Jackson Torrance. Big dark eyes accentuated with black eyeliner. Short nails painted black. Choker necklace made of rope and beads around his neck. Guitar always near him, usually cradled in his arms. School was nothing. Relationships were nothing. Music was what mattered to him.

Kicked out of another school, the 'Radio Free Roscoe' school. Fighting. Not going to class. Being a general fuck up. His father read the letter of his expulsion with tired resignation, looked with veiled hostility at his son's make-up and outfits and 'give a shit' attitude. How his right hand itched to hit him, but he wouldn't. The left hand would always find out.

Now he was starting at a new school, the Degrassi Community School. Big deal. It would be the same as all the others. He wouldn't fit in, he'd not even try to fit in. He didn't care about the kids there or their little cliques, their bitter worried little lives. He had other things to think about.

Ashley Kerwin noticed him first thing. His eyeliner making his eyes look dramatic, somehow. There was a certain cockiness about him that she was drawn to. She looked down and smiled to herself, wondering who he was, why he was here. She noticed the black nail polish as he shut his locker door. None of the other boys here were like him, not even Craig.

His first day was a series of skipped classes, hiding out in the music room to work on his songs. Eating lunch alone. Big deal. He was fine with that. Watching jocks and cheerleaders drift by, caught up in their own currents. That was okay. He was caught up in his.

"Sorry," Ashley said, bumping into him on purpose as they left English class. He looked down at this girl in a punk goth T-shirt and spiky hair with red highlights. He liked girls, liked kissing them and touching them. He just didn't really like the attachments they developed, the constant attention like some delicate plant in a hothouse, that attention that they required.

"That's okay," he said, and smiled his slow sleepy smile, and she noticed the length of his lashes, the color of his lips, a natural red. She saw the guitar slung over his shoulder. It was older and more beat up than Craig's guitar. The calluses on his fingertips proved to her that he was more serious about playing it.

"Hey, uh, are you new here?" she said, knowing full well that he was brand new.

"Yeah. Today's my first day," He seemed so confidant somehow, so sure of himself that her breath was taken away. Who was this kid? Where did he come from?

"I'm Ashley," she said, offering up her name like a small sacrifice.

"Hi, Ashley. I'm Jackson,"

Jackson. A last name for a first name, so strong sounding. Different. She squinted her eyes at him, nodded and smiled again, walked away.

At home Jackson's father was in a foul temper.

"Jackson!" he said when he heard his son enter the house.

"Uh, yeah, dad?" he said, carefree. That little shit. His father balled his hands into fists and fought with himself for control.

"The school called. You skipped three classes! What in the hell are you doing? This is your third high school. Do you want to go for a fourth?" He glared at him, staring through the smug expression, the calm eyes. Nothing rattled this kid and that rattled him. How he would like to rattle him.

"No. I guess not," Jackson conceded, swinging his guitar around and plucking out a few notes.

"Don't play that guitar while I'm trying to talk to you," his father said, and Jackson played a few more defiant notes and then set the guitar down.

"What the hell are you thinking? It's not that difficult. Go to class. Don't beat anybody up. Think you can handle that?" So the sarcasm had slipped in, and he shook his fists by his side. He didn't know that he'd end up having a kid that was so infuriating.

"Dad, it'll be fine. Don't worry. I won't skip any more classes, okay?" His father stared at him. He was lying. Not even lying, he just didn't give a shit about it and couldn't even pretend to care. He'd skip class. He'd fight if the urge took him to do it. He was a kid that lived by his own rules.