By Anna Botsakou <email@example.com>
Submitted: August 2003
Summary: Sometimes we get our best ideas when we're desperate. As happened to young Lois Lane.
Disclaimer: I do not own Lois and Lucy Lane's characters. However, the idea of the fic is absolutely mine.
Dedicated to one of my best friends ever, Vivian. She knows why. ;)
And a big thanks to Carole who had the courage to BR it <g>.
So, here goes:
Her hands were gently touching the piano keys, as she was playing a beautiful Bach's fugue. The melody was filling her ears and heart. She was calm, and smiling, thinking that she had learned it by heart, at last.
Her fingers twisted, as she played the E+ triplet, reaching the middle of the fugue.
She stopped playing and desperately banged her hand on the keys. She had been learning the piano for almost six years, and yet she still couldn't remember to put the _third_ finger on that stupid E when she was playing the first inversion. Why did she always use the second one?
<It's the _third_! The _third_! The _third_!>
Her mind was screaming in vain. Her hand wouldn't obey. She had been studying this fugue for more than four months, and still, when she tried to play it by heart, she couldn't control her fingers.
The examiners wouldn't care, though. The examinations were in a month, and she should've learned the fugue by then. Unless she played it right, she wouldn't be able to move on to the next piano level.
Simple as that.
She stared at the keys, worried. Maybe she wasn't this talented, after all. Maybe the piano wasn't for her.
Maybe _nothing_ was for her.
She began to travel through her memories. She tried to remember something, anything, she was good at.
She had tried basketball, soccer, swimming…
A complete failure.
She decided that sports were not for her.
She had tried painting and sculpture.
She decided that art wasn't for her, either.
Now, she was trying to learn the piano.
And she didn't have to try to learn the violin, the guitar or the flute, to understand that music wasn't for her, either.
She sighed. She'd tried everything, and she'd managed nothing.
A voice popped into her head — her little sister's voice.
<Why are you being so unfair to yourself, Lois? You're always so quick to judge! Why don't you give yourself a second chance?>
And what would she say now, if she could listen to her?
<Are you crazy, Lois? You've been learning the piano for six years, and you're going to give up just because of an E in a fugue? You have plenty of time until the examinations to learn it! And you know what? Unless you keep trying over and over, you'll never manage anything in your whole life!>
Lucy's words always sounded like the right thing to do. However, she was too young to be wise enough.
Besides, she didn't know…
Lois bent her head. No, Lucy had no idea what she had been through these past sixteen years of her life. Even school was a living hell for her. She didn't have any friends, and she didn't know why. Everyone was making fun of her, with no reason. And the boys called her "Needle", because she was thin. She was always alone.
In addition, she had no good grades to satisfy her ambitions somehow. She was always a B, B- student. Why? No reason. She just couldn't understand, or remember what she was supposed to.
Where was she going? It was about time she decided what she was going to do in her life, time she created a future for herself. But what kind of future could she create, untalented and disappointed as she was?
She tried to be an optimist. OK, she couldn't be completely useless. There _had_ to be something she was good at.
What did she like to do? Perhaps this question would give her the answers she needed.
What she liked…what she liked was what she'd missed more than anything:
Communication. Talking to someone, listening to someone, writing… Yes, she loved to write.
Not writing anything, though — she lacked the imagination for fantasy. She liked to write articles, reports, interviews…
<It doesn't matter if you like it, Lois! You don't have many choices!> she reminded herself bitterly.
And writing was something she was quite good at. Her compositions always achieved A's, and even A+'s, a couple of times.
All of a sudden, Lois realized something very important about herself. She had never regarded writing as something she liked to do and yet, it was. She had never thought this was the reason why she kept a diary; she thought she was doing it just to kill some time. She had never thought this was the reason why she always had good grades at the compositions; she thought that this was happening because she liked the subjects she was given.
She had never thought this was why she was always willing to take on more essays like "Write two pages about Benjamin Franklin's life", the ones all the other children hated; she thought this was happening because she was hoping to get a better grade for her essay. She had never thought this was why she wanted to be a reporter for the school newspaper, even if she couldn't because only senior year students were allowed to; she thought she was just trying to attract the other children's respect and attention.
She kept thinking about it, and the more she thought about it, the more she liked the idea. She could be a reporter, indeed. She could write well, very well, and it was something she liked to do.
She absently turned her head towards the window. A brilliant future was passing before her eyes. She was Lois Lane, a great award-winning reporter. She had won the Kerth, even the Pulitzer. She was the star of a big newspaper, the Daily Planet for example, and everyone knew her and respected her.
Yes, she could do it.
And she would.
She would become a great reporter, no matter what anyone else said or thought about it.
She knew, at last, that this was her dream. And she would follow it.