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“Do you ever sometimes feel like you’re a bit... worthless?” Luke asks.
Hershel looks up from stirring his tea. His apprentice is tapping his fingers against the edge of the table, his face tense. Hershel glances at Flora (avoiding eye contact, as always), but his daughter looks as puzzled as he feels.
“What do you mean by that, Luke?” Hershel says, stirring his tea again, moving the spoon in a figure-of-eight pattern.
Luke starts to rock slightly in his seat. “I don’t know... It’s just that... well, everyone at school thinks I’m annoying because I’m rubbish at sports and I don’t know how to make friends.”
“Are you being bullied?” Flora asks, worried.
But Luke shakes his head. “No... not really. They just... pick on me sometimes.”
Hershel simply nods, but makes a mental note to talk to Clark later. “You’re not worthless, Luke. They all know that you are autistic, but make no allowances for your social skills. So, really, who is at fault?”
“And you’re good at lots of things,” Flora adds. “You can talk to animals.”
“And you’re very, very good at puzzles,” Hershel says.
Slowly, Luke raises his head, smiling weakly. “Thank you. Both of you.”