoots forward, looking so tenderly at his daughter. "About your powers. And about... where we found you."