Disclaimer: I don't own Degrassi, if I did, us Americans would have seen No Where To Run. Betcha wished I'd own it now…sadly, all I own is the fabulous Thalia Whitson, who happens to be based upon the lovechild of my two best friends…so I guess they own her. Drat. Oh well, at least I still own the plot!


Author's Note: This chapter was a bit of a dozy to start; now that I know exactly how this plot will play out it's becoming a bit hard to right. Talk about your irony…so anyways, this chapter will have Fitzy; last chapter lacked him. Also I'm throwing in another key character to my plot. Who is it? I guess you'll have to read on.

I hope the next update will come as quickly as my lasts few; it always happens when I start a new story. I have this burst of inspiration and write x amount of chapters, then, BAM! The well goes dry. It's so sad, but I hope this story wont be like that. It's a plot that'd be to good not to finish.

Anyways, I hope you all enjoy and thanks to everyone who reads, reviews, or both! I love you all!


Chapter Three:

Objects of Affection

Do you know what it's like to watch a person you are so wildly in love with be with a person who's so plain? So ordinary? So…Clare Edwards?

It's a very heartbreaking thing to watch. It's like a car accident; you want to turn away, but you sadly can't.

"You're acting all gaga over some guy who thought you're name was 'Amiogina'." Thalia said, in her blunt tone. She was grabbing her chemistry text from her neat as a pin locker. I swear Thalia is OCD.

"No. He thought my name was 'Emogene'." I said, turning away from the two love birds conversation in disgust with a tiny (massive) tinge of despair.

"My bad, sorry I didn't see the difference." Thalia said sarcastically, shutting her locker.

"There is, 'Amiogina' sounds stupid," I said, picking invisible pieces of lint off my anime dress.

"And 'Emogene' doesn't?" Thalia questioned me, blonde eyebrow raised in doubt.

Sometimes, I really hate her.

"No, but it's closer to my name. 'Emogene.' 'Imogen.' All the same really." I said, nodding my head, as if the action would convince Thalia.

She shock her head and muttered, "Sometimes, Imo, I worry about you."

"Can't you be supportive in my love? That's what best friends do!" I argued, pointing an accusing finger at her.

Thalia crossed her arms and stood straight, almost nose to nose with me. As if that would intimidate the love out of me. All it really did though was make me laugh.

I may have been small for my age, but so was Thalia. Even on her tiptoes. So every conversation we had standing up I looked down upon her.

Thalia, unpleased by my reaction made a 'harrumph' noise, crossing her arms tighter around her small underdeveloped chest.

"So what, are you just going to pine of him like some ninny. C'mon Ims, you're so much better than that." Thalia said.

"I'm not going to pine over him, Thalia Whitson." I said, knowing the use of her full name will make her red with fury. "I'm going to marry him, have his four children, and live in a beautiful house on the countryside."

"Got it all planned out, don't you?" she said, shaking her head in utter disgust. "Look, Ims, just move on. There are a lot of fish in the sea. Fish that are much more attractive and wear colors."

I glared at her. Did she not see that Eli was the love of my life? He was the perfect boy for me. He was dark, alluring. A captivating air of mystery; a type of person that would always surprise you. Not only that, but he was also artistic. His writings were beautiful; they moved me to the point of tears.

Who wouldn't want the next Poe? The next great literary artist for this generation!

"Look, Thalia, you just don't understand my love for him." I said, twisting open my locker.

"Imogen, I don't think you understand your own love for him." she said, then checked her watch. "Crap, I'm going to be late. See you later." With that she made her way into the throng of students.

I heaved a sigh as I pulled open my locker, shoving my manga into my bag and the notes I'd need for after my free period. My free period was so boring all by myself.

Deciding that it was a nice enough day outside I decided to walk to the door that was the exit to behind the school.

I wasn't a naïve girl. I knew people smoked, got high, even had an occasional beer they smuggled from the ravine behind the school. It's not my fault my locker is badly placed.

The smoke hit me immediately as I walked outside the door. So much for that fresh air thing, huh?

Sadly though the door I opened also hit an object that cried out in pain. Shit.

I went to the person on the other side of the door to make sure they were okay. Or, as okay one could be after getting hit by a heavy door.

"Oh crap! I'm so sorry!" I cried, trying to decide what to do.

It's awkward when you injure people and don't know how they'd prefer you take care of the situation.

"Fuck!" the person swore. "Why did you hit me with a fucking door?"

Great, I hit Mark Fitzgerald with a door. Can I ever act normal around him? And when I say normal I mean by my standards. I don't think I've acted normal a day in my life.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. The wind sort of took the door from my hand." I explained hurriedly.

"Whatever," he muttered angrily, rubbing his forehead.

His hand that wasn't occupied with massaging his aching forehead held a cigarette. Surprise, surprise.

"So…," I said, awkwardly to him.

"Can I help you?" he asked in an annoyed voice.

Someone's grouchy. Then again, all I ever do is assault him.

"Mind if I have one?" I asked, looking at the cigarette.

He raised an eyebrow, looking as if he was going to question me. I waited for him to; instead he shrugged and tossed me the pack.

Pulling one out I fumbled with the lighter a bit; all he did in response with my display of inexperience was roll his eyes.

Once lit I put it between my lips and took a drag. It burned my throat and I coughed.

This, made him laugh.

"Have you ever even smoked before?" he asked.

"Once," I said truthfully. "I was twelve, I sucked at it."

"Never would have guessed." he said, taking one finally drag and dropped his to the ground, stomping it out with his boot.

I took another drag of mine, trying to suppress my coughs with great difficulty.

"So is this all you ever do for fun?" I asked curiously.

"Mostly," he said, leaning against the stone wall.

"Yo, Fitzy!" a female voice called out.

I turned to my right to see Bianca DeSousa coming our way; in her trademark cargo pants and black tank top, she looked like a runaway street dancer.

"Mind if I bum you for a cigarette, I need one." she said, arms crossed and eyebrows raised. As if challenging him to say no.

"Here, you can have mine." I said, handing her the white stick before Fitz could respond.

She gave me a once over and shrugged, taking the gift without so much as a thank you.

Fitz smirked at me, "I thought you wanted to smoke."

"I did, now I remember why I stopped," I said, referring to the dry feeling in my throat.

Why does smokers cough sound so wet when their throats are so parched? It makes no sense!

"Who's this?" Bianca asked, blowing a thick cloud into the air.

"Imogen," I introduced myself, seeing that Fitz had a memory lapse.

Bianca nodded, not really caring, or taking any effort to introduce herself. But she was Bianca. Who at this school didn't know her story. Or a colorful variation of it.

"Nice dress," she commented dryly, taking another drag.

"Thank you," I said politely.

"You sure know how to pick 'em, Fitzy. First Saint Clare, now the runaway cartoon character." she said, but somehow, I don't think she meant to insult me. She is giving me another once over, though she doesn't roll her eyes, doesn't mutter "freak." Just looked at me, like she honestly didn't care.

That's refreshing.

"Shut up, Bee." Fitz growled, his face was red with anger. Or maybe embarrassment. Probably the former; I'd be pissed if someone blurted out that I enjoyed watching Eli's perfectly shaped bum.

"What, Fitzy? Don't want Imogen to know about your crush on Goody-two-shoes Saint Clare?" Bianca probes, a cheeky grin spread across her normally cool face.

You know, I think I like Bianca. People clearly don't understand her humor.

"Shut the fuck up, Bee!" Fitz snapped, glaring at her, nostrils flaring.

If I were Bianca I'd be shaking in my sneakers, yet she stands there, smiling as if he couldn't kill her in multiple different ways with his pinky finger.

"So, you like Clare?" I asked quietly, making an annoyed face. Honestly, what do boys see in her? She's so…dull.

"No, I don't. Bee," he said, gesturing to Bianca, who once again was sending smoke in puffs up to the heavens. "Just thinks I do."

"That's 'cause you do, Fitzy boy. You're just to scared to admit it." Bianca said in such a blunt manner, even Thalia would have been envious.

Fitz just growled and stuffed his massive hands into his hoodie pockets.

I slid to the ground and sat against the stone wall; once I was all nice and cozy I pulled out my book.

"You know you're reading the wrong way, right?" Fitz said, joining me, plopping down onto the asphalt.

"No, the Japanese print their books this way." I said, not even glancing up.

"That's stupid," he said.

"Maybe," I said, flipping a page, "you should take off your cultural lens and look at it from their perspective."

He gave me a confused look.

"Quit being so narrow minded," I simplified for him.

He glared, "Or you could quit acting weird."

Bianca laughed, "Like you're one to talk, Fitz."

He glared at her, making a scoffing noise.

"Or, everyone could learn to accept that people are different." I said, quietly. An image of Adam getting tossed through a door popped into my mind.

Bianca suddenly got an uncomfortable look on her face. For a moment, I wondered if we shared the same thought.

Fitz just rolled his eyes, muttering another whatever.

"Whatever" must be his catchphrase.

The three of us stayed in a comfortable silence, then Bianca finished her smoke and left to meet a boy named 'Ron-Ron' in the boiler room.

"So, do you like her?" I asked, not looking up from the pictures on the page, but not really reading the words anymore.

"Who?" Fitz asked. He'd been starring into the distance as I read.

I was shocked that he stayed, he didn't really owe anything to me to be bored and keep me company. I did attacked him twice after all.

"Clare Edwards," I said, closing the book, giving up my charade of pretending to read.

His ears tinged pink and his eyes narrowed to the asphalt. "Yes," he mumbled in defeat.

"I guess everyone loves her then." I muttered bitterly.

He looked at me, waiting for more of an explanation.

"You like her. Eli loves her," I said placing my chin in my hand sadly.

"You have a thing for Emo Boy?" he asked, then let out a bark of laughter.

I felt my checks heat up.

"Yes, as a matter of fact I do!" I shouted at him, jumping to my feet and headed towards the door. Anger pulsed through my veins.

"Ah, wait! Come back!" he shouted after me. I ignored him and walked quickly inside.

As I speculated before, Fitz is much taller than me, so catching up to me for him was simple, he caught up to my fast walk of furry in a matter three strides. Once he caught up to me he stepped in front of me, blocking the pathway.

"Go away," I said, making the futile attempt of shoving past him. He wasn't having that. What a jerk! First he laughs at the object of my wacko affections, then halts my dramatic exit. What next? Steals my panties? Or even worse, my cat ears?

"C'mon, you seriously don't like him do you?"

Really? Really, Fitz? You think mocking me is going to get you somewhere?

I send him a heated, and hopefully menacing glare. "Yes, as a matter of fact I do. And if you don't mind, I would prefer if you don't mock me!"

He blinks at me, "God, what do you see in him?"

"What do you see in Clare?" I snapped back.

"She's perfect. Beautiful, you know, in that non tainted way. She's also smart," he said, a look crosses over his face. It wasn't really a dreamy look; his face didn't break into a goofy love sick grin. It was just as dreamy as you'd expect Fitz to ever be.

"You like smart girls?" I asked, not meaning for it to sound as rude as it came across, but really, you can't blame me for being shocked. Mark Fitzgerald wasn't exactly the next Isaac Newton, or Socrates. In fact he was sort of dim witted in that endearing way.

He glared, obviously catching the insult. "Yeah. I am."

I gulped, trying to force my knees to not clatter together in fright. Suddenly a light bulb went off in my head.

The plan I got was so perfect. So diabolical. So full proof. It was practically sent from Hermes himself!

"What if I told you we could both have the object of our affections?" I asked him, a devious grin broke across my face.

He gave me a confused look, but instead of simplifying the question I start plotting.

Yes, be afraid, kiddies. Be very, very afraid.


A taste for what's to come:

"No, it's perfect. Just admit it," I said, crossing my arms over my chest.

"You're the one who flew over the coo coo's nest. Aren't you?" she said, sending me a cheeky grin.

"So is that a yes?" I asked, hope lacing my voice.

"No."

"Ugh! Thalia!" I cried, throwing my arms into the air and leaning my head back to

the ceiling. I'm so much more dramatic than her.