The first weekend after school started, Martha woke up on Saturday morning to the sound of the lawn mower running outside. She tried getting back to sleep, but a glance at the digital clock on her night stand told her she'd slept in a little later than she'd intended—the start of school had been exhausting. It was a lot of work getting both boys where they needed to be and helping Jonathan pick up the slack in terms of chores the boys couldn't do now that they had homework. She put on her dressing robe, left her room, and looked out of the window to see who was up and running the lawn mower.

What she saw made her smile.

The cows on the farm accounted for most of the grass, but Jonathan had cleared a little lawn area for Clark to play without having to worry about stepping in waste. Unfortunately, that meant the lawn actually had to be mowed. Clark could easily work the lawnmower, but he was overzealous and usually managed to cut too much. Jonathan had given the chore to Lex; Lex usually had to be reminded multiple times to start it, though. Today, though, he'd gotten up early and started his chore.

He was working really hard at it, too. Often he dragged his feet. Today his head was held high—strangely, he faced directly toward the sun—and he was putting all of his muscle into the chore.

Then he let go of the lawn mower, dropped to his hands and knees, and started vomiting.

Martha gasped and ran out of the house and toward him. By the time she reached him, he was back on his feet, pushing the lawn mower again. "Sweetheart," she said, "what are you doing?"

"Mowing the lawn," he shouted over the mower. "You said it was my chore." He seemed to be having a very, very hard time keeping a straight face. His voice was strained, as though he were in terrible pain.

She turned it off. "Lex, I just saw you throwing up. Are you sick?"

"No, no. I have a migraine."

"A—a migraine?" She wondered if he knew what that word even meant. Migraines were supposed to leave a person very, very sensitive to bright light and loud noises.

"Yeah. This is how you get rid of them, right? Working really hard in bright light, with a lot of noise?" He turned back toward the sun, squinting and wincing.

"Who taught you that?"

"My . . . birth father."

"Lex . . ." She shook her head. He had to be in agony. "Doesn't it hurt?"

"That's . . . that's how you know it's working . . ." He frowned. "How do you get rid of them?"

Her eyes prickled. "Come here." She wrapped an arm around him and started walking toward the house. "Stop looking at the sun. Go on up to your room."

Quietly, he obeyed her, his hand going to the side of his head to rub at his temple.

Martha sighed as she headed into the house. She stopped in the kitchen to fill a glass with water, then she followed him up to his room.

She handed Lex the glass of water, instructing him to drink slowly, then she undid the curtain hangings over his window and stretched them out to completely block out the light. It was mostly quiet, but she could just make out the little noises of Clark playing with his toys in the next room. "I'll be right back."

She went over to Clark's room and poked her head inside. "Hey, Clark, can you go play outside for me?"

"Why?"

"Because you need to get some fresh air."

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"Okay. Can Lex come play with me?"

"Not today, baby. He's not feeling well."

Clark frowned. "Can I give him a hug?"

"He just has a headache." No need to try to explain migraines to Clark right now; it could wait. "I'll come out and play with you in a few, okay?"

Clark sighed heavily. "Okayy," he said, and he trotted out of his room and disappeared down the stairs.

Martha smiled and went back into Lex's room, where he was finishing up the glass of water. "Is it sensitive to touch?" she asked.

"Uh . . ."

She stepped forward and gently put her fingers on his temple. "Does that hurt?"

"I mean, yeah it hurts, but you touching it doesn't make it hurt more."

She took her hands away. "How bad is it?"

"It's like there's a clamp over my whole head and it keeps tightening. And like needles in the back of my eye."

"Was it this bad when you woke up?"

"Almost. It was worse when I was outside, though."

She nodded. "Lie down, sweetheart."

"I can't, I have chores to do—"

"No, you don't. You're not well."

"But my dad always said it won't get better if I don't—"

"He lied to you, Lex."

Lex breathed in as if to speak, then he deflated. "Oh." Then he winced and put a hand on his head. "Man, it really hurts."

She pulled him into one last very, very gentle hug. "I'm so sorry. Lie down. Sleep, if you can."

He obeyed, crawling into his bed on top of the covers.

"And we're going to talk more about this when you wake up," she said.

"Okay."

She left him then, carefully closing the door behind herself, as silently as she could. Only then did she allow the tears in her eyes to spill.

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Martha was outside playing with Clark when Lex came out to meet her, a few hours later. He'd slept straight through breakfast and lunch. She passed the basketball to Clark and went over to Lex. "How are you feeling?"

"It's gone, mostly. I'm hungry."

"I'm sure you are. There's leftover chicken salad from lunch."

He nodded, and she took him back into the house to get him something to eat.

Once he was halfway through his lunch, she came to sit across from him. "Sweetheart—"

"I know what you're going to say."

"I don't think you do."

"You think my father didn't teach me how to do basic stuff. Like deal with migraines."

"Why do you think he lied to you?"

"Probably to make me stronger. I used to whine a lot." He set his jaw. "But I know how to take care of myself. I was just mixed up about the migraine thing."

"I was just thinking—"

"You can quiz me if you don't believe me."

"Oh really?" She raised her eyebrows. "Okay. What do you do if you have a cold?"

"Uh . . . I don't really get colds, not since the meteor shower."

"But if you did?"

"Lock yourself in your room so you don't spread it to anyone else."

She frowned—it was close. "Scraped knee?"

"Pour alcohol on it to kill the germs, dry it off, and put on a bandage." His brow furrowed. "Ah, actually, you use an antiseptic wipe for me. It stings less."

She nodded slowly. "Nausea?"

"Um. Suck it up and don't eat anything for awhile? Oh, and if you throw up, make sure to get to the toilet. I . . . I'm sorry about your lawn."

"I'm not worried about the lawn, Lex." She thought for a moment. "How about a bug bite?"

"Don't scratch it."

"Toothache?"

"Brush better?"

"Twisted ankle?"

"Limit your time on it, but don't limp."

She crossed her arms. "How about if someone's bullying you at school?"

"Don't snitch. Maybe do something smart about it."

"Like what?"

"Like, find out their secrets and threaten to tell people?"

Martha took a deep breath. She couldn't even just tell him to forget everything he'd ever learned—some of it was right, even if there were important pieces missing. "New house rule, sweetheart."

His eyes came dangerously close to rolling back. "What?"

"You tell me everything. Every cut and bruise, every ache and pain."

"For how long?"

"At least for the next couple of years." He was only in eighth grade; she figured she could sort out a lot of his misconceptions by his sophomore years of high school.

"Everything?"

"Yes. Because you have no idea how to take care of yourself."

His jaw pulsed. "You don't even know. I've been taking care of myself since I was Clark's age."

"This is not a negotiation." She gave him her best mom-look.

He glared at her.

"Hey. I'm not doing this to torture you. I'm trying to take care of you."

"I don't need help."

"Yeah? How's your migraine?" she asked.

He brought a hand to his head. The relief was clear in his eyes, even though he was obviously trying not to show it, for the sake of his pride.

"How is it?" she asked again.

"Gone now," he said under his breath.

"What's that?" She made a show of putting a hand up to her ear. "I didn't hear you."

"It's gone." He cracked a smile, though he seemed to be trying to hold it back.

"That's what I thought." She gave his shoulder a playful shake.

His smile was a little wider now. "Should I do my morning chores?"

"Clark and Jonathan took care of them. Go play with your little brother."

He nodded, and stood to bring his plate to the sink before heading outside. As she watched him go, she caught him grinning.