TO WHERE YOU ARE
Hello! Well, ever since I heard about the events surrounding J.T.'s death (I was spoiled a few months before it actually happened), I was dreading it, and dreading it. He was/is my favorite character on DTNG, although I like everybody. It actually took me awhile to watch both Rock This Town and The Bitterest Pill. I cried a lot, then I watched some reruns and got teary-eyed, but enough about me. :) Overall, I thought the writers did J.T. justice in these two episodes. However, I wanted to do something else too, especially since some other J.T. relationships, particularly the ones he had with Paige and Toby, could've gotten more time. The writers would probably do a better job with that, but I am going to try.
In any case, this is a strange story, because I'm centering it on J.T. and Liberty's twelve-year old son, who I've named Zachary or Zack, as he's commonly referred to in the story. That's not the strange part. :P While it follows Zack, each chapter bleeds into a TNG character's present day life, eleven years after J.T.'s death. That means you'll get Zack's POV, and then it'll shift to that of Liberty's or Manny's or whoever. The link is essentially the Jiberty treasure chest items (prepared by Liberty in Total Eclipse of the Heart) Zack receives on his twelfth birthday, using each item to make connections. Hopefully, this isn't confusing. Each J.T. friend gets a chapter to themselves, except for Liberty, who gets two. There's also Emma, Toby, Manny, Danny, Mia, and Paige. Other DTNG characters show up, sporadically. Clueless word...yea! Lol.
I truly hope that this story showcases why J.T. is my favorite, and who he is as a character: loyal, charming, protective, entertaining, etc. The sarcastic class clown who became more compassionate as the years go by, and the guy who had as much heart as he did humor.
The chapters are named after popular songs, no theme like in the other stories I've written. There's quite a few songs in this, and I'll attribute them to the artists. I don't own anything Degrassi. Thank you.
Who can say for certain
Maybe you're still here
I feel you all around me
Your memory's so clear
Deep in the stillness
I can hear you speak
You're still an inspiration
Can it be
That you are mine
Forever love
And you are watching over me from up above
Fly me up to where you are
Beyond the distant star
I wish upon tonight
To see you smile
If only for awhile
to know you're there
A breath away's not far
To where you are
Are you gently sleeping
Here inside my dreams
And isn't faith believing
All powers can't be seen
As my heart holds you
Just one beat away
I cherish all you gave me
Everyday
Cause you are mine
Forever love
Watching me from up above
And I believe
That angels breathe
And that love will live on and never leave
Fly me up to where you are
Beyond the distant star
I wish upon tonight
To see you smile
If only for awhile
To know you're there
A breath away's not far
To where you are
I know you're there
A breath away's not far
To where you are.
To Where You Are is the property of Josh Groban.
I Found Love is the property of Free Design.
"Zachary Crewe, please report to the principal's office!" beams a voice from the school intercom. "Zachary Crewe!"
Zack rolls his eyes, turns his basketball cap backwards. Principal Tanglewood always made his name sound so urgent; he'd figure he'd sound tired of saying it by now. He knew the layout of Tanglewood's office to a tee, even where he hid those not-so-secret hall passes. Propping open his locker, papers spill out onto his sneakers.
"Don't you ever clean that?" says a voice behind him.
He turns to see his classmate, Veronica Cruz, entering something into her Blackberry. Her dad owned a chain of coffee shops in Seattle, so in other words, she was always going to be well-off unless the businesses went bust. He's pretty sure that a twelve-year old shouldn't be drinking that many cappucinos, though, with an electronic device glued to her fingers at all times.
"Loosen up," says Zack.
"That mantra's getting really old," replies Veronica. "Some of us want to go to Berkeley, or Yale, or anywhere with a decent medical program."
"And some of us would rather watch Jim Carrey talk out of his butt," says Zack, beaming. "Marathon at Paul's tonight...you coming?"
"Student council," says Veronica, glaring at him. "Unlike you, I choose to exercise my potential. I don't goof off."
"Carrey finally won that Oscar so it's a celebration," counters Zack.
"Whatever, call it what you want," waves off Veronica.
"A fine evening of cinema. Is that more to the Harring Junior High School junior class president's liking?"
"It'll do," answers Veronica. "Why do you always wear your hat backwards?"
"Don't know. Instinct, I guess."
It really is an instinct, that and totally owning the pavement when he skateboarded. Well, someone told him that athletes come to their talent naturally, so perhaps that's why.
Zack shrugs. "Tanglewood calls."
He heads down the hall, nods at the secretary who shakes her head at him then points to the door. Opening the door, he views Tanglewood peering down at a folder, with a lot of pink slips. Ugh, those disciplinary write-ups.
"Am I getting fired from school?" says Zack.
"Sit down, Zack," says Mr. Tanglewood, sharply, his grey toupee shifting to the side a little.
Zack holds back a laugh, takes the usual seat.
"I still don't get it," groans Mr. Tanglewood. "Your test scores are exemplary, but you don't participate in class. We've confiscated a collection of rather odd things, all of which are prohibited in the school code of conduct..."
"Examples?" prods Zack. "I swear, the blow-up doll was a flotation device in case the school flooded..."
Mr. Tanglewood clears his throat. "That...we don't speak of that."
"Yeah, probably shouldn't have put that in your car when your wife was touring the grounds, but you fondling it didn't exactly help."
"I was...was trying to move it!" protests Mr. Tanglewood.
"Fine," says Zack, raising an eyebrow.
"Anyway," says Mr. Tanglewood, clearing his throat. "Yesterday, Mrs. Daniels took this away from you in history class."
He pulls out a drawer, tosses something across his desk.
"Easy, sir," cautions Zack, picking it up. "This is mint condition. And I needed it for the assignment."
"Who needs a comic book for an assignment?" argues Mr. Tanglewood. "I'm not an idiot."
"Neither am I, sir," says Zack, strongly. "It...it was my dad's. The Crimson Kid."
"Was your dad's? As far as I know, your dad's alive, toiling away at the pawn shop, actually being productive, unlike his son."
Zack's cheeks start to burn. Tanglewood didn't know the half of it. It wasn't his stupid idea to do a family tree, fill out the names on each branch. He wanted to put in Christopher Crewe's name. Chris Crewe is respected, liked by everyone, nearly as much as his wife Lindsay. But part of it felt...I don't know, dishonest, thinks Zack, leaning back in the chair. Adoption doesn't erase all ties, does it?
"I'm...I'm adopted," whispers Zack.
"What?" says Mr. Tanglewood. "Speak up."
"I'm adopted, alright?" exclaims Zack. "That's my dad's comic book, and I don't have much from him...or my mom. I got this freakin' chest thing and...that's it."
Mr. Tanglewood drops his head, folds his arms, then gazes at Zack.
"My...my apologies," says Mr. Tanglewood, quietly. "But that doesn't mean I'm going to excuse all these write-ups. You skipped class yesterday, home ec."
"I suck at sewing," says Zack. "Can't make a decent pillow. It's lame. Guys can't sew, anyways."
"Good Lord, that's the type of comment that shows that you do need to be in that class," chides Mr. Tanglewood. "Get to class, and you've got three weeks detention."
"Three weeks!"
"Yes, three weeks."
Zack massages his forehead. Three weeks is a pretty long haul, but he knows he'd get worse at home. Chris Crewe was a big disciplinarian. Great, something to look forward to, he thinks. He takes the comic book, puts it gently in his backpack, and leaves, bumping into Veronica on the way out.
"You're late for home ec," informs Veronica.
"Alert the media," murmurs Zack.
"Still going to do that article on the comic book industry?"
"I pitched it, didn't it? Yeah."
"Just reminding you as a fellow columnist," defends Veronica.
"Don't know where to start, though," admits Zack.
"Didn't you have that comic book in history class? The Crimson Tide? Wave?"
"Crimson Kid. K-I-D. It isn't about female flow, mkay?"
Veronica scrunches up her face in disgust. "Ewww."
"Sorry," says Zack.
"Well, haven't you heard of Google?" says Veronica. "Google it and see what comes up."
II.
Paul Rubenstein collapses on the floor, laughing so hard tears stream from his eyes. He glances at the TV, resumes chuckling. Zack covers his ears briefly. Scrolling down the computer, he enters the web address, types in Crimson Kid. A lot of hits surprisingly.
"Carrey's digging up his nose!" cries Paul. "Digging up his nose! Comic gold, man. Come enjoy this before your punishment begins."
"Okay, while I'm thinking of hits...," warns Zack, eyeing Paul. "I'm working."
"You sound like Veronica," moans Paul, sitting up, his bushy hair all messed up because of the floor.
"No, I don't!" snaps Zack.
"And you like Veronica," teases Paul.
"Shut up!"
He didn't like Veronica, not like that. She was too rigid, and bossy, and...kinda pretty. Dang that Paul.
"Shut up!" he says again.
"You better enjoy this," says Paul. "Once Tanglewood calls your folks, you'll never see the outside. I want you at my bar mitzvah, man."
"And be the only black kid at another Jewish event?" sighs Zack. "I don't know, dude. It feels strange sometimes."
"Thought you didn't know what you were," reminds Paul, softly.
"Yeah...yeah, I don't," replies Zack. "What I am, who I look like. A walking, living mystery."
"Your parents were Canadian, right? That's what that newspaper said."
Zack looks at his bulletin board. In between a penant for the Seattle Mariners, and a DJ Mad Bulletz poster, he'd placed another item from the treasure chest. It's a wrinkled copy of The Grapevine, a newspaper from some school called Degrassi, edited by his mom. Too bad there were no pictures of her in there. It was almost like she was afraid to show herself to him.
"Yeah, Toronto," answers Zack.
"Cool city. My uncle works there. Hockey's amazing. Love the Maple Leafs! We should check out a game after your punishment ends."
"Why are you so obsessed with my almost punishment?" exclaims Zack.
"I never get punished," explains Paul. "Wanna know what it feels like."
"It feels like this," says Zack, lightly punching him in the shoulder.
"Owww," groans Paul.
He clicks on the first hit, and it brings him to the official site of the company that produces Crimson Kid. Reading the history and the story background, he then moves to the staff listings.
"This is so a job I want," remarks Paul. "But I bet you have to be old...experienced..."
"Not the editorial assistants," interrupts Zack. "Like this guy, Toby Isaacs. Looks like he's in his late twenties."
"Looks like a geek," says Paul.
"Says the guy who trekked dog poop all over the dance floor at Veronica's pool party," says Zack.
"Whatever," whispers Paul, going back to watch the movie.
"I'll e-mail him my questions," says Zack.
Paul's eyes light up. "Or...we could go to Toronto!"
"You're on crack," says Zack.
"Let's not waste this holiday weekend!"
"By taking a trip to Toronto?"
"Listen, you need to do that family tree thing, don't you?" says Paul, standing. "If you got an A on that, your parents would ease up on you. Plus you can ask this Isaacs guy about the comic book world. Tanglewood probably won't call them until late Friday, until we're long gone. I'll use my savings to fly us both out there."
"You're deluded..."
"We'll tell your parents it's a pre-bar mitzvah trip, that I invited you along to a game, which is technically true. More important, you said you didn't know what you were. Not curious at all?"
Of course, he's a little curious. Part of him wanted to see his mother. She sent word that his father died before she left for college, and that was the last the Crewes heard from her. Maybe she thought seeing him would bring back memories of his father; he could forgive her for that. His mother was headed for the University of Toronto, last he'd heard. Ugh, really tempting. Too tempting.
"Wouldn't be punished," sing-songs Paul, patting his shoulder.
"It'd get Tanglewood off my back if I wrote a decent article, and got an A on something," mulls Zack.
"Two birds with one stone," says Paul, smiling. "Plus me seeing the Leafs, of course. Oh, and you finding out your identity and all that."
"They're playing now?"
"Yeah, I know their schedule more than the lines of both Ace Venturas."
Zack strokes his chin, nods. Paul jumps up excitedly, doing the robot.
"Who's the geek again?" laughs Zack, taking down the copy of the Grapevine and peering at the Degrassi address.
Liberty Van Zandt inserts one business card into the pocket of her purse, waits patiently in her office for the secretary to lead her in. She hates job interviews, but she understands that journalism is a tough field, especially landing a copy editor position at Toronto Daily. It would've been far practical to go into law or the government, and her dad had presented her with some positions in the judiciary department. But no, she made it a point to go out on her own, get a master's in print journalism, and do the torturous job search. Ellie Nash, who was in a few of her graduate classes, elected to go back and serve as the Grapevine's faculty advisor at Degrassi. She couldn't do that. Sure, she loves the school, but it held a lot of memories, some pretty dark memories she'd be confronted with daily if she took up Kwan's offer. Ellie enjoys it, so it all worked out good in the end.
In fact, she thanks Liberty with a free subscription to the paper. Liberty reads through all of it, noticing that the writing has indeed gotten better. When she was in high school, her and Emma were basically the best contributors, with Ellie doing more than able editing and layout. Now, it's a better paper with very interesting articles. She pulls it out of her briefcase, starts to read the back-to-school edition, an edition she often hated as a student reporter back then. Man, getting kids to sign up to write that early in the year was a real bother. She remembers asking around throughout her first two weeks at Degrassi, how heinous that was. Still, asking one person was kind of enjoyable, alright very enjoyable. Too bad he said no.
III.
She straightens her overalls, rights her glasses, breathes in and out. This guy stuck out for all the right reasons. Clean-cut, smiling all the time, loose tie-dyed shirt and baggy jeans. Some song her mother sang to her as a baby enters her mind.
I found love, didn't even know I needed it
But I found love, never even crossed my mind
I found love, had a garden never weeded it
But I found love, took an apple just in time
He sat in class, checking his watch, sometimes made eye contact with that blonde girl Emma sitting next to him. She hopes that isn't his girlfriend.
The guy twists the combination lock off his locker, pops the locker open. He waves a hand in front of his nose, coughs. Liberty smooths back her hair, curly and tied back.
I found love in the fall and it did not hurt at all
I found sunlight and flowers, soft summer showers
I can feel my heart touch my Adam's apple
I can feel the feather in my head
There is a lightness, politeness, fingers tingle, tootsies tap
'till dawn comes and finds me never in my bed
Another boy with wide-rim glasses, standing next to him, laughs, pinches his nose.
"Hello!" greets Liberty, approaching them.
"Hey," says the boy with the glasses, letting his nose go.
"Yeah, hey," says the guy she'd noticed.
Liberty smiles at him. "I'm Liberty. We have Media Immersion together."
"Oh," says the guy. "The only class I don't sleep through."
"Well, eight hours is optimal. Helps that it's the first class of the day," replies Liberty, folding her hands together.
"Opti-what?" replies the guy, twisting his lips.
"Never mind him," says the guy with the glasses. "Toby. Nice to meet you."
The other guy sticks his head in the locker, removes a rubber chicken.
"You too, Toby," says Liberty, looking into the locker. "And you are?'
"Oh," says the guy, squeezing the rubber chicken. "I'm...uh, J.T."
"An abbreviation," says Liberty, her heart doing a light flutter. "That makes it easier to type a byline...say, for a newspaper article?"
"I don't write," informs J.T., throwing the chicken back in.
"He's not smart enough to write," jokes Toby, tapping him on his head with a folder.
"Shut up, Toby!" snaps J.T. "Look...what is it, Liberty? You're asking the wrong student."
"I could...could help," stammers Liberty, swallowing a lump in her throat. "What are you into? Current events, voicing your opinions..."
"My opinion is that I don't want to write anymore than I have to for school," interjects J.T.
"Seconding that," says Toby.
"Alright, then," says Liberty, staring at J.T. warmly.
J.T. meets her gaze, looks down, very uncomfortable. "Uh...so yeah."
"Yeah," says Liberty.
"Uh...so bye," says J.T., dragging Toby down the hall.
Liberty blows out a deep breath. Yeah, came off a bit strong, she thinks, but at least he knows my name.
I found love in the fall and it did not hurt at all
I found love in this world and my heart strings just unfurled
I found love in the spring and I did not lose a thing.
She waves her notebook in front of her face, hot all over. Wow, if she could feel like this everyday. Boys didn't often have this effect on her, but this one?
"I know that expression," teases Manny, her and Emma walking towards Liberty.
"What?" says Liberty, red-faced.
"It's love," gushes Manny.
"With who?" encourages Emma. "It isn't Sean, is it?"
"Chill, Emma," whispers Manny.
"No...not Sean," replies Liberty. "It's...um, J.T.?"
"Gross," says Manny. "He farts."
"And is messy," adds Emma.
"And he farts," repeats Manny.
"Can't help it," shrugs Liberty. "He just has this thing about him. Nice, happy-go-lucky, a bit charming."
"He's horny too," says Emma. "Did I mention that? Like abnormal horny for a twelve-year old?"
"He isn't looking for love, just for boobs," says Manny. "I love the boy like a brother, but Liberty, you'd be wasting your time."
Liberty frowns. J.T. was too original, too interesting to give up on.
"I have...have to go sign people up," says Liberty, eagerly.
"I'm at the top of the list, right?" says Emma, proudly.
"Yes, Emma," replies Liberty, rolling her eyes.
"I can write horoscopes," says Manny, brightly.
"Um...maybe," says Liberty. "Bye."
Liberty reaches the Grapevine office, grins at the sign-up sheet. Even if J.T. wasn't ready to write, or speak with her at length, or date anyone, he could come around, couldn't he?
"Why, Liberty, you're glowing," says Ms. Kwan, removing paper from the fax machine.
"I am?" says Liberty. "Don't know why."
"Miss Van Zandt?" says the secretary, interrupting her meandering thoughts. "Mr. Nichols is ready to see you."
"Oh," says Liberty. "Thank you."
Liberty rises from her chair.
"I'm ready," whispers Liberty to herself. "Ready for the good things."
She closes her eyes, hears the beep from a printer.
IV.
"Good thing I know which diapers are on sale," remarks J.T., taking Liberty's hand as they head up the aisle, beeps from a scanner sounding in their ears.
"This is how I want to spend my junior year," says Liberty, tearing up. "Evaluating diapers for the child I'm carrying."
J.T. stops in the middle, puts his hand on her shoulders.
"We can do this," assures J.T. "You've been checked out. The baby's healthy. I'll be in the room with you."
Liberty glances around, sees a couple of teenage boys laughing at a display of condoms. If only they didn't use the king-sized condom, if only they hadn't gone up to the drive-in that day. Her stomach wouldn't get big, she wouldn't get nauseous, J.T. would still have his job at the station. She kneels to her knees in the aisle, letting the tears fall.
"Liberty," soothes J.T., kneeling next to her. "Come on."
"It's a mood swing," whispers Liberty. "I'll be fine."
J.T. kisses her cheek, finds a plastic beach chair. Liberty smiles up at him, goes to sit on the chair.
"This feels nice," says Liberty, leaning back.
"Mhmm," says J.T. "Just pretend we're in Barbados or Hawaii."
Liberty chuckles. He always tried to cheer her up.
"With you in those sexy red swim trunks?" she asks.
"I thought we promised to mention those since they fell down," whispers J.T., ruffling his hair.
"Yeah, okay. Sorry."
"I'll wear green ones instead," propostions J.T. "Can you feel the wind?"
"What?" says Liberty, laughing.
"You're not working with me," says J.T. "I'm the director, remember? Just follow my lead."
Liberty pats her stomach, smiles at J.T.
"A very nice breeze," she replies.
"Excellent," says J.T. "And of course, I'm not paying attention to all the bikini-clad hotties on the sand."
She hits him lightly on the head. "Don't mention them if you're not looking."
"Ugh, got found out," says J.T., looping his hand with hers. "Other than that, we're having a pretty good time."
"You don't prefer the hot tub?" asks Liberty.
"Hot tubs, the beach, the back of my car...all the same when I'm with my favorite writer."
She gazes into J.T.'s eyes, kisses him softly. Then, she hears the beeps from the scanner, looks at the rows of diapers, sighs.
"Everything's going to change," says Liberty.
"It...it might," admits J.T. "But we'll...we'll work it out. I'm not going, like I said I wouldn't."
"If you left, then I...," starts Liberty, a tear trickling down her cheek.
"That's not an option," interrupts J.T. "I'm not what I...what I was. More mature. Facing this head-on. You can ask me anything, and I'll say yes, as long as it makes you happy."
Liberty sniffles, throws her arms around J.T. All the stares she was getting at Degrassi, the rumors that tore at her inwardly, seem pale at this second, as they embrace. J.T. had stood by her side when he could've bailed. J.T. would be there, wouldn't he? Always.
"I love you, J.T.," whispers Liberty.
J.T. beams. "I love you."
"Let's get Huggies," says J.T. "Since we were just hugging."
"Cheesy wordplay," comments Liberty.
J.T. puts an arm around her. "I try."
"You have money?" asks Liberty.
"Psh, yeah," replies J.T. "I got a checkbook. Responsible, eh?"
"Very," compliments Liberty.
"Figure I can sign my name on something since me giving autographs is a ways off," says J.T., sadly. "But for my autographs, I'm writing J.T. Yorke."
"An abbreviation," says Liberty, resting her head on his shoulder. "Easier to write."
V.
"Thanks for meeting with me, Mr. Nichols," says Liberty, shouldering her briefcase. "On a Saturday especially."
"A pleasure, Ms. Van Zandt," replies Mr. Nichols, walking with her to the door. "You have my card, and you'll be hearing from me shortly."
Liberty exits, smiles on the way to the elevator. She reaches her floor, then finds her car. Maybe she can phone Danny at work, see if he can meet her for dinner. He'd been out a lot lately, doing some top-secret project.
Driving along the different avenues, she thinks back to the memories that came to her that day. Why were they coming so fast, so frequent? It's almost like destiny, some result of how the stars move, Manny might say, since she still read horoscopes everyday after teaching dance classes.
Her car careens sharply to the left, the contents of her briefcase spilling out, including Mr. Nichols' business card. Bending down, out of the corner of her eye, she sees a shadow move across the windshield, then hears a loud thump.
"No...no!" cries Liberty.
If she hit a squirrel, or a dog, she'd never forgive herself, and if it is a human being...oh, boy. Her mom's an attorney and everything, but no, just no. She gets out of the car, looks around, panicked.
"Hello!" she yells. "Hello!"
It takes awhile for her to realize where she is, then when she does, her blood runs cold. The curb...the curb, where she found him. Was this some cruel trick? Liberty shakes herself, has to focus on this present moment. Someone or something is hurt.
Hurt like he was, thinks Liberty. I couldn't save him, and I can't save whatever it is I can't see now. This is some horrible deja vu.
"Please...if anyone's out there!" cries Liberty, choking on her tears.
Please let me leave, begs Liberty. Don't let me relive these moments, these hard, cold truths. Blood on the back of his shirt, his head limply going forward, no breath coming from his mouth. Liberty grips the side of her car, her head throbbing.
A twig snaps, and Liberty gasps. She turns to see a boy, with dark brown hair, a hint of blonde at the top. He has green eyes that feel like they're searching, searching through her.
"Hi," says the boy, nervously.
"Oh my...did I hit you?" says Liberty, rushing over to him. "Are you okay?"
"I was on my skateboard," says the boy. "I was scared you'd yell at me, so I hid behind that tree. Uh...I'm Zack."
"I'm glad you're okay, Zack," sighs Liberty. "I...I..."
Liberty continues to stammer, stares deep into his eyes. They're so familiar, his whole face so familiar.
"Where are your parents?" questions Liberty.
"Seattle," answers Zack. "I have family here, though...I think."
Liberty places a hand on her heart, feels it beating rapidly.
"Am I scaring you?" asks Zack, playing with his backwards cap.
"Yes," answers Liberty, softly.
"I don't mean you any harm, ma'am," says Zack. "I'll...I'll go. My friend's waiting for me."
Zack zooms off on his skateboard, throwing her back a frantic look. Liberty steps forward, her mouth moving, but no words ready.