A/N: So like, I started this a while ago and just picked it back up, so if there's a big chasm in the middle of my story where the mood changes... I'm sorry about that. I also get the feeling all the reviews will be either "Wtf" or "What is this story's point" or "I couldn't follow this" or KT pointing out grammatical or syntactical or tense-related errors. If you don't like it... I'm sorry. I'm going to try to start writing stories that don't suck sometime soon.
Set in season 2! That's right. Old school.
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The curtains over her window are so dark and so thick that even when her alarm clock radio starts chiming to announce the 7 o'clock hour, she can't see a shred of sunlight. The curtains were her idea, so she likes it that way.
She only gets up this early because every morning is a process. She tries not to look into the mirror too much before she's done; she's not herself without the makeup, the hair, the clothes. The girl who first wakes up only has the black Evanescence t-shirt, skull-patterened pajama pants, and deep purple nails--smudged and imperfect in various ways, to prove she did them herself. It isn't enough. She needs the fishnet stockings, the arm socks, the corset-inspired tops, the crimps and the clips in her hair, and the black kohl rimming her eyes several times over. She needs to puzzle her classmates, to simultaneously attract and repel them. In a way, she likes how they squirm, not knowing how to process it all.
When she's done, she finishes it off with vaseline on her lips, throws her red plaid bag over her shoulder, and opens her bedroom door. She's always forgetting to pull open the shades, but the artificial lamp light suffices, and her mom will probably come in later and tidy the room up. She knows that her mom doesn't get her look, doesn't understand why she insists on making herself look so bizarre, but she never seems to have the energy to argue over it. Her dad doesn't get it, either. He seems to act like underneath all of the makeup is still his little girl. She's not sure if she likes it.
Though she wills herself to stare off into the sky and take in the view, she still rushes to school. It's not that far of a walk, and even if it were, she doesn't expect her parents to ever offer a ride. She doesn't expect them to offer her much period.
She can hear the general roar of high schoolers talking, screaming, laughing, running, all before she even enters the front doors of Degrassi. It's one of the things a high school student should be used to, even a freshman like herself, but she isn't. Still, she's content with clutching her bag tightly, holding her head high and keeping her mouth tightly closed as she journeys towards her locker. Every day feels the same as the last when she's walking down the locker-lined hallways, the flickering of vibrant blue and gold, Degrassi pride. She can't understand why she's the only one that feels this way. Everyone else attends the pep rallies, forks over the five dollars to attend things like the "80s dance." She's not trying to be some tortured artist, but she doesn't crave popularity like everyone else seems to. She's a 14 year old girl and she just wants a friend or two, maybe a boy to crush on, and some hobbies to keep herself occupied and entertained.
Well... she hasn't yet figured out her hobbies (she's thinking maybe photography would be cool... or writing, she's always been decent at writing), but she at least has Marco.
She and Marco went above and beyond "opposites attract." It was a friendship born of politeness and desperation. It was sixth grade. Marco was new and Ellie was friendless; he made the first move towards the girl in a black T-shirt and jeans with the bright red hair. He was in his blue button-down with a matching tie; his mom just finished ironing it mere seconds before he put it on. He asked her about different teachers and she answered quietly. She would've thought he was just trying to be nice if his smile weren't so contagious.
These days, the same charm that won her over is winning lots of people over. Slowly but surely, people are taking notice of the boy she always thought would be a little bit of a nerd. She wouldn't say it to his face, but she never before believed he'd get caught up in the Degrassi web of popularity. He's too polite, too genuine, too much of a mama's boy. He respects people. To stay on that chain, you had to be like.... well, like the girl with the stringy blonde hair and the black hiphuggers, now glaring and rolling her eyes in Ellie's direction for no apparent reason.
Ellie will never understand Paige Michalchuk, either. Maybe that goes along with not understanding (or even wanting to understand) popularity, but Paige is more than just the abstract idea of being popular. She's the living, breathing example of why so many teenage girls go through hell in high school. Everything about Paige gets under Ellie's skin, but Ellie isn't one for fury. When the opportunity presents itself, she replies with some cutting sarcastic remarks and leaves it at that. She would say she doesn't want to bother, but the truth was, she fears Paige a little.
Everyone knows what had happened with Ashley Kerwin. Her dramatic fall from Degrassi's most popular to outcast after one night of drugged ranting became instant high school lore. The idea that the mean girl could take down the nice girl doesn't sit well in anyone's mind. Ellie is no exception. Sure, Ashley's no saint--Ellie is sure every popular person had some kind of flaw--but regardless of social standing, Ellie pities her a little. No girl should have to go through high school completely alone, she thought.
She acts like she hadn't seen Paige's condescending glares and keeps walking to first period algebra.
She doodles mindlessly and expressionlessly in her notebook at her chair in the fourth row or so, letting her crimps fall into her face, until a hand covers up the stick figures. She looks up, met with warm brown eyes and the wide braces-covered grin. She smiles and sits up a little straighter.
"Hey," he says, before slipping into the desk to her right. She opens her mouth to say 'hey' back, but never gets the chance. "Ready to get your math on?" In one fluid motion, she grins, rolls her eyes, shrugs her shoulders.
"More like, ready for the weekend," she says, proud of her response--maybe even a little proud of the fact that she's expressing happiness for the weekend, when usually, it doesn't matter to her one way or the other. Marco looks ready to say something, but she cuts him off. "I was thinking we could... see a movie tonight? 'White Oleander' looks really good."
"Ooh, it does," Marco replies, already scrunching up his face in a way that makes Ellie know he's about to deliver a blow. "It's just... Jimmy, Spinner, and Craig were gonna go see Clown Academy, and they invited me along." His face softens a little. His eyes are deeply apologetic, more than his words are. "I mean, if you want, I could ask the guys if you could come..."
But Ellie knows there's no way she's going to spend her Friday night with a group of boys who probably mock everything about her. "No, it's fine," she says, complete with an appeasing smile. "Maybe next weekend." She wouldn't have even been surprised if they mocked her to Marco's face. She could see the situation so clearly in her head, up until that point. It's the question of whether Marco defends her or smiles and agrees that she doesn't have an answer to. She used to expect a lot from Marco, but these days, not so much.
When she walks into the girls' washroom between first and second period, she doesn't get a good look at the girl with the short hair at the last sink on the right, keeping her head down and washing her hands. Ellie walks into a stall and closes the door just as she hears the washroom door squeak open. And then the twittering of giggles.
"Wow, Ash," she can hear Paige begin in her haughty drawl, while still standing in the stall. "That's such a cute haircut. I wasn't aware going lezzy was your next step." More giggles follow, but no sign of a reply from Ashley. Not even a movement. "Or are you just trying to make everyone forget who you are? Newsflash, hon: everyone already knows who you are, and they already know you're a cheating slut. So just quit while you're ahead, because no one's buying it." A pause. Complete silence. "Come on, Haze, let's just go." The door squeaks again, and all Ellie can hear is the faintest sound of a sigh, maybe the whisper of a sob. She's still staring at the tan walls around her, wondering what would happen, what would become of it if she opened the door at this moment, offered Ashley a shoulder to cry on even as a near-stranger. Or what if the walls collapse by themselves? Ashley could let her in, and vice versa. Ellie could be the one to save her from the harshness of being a teenage girl completely alone in this world.
She hears the door squeak. It's too late.