His jaw dropped mockingly, offended, falsely displeased. “I am not. Did Clark tell you that? I’m seventeen, not fourteen. Don’t believe what he tells you. It’s a lie,” he said hurriedly, moving away from the door so that an annoyed customer could free herself and pass him on her way to the taxi parked at the curb.
Of course he thought that she was Chloe. She looked exactly like her. She sounded like her, probably acted a bit like her too. “Yes? Yes. You… look like Chloe. Except for your hair. That isn’t blonde. But she could’ve had a dye job. Maybe she got sick of the blonde. Maybe she’s… hiding. From Lex.” Or not. That could also be the explanation.
Bart sighed dramatically. He almost appeared annoyed, but not quite. “Okay then. I’m Bart. Who are you?” Since she wasn’t who he thought she was, he was in need of a correct title. Making one up for her would get on her nerves. It did for almost everybody who had the honor of receiving a made up name.