Guys, we're getting close! I've been working hard to incorporate the "Time Stands Still" episode into this story for quite some time, and I finally have! I do use dialogue from the series, so I'm typing this as a DISCLAIMER. The characters and content that are original have been listed at the beginning of chapter 1, and a Donna I just added in this chapter. Enjoy! Thanks, thanks, thanks for reading for so long! :)

~Elle Winnie :)

XXX. The Day Before

Thursday

1 day until Whack-Your-Brain

"Okay, see the stage." Marco hops up on the stage as he speaks. "See the Degrassi team on stage right," he points to our left, "see the Northern High team on stage left." He points to our right. "There should be plenty of space in between for the game show host and his podium, and also for the contestants to move forward if there's a lightning round at the end."

"Wait, there's a lightning round during the show?" A member of Stuco asks, a female.

"Only if the teams tie at the end." Marco replies.

"Oh, okay." She nods.

"Now let's get these tables behind stage, arrange them as such, and get a feel of what tomorrow's going to be like." Marco gestures with his hands for us to move up behind stage, and the student body follows him, hopping up on the stage and disappearing behind the curtains.

One of the students hands me the checklist that I passed around the body in order to take attendance. I smile at him before wandering off to find Alex, the person who I hand the attendance list to as Vice-President. Not for long though. What a wonderful thought.

I spot her standing on stage with a checklist of her own. She appears as her usual self with baggy khaki pants and a white tank top.

"Alex." I climb up on stage, and she looks over at me with a blank expression. "Attendance." I detach the sheet of paper from my clipboard and hand it to her. She silently takes it and continues on writing, chomping her teeth as she chews gum. Alex has been one of few words lately ever since she got into a fight with Queenie over the whole Jay thing. Speaking of Jay, I haven't seen much of him lately either.

I join the rest of the members behind stage and help a small group move one of the tables outside. "Is this for Degrassi or the visiting team?"

"Visiting team." Donna, one of the students helping move the table, answers. "Geez, this is heavier than it looks."

Once I join in, I realize her point. Made of steel or what?

I find it miraculous that any of us have the strength to move anything at 6:45 in the morning. Student Council had to meet up early today to help set up the dress rehearsal for the run through of the Whack-Your-Brain tournament, which is tomorrow. Considering that Rick is on the team, I thank my lucky stars that Stuco doesn't work close with the actual team members. I wouldn't be able to handle it after what happened this past Tuesday. I had seen a side of Rick that I thought had long since evaporated last year. Boy was I WRONG! To think that I already have trouble sleeping at night without the entire Rick episode going down. We've been avoiding each other like the plague ever since. It just isn't the same anymore.

Fortunately, the Northern High table is closest to the curtain, so our group only struggles for a few seconds carrying the table over to its designated spot. "Uhhh." We all grunt as we set it down. "Okay, we need four chairs." I say, and we move back behind stage to retrieve the chairs that have been left behind.

"Do you know what the lightning round is by chance?" Donna asks me while we're grabbing chairs. I can barely see her as it's dark and shadowy behind stage.

"I think it requires one member from each team to answer a series of questions in order to win points for their team." I say while walking. "And each person gets one shot. Whoever scores the most points wins for their whole team, so the tie is broken."

"Okay. That makes sense." We tuck the chairs in underneath the table. "What if the people doing the lightning round still tied? Wouldn't that be hilarious?" Donna chuckles.

I chuckle as well. "I'd love to see that." We briefly share a laugh before walking over towards the other side of the stage. What would happen if something were to go wrong during Whack-Your-Brain? I doubt that would happen, though.

"Hey, Vivian." Marco walks over to me. "Do you mind grabbing your clipboard? I put the name tags of the team members inside of them. Just set them out on the tables for me."

"Sure thing." I walk to the edge of the stage where I set down my signature secretary object, a fancy clipboard that's also a small container for papers that opens and closes. "Hey, where do each of these go? Does order matter?" I call over to Marco.

"Not to us." He answers. "We'll let the team members decide where they wanna sit later. For now just setting them down will do."

"Alright." I decide that the four names that I don't know belong to the Northern contestants. One of them is named Mick, ironically rhyming with Rick's name. Oh goodness. Now I'm tying anything back to Rick.

After I set down the names of the Degrassi contestants without looking at them, afraid of reading Rick's name, I sit down at the edge of the stage and fold my hands together. Thinking of Rick reminds me of his father, Mr. Murray. Man they resemble each other so strongly! Almost how much I resemble my mom, which leads me to think back to what I found in that trunk in our attic Tuesday afternoon...

"Help me rearrange the tables, Thumbelina, and you can daydream later."

I snap my head up as Alex stands over me. Has she looked in the mirror ever? Alex has only a couple of inches on me, if even that. As I move along with tasks, I keep reminding myself that she only has today and tomorrow left to be the vice president of the council, and then she's out! This in itself is enough motivation.

"I'm Thumbelina?" The remark just slides out of my mouth. Usually I'm one to let Alex's sass slide off my shoulders, but apparently there's something different about this morning. I stand up to face Alex.

"Save it, Vivian. There's too much stuff to do." Alex walks towards the tables.

"Oh, so you're the only one allowed to have an attitude?" I follow her.

She faces me again. "You got a problem, princess?" She glares at me. "'Cause I can sock you right in the face like I did your friend."

"By all means, get yourself expelled from the entire school, and I'll sleep like a baby." I cross my arms. "Now do you need help with the tables, or what?"

Marco walks over to us. "Is...there a problem, guys?" He asks awkwardly.

"Just chatting." I don't look at Marco but instead, flash a fake smile towards Alex.

"Or so she calls it." Alex rolls her eyes and moves towards the tables again.

"Vivi-G," Marco places his hand on my shoulder. "Just two more days, and you guys can bicker whenever you want."

"You'd think she'd at least try to be nice just to switch things up." I sigh.

"Alex? Nice? C'mon, Vivian, come back to Degrassi." He pats my shoulder. "Would it make you feel better if I said that she used to call me Marco the fruit because I'm gay?"

I face him, widening my eyes. "Uh...no? I just makes me want to kill her more." Then I quickly shake my head. "I'm sorry, Marco, I shouldn't say that about my own teammate."

"You're too nice for calling her that." He chuckles. "Don't worry about trying to impress everyone. There will always be people who won't like you for stupid reasons."

"I know." I say. "It's just so annoying when this occurs all of the time."

"Yeah, well...Alex is like that with almost everyone she meets."

So why the heck is she on student council? I hold that thought for myself. No use beating a dead horse.

Marco shrugs. "I really don't know." He rushes over to assist Alex with the tables.

I move to the other table and reflect Marco and Alex's arrangement. The tables are set at a diagonal, the end closest to the podium slanted inward. Donna helps me.

"Hey, Vivian," she asks me, "have you seen Heather lately?"

Now that she mentions it, I don't remember the last time I saw her, and I tell her this.

"I'll try and flag her down once classes start." I look down at my digital watch and see that that's in less than thirty-five minutes.

"Hasn't she been at the meetings, like, twice since the switch?"

"Huh? Oh!" I laugh once I realize she's referring to when Heather Sinclair resigned from her secretary position, and I took over. "Close...three times she's been here."

"Whoa. That's a lot." Remarks a sarcastic Donna. "Aren't you in trouble after two unexcused absences?"

"One of her absences was excused, so this absence would be her last excused one. That and I'm new here, and I don't want to be the attendance police so soon."

"Hey, someone has to hold people accountable for their actions." Donna says. "Why doesn't Heather just quit? Her hands are clearly full with other things."

I shrug. "When she wants to, she will."

"I think someone will have to give her the boot before that happens."

I sigh. "Probably." I walk over to the tables where Marco is...and Alex.

He's on his cell phone as Alex is facing him. She looks up at me, rolls her eyes, and faces Marco again. You're not a sight for sore eyes either, Alex.

"No, no, you're way better off staying home." Marco says into his cell. "I'll pass it along to Vivian." There's a pause. "Yeah, I'm glad you picked her too." He looks at me as he chuckles. "Yeah she's awesome. Okay. Take care of yourself. Bye."

"What was that?" Alex crosses her arms.

"Sinclair." Answers Marco. He looks at the both of us. "You guys won't believe this, but…"

Rick Murray

Thirty minutes later...

Fishing through my black messenger bag, I find today's most treasured item inside: a red bottle of black spray paint. Good. Still here and all inside the bottle. Strapping the bag across my chest, I stuff the bottle back in my bag, slam my locker door and move quickly through the corridor that's rapidly filling up with students. These days I'm lucky if I get three dirty looks per day. People have gone about their lives now and pay me no mind. I couldn't be more relieved.

But there's always those few special guys who love to remind me where I stand amongst the ranks of this school. It's as if I'm shrouded in this invisible barrier, and those who shalln't be named shatter this barrier, this safe haven of mine, whether through taunts or physical harassment, and make me visible. They remind me that I haven't really been forgotten about, that I'm a freak. A geek. A loser. A psycho. They manipulate the entire student body into laughing at me, leaving me back at the beginning over and over again.

It's time I play their game.

I'm an expert as I swerve through the crowded hallways and make my way outside. The temperature is a little warm, unseasonably warm, this day in October. There's a nice cool breeze and the sun is out, ideal weather for this time of year.

I make my way towards the student parking lot, towards the side of the school. Where do they usually park? I don't see Spinner's beat up piece of crap car anywhere. Class is about to start in five minutes. I chastise myself for not knowing better. It's Gavin after all. The attendance office even probably doesn't expect him to be on time. Oh well. I can wait. It'll get my adrenaline pumping.

I proceed to observe the parking lot just in case I might have overlooked the car, although I know that's a joke. Who could miss that ugly sight?

After a good few minutes, I conclude that Gavin's car isn't here when I hear the movement of a car from behind me. Quickly I dash behind my designated spot —a large van—and hide, peering out cautiously from behind.

It's exactly who I was waiting for. Gavin hastily pulls into a parking lot next to the maroon GMC van I'm hiding behind. As soon as he emerges from his car with his god awful haircut, the school bell rings, signaling the beginning of class. Spinner looks down at his watch and flings his backpack over one shoulder, hurrying off inside of the building. I'm shocked that he cares so much about being late; meanwhile I'm the one cutting class. Oh how the tables have turned.

Now the fun begins. I make sure that Gavin is completely out of sight before I come out from hiding. I look around to see if any of his crew is hanging out trying to avoid class. The few students I do see are hurrying off in opposite directions. No tall, slender kid in a jersey. No guy wearing a black, backwards baseball cap. No short girl with jet black hair, baggy pants and hoop earrings. Perfect.

It doesn't take me long to reach Spinner's car, and even less time to pull out my red, spray paint bottle. This is for all of the hell you've caused me. I shake the bottle, and, without hesitation, without pausing, paint a giant, black "X" on the driver's window. The process doesn't take me longer than fifteen seconds, and now I'm staring down at my work.

I'm swallowing what just happened, and the future consequences that seemed so vague just moments before are now vivid in my imagination. I haven't really thought them through, but honestly, what worse could Spinner do than what he's already done? Fire spitballs at my head? Slam me into the locker? Mock me in class? Vandalize my locker, or my poster board presentation? Throw me in the dumpster? I know my tormentor well. I really should be doing more damage, much more damage, to even the score, but I'm short on time.

Shaking the bottle, I look for the car of my other enemy. I'm saving the best, or in Jay's case, the worst of the worst, for last. That hoodlum in training. I'll tag him for mine's and Vivian's sake.

I haven't seen the rat lately, but I've just about had it with him and his posse. What's worse is that he dragged Vivian into this mess, and that in itself pisses me off beyond reason. Bastard ruined my chances with her. I don't expect her to ever come around after Tuesday afternoon. No. I can't let my strength down thinking about her. Focus.

I walk a little ways out at a leisurely pace to avoid attention. I've spotted Jay's orange Civic farther out from the rest of the cars. I can feel the rush of adrenaline stronger with each step. He'll thoroughly enjoy my love note. If anything happened to that stupid car, any remote destruction, I honestly believe that the fellow will cry his cold heart out. And I'll laugh my ass off. Maybe I should have installed hidden cameras in their cars. Then I quickly disregard the thought. That would be documented evidence held against me. If I want to save anything about my standing reputation it's my intelligence. The labels "freak" and "idiot" don't go together well.

With a smirk on my face, I shake the spray paint bottle a few additional times before painting an enormous "X" that covers not only the window but the entire door on the driver's side of Jay's car. I always thought you were more of X-man than a J myself.* The feeling of satisfaction that I currently have is so strong it freaks me out.

My work here is done. Hastily I make my way back towards the side entrance of the school building and make my way inside the building. I take the longest detour to get to class to avoid any trouble. Inside the sun-lit hallways it's mostly empty, as everyone is attending their classes. Occasionally I glance behind me to make sure that I have no followers. Refusing to risk being seen, I take the staircase up to the second floor and make my way back down to the ground floor, avoiding the lobby like the plague. I hastily stuff the spray paint bottle in my bag before finding an alternative staircase that leads back down to the grade 10 hallways.

I've been here too damn long. Because of my expulsion, I have to repeat the entire grade again. Grade ten wasn't a challenge the first time I went through it (well three quarters of it at least), and this time around feels like a joke. I've spoken with Mr. Simpson, and he's determining whether or not he can have me skip the entire grade so I can get caught up. "Just do Whack-Your-Brain for now," he told me. Doing well in it, he said, will prove to Principal Raditch that I've earned my place in Grade Eleven. The biggest joke since coming back. Degrassi could be on fire, the students everywhere screaming as they're being burned alive, and Raditch still wouldn't do anything about it.

As I approach the corner of the hall, I glance over my shoulder one last time. Still no followers: the halls are ghostly vacant. I can feel the stiffness of my shoulders ease out. Well played: I've gotten away with my scheme. I sigh before turning back around.

The guy comes out of nowhere. I don't know how I miss a guy as tall as he, but as soon as my face runs smack into his razor sharp elbow, I know who it is before looking up at him.

Jimmy groans at the collision. He looks down at me, scowling, holding his wrist. Weakling. I didn't bump you that hard. "You might wanna watch where you're watch where you going, loser."

I expected much better from him. What a disappointment.

Watch me bite, "You might wanna watch where you're going, Neanderthal." I swerve past him.

"What you just say?" Jimmy quickly blocks my path. I bite my lip in frustration. Screw his basketball skills!

Before either of us attack each other (I would take my chances and get beat up, but at least I would go out fighting), Mr. Simpson slowly approaches us. He pauses a few feet away from Jimmy, his hands behind his back. Great we're busted.

"Morning, sir." Jimmy says cheerily, and it makes me want to strangle him. "I have a hall pass." He shows Simpson the plastic-wrapped piece of paper. In spite of his horrible angelic act, Jimmy's still everyone's beloved star athlete. "I'm good."

Simpson looks over at him, squinting as if he's reading his mind. "Quick. The world's three largest rivers in order."

I scowl in confusion. That sounds like a question from Whack-Your-Brain. Why is he asking him a question like that?

"Uhh…" Jimmy sounds about as puzzled as I feel. He looks over at me like I'm going to help him out. "Let's see…" Yeah, let's see if you study just as much as you play sports. "The...Nile, Amazon", he uses his fingers to count them, "and the...Yangtze?" He looks back at Simpson.

He struggled with basic geography. What a disgrace to his class he is.

"Most NBA championships?" Next question.

"Boston Celtics. Why?" Immediate response. No brain power was used to formulate an answer dealing with sports. I wonder why.

"Okay, well…" Mr. Simpson looks over at me. "We've got our geography and sports covered." He begins walking away. "Rick, meet your new teammate."

"WHAT?!" Mr. Simpson, come back over here and tell me this is a joke.

But he continues walking away. "Heather Sinclair just came down with Mono." He faces us one last time. "Her lost is Jimmy's game. Welcome to Whack-Your-Brain." His voice fades the farther he walks away, leaving Jimmy and I back to where we left off.

Jimmy turns to face me, frowning in my direction. I stare back at him, envisioning the dumbfounded look I probably have on my face now. He can't do this. Simpson can't let Jimmy play on the team. He's not friends with anyone on it let alone me, the obvious enemy.

"Figures," Jimmy says, "that Snake puts me on the team with geeks. Figures somebody has to make Degrassi look good." He walks past me, bumping my shoulder with his.

Left alone in the hallway, I'm thinking that Karma has never felt more real than at this moment. Degrassi is looking for all kinds of ways to punish me. Every time I fight back, I'm beaten down more, deeper and deeper into the ground.

Why do you hate me this much, Degrassi?

*: Please forgive me for the horrible joke, but I couldn't resist! XD