Some people spend their lives trying to make sense of life. To take the little things, the big things, any and every event, and explain them. Philosophers, scientists, doctors... they all try to break everything down and make sense of it. But in analyzing all the tiny detail of things, don't we take away what makes it special?

Like a sunset. The sun doesn't really set...we just rotate further away from it, until the light is no more. But that's boring. Who doesn't want to imagine that someone made that scene of colors just for them. That it's something beautiful, not something that happens because we're spinning into darkness for a few hours.

Or a thunderstorm. Who cares about clouds rubbing together. Who cares about protons and neutrons and ions doing whatever it is they do to make lightning? Why can't we just sit back and enjoy the sound of rain on rooftops, and the warmth of hiding under covers every time the thunder roars and lightning strikes.

I did, once, I guess.

I remember asking my father, "Daddy, what's thunder?"

"God," he said, smiling down at me. "Bowling."

I giggled, but from then on, that's what I thought. It was God, bowling. And I was never scared of storms.

I like seeing the mysterious side of things. I like leaving analysis to professors, and sitting back to enjoy the beauty and awe of everything I don't understand.

Maybe it's simpler that way, I don't know.

It's more worthwhile, that's for sure.

So, explain this, professors. Ellie Nash, rebellious punk or authority-obeyer?

For all the clothes, all the makeup, all the maladjustive tendencies I adopted, I was never much of a troublemaker. I followed the rules, or at least those I agreed with. I skipped a total of three classes in my time at Degrassi, and I had never been in any real kind of trouble, at home or otherwise.

But suddenly one weekend, I give into peer pressure (when no peers really pressured me), and suddenly did something no one ever thought I would. It didn't make me a druggie, not by a long shot, but it was unexpected, and there was no logical reason for me to do it.

But I did.

And it wasn't like I planned on it being a regular event.

Not at all.

I mean, I never even thought of that. It just happened, and there was no, 'oh, okay, maybe I'll do this again'. No, 'I'm never doing this again!' It just was, and I was content to enjoy that feeling without question.

It went without mention all through the week. Not a single word spoken of the party, or the greasy diner after. Not a peep of getting home at four am and passing out on the one end of the couch while Craig snored away on the other. No frantic chirping on Craig's cell phone, no Joey wondering where he was.

Things went back to normal, and I began to doubt whether it ever actually happened.

Until Craig showed up at the store, holding a Guitar World magazine and pressing a five into my palm with a grin, and a casual, "What're you doing tonight?"

"I dunno," I said, shrugging and bagging his purchase. "Why?"

"I dunno," he shrugged, suddenly looking uncomfortable. "I just thought you might wanna...go, y'know...dammit. This is awkward."

I blinked, then realized why it was so awkward for him to ask. How do you come out and say, "Wanna get high?", when you don't even know the persons stance on things?

"You obviously don't know the secret art of code-talking," I said, smugly, handing him his change.

"What?" he asked. "Do tell."

"Well, you coulda said, 'Wanna get waffles?' and winked. Or, 'wanna go to a birthday party?'," I explained. "I mean, I probably wouldn't have gotten what you meant, but y'know..."

I was babbling.

"Wanna...get waffles?" he said, breaking into laughter.

I smiled back, then abruptly frowned.

Thinking, did I really want to do this? Did I want to feel that again? Take the chance of becoming a druggie?

Then again, Craig did it more often, and he wasn't a stoner at all. He was still regular Craig.

"Pick me up after work," I said. "I'll think about it."

I did. All freakin' night. Pros and cons, cons and pros, weighing out options in my head.

On one hand, I had homework. And oh, yeah, drugs were illegal?

But on the other hand, it was only one time...not counting last weekend. And call me hedonistic... but it felt really good not to feel.

Shit.

I guess I made my decision.

"I love this song," I said. "Love it."

We had parked the truck near a local park, far enough away from town that we ran a low risk of being spotted by the police. The stereo was turned down low enough for us to hear each other talk, and I couldn't remember the name of the song playing, but I loved it.

"How can you like a song you can't even understand the lyrics to?" Craig said, his seat reclined, a joint held loosely between his fingers.

"You're gonna drop that," I said, kneeling backward on the seat.

He regarded the smoking tip with curiosity.

"Besides," I said, sticking my tongue out. "I know this song. Like, all of it. I just don't remember it right now."

He laughed at me, actually laughed. Jerk.

"Shut up," I said, spinning around and slouching straight forward in the seat.

"Heyyy," he drew out. "Chill, I didn't mean to hurt you."

"Whatever," I said, still starign straight ahead. The headlights made awesome shadows across the trees.

"Here," he said, passing me the joint. "Calm down, okay? Really, I was just laughing cos you were being cute."

I practically choked. "Me? Cute? Uh-uh, no, I don't do cute. I'm not the cute one. Paiiige is cute. I'm a vampire. Grrr!"

I made claws out of my hands, almost dropping the joint, and bared my fangs, er, my teeth, at him, trying to look scary.

He burst out laughing, and I had to join him. Yeah, scary, really. I am such a dork.

I couldn't stop laughing after that.

Everytime we started to calm down, one of us would start sniggering, and then that set us off all over again.

Once we'd finished the damn joint, I threw open my door, and stumbled out onto the damp grass. I'm pretty sure I skinned my knees, but I didn't care, didn't feel it. It was too hot in the truck, too smoky and sweet, too suffocating.

Craig dropped to the ground on the other side, and I could see his sneakers in the grass in front of me as I giggled. He offered me a hand as a Brand New song filtered through his speakers.

I let him pull me to my feet, and started doing some kind of dance along to the music. I had to stop after a minute, because he was laughing so hard he made me laugh, and I couldn't breathe again.

"Dance with me, Ellie!" he shouted, grabbing me by the wrists and spinning me around and around and around.

It hurt, where he grabbed me, but he didn't mean it, I knew that.

I was dizzy, feeling like I wanted to throw up, by the time he stopped spinning and let me go. By then I was so out of it that I crashed right back to the grass, and the next thing I knew he had fallen next to me.

"I'm gonna hurl," I said as he crawled next to me.

"You can't," he told me, trying to sit up.

"Why not?" I groaned, my vision swimming.

"Because I think I'm gonna kiss you," he said, "and I can't do that if you're gonna throw up."

Throw up, no. But I shut up, looking at him, quiet.

Kiss me? He couldn't kiss me. Friends didn't make out. Besides, he was stoned out of his mind, he wasn't in his right mind, that meant that he didn't know what he was doing and if he didn't know what he was doing and I didn't know what I was doing, then neither of us knew what -

All thoughts stopped when his lips crashed into mine. He kissed me hungrily, and after the initial shock, I found myself kissing him back. His hands were on my back, in my hair. I held my hands down at my sides, not sure where to put them, not wanting to seem stupid. It was nothing like kissing Sean.

Shit.

Sean -

He pulled away suddenly, looking at me with this intensity that made me shiver.

He tugged on the end of my shirt. Tugged on the waistband of my jeans. Tugged at his collar. Fidgeted.

"Why do you wear those?" he asked, suddenly.

I looked down. I had discarded my jacket in the cab of the truck, not even noticing the night air on my mostly bare arms.

"I -,"

"Punk rock, right?" he said. "You're so punk rock, El. You're so fucking...cool."

He sounded sincere, if not confused, but the next thing I knew, his hand was tugging on my arm warmer.

"You don't need these to be cool," he said, rushed. "It's not about looks, right? It's about mentality."

My mentality had suddenly overcome it's inebriation, and was screaming at me to make him stop, make him stop, MAKE HIM STOP!

But my arm didn't move as fast, and by the time I reached for him, my arm warmer was laying in the wet grass, and he was staring down.

"Fuck."

I shrunk backward, pulling my arm to my chest.

"Fuck, Ellie!" he said, eyes wide.

He scooched backwards, then stood up, towering so far over me.

"FUCK!" he yelled, for the entire park to hear.

I scooted myself backwards, into the shadow of the truck, sitting against the wheel, holding myself.

My mantra, too, was 'fuck', held inside my mind, repeated over and over, louder and louder.

After a moment, Craig came over and kicked the tire, jolting me.

"What the fuck, Ellie? What the fuck? Did you want to ruin my entire night? I was feelin' good! You were feeling good! We fucking...what the fuck!"

I flinched.

"Shit," he said, more quietly this time.

He sank to his knees.

"Ellie...why?" he asked, his voice showing none of the hostility I'd witnessed only seconds before. "I'm sorry I yelled. I'm sorry, I didn't mean that. Just tell me why? Please?"

"I..." I'm a horrible person, that's what.

His face was etched with worry, compassion, but that meant fuck all. I've seen "compassion" before, and that's not enough.

I shrugged finally, looking off to the side as if I didn't care.

And so the apathetic shield came back down to protect poor, fucked up Ellie.

Jesus, I suck.

Craig was right, I ruined the night. For both of us.

"Get in the car," he said.

I almost told him it wasn't a car, it was a truck, and wondered just what the fuck I was thinking. I giggled softly, covering it up with my hand, not wanting to make him mad again.

Instead I got into the truck with him, cringed when he turned the music up too loud to hear anything but the screaming of another band.

We left my arm warmer lying forgotten in the wet grass.

Oh, well.

I have more.