Well, kiddums. Second fic. But this one's multi-chaptered! Que exciting! It's by me/Aubrey (keeponwritin) and the lovely Amy (love-fool.) Woohoo for that.

This most likely will make very little sense until the first two chapters are complete, and the second chapter's not coming until uh....later. So there. Woo! Enjoy.

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Under normal circumstances, I would not even think about setting a foot in this mall. The place was just swarming with people I tried so hard to avoid during the school week, so why would I possibly want to enter their lair when I had two days and three nights of precious weekend away from their snobby comments and unnecessary glares? I do admit, I was kind of one of them at one point--aka from the moment Ash and I made ourselves official (ninth grade) to the moment Downtown Sasquatch broke up (eleventh grade). In other words, I was never popular by own merits, you know, by actually being likable, or anything. Popularity in high school and the dictionary definition of popularity are two very different things. Popularity in high school is pounding into people's brains that you're ten times better than they'll ever be, or being friends with these people. I was one of the latter. Maybe. Or maybe I was just friends with the latter. Something like that. You never understand the ridiculousness of the situation until you've removed yourself from it completely. You're not cynical about popularity when you're riding on easy street and hanging with people like Jimmy and Spinner daily. Then, one day you find yourself alone, in your formerly-garage room, pondering your meaningless existence, smoking pot, and you just have to burst out laughing and wonder how you ever got yourself caught up in such crap. And you laugh until you almost cry, but not because you're laughing so hard. Cause you start to realize it's really not funny at all.

And that's why I didn't go to the mall. Usually. Except today.

I love the irony in that Degrassi's this huge community and we've got a ton of strip malls, all these places where you can buy the latest Seventeen magazine trend or the cutest little pair of flip-flops, but there's only one decent music store within a twenty mile radius. And then I have to wonder, was there a logical reason why they stuck a great record store in the middle of teenybopper paradise? Really, if I have to swerve out of the way walking to the store to avoid another herd of squealing prepubescent girls, I will not think twice about taking their latest Avril CDs, snapping them in half and chucking them over the ledge. I don't deal well with people anymore, especially ones who refuse to think about anyone but themselves.

So I'm an antisocial loser. I'd like to take the easy way out and place the blame on Ashley. She'd forgive me, then hate me, then forgive me, then hate me more than she hated me previously. You'd think people would get tired of listening to Ash's same old crap about Craig is a complete waste of life and Craig doesn't deserve to live, but apparently, people enjoy hearing the same news in different form over and over again. But, there was that tiny detail that after every forgiveness, I did something to piss her off again, which then made her hate me again. So then technically, I guess it was my fault. But it isn't my fault she gets mad so easily. The point is, for some godforsaken reason, people actually listened to her, and they started believing that I was a hedonistic sex-craving bastard who would cheat on any girl if she didn't put out on the first date.

I'd love to say I had a girlfriend. Someone that I could be with and together we could laugh about the rumors and tune out the world. Perhaps someone like, say...Manny Santos. I give her some credit. She doesn't preach to the masses about my complete worthlessness. Instead, she silently hates me and refuses to speak to me, unless completely necessary. I think she's with JT Yorke now. I think.

Don't even ask why the band split. I don't know. Marco was spending all this time with Dylan and doing all these extracurriculars, and Jimmy wanted to concentrate on (aka Hazel) and Spinner couldn't find rehearsal time between school, tutoring and work. Well, it's not my fault that Marco's a lovesick perfectionist, Jimmy's whipped and Spinner's a moron. Therefore, Downtown Sasquatch's downfall was not my fault.

At least there was one thing that wasn't my fault.

Anyone I've missed? I guess I was friends with Emma in the beginning of ninth grade. Things died down, then we were kind of back to being cool in the beginning of tenth grade...and then I cheated on Ashley and Emma joined the rest of the female population in hating my guts. Then, there's Sean. If I had to name one person I even remotely considered a friend, I guess Sean would be it. He was my dealer. Yep, I got my pot from Sean Cameron, after the small blip of a friendship in ninth grade, he returns to my life to deal me my happiness. We occasionally smoked together, but I usually did it alone. It was better that way. Helped me realize my true potential. Which was zilch, naturally.

So there I was, on a beautiful freezing cold snowy day in January, headphones snugly over my ears, blasting Pink Floyd into them. Buying new music was a cheap thrill in my oh-so-exciting life. I found nothing else I really wanted. Or anything I could really afford. So, I headed over to the cash register and laid the CD down on the counter.

Dark Side of the Moon, she said monotonously. Total classic. Was there a reason why cashiers at record stores felt the need to comment on your choices? It's my niece's favorite. She ripped off my receipt and put it into the bag with the CD. Well, was. Her psychiatrist had to wean her off of it. But she says she still really likes it. She handed me the bag and wryly smiled. Have a nice day, sir.

Uh, thanks, I said, grabbing my bag and taking off as quickly as possible. That sure brightened my day. I sighed wistfully and nostalgically for no particular reason, as I made my way back to the elevator, to make my lonely way home. I wasn't usually this depressed. But the sight of little girls in miniskirts and too much make-up was really enough for anyone to become morbidly depressed.

I reached out and pushed the down button by the elevator, and waited only a few seconds before it came. I stepped in and stared down at my feet as someone else entered.

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Yeah, it doesn't make sense right now. But it will. So deal. I mean, wait. It'll be updated soon. cough