Summary:So what do you do or have? Have you mastered the art that is 'Just being?' Do you have your life already developing in the picture, or has the shot yet to be taken?

Author Note:Okay,I got this idea a little while ago and I wanted to create an...interesting character that is different from the ones Marco has been around at Degrassi.So I guess there shall be twists but let's just focus on one chapter at a time.This one has actually been ran through spell check so yay for me!No more errors,unless I missed one,which I hope I didn't.

Broken Paint Brushes

Here's the thing we started off friends
It was cool but it was all pretend
Yeah yeah
Since you've been gone

-Kelly Clarkson Since You've Been Gone

Chapter 1:Where have all the cowboys gone

"Okay, okay" Marco said while his best friend ranted on the other line." No…Yes Ellie I understand that was completely wrong of him but I have to go…Where? To the store…No I don't think that the store is more important than our conversation but if I don't go now it'll be full by the time I get there!" He waited before she began to calm down."Yeah,sure…no,no.I- I love you too…I'm hanging up Ellie.Bye"Marco placed the phone down while she was still in the middle of her sentence. She had called to rant to him about how Sean had called her just to see if she could send him his stuff. It's not like he didn't care about his best friend's dilemma but he had more important things to worry about.

Mainly Dylan.

Dylan had left for the summer to go to hockey camp in Anaheim and has been talking to Marco mostly via e-mail. They're relationship had been on the rocks since the presidential election but Marco had been smoothing things out, trying to patch the works back up together. He loved him, he was sure of that, and Marco would do anything to rekindle that flame that they used to have. Not to say it wasn't there now but it was flickering like a faulty lamp, on one minute, off the next. He had talked to Dylan a few days ago on the phone but he seemed distant, as if he wanted to get off as soon as possible. Dylan would never break up with him, especially when not making eye contact. Marco would hope that he had more class than that.

"Ma!" Marco called out as he walked up the steps heading towards his bedroom. "I'm going to the store."

As he finally reached his room, his jacket neatly strung over his shoulders he was fixing his pillows in their correct vertical position (slightly obsessive compulsive) when his instant messenger alarm went off. He jumped slightly before turning around to see a little box with bold black letters tilted "We Have To Talk". He blinked once or twice before reading the sender's name. It was from Dylan. Marco stood rooting in his spot in the middle of the room, contemplating weather he should read it now or later.

If he read it now and it was a tale of heartbreak he would become hysterical and probably wrap his car around a pole while driving to which he would lose his memory and die lonely with his twelve cats. (He was an over reactive imagination),Or, on the other hand, it could be a letter full of love and lust to which he would be extremely happy. If he read it now he might be crushed. If he read it later it would be bothering him for the rest of the day. He decided to take his chances and leave now while there was even remotely a slight hint of him getting a decent parking spot. Casting one last long glance at the computer he shut the door and proceeded to walk down the steps towards the kitchen to get his car keys.

Once he was on the road inside the car the image of him running his car into a pole still dancing around in his head. He just felt like it was such a bad letter and that something horrible was going to happen. He was so exhausted it was unbelievable and initially it had been his day off. Marco worked for an up and coming magazine called the "Firefly" in which any and everything was said. They didn't skip a single topic and covered every possible topic imaginable and since Marco was one of their best writers he made damn sure that he could get the topics as racy and entertaining as he could. He had gotten into an argument over one of his recent topics titled "Button Pushers: What Makes Your Parents Tick?" with his mother.("Ma, this is a piece of truth about what goes on in the mind of the Canadian teen, not a stab at your parental status" Marco stated plainly as he mother huffed out "Nonsense, this article you wrote makes it sound like parents get on teenagers nerves 24/7" to which Marco muttered "Don't they?").

After Ellie had called him (at 9:30 am and woke him out of a dead sleep) and kept him on for a mind numbing 3 hours he had decided to go to the store to get all the things he needed to type up his next article. But then Spinner and Craig had called him, reporting to him about their trip so far cross country.("Man, you should've came it's awesome over here…where are we anyway?" Spinner asked, talking into the phone and Craig at the same time." The middle of nowhere…but hey look at that hot chick on the side of the road, is she hitch hiking?" Craig asked as Marco heard a swerving sound on his end of the phone. "Why are you pulling over?" Jimmy asked. "Dude…hot babe!" Spinner squealed. "Guys, are you sure you should be picking up strangers?" Marco had asked while ironing his shirt even though it was already perfect. Spinner began to answer when the phone clicked off).So here he was now, practically 4 hours later at 1:30 driving to his favorite store in the whole wide world while trying not to think of deadly visions of him wrapping himself around a pole and deadly love letters.

As he finally pulled into the parking lot, not much to his surprise, the place was jam packed with cars and even a few SUVs. He drove around the lot a good 7 or 8 times before parking on the other side of the block it's self. He hoped out the car and began his long journey back towards the store, on the other side of the parking lot, all the while dodging in between drops of soft rain. He grabbed onto cars here and there to steady himself as a wave of dizziness washed upon him and made a mental note to grab some coffee while inside the store.

Marco walked through the glass sliding doors, soaking wet because the weather decided that as soon as he had made it half way across the parking lot that it would rain harder, he walked over to a shopping cart and inhaled the scent of the store that he loved so much. It was a smell of Jasmine mixed with fruits and vegetables ,the florescent lights flickered above his head as he was met with the place's automatic heater. Shivering in delight he began his voyage for his items.

Marco mentally checked his list: Chocolate, his oatmeal and bamboo facial mask, coffee, some bubble bath, candles and oh…some cans of corn.(Now Marco has contemplated several times wondering exactly how feminine can one boy get, for he has thought that he has crossed the line once or twice. Nevertheless, he needed that chocolate to help him think straight, no pun intended, and well, the facial mask keeps him pretty. How else would he exfoliate? Really now. In addition, the corn? His mother saw some recipe on Oraph that she wanted to try).He crossed into the aisle where they sold the candles first. He picked up two purple chocolate candles (don't let the name fool you, they smell wonderful), two Strawberry Rhapsody candles and two black pineapple candles. Each one carried a scent that made his senses tingle, yeah; he was girly wasn't he? Next to that on the opposite side of him were his facial masks, scanning the shelves skillfully he came upon his cleansing mask in record time and snatched it into his cart.

Swaying his hips while bobbing his head to one of the songs that was coming out of the store's speaker's he crossed into the next, and his favorite alise, the chocolate one. (Now I don't know if he notices this, but he looks incredibly dorky…and cute while doing so.)He bit his lip as he stood in the aisle, surrounded by piles and piles of chocolate. You see, one of Marco's major weaknesses is his sweet tooth, that, and his over reactive imagination filled with deadly car visions. Smiling sweetly he looked up and down the aisle with an intent look. Chocolate Lixs? No, those were re-called because some lousy woman had found a medical syringe in hers. The new chocolate butter cream puffs? No, those made Marco fat and he was already putting on weight. Then he saw them. The small 99-cent box of simple chocolate pieces sitting there innocently next to a little hunched over granny. He blinked a few times, are his eyes deceiving him? Surely, they would not.

Bending over he grabbed the box just as the elderly women began to. Smiling down at her, since he was the dominate male and all; he was surprised to see when she whacked him across his head with her fake leather purse. "Asshole, haven't you ever heard of letting the elderly getting what they wanted?" She huffed and walked off. Marco raised a bemused eyebrow before rubbing his now slightly bruised arm, scooped up a can of coffee before walking back over to his cart, and began to turn into his last aisle of canned goods.

Now Marco had a theory. If you were truly, a gifted and talented shopper you would not have to ask the store personal for help retrieving the cans from such high and hard to reach places. he considered these people "Amateur Shoppers" which were to be looked down upon in the shopping world .Picking a can from the lower level Marco skillfully threw it up in the air and smiled when it hit the can at the top of the pyramid shaped form and came tumbling down into his outstretched hands.

After catching the can he turned on his heel only to stop when something heavy collided with his head. It took him a few puzzled minutes before he realized that he was being pelted with something. And then another fell, and another, and an another. Repeatedly hitting him in the head. Now if Marco was fully grasping the fact that he was indeed getting knocked constantly in the head with said canned goods maybe he would've actually moved but he didn't and instead stood there solidly for a few more minutes.

'This was going to be a very, very long day' He thought sadly

He bent down and began to quickly pick up the fallen cans and stack them back as quick as possible. (He had been a grocery boy in a previous job).He was up to his last can when someone else's hand pulled it up first. Blowing his bangs from out of his eyes Marco looked up at the person in front of him.

"Erm, sorry. Would you mind if I was to borrow this can. I just hate it when they put the cans on such high shelves. It's a conspiracy theory if you ask me."

'Amateur Shopper' Marco automatically thought but instead said, "Sure, I hate it too"

The person smiled lightly. "Yeah, It is as if they want to tourcher us with that. However, I do like the way you stacked them back. It's kinda photogenic" He proceeds to make a clicking motion with his fingers. When Marco gave him a blank look, he laughed. "Oh, my friend's a photographer, he's into still life and stuff like that"

Marco's gaze softened."Yeah, I used to take that class but dropped out. Apparently my teacher didn't find it funny when I took a picture of her husband shirtless"

"Well of course, that's for after school" He winked.

'Well this is odd' Marco thought as he laughed. He wasn't expecting to strike up a conversation with a stranger.

"My name is Marco" He said holding out his hand. The boy nodded and shook it before letting go and standing back. "Oh wow, my name is Ryan but more importantly you wouldn't happen to be Marco DelRossi would you?"

"Depends, why do you ask?" Marco asked, crossing his arms slightly.

"Oh, besides the fact that your one of my favorite writers of all times my sister goes to your school. Degrassi right?" Ryan answered matter of factly.

"Oh, oh wow. Somebody actually reads what I write?" Marco asked, shocked.

"Well yeah. One of my favorite articles is the one you put out last month. You know," Every school has a bully, I have a Hogart". Yeah that's like the best one ever, my sister hates his guts too" Ryan said happily.

"Yeah, I remember that one. So what do you do anyway? "Marco asked lightly.

"Me, I paint. I don't care what I paint as long as I feel that it came out good" Ryan explained as Marco stared at him. Ryan was about the same height as Marco, maybe a little taller with light brown hair and soft facial expressions. His eyes were flickering, a different color as he spoke it seemed. Right now it was a liquid silver but a few minutes ago it had been an ice cold blue. He wore a pair of black pants and a matching black jeans jacket over it. On top of his hair was a pair of sun glasses, though the sky was filled with clouds, and he wore a cross necklace tight around his neck.

Another word came to Marco's mind: 'Pretty'

"Actually you should come to my art gallery. Well, it's not mine but more along the lines of my friend. But some of my work will be shown there." Ryan said softly as he fumbled through his pocket and pulled out a card.

"You keep your cards in your pocket?" Marco asked, half amused.

Ryan shrugged," The painting world is a tricky thing. But I have to go and save my sister from the evil clutches that are Readers Digest Magazines and chocolate bars-" He glanced quickly at Marco's cart before laughing and continuing,"- though they work for you. So I'll see you then? It's on Friday."

"Friday? Yeah, sure" Marco answered as Ryan nodded and ran off.

"Lizzie? Lizze oh, honey please put that chocolate cake down; I don't think I can afford driving you to the hospital for food poisoning again. Besides they got re-called because of some medical syringe". Ryan said as he rounded the corner. Apparently, that was his sister. Marco looked down at the card and then the boy; his week had just gotten interesting. He then continued on his way towards the end of the aisle and then to the check cash register.

Marco entered his house to find it extremely quiet, not that he minded or anything, it just felt strange. He dumped the bag on the table and then sorted the articles into size order and then filed them into the fridge. (Still obsessive compulsive).He then went upstairs to start typing up his next article for the paper, which was due by Thursday. He had completely forgotten about the letter from Dylan. Chocolate bar in one hand (he had stashed one the night before next to his bed) he put his fingers to the mouse and clicked down to start a new page. He flipped on the power switch on his radio and out blasted Paula Cole's CD and waited until he heard the music. Once he heard "Where have all the cowboys gone" coming out the speakers he bit his lip, thinking about what he should write about before shoving the rest of the chocolate into his mouth he smirked like he always did when he got a idea and placed his hands in the proper position and began typing.

The Art of Just Being

By Marco DelRossi

I have been asked to write an article of intrigue, or so some have told me. Not that I mind, nor do I think that you would since I can tell you all love my writing but if you don't mind I have a few questions for you.I mean, how many times has a stranger asked you something personal like your boyfriend just walking up to you, bitching about how he doesn't want to go to the store to get tampons even though your sick and you always get his penthouse magazines? Its little questions like these that I like to ask, because I understand on some strange and twisted level. Life is just so hard sometimes don't you think? Don't you wish that you could just stop being completely and disappear?

Sometimes it's the little things that make you cry, like that time your boyfriend broke up with you or you told your best friend you loved him and he didn't say yes back. And sometimes it's the larger things like that argument that you had with your dad just before his car was found wrapped around a pole. I Consider life an art, not just as in a painting but literally as an art. Something that even though studied everyday is still a mystery. Almost like the big questions like "Is there a God?" or "Why were we put on earth just to die?" .Just being is one of the hardest things to accomplish and when I have actually did so I'll let you know. I'm not going to jerk you around talking about how I've reached perfection and am living a happy life. Hell, I'm working for a magazine at a mimum of 15 an hour while my boyfriend is off for the summer and my friends are on a road trip somewhere. Hey, I get lonely sometimes too you know.

What tickles me the most is the posers in life. The people who say how happy they are with their smiles painted on their faces and ego a mile high. The people who step on others to get to the top. The people who don't care. For they are the posers and let me tell you, they are going no where fast. Which raises another question: Are you a poser? If you are it's not a sin; you won't burn in hell. I was a poser too. Still am actually, but you'd never guess it. What do you see when you look at the author's corner in every magazine next to my name, my picture? You see me. Not some mirage of a pretty boy lounged on the bed with his hair highlighted perfectly and his face powdered with make up. You see a 17 year old boy in dirty jeans and hair tasseled this way and then with a normal expression on his face trying to stand still in front of the camera long enough to take a presentable picture. And that in its own essence is life. Not the picture, which supposedly captures perfection, but the moment before the picture, before the flash is shot, before you plaster on that smile. What happens before the picture is the most important. Like the kiss you get just before the light can flash, or the words that are said before the shot is taken.

There is a fine line between just being and life though, so don't get me wrong. Just being is getting through life on the daily basis. Life is just what it seems to be, you live you die. Its life, it doesn't have to be chiseled in stone to see that. Just being is acceptance. So what do you do or have? Have you mastered the art that is 'Just being?' Do you have your life already developing in the picture, or has the shot yet to be taken?

Life is picture the camera takes; just being is an art, a skill, something that has yet to be mastered. So when I have I'll let you know but until then I'm just like you, or better yet, worse than you are now.

Marco sat back in his chair and blinked at what he had just written. He smiled lightly and licked his fingers when he saw something flashing in the small corner of his computer. The IM alarm was still on, this time though it wasn't from him and it was from his boss. He clicked it and read its contents quickly.

Dear Marco,

I'm sorry this is such short notice but I need you to write an article about an up coming art gallery that will be held on Friday, the address is written below so hopefully you can do this. I'll be paying you extra because I've fallen short and Jamie decided that he didn't want to some in today. I would really appreciate it if you could.

-Tyler.

Marco rolled his eyes; leave it to Tyler just too pop things up at the last moment. Cute, he liked that anyway. He liked the challenge, the rush… (Not really but it was a thought) that it was to be a reporter. Sighing he saved his newly finished article and turned off the computer and flipped onto his bed .He had to finish reading the book he was currently trying to read called "Capture at Shady Holems Trailer Park" but he kept giggling, not because the book was funny but because it reminded him of Sean. He'd do it another time.

"I am wearing my new dress tonight…" Paula Cole sang in the background as his eye lids got heavy. He was supposed to be doing something but he couldn't remember right now. "But you- but you don't even notice me…"

Strangely, that verse in the song hit home.