Hello again. Rapid fire! So many stories in a row... This is a very emotional story. It deals with depression, but it doesn't have anything too bad, I believe. When I wrote this a while ago, I think I was feeling very understanding of Chase and his whole situation and felt like he should have a friend/girlfriend who understood him and loved him as well.

So, this is from Chase's pov. The poem is my original one called "Smile." I'm pairing Chase with my OC Clara. The title came from the fact that some people refer to Chase as Subject C, so I thought that I should label a human that. I dunno, man.

This is probably set in Season Three, after Owen and before the Bionic Academy. I think that's about it. Bya!

Poetry had never been my thing.

So, when Bree dragged the family to a poetry reading with her new boyfriend, Keenan, I was not overjoyed. Being a genius, I didn't see how putting your emotions into lines and stanzas was logical. Being a stereotypical guy, I didn't see how some people had so many emotions and could express them so deeply. Well, sometimes I could, but some of the stuff people wrote poetry about was ridiculous.

I pretty much tuned the people out, which I could do with my bionic senses. But when I heard the first line of some girl's poem, I immediately zoned back in.

"Depression hurts,

It hurts every single part of you

Mentally, physically, emotionally, and spiritually

You just want the pain to go away

So, smile even if it hurts"

She seemed about to say more, but people started booing and throwing things at her. "That didn't even rhyme!" one guys shouted. I wanted to punch him.

The girl stepped down from the small stage, blushing and looking extremely flustered. She sat alone at a nearby table. Surprisingly, she didn't look like she was going to cry or anything. If anything, she looked determined and strong. I had to admire that.

I looked around at my family. They were too occupied by the next poet to pay any attention to me. So, I slipped from our table over to the girl's. She looked up at me, confused. "Who are you? If you're here to pretend like you're my friend and then hurt me just so you can make fun of me later, don't. I've already fallen for that one."

I looked at her, shocked. Why in the world would do something so cruel? "No, that's not why I came over here," I finally managed. "At all."

Her expression softened a little. "I'm not sure whether or not to get my hopes up. You seem like a nice guy, but it's always the nice guys who get to me." I could definitely sense the wistfulness behind her words.

"Well, just give me a chance. I'll prove to you that I'm not going to hurt you. And I promise that if I do, you can slap me right here in the face."

The girl laughed, and it sounded like nothing I had ever heard before. It was indescribable, the perfect laugh. "I'll hold you to that," she said, grinning. "So, why'd you come over here?"

"I just wanted to tell you that I really liked your poem."

Her surprise was evident. "Really? Sorry to tell you the rest of the world seems to disagree on that matter."

I shrugged. "The rest of the world and I haven't always seen eye to eye. It wouldn't be the first time we agreed to disagree."

"Well, thank you. I'm flattered and very surprised. No one has ever liked my poetry before. They all think it's too dark and sad or too weird because a lot of it is free verse. So, why do you like it?"

I shrugged again. "I don't know. I only heard the first line. But it just…sounded like me."

She quirked an eyebrow. "You don't look very depressed to me."

My smile lost its humor. "You'd be surprised."

Yes, it's true. The big, ugly truth was that I was depressed. I could never describe it accurately, even with all the adjectives in the world in my bionic brain. It was just depression, plain and simple. Nobody knew about it, and I really didn't plan on telling them any time soon.

"There's more to it, if you want to hear it," the girl told me, her black hair falling in front of her eyes. Even though it was dimly-lit in the café, her hair was still darker than everything else around it.

"Sure." So, I was right; there was more than just one stanza to the poem.

Her grin could have lit up Las Vegas. "Awesome! So, it's called 'Smile.' It's about someone getting over their depression and encouraging others to do so as well." She read the poem, all four stanzas of it.

It was amazing how sad and inspiring it was at the same time. We talked some more, but it wasn't until we got around to our personal information that I was really surprised.

"Wait a second. You go to Mission Creek High too?" I asked.

"Yeah, I'm Clara Dale. We have geometry together. You never talk to me though. It took me a while to recognize you."

"Oh. Oh yeah." I remembered Clara now. She was probably the second smartest in that class, not nearly as intelligent as me of course. She usually kept to herself and didn't announce to the class what she made on this or that, even though we all knew she did really well. But I thought she was a brunette. "Didn't you have brown hair?"

"Yeah, it got darker all of sudden. I guess it matches my mood." She tugged at a loose strand.

Clara had always struck me as introverted and mysterious. I could tell she had a lot of secrets, but I never asked or talked to her. She was one of those people who you saw one moment and as soon as your attention was focused on something else, you forgot all about her. As far as I knew, she didn't have any close friends.

She always had a black and red notebook that she was constantly writing in. No one knew what she wrote in there, and no one really cared. Now that I recognized her, I recognized her notebook, which was what she read her poem to me from. Well, now I knew what she was often scribbling in there.

"So, why are you depressed?" she asked.

I shifted uncomfortably. "I don't…I don't really want to talk about it."

"You don't have to," she told me hurriedly. "I get it. It's not easy to talk about things or people that hurt you. I didn't mean to pry."

"It's okay," I mumbled. I looked up and saw people starting to leave. "I'd better go. You know, my family and all."

Clara smiled at my awkwardness. "I'm not holding you back." She stood and left.

As I was leaving as well, I promised to myself that I wouldn't forget her and her poetry. I would pay attention to her and see who Clara Dale really was.