It really does suck to be at a new school. It's worse when you're in a different country, far away from anyone you've ever cared about—or wanted to care about. If something happens in your past, you might be reminded about it. That's the main reason why my family moved from Eugene, Oregon to Canada. I didn't bother to learn the name of the city we'd moved to. I didn't do a lot of things anymore, but that's jumping ahead.
Standing in front of my new school, with the name Degrassi in big letters above the doors, I sort of just sighed. I hated being somewhere new. Well, I used to, before I became numb to the world. You see, I suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder. Several close friends of mine had died in a short period of time, in the same tragedy. I'd been in it too, but I was the only one to survive, something I hated the most about myself above all things.
Anyway, as I stood in front of the school, flashbacks of the days before my personal "D-day" flashed before my eyes. Blinking back tears, I shook my head. It wouldn't be a smart thing to start crying on the first day of a new school. Sighing, I re-hardened my heart and slowly climbed up the stairs into Degrassi.
The first thing I noticed as I looked around my new school was its size. It wasn't the largest one I'd been in, but it was a fairly good size. Alright, it was just under huge, but I wasn't going to admit that to anyone yet.
Walking down an almost empty hallway, I was glad that my parents had forced me to come an hour earlier. Otherwise, I would've been late to every class. This way, I could get all the information I could possibly need, and then, hopefully, give myself a short tour of the school so that I could know where to go. After all that, I'd be loading up my locker by the time the other students at the school arrived.
I noticed a large room surrounded by see-through windows and guessed it was the office. Sighing a little, I opened the door and stepped in.
A secretary looked up from her computer and asked, "Hello. May I help you?"
No, that's what my psychiatrist is for, but since it's your job to ask that, and you get paid for it, I'll answer nicely anyway, I thought numbly. "Yes. I'm new here, just moved here about a week ago, and I need the…essentials; locker, class schedule…the usual."
She nodded and smiled, "Alright…now if you could follow me, Mr…?"
I rolled my eyes a little. Taking the hat off my head, my shoulder-length mop of hair flowed down my back. Crossing my arms, I said, "Crevan Rader."
"Oh, I'm so sorry! Miss Rader, if you could follow me, I will show you to your locker," she said, looking embarrassed for mistaking me for a guy.
As she stood up, she grabbed a piece of paper that I guessed was my new schedule, but instead of giving it to me right away, she proceeded to walk out of the office. Sighing a little, I followed behind her, uncrossing my arms and shoving them deep inside the pocket of my over-sized hoodie.
The hoodie wasn't mine; really, it was one of my friends…one of the dead ones. I had a lot of their stuff. Since our new house had one and a half stories, and a huge basement, my parents let me have the entire basement as mine. It was built for that purpose, for not only is there this huge living-room-like space, but there's also another smaller, yet still big, room off of it that I use for my shrine. Yes, I said shrine. Each of the four walls is dedicated to one of my four friends. Against each wall, is a small table, that has different coloured candles, making it look even more so. The ceiling had graffiti on it in blood red, which I'd painted up there when we first moved in. The center of the room had a large bean-bag chair that I would sit on when I went in. Of course, sometimes I would disappear on Friday night and not reappear until Monday morning, but no one knew that, and my parents let me.
So, as I followed behind the secretary, the scent of my friends threatened to overwhelm me. I knew I shouldn't of worn his hoodie, but I was stupid and wore it anyway. Shaking my head, I forced myself to count the tiles I stepped on that led to my new locker.
"This is it, number 214," the secretary said, smiling at me.
I just stared at it, and then looked at her, forcing a smile to be polite, though I really didn't care. She went on to explain certain rules, to which I only half-listened. I was busy staring at the number. Two of my friends had been fourteen when they died. Great, so every time I look at my locker, I'm gonna start to cry. What a great year this will be, I thought darkly, forcing myself not to glare at the secretary. It wasn't her fault, she didn't know.
"—that's about it, do you have any questions?" she asked, handing my new class schedule to me.
"Uh…" I said, starting out of my thoughts. "Where am I going to get my books?"
She stared at me for a moment, and then blinked. "Oh! I completely forgot. Right before school starts, just come back to the office, I'll have the books you'll need sitting on the counter waiting for you.
"Um…thanks," I muttered, turning back to my locker.
I didn't notice her nod and walk away; after all, I was busy digging through my backpack for a combination lock. Staring at it, I sighed. The part with the numbers was a light blue, the outside navy. Blue had been my friends' favourite colour. Well, three of them. The three guys. I groaned softly and dropped the lock back into the backpack.
I started to unload all my junk into the locker, taking extraordinary care in placing everything just right. I snorted a little. I guess since eating didn't matter to me anymore, the need to have my locker just right did. How ironic, really.
Just as I was placing the blue lock inside the locker, I heard steadily growing pounding of feet on the tile floor. I sighed heavily, and started to make my way back to the office. Halfway into the hall, I was met, head-on, but a tidal wave of students.
Of course, going against the "current", it took me at least ten times longer to get to the office than it had to get away from it. The pushing and shoving of the students left me tired, bruised, and frustrated. I was ready to bite the head off the next person to shove me with an elbow.
Stepping into the little indent to the office, I paused the catch my breath. I can't possibly be that out of shape! My mind screamed. Glancing down at my stomach, I noticed it was barely there. I hadn't realized I was as skinny as I was. Shaking my head a little, I opened the door to the office for the second time that day.
As the secretary had said, my books were in a large, tall pile on the counter. Glaring moodily at them, a door suddenly opened.
Looking towards it, I saw a man who must be the principal stepping out, closely followed by a guy about my age. Sure enough, the sign next to the door said 'Principal'.
"Now, Mr. Cameron, I do hope you won't get in trouble the rest of today, or else I will be forced to give you a detention. That wouldn't be good, would it?"
The guy wearing a hooded sweatshirt glared moodily at the principal. "No," he said sullenly.
Watching, I couldn't help but look the guy over. He was good-looking. But most "touble-making" guys were. It was like another of Newton's ironic laws or something.
Wait. Rewind.
I'd just admitted that he was good-looking. Sure it wasn't out loud, but I still had. I frowned at myself. It had been a while since I'd felt anything towards anyone other than my parents that wasn't sadistic and cold. Something was wrong with me.
Shaking my head a little, I noticed the guy was walking towards me. His glare changed to a look of curious intrigue as he passed me by. Without turning to look after him, I could tell he turned and looked at my back.
Once the door shut behind him, I sighed and picked up my large pile of books and warily headed back into the mainstream, fully ready to fall flat on my face and spill all the books on the floor.
It didn't happen, much to my amazement. In fact, I arrived quickly and in-tack to my locker. Setting the books on the floor, I glanced at my schedule. My first period was homeroom, with…Mr. Simpson. It didn't appear that any of the books matched the abbreviation under the label "Subject". Shrugging to myself, I stuffed my books in the spot I'd "arranged" for them and slammed the locker shut.
Heading for my first class, I wondered if I'd see that guy again. Not that it mattered of course; I couldn't care about anyone again. My still slaughtered heart wouldn't allow it.
This year was going to suck.
Crevan Rader: Welcome to Degrassi.
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A/N: Despite my better judgment, I'm actually starting another Degrassi fanfic. I'm stupid and suicidal. Each chapter is going to be in the point of view of another character, so…it won't just be my character Crevan. Yes, Crevan is a girl, get used to it.
Please RR, but no flames, unless it's strictly constructive criticism. Plain flames will be used in the next chapters for induced self mutilation.
Disclaimer: I do not own Degrassi. If I did I'd own Marco, and probably be killed out of the jealousy of all the other females out there. Not to mention owning Sean, Craig, Jay, and Spinner. I'd probably let guys rent Ashley, Ellie, and Paige…but that's a different story.
Warning: This story contains depression, some self mutilation, problems with mental disorders, angst, and sexual innuendos. [Which you can't have a story with Spinner in it if you didn't have sexual innuendos.]