Alicia's Diary

Disclaimer: As always, I own nothing. Well, I own a house, two cars, a pair of jetskis and a lot of other junk, but none of these characters.

Author's Note

Hi. About a week ago I was looking for something to read and decided I was in the mood for a story about Alicia, the Smallville guest star who could teleport. I was really surprised when I couldn't find a single story involving her when I searched for her name. When her episodes were played everyone on the forums sounded so enthused about her, so I thought I would find a lot of stories. Anyway, since I couldn't find one, I decided I would have to do one of my own.

Now, is Alicia going to die in this story? No. Is she going to end up in the insane asylum? Hmm, I don't think so. I believe I can capture her essence, her exuberance for life, without making her completely crazy. Plus I don't know when, or even if, the regulars from the show will make an appearance in this story. So I guess I should say up front that this story is alternate universe.

But enough from me, it is time to let Alicia get on with her story.

Alicia's Diary

Chapter 1

This is the story of how I, Alicia Baker, became a superhero. Whoa, does that make it sound like I am full of it, or what? And truth be told, many wouldn't consider me a real superhero. Oh, I have done some spectacular good deeds that no normal human could have possibly accomplished. But I am not like some 'pure as the driven snow' comic book hero who never does anything wrong. No, I have done a lot of bad things, too. Well, not a lot of truly bad things, but a few. It probably comes down to the fact that I seem to have a hard time sticking to the 'Superhero Code'. Just like Captain Barbossa in 'The Pirates of the Caribbean', I see the 'Code' more as a set of guidelines than a set of hard and fast rules. I mean, I am not a nun and I never agreed to the vow of poverty. A girl has a right to look nice and have a few trinkets, right?

My trip to 'Superherodom' (Hmm is that a real word? Well, my spellchecker says no, but I just hit the old ADD button and, at least on my computer, it is now a real word.) began on my fifteenth birthday. Now, I didn't like wake up on my fifteenth birthday and suddenly have my 'gift'. No, I have been able to teleport as long as I can remember. So, if you want to say my trip started when I got my gift, then this story would start a lot earlier. But my fifteenth birthday was the first time I used my gift to do a major good deed rather than just for a lot of harmless pranks. Well, mostly harmless, there was the time when my Dad's Aunt Beatrice stayed with us for two weeks during the summer I was ten and she ended up having to spend a night at the Smallville Medical Center. In the psych ward. But, hey, she was a mean old bitch and so what if her things keep mysteriously moving around on her. She was released the next day, so obviously there wasn't any permanent damage. And I don't do things like that anymore, at least not very often.

I was born on April 11, 1987 and by the Chinese calendar it was the year of the Tiger. I went through this whole astrology phase back when I was thirteen or fourteen and the Tiger is most definitely my symbol. Here, let me throw in the meaning of the tiger symbol I just googled and as the story goes along, you tell me if this description doesn't fit me to a ‘T’!

The Tiger, the living symbol of strength and power, generally inspires fear and respect. Tigers' compelling dynamism, intense activity, independence and curiosity about others make them irresistible, persons of multiple charms; Tigers attract followers and admirers. The Tiger has a regal quality and is courageous, active and self-assured; he makes an excellent leader and protector. Known for determination and charisma, the Tiger aims high and pursues goals with vigor, passion and daring. However liberal-minded Tigers may be, they are rash and resist the authority of others. Although they are selfish in the little things, they are capable of great generosity, even of altruism, in the larger. Tigers are men and women of action, thrust by destiny into the spotlight.

Tigers are fearless creatures in as much as they blind themselves to dangers and impetuously rush in where more cautious individuals would fear to tread.

Tigers have an inborn magnetic personality that attracts people to them like bees to honey. Warm-hearted, sociable and friendly, they are characterized by their frank, honest and open approach. Their immense kindness and generosity will always shine through except when crossed or backed into a corner, for then they can become vehement and ferocious.

Solitude is often the price Tigers pay for their position of authority, but they become accustomed to it. Better still, they draw on the experience, gaining new energies and great strength. However, this loner attitude and pride can sometimes prevent the Tiger from seeking other people's assistance when faced with an endeavor that calls for someone else's resources and talents.

Tigers make ardent and virile lovers who dominate their partners. Because of their sensuality, their impetuousness and love of adventure, there is an excitement that not only follows Tigers wherever they go, but also guarantees them a certain irresistibly sexy allure. These creatures whose emotions are out-front have strong libidos and are lusty in their passions. Generally flirtatious, they are especially prone to wild flings in their early years but do settle down as they get older.

The Tiger's color is green.

Well, I certainly see a lot of me in those words, particularly the 'blind to danger' part. And, of course, the color green. I have never seen it myself, but my best friend, Gracie, says when I 'port there is just the briefest flash of green as I disappear. But more about my best friend later.

Anyway, back to the story. On my fifteenth birthday I was a freshman at Smallville High. By that point in the school year the painful transition from the Dwight D. Eisenhower Middle School was mostly behind me. My braces had come off three months earlier. I'll admit my appearance had been pretty drab up until that time, but with a mouthful of metal it hadn't seemed worth the bother. However I was finally starting to find my own personal 'style' and some days I could really feel eyes following me down the hallway. Once, I even caught Whitney Fordman, the quarterback of the football team and the undisputed hunkiest guy in school, giving me the 'look' and his girlfriend was standing right there! God, the simple things that use to get my heart pounding.

However this is not about Whitney Fordman, but about the day I fell in love with Paris. No, not Paris Hilton, her part in the story comes much later. Besides, I am sort of mad at her at the moment. I know it isn't her fault her phone got hacked, but it was very annoying when my phone started ringing off the hook a month ago. At least she only had my cell on speed-dial and not my home phone. This way the paparazzi only knew my first name and that I lived somewhere in the eastern half of Kansas. If she had included my home phone I probably would have woken up with a bunch of camera crews in my front yard and I would rather they stayed down the road in front of the Luthor estate. However the bigger part of the scare came the next day. By then I had gotten my number changed, but I was keeping an eye on the internet for related stories and that's when I read the hackers had also gotten some photos stored in her phone. I spent a frantic hour searching the 'net for a copy of the photos before I thankfully found I wasn't in any of them. I definitely think a new rule needs to be added to the 'Superhero Code' - Never party with Paris when she has her stupid camera phone out. We superheroes need our anonymity.

So, the Paris I fell in love with that day was not Paris Hilton, but Paris - The City of Lights.

That year my birthday fell on a Friday, so it was off to school for me. Gracie and I had third period English together that semester and she gave me the coolest handmade card. She had been studying calligraphy and managed to do some things with a pen and ink I didn't think you could do without a computer.

But the day seemed to go downhill from there. My sort of quasi-boyfriend, Tom Heywood, completely forgot it was my birthday. And then at lunch in the cafeteria the three senior queen bitches, who think they know everything about style and fashion, started ripping my appearance. I have no idea why they chose that day to go after me, as I wasn't dressed any different than I was any other day: jeans, blue oxford shirt, a smart little vest, and a modest pair of pumps with two inch heels. Well, since I am five-ten, I have to watch the heels or I tower over almost everyone, particularly Tom who doesn't quite kiss the six foot mark. But certainly I towered over all three of the seniors who were ragging on me, none of them stood over five-four.

Anyway by the time lunch was over, I was seething at those girls. Who were they to deride my fashion sense? I decided I had to find a way to show them they were the ones who were not on the bleeding edge in the fashion department. My second hour after lunch was a free study period, so I went to the library. I sat down at a computer terminal to do a little research on my upcoming history paper on Queen Victoria of England (Boring!), when I followed a seemingly random series of links that ended with a website talking about how the Paris Fashion Week was starting the next day with an opening show featuring big names like Christian Dior, Balenciaga, Jean Paul Gaultier and Comme des Garcons. The very next day. Maybe the way to combat the 'plastic Barbies', as I liked to think of my senior nemeses, was to go straight to the source. Wasn't I 'teleporter girl'? Okay, the farthest I had ever gone on my own up until then was Metropolis a couple of times, but hey, I was fifteen now. Why not Paris?

As I sat at the computer, I looked up to the clock. I had almost an hour before gym class and then it was straight to track practice. Yeah, I know, it is hard to believe I was on the track team, running cross-country no less. Me, who can travel from Smallville to Metropolis in the blink of an eye, spending my after school hours running endless laps on the track, and I am not even very good. With my long legs you would think I would be better, but Coach Holmes says I need to work more on my motivation. Motivation, right. The only reason I was on the track team was because Gracie begged and pleaded until it was simplest just to join the team. Of course, she had different motivation to join the team, namely Scott Hanson, the pole vault star. I'll admit he was kind of cute, but no matter how hard Gracie tried, he just ignored her. Okay, Scott was a senior and Gracie only a freshman. And Gracie, at six-one was the tallest girl in school, but she is not like freakishly tall or anything. I kept telling her she should move on and go after someone more our age. I had suggested Clark Kent, who was in my science class. I didn't know him very well, but he seemed nice and he was comfortably taller than Gracie.

Anyway, back to my story. I had almost an hour and decided maybe a dry run to Paris was in order so I would be properly prepared to 'crash' the big fashion show the next day. I did a quick surf to a weather site and found it was 55 and overcast in Paris, about the same as Smallville on that early spring day. I needed my coat, but going out in the hall while class was in session was a little risky. So I walked back into the library stacks and 'ported home to get another coat. I wasn't in my room for more than ten seconds before I 'ported on to Paris; no point in hanging around and letting my mom notice I was cutting school.

I suppose this is as good a time as any to explain a little about my teleporting abilities. A lot, hell, most of the details of how it works are as much a mystery to me as anyone else. I just think about where I want to go and almost instantly, there I am. Oh, I don't just go somewhere every time I think about some place, but only when I actually want to go. Sort of like you can think about walking across the room without actually doing it. But luckily, I don't have to have been somewhere previously, to actually go there. In this case I just thought to myself that I wanted to be standing in front of the Gucci store in Paris and there I was. Okay, I later found out there are four Gucci stores in Paris, but my sixth sense or whatever picked the one best suited to my needs. In this case it selected the one on the Rue de Sevres in the heart of the tourist district. (Oh, just in case you were worried about me jumping blindly into the unknown, my abilities seem to naturally protect me from emerging inside a wall or solid stone. I did once try to jump into the solid rock of the cliff down at Saunders Gorge, but I just ended up with my nose pressed lightly against the surface of the rock.)

Another useful aspect of my gift is that I can 'port right into the middle of a crowded street and no one notices. Well, as long as no one knows me. With complete strangers I guess their minds can't cope with my sudden appearance and they just pretend I was always there. It is so funny to 'port right in front of a couple of people who are walking and watch them part to go around me like it is the most natural of things. However people who know me, even if they don't know my secret, will notice if I 'port in or out, which is how Gracie first discovered my secret, but I will go into that story later. So, strange as it is, in Smallville, where I use my abilities the most, is where I am most likely to be noticed and I have to be my most careful.

So I 'ported straight from my house to the sidewalk outside the Gucci store. The store was in the corner of a much larger building, one of those typical French buildings you see in movies set in the times of Louis number something or other, you know, the Sun-King. You remember, those rows of neat matching buildings all made from those large light gray blocks. Oh, I am always crappy at the architectural descriptions. If you can't picture the building I am talking about, just do a Google Image Search on 'gucci paris store'. Go ahead, I'll wait. . . .

Okay, back to the story . . . . . . Something felt wrong about the situation as soon as I arrived. At first I thought it was just the novelty of being in Europe for the first time. Then I thought it was the weather; it was very humid and windy which together conspired to make it feel a lot colder than the Smallville of a few seconds earlier. Then I glanced around and noticed the sky. Of course, how could I have been so stupid? I had paused to check the Paris weather before leaving, but I had completely forgotten a much bigger factor: the time difference. I guess that is what happens when you have never teleported across time zones before. It had been very early afternoon when I left Smallville, but now it was nearly dusk. Already the street lights were starting to come on.

Time zones. With my ability to teleport, time zones affect me differently than everyone else and I have learned to use it to my advantage. I mean take Paris, for example. It is seven hours ahead of Smallville. What this eventually meant for me was that I could come home from school, work on homework until five, slip into a little party dress, 'port over to Paris and arrive a little after midnight when all of the best clubs were starting to hop. Then I could party hard for three hours until things started to wind down, go hang out at some late night cafe, and still be home by nine-thirty. It was a wonderful way to party and I did it more times than I can count.

The other place where the time zones worked for me - Hawaii. In the winter, Hawaii is four hours earlier than Smallville. So I could get home from school and study until five and it would only be one in the afternoon on my favorite island of Kauai. Why go to the tanning booth all winter when you could just as easily grab your tiniest bikini and hit the beach in Hawaii?

I even found my own personal, private beach on the west coast of Kauai. This small beach was surrounded by sheer cliffs that extended up for almost one thousand feet. And the water was generally very rough, almost impassable by boat most of the year. No, the only practical way to reach that spot was by teleporting. After I first discovered it, I went there a lot, but eventually it got old and I only go there now when I have some serious thinking to do. It would have been more fun if I could have figured out how to listen to some tunes there. I mean pounding surf is okay, but I will take music over it any day.

This brings up one of the limitations of my abilities. I can 'port myself, no problem. I can 'port most inanimate things like clothes, no problem. I eventually learned I can 'port other living things, too. Well, this one was first discovered by accident when I was twelve and 'ported without thinking with Carbon, my cat, in my arms. He came through it okay. Well, at least he was no worse after the event than before. When I first found him as a kitten, he must of been previously abused or just not around people at the right formative age, because he is the ultimate 'fraidy cat. He mostly spends his life under my bed. He will come out when I am alone and he will sleep with me at night. But let anyone else enter my room, even my mom, and he seems able to disappear under the bed even faster than I could 'port there.

Anyway, I can 'port myself, others, most inanimate objects, but not anything electronic. No, any electrical device seems to make the trip okay, except they never work afterwards. Never. I didn't discover this until my fourteenth birthday when my parents gave me a cell phone and it died the first day. I took it back and got another one and it was dead by the next day. This went on for over a week before I finally was talking to Gracie while I 'ported and discovered the real problem. Of course, understanding what the problem was and being able to avoid it are two entirely different things. Oh, I have gotten better and phones usually last more like a month now before I forget and 'port with one. At least I have managed to stay on good terms with Barry and Allen down at the phone store. And from conversations with them, it seems like Smallville has a failure rate of cell phones which is one hundred times higher than the national average. Barry blames it on the meteor rocks, but at least the phone company continues to stand behind their product. I do have the dubious distinction of the most failed phones in the world, sixty-one in just under four years.

So, no electronic devices for me. It is even surprisingly difficult to find a 'true' mechanical watch these days. Ultimately, I found a big clunky, fifty-year-old man's watch in a pawn shop in Metropolis. When anyone asks, I just claim it is a fashion statement.

But it does put a crimp on the superhero business when you can't carry a phone or a camera or any electronic eavesdropping equipment. Of course, on the other hand, if anyone does put a 'bug' on me, it will fail at my first jump.

Now, where was I? Oh yeah, Hawaii. Since I haven't been able to figure out how to get my MP-3 player to my private beach, more often than not I use a more accessible spot. I don't want to give away all of my secrets, but there is one beach in Kauai I frequent more than any other. This one has one of those mailbox stores less than two blocks from the sand. I reserved myself a box and then mailed my old player pre-loaded with my favorite songs. Now I just 'port to that store, open my box and take out my player and hit the beach. When I am finished, I just put the player back into its envelope and stick it back in the box.

Well, I will admit that beach has one other big advantage over my private beach: GUYS! I am still waiting for my own personal version of Thomas Magnum to pull up in a red Ferrari. Well, someone cute like Magnum, but closer to twenty. As long as he is cute and tall, the hairy chest, mustache, and Ferrari are all optional. So if you match this description and would like to meet a tall, gorgeous blonde who can instantly teleport you to your favorite spot on the planet, look for me on a beach somewhere in Kauai, or Tahiti, if the weather is bad in Hawaii that day. I'll be the one in the micro-bikini with the look in her eyes like she is a million miles away. And a couple of seconds later, that could be literally true. Boy, did I just write the ultimate personal ad or what? Perhaps I should send this paragraph straight to match dot com! Well, maybe not, because I might have already found my true love; you will just have to keep reading my story to find out!

It sure seems like I am easily sidetracked tonight as I try to write about my first brush with superherodom, but then you probably needed some of this background to understand what makes me tick.

So, back to my fifteenth birthday. I was standing outside of the Gucci store in Paris just as it was getting dark. I had less than forty-five minutes before I had to be back at Smallville High for gym class. Therefore I didn't have time to dawdle. Briskly, I strode up to the door and pulled it open. As soon as I stepped in, it was like I was inside the most perfectly fragrant cloud ever. Not the heavy overpowering scent of cheap perfume, but the lightest trace like you almost weren't certain it was even there. Wonderful.

After the cold wind outside, the warmth of the store was so pleasant; I almost didn't notice the look the security guard stationed inside the entrance gave me as I walked past. Almost. However I looked down at my simple black wool coat which reached down to my mid-shin and then to my jeans and finally to my dark blue shoes. I didn't see anything wrong or out-of-place, at least until I looked up and took in everyone else in the store, customers and staff. All of them were decked out in flamboyant pastels and off-whites regardless of the weather outside. And there I stood in my almost monochrome dark attire feeling suddenly so provincial. I started to wander around trying to look like I belonged, but it was hard as I took in the small discrete price tags. Even the simplest handbags seem to start at eight hundred euros and others made of some version of alligator went to almost ten thousand. We had discussed the euro in social studies only a couple of months earlier so I recognized the symbol and knew the exchange rate was about one euro to the dollar. I quickly found my palms getting damp as I realized I had a grand total of seven dollars in my pocket. What was I doing in this store?

When a clerk deemed to notice me and glided over, I decided I had seen what there was to see and I should spend the remaining minutes of my time taking in a few of the sights of Paris before I had to return to school. As she started to speak to me in rapid French, I just gave a polite smile and headed for the door. On the way out I did pass this display of the cutest mini-purses and it was very tempting to just snag one and then 'port out, but I restrained myself. They did have a lot of security cameras and I couldn't just disappear on the tape. No one in person might notice my departure due to that portion of my gift, but I wasn't so sure about anyone watching the tapes.

Stepping back out onto the sidewalk I turned right, in the direction where I could see the towers of Notre Dame in the distance that had to be the way to the Seine. I had walked three or four blocks, pausing frequently to look into shop windows, when I heard it; a loud woman's scream pierced the din of the rushing traffic. As my gaze crossed the street to where the sound seemed to be coming from, I saw the flash of color at the same instant I heard the squeal of the brakes. A little boy, no more than three or four, had darted out into traffic in pursuit of a white ball. Time seemed to grind to a halt as I realized the car was less than four feet from the child and no way would it stop in time.

Without even thinking I 'ported to where the child stood frozen like a deer in the glare of the headlights bearing down on him. I materialized just long enough to get a solid grip on the boy before I was gone again, but still it had been a close thing; the car came within eighteen inches of hitting me, too.

The near miss with the car had put such a scare into me; I reflexively 'ported to the safest place I knew, my bedroom. Instantly, the boy and I went from being crashed into by a car to ourselves crashing down onto my bed. At least the bed was a lot softer than a car and the collision speed was miniscule. Although Carbon, who had been sleeping on the bed, was not a happy camper. No, when we crashed down on top of him, he let out a screech and clawed his way free. Well, 'clawed his way free' is a bit of an overstatement since he no longer has any claws. However our arrival and my cat's response had been loud enough to alert my mother.

After quickly patting down the kid to ensure myself he was unharmed, I 'ported us back to Paris. With only the briefest of stops on the sidewalk to orient myself, I did another short hop to a spot between two cars on the opposite side of the street from the frantic woman who could only be the boy's mother. This time I intentionally landed flat on the ground with the boy in my arms so our arrival would be unnoticed.

Slowly I climbed to my feet and then set the boy back down on his own two feet before I took time to really look at the scene in front of me. All the traffic in the street had ground to a halt and it was apparent the car which had slammed on its brakes had been rear-ended by the one behind. The driver of the first car was bent down by the front trying to see what had become of the child while the driver of the second car was walking up already screaming at the first in French. The boy's mother had finally regained her ability to move after the shock of what she thought she had witnessed and she, too, was racing for the front of the first car. Quickly, I grabbed the hand of the boy and headed in the same direction.

The mother had just reached the front of the car and started to lean over to look under the bumper when she saw us approaching.

"Nicky, Nicky, Nicky," she shouted over and over as she raced over and pulled him up into a tight embrace. Then she quickly broke into a tirade of rapid French. I recognized the scolding tones even if I didn't recognize the words. And after the first ten seconds I was almost glad I didn't speak any French.

Finally, the woman ran out of words and for a few seconds just continued to hug the little boy. As I started to turn to leave, the woman seemed to notice me for the first time. Before I had completely turned away, the woman started to address me in French. I still didn't understand the words, but I could hear the gratitude in her voice.

I turned back to her and with a smile I said slowly in English, "I am sorry. I do not speak French."

"Ah, you are American," responded the woman now speaking in English, although with a thick French accent.

Continuing, she said, “How can I ever repay you for saving my son?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "No repayment is necessary. I am just glad I saw him in time and was able to get him clear and into the space between a couple of parked cars before anything bad happened."

"At least you must let me buy you dinner," the woman insisted.

I glanced down at my trusty old watch and realized I had to be back in class in less than eight minutes.

"I would really like to, but I have a prior engagement for which I am already late," I answered.

"How about tomorrow? I will be free later in the afternoon after the show."

"Show?" I asked with what I thought was a calm voice, but apparently even in the fading light the woman could see the sudden interest in my eyes.

She pulled her right hand free from where it had been wrapped around the boy and extended it in my direction. "Eloise Dubois and this is my son, Nicholaus."

I took the offered hand, "Alicia Baker."

"Alicia, what a beautiful name, just like you."

I felt myself blush at hearing this compliment come from this gorgeous French woman. I mean, even though the tears had destroyed her makeup, I could tell this woman was up in the supermodel range in the looks department. And she had the body of a supermodel, too, which struck me as pretty remarkable considering she had a kid. But then I was more use to the Smallville standard, where once a woman was married and had kids she usually let her body go.

However this rule certainly didn't apply to Eloise. No, she was at least as tall as me, although her exact height was difficult to judge with the high, high heels she was wearing. And I would bet money she weighed at least ten pounds less than me, and I am hardly a porker.

But what impressed me the most was not her supermodel body, but the effortless elegance and grace she simply exuded. I knew I was just emerging from my ugly duckling phase, but I couldn't imagine I would ever be able to project such an easy image of self-confidence.

As I seemed to be frozen there entranced by her beauty, she finally broke the silence. "I am the chief fashion photographer for Christian Dior. Would you like to join me backstage for tomorrow's fashion show?"

For a moment I couldn't say anything, it was like a dream come true. I had come to Paris with the plan of sneaking into that show and now I was being offered the opportunity to witness the backstage activities first hand. If a couple of cars hadn't honked right then to get us out of the street so traffic could start flowing again, I don't know how long I would have stood there in shock.

But once I was kicked out of my reverie, my brain started working again. As we walked back over towards the sidewalk, I nodded with, I am sure, a very big grin on my face. "Would it be okay if I brought my best friend?"

The woman gave a small laugh and somehow even that seemed elegant. "If your friend is half as attractive as you, it is a deal."

Then the woman reached into her tiny purse that looked exactly like the ones I had been admiring at Gucci's and pulled out a business card and a pen. Quickly she wrote an address on the back side of the card before handing it to me.

"Show this card to the concierge at this hotel at nine tomorrow morning and tell him you are with me. Someone will guide you backstage."

"This is so generous of you, Ms. Dubois," was all I could think to say.

"No, you must call me Eloise. And actually, this is the least I could do after you saved Nicky."

I found myself blushing again and lowered my eyes back to the card. That's when I saw the pale aqua glow of the hands on my watch and realized I had less than two minutes before I would be late for gym class back in Smallville, a place that suddenly felt a million miles away.

"Oh, my god," I gasped without thinking, "I have to run."

I quickly clasped her right hand between mine. "Thank you so much. I look forward to tomorrow."

Then I turned and literally ran for the corner, as I couldn't 'port until I was out of her sight.

As I ran, it seemed like a million of divergent thoughts were all trying to get my attention at once.

First, Gracie was going to be so impressed and equally excited to be going backstage to a world class fashion show.

My second thought was that nine in the morning Paris time was like two in the morning Smallville time. It was going to be a very short night. Particularly since Gracie and I had our work cut out for us if we weren't going to embarrass ourselves with our Hicksville, I mean Smallville, clothing.

Next came a thought about Alison Bronson of all people. Alison, a senior, had been the head football cheerleader in the fall. Now in the spring she was Smallville's star distance runner on the girl's track team. But more importantly, she was also the president of the French Club. Could I get some quick pointers from her during this afternoon's practice session? I suddenly was wishing I hadn't been playing so many mind games with her on the portion of our training course which passed through the woods behind the athletic field. Several times she had entered the woods ahead of me only to find me lounging around when she reached the other side. Oh well, at least she knew who I was.

The next thought which crossed through my mind as I rounded the corner was of little Nicholaus. If not for my gift, he would now be dead. I realized this was the first time I had done something really special with my 'gift'. The first time I had put someone else first and put myself at risk. And you know what; it felt really, really good. I could see how it could quickly become additive.

Then, just as I was about to 'port back to Smallville, I decided maybe I had earned a small reward for myself. Remembering Eloise's Gucci handbag, I remembered seeing a similar one in the store which would 'oh so perfectly' match one of my favorite pairs of shoes. I knew I couldn't use it the next day in Paris. And I knew back home I would have to claim it was a knock-off I had gotten cheap on eBay. But still I wanted it. So I detoured for a fraction of a second on my way home to grab the mini-purse from the Gucci store. This behavior was most definitely not part of the 'Superhero Code', but for a while it would become an integral part of the 'Alicia Code'. Somehow I convinced myself these kinds of thefts were acceptable after I had performed some good deed. For a while I would even start hunting out opportunities specifically because of some trinket or toy I wanted to possess and that's when I started taking some really stupid risks. But more on that when we get to the appropriate part of the story.

So after my detour, I 'ported straight to the girls' locker-room at the gym. Fortunately, as part of the track team I had a permanently assigned locker and didn't have to retrieve my gym bag from my regular locker.

Now, 'porting to the gym locker-room sounds pretty risky right at the start of class, but I had long since scouted out obscure corners throughout the school to use in situations like this. Although I found out the hard way some obscure corners were safer than others. Within the first couple of weeks of graduating from middle school to high school, I had discovered a dark, mostly hidden alcove used to store paint supplies in the arts wing of the building. I had previously used this location on several occasions before I 'ported in one day to find Whitney and his girlfriend, Lana, going at it hot and heavy. For a moment I stood there frozen to my spot not daring to breathe. But I needn't have worried. Whitney had the girl's shirt completely unbuttoned and his attention was fully focused on the hand he was sliding up under her bra. Lana's head was thrown back and her eyes were closed. Then without even opening her eyes, she blindly reached out her hands and pulled Whitney's mouth hard up against her own. All I could do was stand there and stare while thinking Lana was such a slut. But I knew in my heart I would have traded places with her in a second, if Whitney would have given me a chance. Did I mention how hot Whitney is? Anyway I think a herd of elephants could have stampeded through that room and those two wouldn't have noticed, let alone noticing me standing quietly in the shadows. But after dreaming for a few seconds that it was my mouth that Whitney was sticking his tongue into, I finally came to my senses and 'ported to one of my other hidden corners in the school.

Fortunately, on my arrival after my first trip to Paris, the secluded corner of the locker-room I typically used for late arrivals was unoccupied and I slipped in amongst the other girls busy changing without attracting any attention to myself.

Gym class seemed to fly by as most of my attention was focused not on the volleyball game we were playing, but on what I could possibly wear for the trip to the fashion show the next day. Mentally, I tried on every outfit I owned, but none of them seemed worthy. Then I started mixing and matching my collection of blouses, pants, and skirts in every outrageous combination I could imagine and still nothing seemed to work. By the time class was over I had started to mix and match my clothes with every item of Gracie's I could remember. And since we were almost like sisters, I knew her closet almost as well as my own.

Fortunately, on Fridays, gym class is my last class before track practice so there was no point in taking a shower after class. As the other girls were showering before heading home for the day, I headed outside to the track to get an early start. I was hoping a run would do a better job than the volleyball game had done to relieve the excess adrenaline I had been feeling ever since the near miss with the car and the subsequent conversation with Eloise.

The running really didn't seem to help any better, but at least it filled the time until Gracie reached the practice field and started her warm up stretching exercises. Quickly I aborted my run and collapsed to the ground beside her.

Perhaps this is a good spot to pause and give a brief description of my very best friend. As I mentioned earlier, Gracie is very tall at six foot one. And she is very slender or is it more PC to say 'willowy'? She has short black hair. Not dark brown, but the true black that almost looks highlighted in blue under the right lighting. She wears it in a pageboy cut like Milla Jovovich in 'The Messenger - The Story of Joan of Arc'. Have you ever seen that movie? It is one of Gracie's and my favorites; we must have watched it a million times. The best parts of the movie are the battle scenes right after Joan has received a vision from God. Milla is just so unbelievably intense like she had personally experienced the visions herself. And it is not just Gracie's hair that reminds me of the Milla version of 'Joan of Arc'. No, during some of our later adventures she would show some of that same intensity when we were in some scarily dangerous situation. Oh, did I mention Gracie also has a special 'gift'? Maybe that's why we feel so close. But until I talk to her and make sure it is okay, I think her 'gift' will have to remain a secret.

But I think Gracie's best features are her eyes. I have spent hours staring at my eyes in the mirror (boy, does that make me sound narcissistic!), but they seem such an ordinary dark brown. Gracie's eyes are a very bright, clear blue. Oh, they are not some impossible shade only ever seen in romance novels, but with her jet black hair and pale complexion, her eyes are hard to miss. (Okay, if Gracie's eyes are her best feature, she always says the same of my smile. According to her, my smile must be another 'gift', as it is so powerful it should be able to melt steel!)

Anyway after I plopped down next to her, I leaned close and whispered the key events of my recent trip to Paris. Well, most of the key events, I knew Gracie would never understand about the Gucci bag. If anyone could actually live up to the 'Superhero Code', it would be Gracie. And if I am to be perfectly honest, Gracie has always been my rock, my anchor. If not for her, I think there have been many times when I would have lost my soul to the endless rush of my 'gift'.

Gracie was just as excited about the fashion show as I was. And just like me, her first thought was what we would wear. We quickly agreed we needed to make an expedition to the 'Discount House of Fashion' in Metropolis after practice was over. DHoF was nothing more than a glorified thrift shop, but when you are on a fifteen-year-old's budget, you do what you can. The next task was to talk to Allison about some useful French phrases. The challenging part was coming up with an explanation as to why we needed the info. We could hardly say we were zipping over to France in a few hours for a world class fashion show. Anyway we came up with some song-and-dance about a game at a party we were planning and managed a fifteen minute conversation with her without giving away our secret. Although the way we were both continuously grinning and giggling, she must have suspected something more was involved then we were letting on.

After an interminable two hours, practice was finally over. I think the fastest I have ever run in my whole career in track was the sprint to the showers once the coach dismissed us for the day. In near record time Gracie and I were changed and out the door. As soon as the coast was clear (don't you just love that cliché!), I 'ported us straight to Metropolis.

We spent an hour at the 'Discount House of Fashion' and it seemed like we tried on fifty outfits each, but nothing quite 'clicked'. Finally, we had to admit defeat and head back home. We were both late for dinner and we didn't need to get in any trouble right before our excursion to Paris. I dropped Gracie off at her house with the promise to be back at one-fifteen. That would give us forty-five minutes to get ready. Hopefully, this would be one of the times where I got into the 'zone' while under pressure and would come up with some brilliant solution to our fashion dilemma.

When I reached home it was after seven. My parents and little brother Mark were already eating. Well, I still say little brother, but at thirteen he is now almost as tall as me. I guess by the time he stops growing he will be at least six-three or six-four.

As I took my seat at the table, Mom gave me the look that said she was disappointed with my tardiness, again. Sometimes I think my Mom wishes it was the 1950s and we behaved like the Nelsons or some other mythical TV family. Personally, I think she should be satisfied we were still a complete family-unit. So many of my friends, including Gracie, only have one parent at home. But my Mom never seems to understand how good we have it. And if I miss the occasional dinner, well, it is all part of growing up.

Just as dinner was finishing up and I was ready to make some excuse to head up to my bedroom to try and get a few hours sleep before our big adventure, not that sleep seemed remotely possible at the moment, my Mom decided the time was right to ask about the noises from my bedroom in the middle of the afternoon.

This brought up my most frequent quandary, was it better to lie and claim I hadn't been there or tell the truth. My mom still had these delusions that I should act normal and never use my 'gift' except in a real emergency. She didn't 'get' that my teleportation abilities were a natural part of me and asking me not use them was like asking a 'normal' person to never use their legs. The person may be able to comply, but is just plain unnatural. If I forgot something I needed at school, what was the big deal if I 'ported home between classes?

"Sorry, Mom. I forgot my history book and dropped by between classes to pick it up. I am afraid I startled Carbon when I arrived. You know how he gets sometimes."

My Dad looked up from his paper and spoke with a grin. "Oh, he doesn't behave any different than me when you show up out of nowhere."

Thanks, Dad, I thought. He usually took my side when my Mom started to get on my case about using my abilities.

"Hey, when was the last time I showed up out of nowhere to startle you? It has been at least three years. I always abide by the rules and only jump to and from my own room." For some reason my Mom hates the word teleport or any of its variations. It must remind her of some scary episode of 'The Outer Limits' or 'The Twilight Zone' from her youth. Therefore when I am around her I try to remember to use the word 'jump' which doesn't seem to bother her too much.

The rule about only 'porting from my room came about shortly after my twelfth birthday when I 'ported home from the park with a badly scraped up pair of knees and discovered my Mom's bridge club was in the living room. It was just extremely lucky no one but my Mom looked up in three seconds I was in the room before I 'ported back out of the room and up to the second floor bathroom. After the ladies left, my Mom really ripped into me trying to drive home the dangers to me and the whole family if anyone else ever found out about my 'gift'. By the time my father arrived home twenty minutes later, I had been crying so long I had developed a bad case of the hiccups. That day was when my father came up with the rule that I was only to teleport to and from my own bedroom. Whenever I was not at home, the door would remain closed and no one outside of the family was ever to be allowed into my room.

"I know, pumpkin," began my Dad. "I was just teasing. You have been doing a fine job of obeying the rule."

I hated when he called me pumpkin, but this time I didn't make a fuss. My mother had now moved to start clearing the table and it was obvious the issue of strange noises from my bedroom when I was supposed to be at school was going to be dropped this time.

Sometimes I think the only reason I try so hard to do well in school is not because it matters to me, but to get my mother to cut me some slack. She knows I use my gift more than she would like and she even knows I have gone to Metropolis at least once unsupervised. But as long as my grades remain high, she knows my Dad will continue to take my side. Although I am sure if my Dad knew the true extent of my travels he wouldn't be nearly so understanding.

When it was clear the conversation was over for the moment, I stood. "I am going up to my room to study. Then I am going to try to turn in early. Coach Holmes wants us at the field at sixty-thirty tomorrow morning for an extra practice session before next week's meet. After that, Gracie's Dad has volunteered to take us to the swap meet in Topeka. I probably won't be home until about five."

My Mom paused from wiping the kitchen table. "You are going to miss Mark's game."

"Oh, darn," I said. From my tone I am sure my Mom knew I was not in the least upset to be missing little brother's pitching debut. Baseball in my view is right up there with watching paint dry on the overall scale of fun things to do.

"Well, have a good time, Alicia," said my Dad. "If you see any interesting bootlegs, be sure to let me know."

You would never guess by looking at him, but my Dad is a closet Dead-head. I still remember back in '95 when Jerry died and Dad hung the black cloth around the album collection in 'his' room in the basement. It was almost six months before my Mom finally convinced him to take it down.

I gave a very dramatic roll of my eyes. "Sure, Dad."

Dad snorted and knew I would avoid any vendors with vinyl like they had the plague.

With all of our rituals out of the way, I headed up to my room.

And much as I expected, I didn't doze off for more than an hour before the clock beside my bed said it was one in the morning. In less than an hour we would be in Paris at the fashion show! I decided I was just going to have to depend on adrenaline to get me through the day.

After taking another pass through my closet and still not feeling any sense of inspiration, I slipped into a pair of jeans and a white tee-shirt and 'ported straight to Gracie's bedroom.

Her bed seemed to be piled waist high with clothing. It looked like every thing she owned was on the bed. I could hear her moving around in her bathroom, but before I walked over to the door I spotted the green blouse I had been looking for for the past two weeks. So this is where it had been.

As I approached the doorway I could hear humming coming from within. Gracie seemed to be in a good mood. I rapped on the door sill to let her know I was there.

Gracie glanced up into the mirror and when she saw my reflection she grew a big smile. "Hey, Alish." Then she did a quick twirl around. She was wearing a very short denim miniskirt that made her legs look a mile long, a frilly white satin cowboy shirt, and a pair of cowboy boots.

"So, what do you think?" she asked, as she spun to a stop. "I came to the conclusion we are never going to beat the French at their fashion game, so we shouldn't try. It's better if we do something different, so why not the American cowgirl look."

Slutty American cowgirl is what came to my mind when I looked at her. But I decided her logic was as good as any and I didn't have anything better to offer. "Okay."

Gracie grinned. "I have just the thing for you." Then she walked back into her bedroom and started rummaging through the clothes on the bed while I stood in the bathroom doorway and watched. After a minute she came back with a miniskirt matching her own and a vest with the Texas state flag across the back she had picked up when they had been down to the Texas State Fair in Dallas the previous fall.

She handed the vest to me and had me try it on. Then she led me back into the bathroom and we both checked out the vest in the mirror.

"Hmm, I think a white tank top will work better than that tee. I'll go find one while you try on the skirt." Then Gracie headed back into the bedroom while I stripped off my jeans.

By the time she returned I was wearing just the skirt and my red bra. She handed me the top, which was only about three sizes too small. I am not exactly huge in the chest department, but my 'C' cup breasts do look relatively large next to Gracie's 'A's.

Fortunately, the tank was of a sufficiently stretchy material to allow me to get it on, but it did leave my navel exposed.

"Okay, now try the vest."

I put on the vest and looked in the mirror. I wasn't sure I really cared for the look.

Gracie saw the expression on my face and quickly said, "We need the cowboy hats to complete the look." Then she glanced down at my feet. "And some cowboy boots for you."

I had a pair of half-boots back home with four inch heels. They weren't really cowboy boots, but they should be close enough. "I have some boots back at my house."

Gracie smiled. "Great. While you go get them, I'll get the hats."

I 'ported back to my bedroom and spent a minute rummaging in my closet before finding the half-boots. I hadn't worn them in ages and by the time I wiped them down and returned to Gracie's house, she was already back in the bedroom.

She was carrying two white cowboy hats with small feathers stuck in the headbands on the right side and two jackets. She slipped one hat on her head and handed me the other. Then she shrugged into a very long leather cowboy duster that belonged to her Dad. Gracie is tall, but her Dad is even taller. On him, the bottom edge must have come within a couple of inches of the floor, but on her it just brushed the carpet. Suddenly, seeing the complete ensemble, I realized Gracie did look pretty hot.

The jacket she handed me also belonged to her Dad. This jacket was a traditional leather bomber style except it was completely covered with patches from various rodeo competitions. Gracie's Dad competed in a lot of rodeos when he was younger. He had given it up when Gracie was born, so we had never seen him compete in person, but we had watched him on videotape one time. Riding a bucking bronco has always seemed pretty scary to me, but it was much scarier when you knew the person doing the riding. I knew in my head he had survived those reckless days, still it was very scary to watch on video.

We looked a fine pair, as we stood in front of the mirror taking in our image. The coat Gracie had given me was way, way too big; as I said her Dad is a big man. But somehow the oversized jacket worked with the rest of my look. I am sure part of it was the patches; they made the jacket seem much more real.

Another cool thing about the image in the mirror was the way Gracie's relatively flat cowboy boots and my four inch heels, for once almost brought both of us to the same eye-level.

As I stared at our reflection, the other thing I noticed was that I liked the look of Gracie's short hair with the hat more than my own flowing locks.

Thinking about Gracie's hair reminded me of the portrait of Jackie O. my Mom had on a refrigerator magnet in the kitchen. Well, this photo dated from the much earlier period in her life when she was still known as Jacqueline Kennedy, the President's wife. In the photo she is sitting in a high-backed French Provincial Style chair in front of a fireplace. She is wearing a simple red dress. The dress does not have a collar, but neither does it have a plunging neckline. No, the neckline is just low enough to pass below the single short strand of pearls encircling her throat. Her hair is not nearly as short as Gracie's, but still there is something about the cut of the dress and the shortness of her hair that makes her neck look so long and so very elegant.

My long neck is mostly hidden with my hair down and suddenly I felt the need to show it off. Quickly I pulled off my hat and grabbed a handful of hairpins from the bathroom counter. In less than a minute I had my hair pinned to the top of my head and then restored the cowboy hat. Hot, simply hot, was all I could think when I saw the improvement my pinned up hair made. Perhaps I should cut it short like Gracie. It would definitely take less time to keep it looking nice and would perpetually keep my long neck exposed.

Seeing Gracie stare at my reflection in the mirror, I couldn't help but grin. She returned my smile and then announced there was still just time to put on some 'glitter' makeup.

By the time we had our makeup finished it was five minutes to two. We looked at each other in the mirror and then we bounced on our toes and squealed like a couple of school girls. Of course, since we were only in the ninth grade, we technically were school girls.

Then the squeals turned to giggles as Gracie tried to make shushing noises. Her Dad's bedroom was at the other end of the house, but no point in rousing him when we were about to leave for the rest of the night.

Finally, we calmed down a little. I turned and looked Gracie in the eye. "Are you ready?"

She took a couple of slow, deep breaths. "Yeah."

I held out my right hand and she intertwined her fingers with mine. With a nod of her head, she said, "Let's go have some fun!"

I gave her hand a quick squeeze and then we were abruptly standing on the sidewalk in front of the very French looking Hotel Intercontinental. The transition from the middle of the night Smallville to middle of the day Paris was even more disconcerting than my first trip to Paris just over twelve hours earlier. At least this morning in Paris the sun was shining, even if the temperature only felt in the upper fifties.

Releasing Gracie's hand, I strode off towards the hotel entrance which was manned by a doorman in an archaic uniform like something straight out of an old movie from the 1950's or maybe even the 1930's. As I neared him, he pulled open the door, but I could see his eyes were looking passed me. Turning I saw it was Gracie he was watching and I couldn't help but stare a moment, too. Between her movement and the wind, her floor length tan duster had billowed open revealing her incredibly long legs. I had never noticed how incredibly beautiful she had become, as to me she was still the same Gracie I had know all my life. But the cowgirl look was amazing on her and I knew her fashion selection had been a good one. Then as I glanced around I noticed almost all of the men within sight had stopped what they were doing and were just staring. And only a little over half of them were staring at Gracie. Oh my God, I thought, I must be almost as hot, because I realized the rest of them were staring at me!

When Gracie caught up to me, she looped her arm through mine and then with an exaggerated wiggle of her hips, she led us on into the hotel. Apparently, she was just as aware as me of the attention we had drawn.

As we entered the grand lobby of this world class hotel we were grinning like mad; this field trip was starting out even better than we had dreamed was possible. We walked across the lobby to the counter with the simple, but elegant sign with the word 'Concierge' and I handed the card Eloise had given me to the man who greeted us.

"We were told you could direct us to Eloise Dubois with the Christian Dior fashion show," I stated.

The man nodded and then responded in impeccable English. "Yes, I have been expecting you. If you will give me a moment, I will have one of the show's staff here to guide you."

I nodded and then turned to give the lobby a more thorough inspection. Although it wasn't the architecture which interested me, but the people. Most of the people traversing the lobby were obviously in town for business as suits were the uniform of the day for most of these people, both men and women. A few people were dressed in more casual 'tourist' attire. However with an initial once over, no one was dressed as outrageously as Gracie and me. Had we over done it?

But then just as I was starting to get a little nervous at how Eloise was going to react to our attire, a group of six women entered the lobby that were dressed just as inappropriately. Embarrassingly low-cut jeans. Goofy hats. Sheer tops over platform bras or even no bras. Platform shoes so tall it almost looked like you would need to stand on a chair to put them on. These had to be the models.

Seeing us, these girls came over to greet us and arrived at the same time as a girl wearing the red blazer with the hotel crest on her breast pocket. The girl in the blazer suddenly looked like a small child standing with a group of adults. The poor girl couldn't have stood much over five foot one, while the models, Gracie, and I all easily topped six foot two in our various heels.

The girl said something in French and then gestured off toward a door on our left. The models started following. Gracie and I shared a glance, then grinned and tagged along. Obviously, the girl assumed we were also models. It seemed like it would be fun to hang with the models for a little while and once we reached the backstage area I didn't think we would have that much trouble finding Eloise.

Only two of the models, Nina and Karin, spoke English and they were both Scandinavian, one from Norway and the other from Finland. We found out they were only a year older than us and had already been modeling for almost three years. They had been living in Paris, unchaperoned, for two years. We definitely weren't in Kansas anymore.

The hotel was huge and we seemed to have walked the equivalent of two blocks before we reached the backstage dressing area. And it was suddenly like we had stepped into the middle of a hurricane. Make-up artists, designers, dress-fitters, hairstylists, photographers, and models were rushing around in a frenzy and Karin had said the show didn't even start until ten thirty.

As soon as the group of models reached the mirrored dressing tables, a cloud of assistants seemed to descend on them. With a casualness that I found somewhat disconcerting, they were quickly stripped of their street clothes down to their panties and people were immediately at work on their makeup and hair.

Gracie and I simply stood and stared at the activity until I realized someone was trying to remove my coat while simultaneously leading me over to one of the open dressing tables. It was definitely time to find Eloise.

I turned to the woman who had her hand on my back. "Eloise Dubois? We are supposed to be meeting Eloise Dubois."

The woman, who was wearing a light blue tunic over her clothes and looked to be a dress-fitter, stared at me for a moment. Then she nodded, pointed to the far side of the room, and started leading in that direction. Gracie was just staring around with her eyes wide, so I grabbed her hand and then started to follow the woman.

The woman led us through a door from the dressing area to the actual area directly behind the curtain. Suddenly, the noise level dropped significantly although a number of people were working here, too. As the woman glanced around, I immediately saw Eloise standing halfway across the room. I don't know why the woman leading us didn't spot her as quickly. At least to me, Eloise in her elegant light blue suit stood out like a unicorn in a room full of donkeys.

"There she is," I said to Gracie with a tilt of my head. Then ignoring the woman who had been leading us, I set off across the room at a rapid pace.

Eloise was talking to four other people, who might as well have had the word 'assistant' tattooed on their foreheads, as we approached. In my excitement at actually being here, I didn't wait for a lull in the conversation, but barged right in.

"Eloise, it is so good to see you."

Eloise turned at the sound of my voice and there was a momentary look of annoyance on her face at the interruption. She stared at me for a moment and then I recognized the exact instant she recognized me and her lips started to form a smile.

"Alicia, I almost didn't recognize you." Then she paused as she ran her eyes up and down my body in what I realized was a professional appraisal. Then all she added was, "Wow."

I pulled Gracie forward until she stood beside me. "Eloise, this is my best friend, Gracie Denton."

Gracie received the same once over before Eloise offered her hand. "I'm Eloise Dubois. It is a pleasure to meet a friend of Alicia's."

"Thank you. And thank you for inviting us. This is all so very exciting," gushed Gracie with a big grin on her face.

"How is Nicky?" I asked.

"He is fine, although he keeps saying the strangest things about the accident. He says the car was almost on top of him when suddenly you and he crashed onto a bed on top of a black cat. Then he was suddenly lying on the ground between two of the parked cars."

I felt my smile slip for a second. "Really? How strange. I guess he must have been more shaken up then I thought after I had to knock him to the ground to get us clear of the car. Are you sure he is okay?"

I was certain from her face that Eloise had read from my expression that there was more truth in Nicky's words than I had let on, but after a second she just smiled. "I had my doctor check him over and he couldn't find a scratch. He just says the mind can play tricks on you when you receive a big shock."

She paused for another second, as though to see if I had any more to say on the subject. But when I didn't, she changed the subject. "I have a few minutes, how about a quick tour?"

Both Gracie and I nodded excitedly. Eloise held up a finger signaling for us to wait and then she turned to the others she had been talking to when we arrived and addressed them in rapid French for almost a minute. As she talked, the others keep taking quick glances in my and Gracie's direction and then nodding their heads. When she finished speaking, the two men and one of the women scurried off leaving the youngest woman, who was carrying a large leather day planner.

Turning back to us, Eloise introduced the other woman. "Alicia, Gracie, this is my personal assistant, Sophie."

We all shared polite nods.

Turning towards the large curtain, Eloise said over her shoulder as she started to walk, “Let's start out front."

As we approached the curtain, two men stationed there quickly pulled open the central portion. We stepped through into an almost blinding light. After a second my eyes adjusted and I realized we were on the actual runway.

Eloise watched with a grin as Gracie's and my eyes got big as it sank in exactly where we were. "Go ahead. Take a turn down the runway. It is a lot of fun. Or at least that's how I remember it from my days as a model."

Wow, she was actually going to let us live the fantasy. Oh, the room wasn't full of the rich, famous, and powerful at the moment only a handful of maintenance workers put the finishing touches on the chairs. But it was still the runway the models we had just met would be gracing in barely an hour. What school girl hasn't fantasized about a moment like this while reading 'Vogue' or 'Mademoiselle'?

Gracie gave me a nudge and mouthed, 'You, first.'

Even though this was 'just pretend', I still felt a flutter in my stomach as I stripped off the heavy leather bomber jacket and my cowboy hat. Slowly, trying to hold my head high and very still, I sauntered down the runway.

I was only about a third of the way when Eloise called out. "Shoulders back and less hip movement. And try it without the vest."

After removing the vest and letting it dangle from my left hand, I tried to follow the rest of her instructions. But the main result of pulling my shoulders back didn't seem to be an improvement of my posture. No, the main effect was the up thrusting of my breasts. I guess I was still a small town girl at heart, because I wasn't use to wearing such provocative clothes in such an erotic pose. However, instead of feeling embarrassed or scared, what I felt (this is so embarrassing to admit) was horny.

I made it out to the end of the runway and back. As I returned to the others, Gracie was staring at me. Her eyes were not looking at my face, but lower and I knew it wasn't the cool temperature that was causing the reaction she was seeing. I felt my face turning bright red.

Before the moment became awkward, Eloise told Gracie it was her turn.

Gracie handed me my hat and jacket which she had been holding and then removed her duster and her own cowboy hat before handing them to me, too.

Then squaring her shoulders, she took a deep breathe and started her own journey. I watched in amazement; Gracie looked like she had been doing this her whole life. Poise. Grace. Elegance. I saw all of those things as she made her way down and back. Wow.

When Gracie returned, Eloise turned to Sophie. "Your thoughts?"

"Very good form," she began before she gave our bodies one more final review. "Only the makeup is all wrong."

I started to feel my temper beginning to flare until Eloise responded. "Yes. I quite agree."

That's when I realized our trip down the runway was a test for Sophie, as much as a perk for Gracie and me. Some inner voice whispered Eloise was training Sophie to be more than just an assistant.

"I have some things I need to attend to at the moment. Sophie, take the girls to Mary and have her work her magic and then bring them back to me."

"Yes, ma'am," answered Sophie and then she gestured us back towards the curtain.

What was the specialty of this 'Mary', I wondered. I didn't have long to wait as we were led through the area behind the curtain and back into the dressing area.

The models we had arrived with were now all being fitted into their first outfits. It wasn't until that moment that I understood this was a 'haute couture' show. None of these outfits would, no, could be worn out in the general public. They were only designed for shows like this to demonstrate the creative magic of the designers. And it looked like real magic was required to hold some of the outfits up. One of the outfits even looked like it was constructed entirely of feathers!

Sophie led us past where the models were having their costumes pinned into place and on to the last of the makeup tables in the line. A middle-aged woman, who looked a little like my grandmother, stood next to the table with its seemingly endless array of crèmes, powders, and liquids.

"Mary, this is Alicia and Gracie. Eloise would appreciate it if you could take a quick look at their makeup."

Mary gave our clothes and bodies a quick inspection. Then she spent a much longer time looking at our faces. After thirty seconds, she raised her right hand and used her index finger to slowly turn my head from side to side before repeating the process on Gracie.

Finally, she turned to Sophie. "Eloise always has a good eye. Give me ten minutes." Then she gestured us into adjoining chairs.

Almost before our butts were in the seats she swiveled us around so our backs were to the mirrors and began removing our existing makeup. I hardly had time wonder about her comment about Eloise having a good 'eye', before my attention was sucked in by her monologue about the proper use of makeup. It was amazing, almost scary. I felt like I learned more about makeup in the next ten minutes than I had learned in five years of reading the fashion magazines. When I said as much to Mary, she laughed and said those articles were about selling product, not about making the reader beautiful.

At the end of the ten minutes, Mary swung our chairs around so we could see the end product of her activity.

"Holy shit," I whispered almost under my breathe. I prided myself on being a 'good' girl and had never uttered that word in public before. But what I saw was so amazing my brain couldn't come up with any other word.

However Gracie did come up with a better word, but then she lives with only her dad and he is not shy about using colorful language. "Fucking incredible," was all she said.

And it was fucking incredible. At first glance I almost didn't recognize myself. And the amazing part was, I wasn't like hidden under a thick layer of mascara, blush, and eye shadow. No, none of those were even apparent at first glance. Somehow my natural looks had been enhanced, as though my skin had an extra half inch of translucent depth. My skin seemed to almost glow with some inner light. It was fucking amazing.

I glanced over at Gracie and saw the same effect. Our faces were suddenly brilliantly alive and it made our normal appearance look, in comparison, as though we had gone days without sleep.

I thought I had been listening carefully to Mary's words as she described the process, but I had no idea what she could achieve. And I had no idea how I would ever duplicate this effect on my own.

I turned to look at Mary. "Thank you so much. Can you teach me how to do this myself?"

"Me, too,” echoed Gracie.

Mary smiled as though she had seen this reaction many times before.

"Come back and see me after the show. Now, I have other work to do, so you two better go find Sophie."

We climbed out of our chairs and I had a strong urge to give Mary a hug. But I managed to hold back and give her just a grateful nod and smile.

As we wandered off in search of Sophie or Eloise, I took a quick glance at Gracie. I could see by the expression on her face that just like me, she was finding this day way better than she could have possibly dreamed.

We found Eloise and Sophie standing together talking with a couple of the dress-fitters. At our approach, the conversation came to a halt and all four women turned to look at us.

Eloise smiled. "Yes, that is much better." Then she turned to the fitters. "Okay, ladies. Your turn."

Gracie and I looked at each other. What was coming next?

"What?" We asked in unison.

Eloise's smile became even broader. "It is time to get you into your outfits."

"Outfits?" We parroted back like some bad comedy routine.

"Well, you can hardly go out on stage in those cowboy outfits. It would ruin the 'Dior' name."

"Wait, you expect us to be part of the show?" I asked, suddenly wondering if this was a dream come true or a nightmare.

"I am always looking for interesting new faces and bodies. And you both qualify. Now let these ladies get to work, time is running short." Then Eloise turned and strode off.

As the fitter's started striping us of our clothes, I turned to Sophie. "Can she really do that? Get us in the show I mean. I didn't think the photographer had that much pull."

Sophie stared at me for a minute and then started to laugh. "Is that what she told you? Eloise is not the photographer. Well, she will occasionally get behind the camera. No, she is runs the company."

She didn't look a day over thirty and she runs a worldwide fashion conglomerate? I was stunned. Then I thought back to the business card she had given me. No title like 'Photographer' just the company logo, her name, phone number, and e-mail address. Wow.

This news had distracted me so much I hadn't even noticed as the woman had stripped me of my tank top, bra, shoes, and miniskirt. Suddenly I realized I was standing in middle of a crowded room wearing nothing but my tiniest pair of panties.

I had been naked in the showers at the gym many times before, but this was way different. For one, I was the only one nearly naked. Well, me and Gracie. And never, ever had there been a bunch of guys present. I was praying all the stories were true and that all of these guys were gay.

My hands shot up to cover my breasts like they were spring loaded, but the fitters must have seen this reaction before. Quickly, they had me stepping into a gold and platinum gown. As the straps were raised over my shoulders, my body started to relax. At least until I saw myself in the mirror. The neckline on this gown swept way down. It didn't stop at my navel, not even close. For a second I thought I could even see the top of my panties in the reflection until one of the ladies reached up and pulled them down.

I was almost afraid to move; so much of my cleavage was exposed I knew my breasts would pop out with the slightest motion. However they obviously knew this was an issue with this gown and one of the women pulled a roll of double-sided tape from her pocket. In a couple of seconds she had torn off a couple of small pieces, pulled back the gown to once more expose my nipples. She was all business as she pressed the tape to my nipple and then smoothed the gown back into place.

I gave my upper body a little experimental jiggle and found the tape would do the job, at least as long as I didn't do anything stupid like try to play volleyball, or more seriously, simply lift my arms above my head.

Once the gown finally felt somewhat secure, I moved over to the mirror. Wow. Even though I had makeup on that was almost invisible, in this gown I don't think any of my friends from school would even recognize me. Wow. The material shimmered and glistened as I moved. I had never seen a material like this before. Wow. Slowly I did a pirouette to see the gown from all angles and that's when I discovered the real reason the women had removed my panties. It wasn't the view from the front they were worried about; it was the view from the back. While the front seemed to plunge to within an inch of my crotch, the back went even lower. A good two inches of my crack were in plain view. Double Wow. While I stood there staring at my reflection, the women completed my ensemble. First, they added a wispy little platinum colored veil and then a pair of gold high-heeled sandals with straps which wrapped around my legs almost to my knees. Wow, yet again.

I had been so absorbed in my own transformation, I had momentarily forgotten all about Gracie. Now I looked over and found her in front of the mirror next to me.

She was absolutely stunning. And how she could stand there so calmly in that outfit was beyond me. Her gown was exactly the same shade of blue as her eyes. I don't know if it was a lucky coincidence or if they had trunk full of every possible color, but this blue was a perfect match for her. However the material was extremely sheer and the interwoven strands of metallic blue seemed to enhance rather than hide her nakedness. Unlike my outfit which didn't need a single distracting piece of jewelry, Gracie's throat, forearms, and ankles were wrapped with what looked like five pounds each of fine platinum chain. For a hint of modesty which seemed almost more erotic than being naked, she was wearing a tiny g-string also made of similar platinum chain.

Obviously, Eloise understood the female body when she selected our attire. My larger breasts would have wobbled almost pornographically in Gracie's outfit and she didn't have the necessary cleavage to pull off wearing my gown. But Eloise must also know how to read people, because I never would have guessed Gracie would have dared to go out on stage in an outfit that clearly exposed her breasts.

Gracie had been checking out my gown at the same time I had been checking out hers. Now, our eyes both traveled up at the same time. Together we both burst out, "You look incredible." Then we both started to laugh and I reached over and squeezed her fingers.

We hardly had time to share this moment every little girl dreams about, before it was broken.

Sophie came running up. "What are you still doing back here? You're up next."

As we almost ran from the dressing room, I could feel my stomach start fluttering again. I don't know how much of it was due to the gown and how much of it was just due to the thought of stepping out on that runway in front of hundreds of people and cameras. Suddenly, I was afraid I was going to get out there and then hurl out over the audience. 'Keep it together, Alicia. You can do this. Keep it together, Alicia. You can do this.' Quickly this became my mantra as we paused behind the curtain while Sophie gave us a final adjustment.

Abruptly I heard my name being announced amidst a string of French. As the curtain was opened, Sophie whispered, "Calm, cool, elegant." And then she gave me a small nudge in the center of my back.

The lights were absolutely blinding as I stepped out onto the runway making me glad we had at least practiced it once. I paused for a moment and slowly turned my head from side to side. Then I moved forward with a serene expression on my face like I remembered was on Milla's face when she was walking to her execution in 'Joan of Arc'. 'Calm, cool, elegant' became my new mantra as I glided down the ramp. Ignore the lights. Ignore the flashes. Ignore the people. 'Calm, cool, elegant.'

Was it hours or mere seconds until I reached the end of the ramp? I paused and slowly turned my head from side to side. 'Calm, cool, elegant.'

I turned and saw the curtain in the distance in front of me. 'Calm, cool, elegant.' The lights no longer seemed as blinding as I glided back. 'Calm, cool, elegant.'

Another lifetime, or was it a millisecond, passed and I was back at the curtain. I paused and turned back towards the room. Suddenly, I could feel a drop of sweat run down my back and straight on into the exposed crack. 'Calm, cool, elegant.'

Facing the crowd, I turned my head left, right, left one final time before turning and passing through the open curtain. 'Calm, cool, elegant.'

I had made it! As I cleared the curtain I could feel my shoulders sag and sweat breakout all over my body. Then I saw Gracie standing there waiting her turn and I forced myself to straighten up and smile at her. "Have fun. It is an amazing experience."

Then I heard her name and after a quick breath she was gone into the lights.

Sophie came over and pulled me into a hug. "You were wonderful. Absolutely wonderful."

Then she quickly drew me over to the side of the curtain away from the lights where we could watch Gracie. She was about halfway through her outbound leg. She was absolutely stunning. I have seen her naked many times in the showers at the gym, but some how that was never as erotic as this.

For a moment I was able to tear my eyes away from her and look passed the lights into the audience. Everyone looked entranced, almost as if they were holding their breath. Then I noticed even the camera flashes had almost died out. Was a little of Gracie's 'gift' leaking through?

Gracie reached the end of the runway and slowly turned. As soon as her face was no longer visible, a little life seemed to start to return to the audience. The gentle murmurs seemed to increase as she made her way back, calmly, coolly, elegantly.

As Gracie neared the end of her journey, Sophie let the edge of the curtain drop and we hurried to meet her. She stepped through the curtain and we could see the exaltation on her face. And the exhaustion. I have run ten kilometer races and felt less tired than after the mere hundred feet down and back on that runway. The sensation had been unbelievable.

Sophie and I pulled Gracie into a group hug. When it broke up, Sophie took us each by the hand. "Come let's go get you changed. Eloise always says one trip down the runway is enough for your first time, and I now understand what she meant."

I was still almost floating on a cloud as Sophie's words sank in. What? "What do you mean, first time?"

Sophie turned to me and grinned. "Eloise would never have let you go out there, if she hadn't seen some potential. And I saw how the audience reacted to you two. You both have a gift, an instinct that some of the girls never learn. I see great things in your future and I am sure Eloise does, too."

Gracie and I turned to look at each other and then we both broke into big grins. We suddenly saw whole new worlds beyond Smallville opening up before us.

Well, that is the story of my first day on the road to becoming a 'superhero'. A strange and wonderful road it would be. Smallville high school students by day. Models on the weekends. And superheroes in the cracks in between. Of course, in the beginning we tried to stay relatively low profile and mostly worked in Europe which didn't result in too much coverage in the American press or fashion magazines. Oh, we couldn't avoid all coverage and if you check out pages 87 and 89, respectively, of the August 2002 issue of 'Vogue' you will see photos of me and Gracie on that first fateful day.

I hope you have enjoyed this first chapter of my life's story. Hopefully, some time soon I will have both the time and the motivation to write out the next portion where the 'superhero' parts start to really kick in.

Until next time,

Alicia

XOXOXO

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Author's Note

Well, I hope you enjoyed this first installment of Alicia's adventures. If you enjoyed it enough that you would like to see more, let me hear from you.

Now for a couple of favors.

First, I will admit I am not much into the fashion world for teenage girls. I based Alicia's and Gracie's gowns in the fashion show on a couple of photos I found from a previous Christian Dior fashion show. Anyway, what would girls who had access to the top fashion designers in Paris wear in their personal lives and at school? I would appreciate any input either in a review or an e-mail, the more detailed the descriptions the better. Perhaps the best would be if you could send me a link to a photo that showed what you meant.

Second, I intentionally didn't go into Gracie's superpower as I haven't decided yet what it will be. What 'gift' would you like to see? Something that has been done before but never used to its full advantage or something never seen on the show?

I hope you are having a great day.

Duane

email: duane at duaneaakre dot com