A/N: Hey guys! So this is a new story, which is going to be completely AU. The characters will be different and have different life styles. There will be minor cussing. Not much, but some. The whole story will be from Clare's point of view. This will involve Bianca/Clare/Imogen friendship and Clare/Drew x Clare/Eli relationship. I hope you guys enjoy and review!

Chapter 1:

How It Began

xXx

I just found out that Bianca DeSousa , my ex-best friend, is going to write a blog, and more importantly, she's going to use it to completely trash me (several people came up to me in school to warn me about Bianca's plan). I know she'll be cranking out a bunch of lies about what happened two months ago. No one's more bloodthirsty than Miss Anorexia when she's on the warpath.

But that's her. I won't stoop to her level, no matter how tempting (or easy) it would be.

I've got to tell my side, or people might actually believe my ex-best friend's lies. I guess I'd better tell the whole story, background info and all.

See, my problem really was that I was just too vanilla nice. You would know me back then if you saw me. I was the cute-enough girl; cute, but not so cute as to be a threat to you or your friends. I was Miss Supersupportive. I was the one who soothed Bianca and Imogen during their "fat" moments (they're both twigs). I was the one who carried a spare tube of cover-up in my purse for their hickey emergencies. I was the one who comforted their male love slaves when things got too emotional and messy and Bianca and Imogen didn't want to be bothered.

Don't think I'm some saint, though. After hearing my story, you'll realize that martyrdom is not me at all.

I did it all because Bianca DeSousa, Imogen Moreno, and I were best friends. Just to be clear, we were not into modern-day chick bonding stuff. We didn't hug and cry. We didn't say we loved, or luved, each other. We didn't expect a lot of Oprah moments from our friendship.

We called ourselves the Terrible Three, which we eventually shortened to just the Terribles. If Bianca or Imogen wanted a guy, she got him; no regrets, no remorse; I aided and abetted. I defended Bianca and Imogen, claiming it wasn't their fault they were irresistible to every guy on the planet. I was always on rumor patrol, which meant trying to kill all gossip about the other Terribles (like the perpetual stories of Bianca's being pregnant or Imogen's having an STD).

We ruled. We weren't like the other kids. We were above it all. We were way beyond Degrassi High School.

Okay, so maybe they got all the boyfriends while I watched from the sidelines, but it didn't bother me.

Bianca and Imogen said I was a late bloomer when it came to guys and that maybe I'd attract them sometime in the future, maybe during college. Some girls were just born with that late-bloomer gene, they said. I thought they were right – that I'd have to wait a little longer for the good stuff.

As it turned out, we were all wrong.

Bianca, Imogen, and I always swore we'd be tight for life. It seemed believable for a long time; at least to me.

The thing is, Bianca and Imogen took me under their wing when I was new. I was just kind of floating around, which is typical for high schools when you're not instant clique material, meaning you don't fit in anywhere. And it was amazing because Bianca and Imogen were completely beautiful, not desperate, pathetic types latching onto the new kid.

Months later, I learned that there were girls who had formed actual We-Hate-Bianca-And-Imogen chat rooms and that there wasn't a single girl in school who would be friends with either of them, but by then, I was like so what. By then I was a full-fledged Terrible.

I'd moved to Toronto, Canada two years before, and at first the kids in my 9th grade classes thought I was cool because I'd moved from California, but that wore off quickly once they found out I didn't know any big movie stars. It didn't take them long to pretty much forget I existed. I was too used to blending into the background.

The fact is that up until then I'd never really had a best friend. We moved around California a lot when I was a kid because my mother was constantly switching jobs and men. I think she got tired of it and that's why we've been in Toronto for so long; also, a psychic told her that Toronto would be luckier for her.

When I was younger and lived in California, I spent a lot of time babysitting and watching TV. I had the most fun creating my own talk shows. I'd write out pages and pages of scripts filled with questions I'd ask celebrities and the smartass comments I'd make. I'd even throw in audience comments.

I've always wanted my own TV show, so maybe I'm like my father. He's a big producer of funky, famous documentaries. He's rich and successful. He moved to Miami about ten years ago. Maybe I'll be as successful as he is someday too…

Anyway, back to the story. Back to what it meant to be a Terrible. It was all very cool. When anyone invited Bianca and Imogen somewhere, the two of them would automatically assume I was included. Bianca or Imogen would say something like, "Yeah, the three of us are going to Owen's party Saturday," even if Owen hadn't actually invited me. Soon people just expected me to show up at their parties. Bianca and Imogen made sure that I was somebody in Degrassi. I became a Terrible.

After a while, however, Bianca and Imogen came to know me so well that they didn't even see me.

I didn't realize until a few months ago just how much they didn't see me, and how that would basically ruin everything. Being a sidekick has its disadvantages.

I was molded into this invisible background practically from birth. My mother, Helen Edwards, and my sister, Darcy Edwards, are pros when it comes to the world of male-female drama. However, they are not pros at taking care of bills or handling nasty phone calls from bill collectors or calling repair guys to come fix a leaky toilet or a zoinked-out refrigerator. That's where I come in. Helen found out early on that I'm not the type to fit into the Helen-Darcy club, so that meant I had to do something else.

I also try to keep things in our house under control. I guess in the Edwards household I'm like the bouncer who doesn't like to mix with the customers too much but who still has to keep an eye on them.

Darcy's motto is "Men are resources," and resources, of course, must be exploited or they go to waste. Darcy could have gone to college instead of bartender school, but she's too restless and impatient for academics. She's changed bars a lot too, but she's now working at the Post.

My mother's motto is "Get it while you can." And believe me, she does. Helen Edwards isn't shy about going after what she wants. She figures that her job as a hairstylist offers only so many options, so why shouldn't she look elsewhere for satisfaction? By elsewhere, she means men, of course. She also likes to remind Darcy and me that a female's shelf life is only so long, even with the benefit of implants and laser surgery.

I can't be a total hypocrite though. We've lived a better life because Helen's and Darcy's men have subsidized our family income, which means sometimes we can afford extras like expensive clothes and jewelry, which my mom and sister enjoy, and a really decent PC, which I appreciate. Alimony checks from my father and Darcy's help too; Helen is also getting child support checks for me. All of it means we can live in nicer neighborhoods and drive fancier cars. If we relied strictly on my mom's and Darcy's incomes, we'd barely be middle class. So, whatever; it's not as if I have to be like my mom and sister.

You're probably thinking that with a name like Clare Diana Edwards I should have been raised in some Bible-thumping, goody-goody family with a mom and dad, a dog named Spot, and the whole bit. The truth is, my mom had a stripper friend who called herself Clare Diana. She liked the irony. You know, dancer with a cross and all that. As if it hadn't been done to death by Madonna.

Helen says my own father, the long-gone Randall James, was the real deal – a real high-flying winner. I should be proud, I guess, because Darcy's dad, Jon Barton, was just a plain old loser who was posing as a player.

My mother has a real thing for Southern boys. Edwards is my mother's maiden name. She doesn't want us to have different last names and look like trailer trash, so Darcy and I use Edwards too. We don't really see much of Randall James or Jon Barton, except for my father's child support checks and alimony from both of them.

I'd like to think I've been so traumatized by my bizarre family that I lost interest in normal, romantic relationships, but that wasn't the case. I was just too comfy blending into the wallpaper.

But that all changed junior year, during the holiday break. The day after New Year's Day.

I'll tell you how it all began. Maybe you can figure out why I did it.

It was Christmas break, and I'd spent most of my time eating way too much candy, sleeping in till noon, and trying to decide what I wanted my final media project to be about. My first project had been a fifteen-minute soap opera spoof called Vampire Love, which I had written and produced in the fall. I'd used theatre geeks as the actors since I, like everyone else in media lab, was into directing, producing, and doing behind-the-camera stuff. Not that we had any real studio equipment. Our school is so cheap that students have to bring their own camcorders. We also had cardboard cutouts of technical equipment instead of the real deal. We were supposed to use our imagination. Can you see how pathetic our school is?

I'm just lucky my father sent me a really nice Sony last year for my birthday; at least I could produce a higher-quality project. Anyway, most of the kids in my class had produced heavy, artsy stuff, mostly in black-and-white. You know the kind of movies I'm talking about. Five minutes of a seagull picking through the garbage or a kid in mime makeup chasing a balloon with weird music in the background. Vampire Love was very different. I'd been sure that Ms. Dawes, our teacher, would hate my movie and love the highbrow flicks. But she utterly shocked me by announcing that Vampire Love was "brilliant and ironic."

I'd been trying to figure out how to turn the fifteen-minute Vampire Love into an hour-long show, but my mind kept wandering. I'd been imagining it was me instead of the vampire girl who was being pursued by several gorgeous guys. My favorite fantasy scene involved a soulful-eyed babe, a hot tub, rose petals, and moonlight.

For a late bloomer, I have a very active imagination. Maybe I've watched too much WB and Fox.

But the day after New Year's, I was taking a break from my project. I was channel surfing and drinking Jolt cola, which can get you really wired. I settled for the Discovery Channel, because nothing else was on but reruns. Even MTV had some marathon of really old Real Worlds. I ended up watching this documentary about doctors in an emergency room. The blood and surgery scenes were gross, but I love shows about real life. I'll watch almost anything – from cheesy reality shows to brainiac documentaries. I just wish there were more programs about stuff I'm interested in. Something about real teen life, the real deal on high school. Something deep but fun too. If only…

I turned off the doctor show and jumped to my feet, grinning. I knew what I wanted to do. It was amazing. I would produce my own documentary. A true Clare Edwards Creation. My show would not only be about high school kids, but it would also be produced by a real live high school student – me. I'd show the world what the teen perspective really was.

Ms. Dawes has been telling me that I have a real flair for camerawork, and that I'm part of the new wave of creative minds who will take TV programming to new levels. Maybe she's right.

My first hour-long show was going to be fantastic. I just had to figure out the details. Obviously, it had to be teen related… but about what specifically?

I was pacing around the living room when it hit me. Let's get this straight: you'll never catch me squealing and jumping up and down like certain cheerleaders do, but I was tempted, because I had just had the most awesome idea of all ideas. I was thrilled!

I was going to produce a Fiesta Beach documentary. Fiesta Beach is this party that the juniors and seniors throw every year around the end of January. A few select sophomores are allowed to go too. The party is always held at a house where the parents are away. There's always sand on the floor, blow-up palm trees, a limbo contest (limbo is a huge part of the party), and tiki torches, and everyone wears their bathing suit. They always play Latin and Jamaican music. Officially, the party is alcohol free, but in reality, people spike the punch like crazy. It's really great because outside it's cold and gross, but inside you're pretending it's summer and you're on the beach.

The main thing about Fiesta Beach is that all the really important stuff happens at it. It's even bigger than prom. Major hookups and breakups go down. This is where reps are made and unmade. There's usually a fight or two, between girls or guys. People end up talking about the party for the rest of the year. Last year, I spent most of the night keeping Bianca and Imogen from getting their asses kicked by a couple of jealous girls from an out-of-town, tougher high school.

Some of the Fiesta Beaches have become legends.

Everyone would love being on a real TV show, which I was going to make sure would be very professional and very cool. I was dying to share my brilliant brainstorm with someone.

But Imogen was in Blue Mountain skiing with her family, and Bianca took a trip all the way to Cancun with her two cousins, staying in some ritzy condo. I hate the snow, and I don't get along with Bianca's bitchy cousins, who unfortunately own the condo, so I decided to stay home. Darcy also took a trip to the Caribbean with one of her guys; she didn't invite me along. No surprise. My mother was party-hopping every night and shopping every day. She didn't invite me to do either – thank god.

Helen, Darcy, and I are okay as long as we each do our own thing. I keep my school life completely separate from my home life. Helen and my sister have met Bianca and Imogen a few times, but they barely know them, and vice-versa, which is cool with me.

I tried IMing Imogen and Bianca but didn't hear back from either of them. No big surprise there either. Imogen is impossible to reach when she's skiing; I think she goes into some sort of weird skier's trance as soon as she hits the slopes. And Bianca only IMed me twice to let me know she and her cousins had met a ton of hot guys and were partying their asses off in Cancun. Maybe it would be better to tell the Terribles about my Fiesta Beach idea in person anyway.

I think B. and Imogen would be pretty psyched about the show idea, especially if it meant they might get a lot of close-ups. They'd probably want DVD copies.

Which got me thinking. I'd have to come up with a theme or an angle for my documentary. Ms. Dawes said every documentary has an underlying message. Bianca and Imogen could help me. Maybe my angle would be The Terribles at Fiesta Beach. The three of us could be the main characters, and the show could be about our experiences at the party. It would be really personal but honest. And we could end up big stars.

I grinned.

Yes, I was delusional, I admit it.

I finally calmed down and found some scrap paper under a pile of paid bills on the coffee table. I jotted down Fiesta Beach – Through the Eyes of the Terrible Three. Corny. I scratched that out. If this was going to be a show about the Terribles, I'd have to be careful to make it objective and scientific, like a professional documentary. I'd have to be careful not to make it some lovefest about me, Bianca, and Imogen. It could get tricky. I wrote The True Terrible Fiesta Beach Story and immediately crossed that out. I frowned and folded up the paper. Of course, I hadn't made a final decision on anything yet. Ms. Dawes says producers have to go through numerous changes before settling on the end product. And I really had to get serious about figuring out all the fancy features on my camcorder. I'd only used a few for Vampire Love, but there were tons of special effects that could make the documentary incredible. Sadly, that meant having to read the manual.

Eventually I realized that I had 126 hours to go before break was over and I could start talking to everyone at school about my show.

My thoughts were interrupted by a sudden monstrous growling. It was my stomach.

Obviously, I needed some nourishment after working my brain so hard. I went into the kitchen for my favorite snack, Doritos and M&M's. I know it sounds like a gaggy combo but it's surprisingly good. I mixed the two in a big bowl and pulled a coke out of the fridge. Sometimes pigging out is really good for you – I think the body needs regular doses of junk food. It keeps you real.

I'd just popped an M&M into my mouth when the phone rang.

I grabbed the cordless and almost choked on the M&M when I heard the voice on the other end. Drew Torres. Bianca's guy. They'd been on-again, off-again for a year. He was okay. Very cute, but he seemed kind of dim to me. Not that we talked much. Unlike Bianca's other guys, he hadn't needed me to run interference or referee. Imogen's newest boyfriend, Eli Goldsworthy, however, had. Eli was adorable. He was smart and friendly. And he's rich. But he was horribly insecure. Imogen was the worst person in the world for him, but he was so whipped that it was almost scary. At peak insecurity points, Eli IMed me ten times a day. It was always Imogen this and Imogen that. Pathetic. Eli was visiting family in California while Imogen was skiing so I was Eli free for a while.

Drew goes, "Hey Clare, what's up?" He sounded as if we talk every day.

I was so stunned that I stammered something stupid like, "Uh, nothing really. Eating, I guess." I coughed. The M&M had irritated my throat.

The next thing I knew he was asking if he could stop by. He had Scream and Scream 2 on DVD and wanted to watch them with someone who was into horror. Bianca had apparently told him about my 30 Days of Night obsession. I've watched it maybe twenty times total.

I was thinking that Drew probably missed Bianca and figured I was the next best thing. It wasn't like I hadn't played this role before. Once in a while, Darcy's guys come by and hang out with me when Darcy isn't available. It's like they feel connected to Darcy by being with me. They always tried to get me to spill some inside info on her too. As if I'd bother trying to tell them the truth about Darcy. Whipped guys seem to be deaf and blind, in my opinion.

It was no big deal, but Drew wasn't older like Darcy's men, so I felt a little weird. None of Bianca's or Imogen's guys had come to my house before; they usually cried on my shoulder at school.

The first thing I did was stash the bowl of Doritos and M&M's in the pantry for later, and then started picking up the slobbed-out living room. This involved stuffing stacks of worn out magazines into random drawers, rubbing a paper towel over the dust-crusted coffee table, and kicking my mom's half-dozen shoes into the hall closet. I even sprayed a little Febreze into the air. My mom and Darcy sometimes smoke to stay skinny.

The décor in our living room and kitchen is really casual. We don't have much furniture, and none of it really matches. No one cleans much or picks up much either. My sister and mom sink all their capital into themselves. In Helen's and Darcy's minds, their beautiful faces and bodies are much better investments than house stuff. I'm not saying our house is bad or anything. It's just your average middle-class ranch (that's the way the rental lady described it to us).

I wasn't about to do much more in the living room. This was Bianca's guy after all. If he'd been mine, I might have gotten out the vacuum cleaner.

Next stop was the bathroom mirror. I looked kind of dull. Even if it was just Bianca or Imogen coming over, I'd usually try to pull myself together. I tilted my head down and blasted the blow-dryer over my shoulder length, curly hair, hoping for some poof. My hair is semi-thick, so it worked. I splashed on some of my mom's "sexy perfume" and applied a very thin coat of black eyeliner to rim my blue eyes. I don't do much with makeup, despite being practically raised on Clinique and Maybelline. I mean, it would be like trying to compete with Darcy and Helen, which I'd never want to do.

I was running to my bedroom to change clothes when it hit me again that Drew was just a guy, not a guy-guy (the latter being someone you want to hook up with). He didn't count. He wasn't a prospective boyfriend or a prospective anything. I hadn't had a date in ages and was obviously turning into a spaz.

Drew was almost like a girl. Really.

Except not.