Disclaimer: I do not own Degrassi.
This was his idea.
That sounds accusatory, but really; she appreciates it. She even takes it a step further and tells him to bring the beer. She's not going to actually drink it, so don't get any ideas. But she likes the idea of it; the novelty of it.
And then she asks her personal arsonist to come. He swears that he stopped all of that dangerous stuff, but she can see the outline of a lighter in his pocket. She learns then that sometimes it's okay if the tiger doesn't change its spots.
That leaves her to bring the most important piece of all. The thick frame weighs heavily in her small hands, but it's time to let go, she thinks. She feels the weight peeling off like skin; slowly and tortuously, so she takes advice from an old friend and decides to simply rip the band-aid off.
The place hasn't really changed. Their initials are still spread out sharply on the Oak tree, and the shaky letters are a result from a very shaky Adam-sorry, Eli, but the 'E' in your name looks like an 'A'? You don't mind, right, Ali? And, if they look closely, they can almost see their footprints and their old reflections looking back at them.
It's a ritual. Adam gets the wood and Eli starts the fire-much like their actual friendship. And usually Clare puts rocks around the sticks, but this time, she waits; that's all that she can do. They understand. And with concentration, Eli sets the first twig on fire and then drops it onto the rest of the pile. The flames spread quietly with a crackle now and then, and like a tear of a bandage on her skin, she lets the paper drift down to where it belongs.
The burning piece of paper has her mesmerized. It slowly shrinks, and then the smoke drifts into the air with subtle grace, and she tries to catch the exact second that the grey disappears; but, like most things, it's a mystery.
She realizes that she's not alone when she hears a clink of two bottles bumping together, and a firm hand on her shoulder, and another one wrapping itself around her waist loosely. They're a puzzle piece, a moment in time; intricate and oddly shaped and stuck in space.
With his burning name and his ugly memory wedged in the never moving fire, she leans in closer to her best friends and breathes in their innocent beer-tainted breath and their every-soft skin. She needs them.
She knows that they'll teach her to own her scars, without them owning her.
Welp. I've been wanting to write this since Eli/Clare scene.