I hadn't posted an update in almost a year, and I apologize for letting life get in the way. I did, however, purposefully take my time writing this chapter, the longest update I have ever written, because I wanted to put everything together and have it flow perfectly. That being said, this entire story is far from perfect, but this is my baby, and I will finish this thing no matter how much time it takes. If you are reading this still, I salute you for all of your patience and support. This is the chapter you've been waiting for, and I'm proud to say I've finished it.

You might wanna take some time out to read the last few chapters over again to refresh your memory if you need to. Enjoy.

DISCLAIMER: I used lines, once again, from the two-part episode of "Time Stands Still". That's all Degrassi. Not me.

XXXIX. Resolution: Rick

(Part 1)

Rick Murray

Who do I shoot first?

Everyone's in class, so the halls are eerily silent as I float down the corridor. If they were thriving with students, I'm pretty sure they'd laugh at me too. My old backpack is clutched against my chest. The spirit of my father is tucked safely inside of it.

I don't know how I'm going to execute this; I only know that bodies will hit the floor. If I could find a way to gather them into a classroom, hold each of those fuckers hostage, and shoot them off one-by-one, mangle their faces with the gun before killing them—and by this point they would beg me to finish them—that would be the best revenge. If only I had a knife too: I could saw off that bitch's hair before slicing her to pieces. Emma. What a poser. Think she's the heroine of this story, helping out the poor boy who was bullied. Yeah right.

Now I'm wishful thinking. Wishful thinking. I have a glock with a limited amount of rounds. I have to save them for the absolute scum of the scum of Degrassi. Nonetheless Emma gets one. Emma fucking gets one. Along with everyone else who's responsible for my new look. Surprise attack will have to do. It is effective. At least I have that.

Seventeen. That's the magic number. Seventeen lucky souls will be selected to receive the Degrassi Scum Award. Their prize? My bullet.

Slowly I roam the halls looking for someone to lock eye contact with, so I can scare them away with a cold glare. Scare all of their asses. I'll spare them if for the moment, but only before I've killed everyone I'm looking for first. There's at least nine of those fuckers. Seven lucky ones will be chosen last minute. The last will be for me. The grand finale that everyone will die for in the end—pun intended. The end of Rick the psycho.

I steadily make my way down the main floor corridor, towards the cafeteria, not having to swerve for a second as students part like the Red Sea upon looking at me. Ha. Spineless pieces of shit. Thought you were all badasses just a month ago with your beating the shit out of me. Stick around for show-and-tell.

Emma.

Alex.

Spinner.

Jay.

This is starting to get more practical. Let's keep this going:

Brandon.

Luke.

Craig.

Paige.

Stacy.

I'm tempted to whip out my glock for fear factor. Scare everyone. Get their blood rising. Torture them just the way they tortured me. Begging me for their lives. Yes, please beg me! Let me enjoy watching you suffer. The way you enjoyed me suffering just moments before. And maybe cry a little bit? Have a meltdown. Make these last moments of my life—and yours—worth it.

I haven't named seventeen people yet. No matter. Nine is just fine. Anyone who thinks they can play hero can have the remaining bullets. Seven remaining bullets. That last one is for me.

Ivory Mann

"So what exactly are you trying to say, Ivory?"

Snake and I are now sitting on the steps outside of the double doors to the gym. I developed diarrhea of the mouth as I confided in him about my relationship with Rick two years ago. Do I like him? Hell no. But did I think the paint and feathers was over-the-top? Of course!

"I am sooo confused about the amount of sympathy I feel for Rick right now." I reply to Snake. "How can I feel sorry for him? After how he treated me and knowing what he's capable of..."

"Human nature?" My teacher suggests. "You shouldn't beat yourself up about that. It was wrong the way they treated him on stage, so of course you wouldn't feel good about it." He sighs. "I thought we were finally moving forward with everything. The finals today was supposed to prove that." He faces me. "I'm interested in hearing more of what you think, Ivory."

I shrug. "What's more to say?"

"I don't know." Snake replies in a way suggesting that he actually DOES know. "Say you were a teacher, better yet the principal, of Degrassi right now and witnessed this happen to one of your students. How would you respond to the situation?"

"Who me?" I echo. "Well...I think what Raditch is doing, finding out who did it, is a good thing, so I guess I'd do what he's doing right now."

"Would you do anything else?"

"I mean..." I stare at the glass windows on the gym doors, "I guess I'd check up on Rick and see how he's doing...make sure he had someone to talk to."

I look at Snake again. "But there is literally NO ONE here who likes Rick! Accept for, like, two or three people! Maybe I'd reach out to those kids too, if I were the principal, and get them to talk to him. Of course I'd also talk to him as well."

"I like everything you said, Ivory." Snake nods at me. "But Imma let you in on a little secret: you don't have to be a principal to do any of those things."

"Neither do you, Snake."

He raises his eyebrows at me. I like that I outwitted him.

"But is a student allowed to investigate why the kid, who was terribly humiliated, came back? Not only would I talk to Rick, but I would be very, very worried about why he's here this afternoon. Doesn't that seem odd to you, Mr. Simpson? Haven't you thought about that? Has Mr. Raditch thought about it?"

Now it's Snake's turn to avert his eyes straight ahead of him, a pale blue gaze that looks like he's staring at Rick in his yellow paint. "That...is very strange."

"Then why are we still sitting here?"

Rick Murray

Deja Vu.

All of the laughter in the cafeteria. I'm standing on that Goddamn stage all over again. The dumbass jocks. The snotty, prissy-piss girls. They toss their heads over their shoulders, with hair wreaking of mousse and hairspray and flat-iron singed heat, and mingle with their cosmetic clones around them. If only I knew where my father kept his rounds of bullets! I'd murder everyone in this cafeteria.

But I found Miss Michalchuk. My main piece of meat.

She spots me! Her hair sweeps over her shoulder as she tosses her head in my direction. Looking a lot like the other blondes around her, only uglier.

To my surprise, she rises from her chair and casually makes her way towards me, the rhythmic click-clack of her heels steady and reverberate across the shiny floor of the cafeteria as she walks across.

Yes, Paige. Come over to me, sweetheart, and make my slaughtering you that much easier.

She's five steps away. Four steps. Three steps. Two.

Her perfume mixed with the smell of her hair reminds me of a batch of strawberries that were overheated in the oven.

She's right in front of me. Paige Michalchuk. Her and her porcelain white flesh. Arms and shoulders completely visible as she wears a plum-colored, feathery tube top. Fresh meat. The first to seal her fate. My first victim of the day. I can see clearly her face, framed by her feathery blonde hair, striking pale blue eyes, clean face, spattered and matted in her own blood.

My hand is in my bag. Here we go.

"Look," she speaks, "I know you and I aren't exactly best friends..."

You got that right, Miss Perfect. I gradually begin to lift the gun from my bag, the metal cold against my fingers.

"...but...I wanted to say that I thought the whole paint and feathers thing was...sickening. It was really childish."

It was that easy. To rattle. To crack. All it took were those words. Her words. Now I'm thrown off balance. In a second I was thinking of blowing her brains all across the cafeteria, and now I find myself back pedaling.

Instead of following through with Plan A, I quickly bury the gun in its respectable hiding place.

"I'm-I'm sorry." The words slip from my mouth. "...for hurting Terri."

Paige responds with a nod, and she awkwardly walks away from me, returning to her seat in the cafeteria.

SHOOT HER! My malice-filled subconscious is screaming at me. KILL HER! KILL HER!

Only I can't. I fucking can't. I thought I could just a second ago.

Fine. She didn't commit the prank anyway it seems. But next person you'll kill…

Oh god. I can't do this.

I'm not a killer. I'm not "psycho" enough. Not that person. Why? Why? Why? I was unwavering just seconds before, and now I'm doubting everything!? Just because Paige...Paige was supposed to be her usual snotty self and say something evil and demeaning like she normally does and I was supposed to kill her in an act of justice. I was supposed to have the upper hand. I can't just shoot her now.

Instead I take deep breaths, steady, in and out, before I turn and leave the cafeteria at a slow pace. Something inside of me shatters, like a giant glass vase that was knocked off of its coffee table. Shatters all over the bottom of my stomach, causing my head to spin. My palms to sweat. My forehead to sweat. Now that my thinking through a wave of rage and detestation has subsided, maybe, my new train of thought develops, maybe this whole thing was a mistake. I'm nothing but a coward at the core even when I have nothing to lose. Maybe I can muster enough courage to turn the gun on myself. Maybe.

Queenie Parker

Am I panicking? Me? Ha! Only a little bit. I've only heard from Vivian and the news a thousand times what happened to those kids at that high school in Colorado five years ago!* I'm cool.

It's been about ten seconds since the bell rung, but I can't find myself to leave the classroom, so I'm stalling by pretending to gather all of my *one* books and rummaging through my backpack. It's a timeless classic since the beginning of high school that'll guarantee to win your teacher over just by appearing pathetically studious. Miss Kwan's a sucker for that.

Meanwhile I contemplate on changing the world by simply opening my mouth. One of two things could happen: I save everyone, get crowned Queen of the school, or set off the world's lousiest false alarm and cause unnecessary chaos. It's a good thing I'm gonna die soon.

And if I'm going out, I'm going out by cancer. Not by no damn nerd!

You know what? Fuck that! If I have to be the human sacrifice, so be it! Kill me quickly, dammit! But you ain't gon' kill nobody else.

I just have to make it to my destination first. That's all that counts. It's amazing how bullets haven't started flying, and I'm already going off the deep end. A couple of students—the pathetically studious nerds like the one I'm pretending to be—briskly walk into Miss Kwan's classroom and claim their seats: one in the front corner, the other in the back two seats down from me. If they survived the transition to class, unnerved, like their usual dorky selves, then everything's alright—for now. No big deal. I just have to act natural in the seconds it'll take me to get there. Right?

I pause. Draw in a breath. Release it. I need to find my center before I take off like a bullet—oh damn!

Flinging my backpack over my shoulder, I high tail it out of the classroom like a geek avoiding the tardy bell. Just by glancing around the hallway, I can tell everything is normal. No one's running, screaming, sobbing or wide-eyed. No crowding, pushing or shoving. No Falling. No kids getting trampled. Good, good. I will live after all. I don't stop power walking, though, until I reach the guidance counselors' main office area.

"Is Miss Sauvé in her office?" I ask the secretary at the guidance counselor's office, a closed off area from the hallway. I'm safe in here. I hold on to the desk where she sits as I stop to catch my breath.

"I'm right behind you!" Miss speaking-of-which announces, and I quickly whip my head around to face her and her bubbly demeanor. "Would you like to schedule an appointment with me next week?"

"No, no...this can't wait." I say, panting. "I need to talk to you... now."

"Come sit." Miss Sauvé, with a firm hand on my shoulder, walks me over to the waiting area where a small, beige coffee table sits in the center of two blue sofas. "What's troubling you?"

"It isn't me." I inhale, then pause. "It's...it's Rick Murray."

"What about Rick?" Sauvé asks.

It's not until someone finally asks about him, not until his name is in the air, do I realize I have to explain what I think may be going through his head right now, and not jump the gun (shit I did it again!) with my overactive imagination. "So I was in English, right?" I tell her about Toby and how he spoke with Rick and that Rick is back at Degrassi.

"Rick told Toby that this was the one time he wanted to be at school." I explain. "I find that...off putting. Doesn't that sound weird to you? I can't tell you what he's doing or why he's back, but what I can say is that something is wrong with him, based on what Toby told me."

Miss Sauvé nods her head. "Thanks for telling me, Queenie. Now answer me this: why did you decide to come to me?"

"Well, isn't this why they pay you?!" I reply. "I'm not Rick's friend. I can't talk to him, but I was wondering if you possibly could."

"You sure about that?" Sauvé says.

"I am really, really, really, REALLY worried about that kid." I say. "Something is off. If someone could just talk to him, please, that would be great." I can't tell Sauvé for sure that Rick could possibly want to...hell I don't even know that for sure. But it pays to be safe. I don't wanna sit around and find out that I was right.

"Queenie, you should know: I'm not the best person to help Rick out if he's this distraught. Of course I can do my job and host counseling sessions, but at this point, I might need some help...from you."

"I don't get it. What is there that I can possibly do?"

Rick Murray

It's like holy water as opposed to nasty tap water from the bathroom sink. Luke warm, hot. Smooth. Combined with foamy hand soap, the yellow paint slides off my face easily. I scrub away at everything, wash all of the mortification I experienced down the drain. As if my pain was this tangible substance that could be extinguished if using water. The more I clean, the more my face reappears in the mirror: pale and droopy. Devoid and sad. I feel like I'm in a prison: surrounded by white walls and white sinks.

After my conversation with Paige in the cafeteria, I came out of my head for the first time this afternoon, and I could feel the crusty yellow paint: hardening against my skin like glue and beginning to itch. My mind clear of rage, I carefully set my bag—along with the gun—in my locker before I came to the boys' restroom.

Now, as I wash up at the sink, I find that the paint and feathers is harder to remove from my hair than my skin. I grab wet clumps of sticky white and yellow from my head, along with some long brown strands, and dump it into the sink. I aggressively finger comb my hair to remove the paint that has dried hard into it. It's like mustard that had gone bad. Crusty and a little smelly. I scrub, lather, exfoliate until I'm satisfied. After one final rinse of my face, I turn off the running facet and stare at myself in the mirror. I'm a pathetic, sad human being. Hardly a man. Failed mass murderer. I stare at myself and sigh. Pale and droopy. Devoid and sad. Richard Murray. I'd kill to be anyone but me right now.

But you wouldn't kill. A thought that pops into my mind as I reach for a paper towel roll sitting on the sink only to find that it's empty. Can you even kill yourself?

But then I think of the interaction I had with Paige. That life can't be so bad if even my enemies are beginning to turn around and have pity on my part. Not that I need pity from ANYONE, I crank the handle on the paper towel holder and come up empty handed, but if I had to take it from someone, it would be her.

I decide to move into a stall and use the thin toilet paper to dry my face when I hear voices that make my heart hammer.

"Jay, LISTEN!" It's Spinner.

Fuck my life! Quickly I swing the door to the bathroom stall close.

I hear the bathroom door open, as I stand and listen from the stall, and two pairs of sneakers enter, according to my speculation.

"Raditch knows, man!" Spinner's voice is unmistakable this time as he speaks to an unknown.

There is a pause that lasts for a few seconds. My heart freezes in my chest. Do they see me? I'm doomed without a gun.

But then the conversation continues to my relief, "About Jimmy? Yeah i'm surprised nobody's figured it out yet."

That's a new voice. Too clear and projecting to belong to Spinner's. It's Jason Hogart.

"Dude..." another pause. Spinner again for a brief moment.

"Jimmy set the whole thing up perfectly." Jay says. "The way he got all those easy sports questions wrong..."

"...Yeah and made sure that psycho boy was all alone in the final round..." The nasal Spinner once again. Jackass. Why does he always sound retarded when he talks?

"Never would've happened without a man on the inside." Jay talks again, then there's a silence. I detect a bit of snickering before I hear their footsteps scuffling again, the door of the bathroom swinging open, and their footsteps fading away as they move out into the hallway.

It was that easy. Once again. I was calm, sane, even a little relieved that I wouldn't have to kill anybody. That didn't last long. Should I even be surprised? It's Degrassi's signature move: something miraculous happens, and I dare to think that maybe, maybe life isn't so bad, then, BAM. Sneak attack.

"We were just messing with you, bud", Degrassi tells me, "There are no miracles here."

I have a list of miracles turn tragedies—and pending:

Vivian for not loving me anymore.

Emma for pretending to care.

And now Jimmy Brooks.

JIMMY. How dare he!? How could he!?

My stomach has been gutted and all of my intestines have spilled all over the floor. Then the surgeon, a surgeon named Dr. Brooks, has piece by piece sewn me back together. Then he takes a chainsaw, an oversized chainsaw, and rips me open with a cruder, sickening, sadistic force. He's left a bloodied mess. Then he continues by stabbing me in the back-with the chainsaw, and it rips through my ribcage, my heart on the tail end of the weapon, crashing right through my chest, smashing through bone, and hitting the floor with a giant splat. This automatically puts him at the top of the list. Jimmy must pay. Jimmy must die. There's no way in hell that he deserves all of the nice things he has: his stellar basketball career, his hot girlfriend, shared fame as the cool guy in Whack-Your-Brain. Fuck him. I'll rip him away from all of it. Why don't I have a knife too?

I slowly open the stall door. My fear is completely gone, and I can only see one person in front of me: malicious, backstabbing Jimmy.

Queenie Parker

"Alright thanks for the heads up. Buh-bye."

Miss Sauvé hangs up the phone and faces me. "Miss Kwan told me that Rick never made it to class." he says.

Goosebumps cover my skin. I knew it! I fucking knew it! "Wh-where could he be?"

"I'm not sure." Sauvé sighs. "I could make a call to the front office and have his name announced to come to my office."

"No! No! What if he panics!?" The way I am right now. "I have to look for him. I have to stop him! I don't want him to hur—" I pause, "...to get himself in trouble."

"What kind of trouble would he be in?" Miss Sauvé asks.

"I don't know." I lie. "But...I need...to talk to him."

"Rick could be anywhere in the school, and you know it." Sauvé says. "I have to put in an announcement, Queenie."

I hold my breath. "Alright, Miss Sauvé. Do what you will. But I'll find him first."

Like a mad woman, I dash towards the main entrance to the guidance counselor's office and crash through the door with a bewildered woman calling frantically after me.

As soon as I'm far enough away from the office, and after a couple of teachers yell at me to slow down, I pull out my cell phone and call Vivian again.

"Vivian!" I shout her name. "There's something you should know about."

Rick Murray

I open the door to the men's restroom, look cautiously around, and then step out.

No one's around.

Don't look suspicious. You've cleaned yourself up, and you're going to your locker to get your backpack and go home like the good little boy you are. Nothing unusual about that.

Adjusting my glasses, I make my way casually down the hall, past the rows upon rows of grade ten lockers. Dark grey, light green, light gray, light green, light gray, dark green, light gray, yellow, gray, gray, dark gray. More or less the color sequence that doesn't remain consistent throughout the school. My locker is the generic gray color. The ugliest color that a locker could be, and I have one of them along with hundreds of other students. Grades nine and ten get the older, shabbier lockers with dents in the doors and scratches all over from past graffiti.

Consequently I was looking forward to being in grade eleven as the upperclassmen have the newer, cleaner, nicer-looking lockers. That is...until I had to repeat the fucking grade all over again. I should have listened to my mother all along and switched schools. There is absolutely nothing for me here.

I put my hands in my pocket to appear nonchalant as I stroll steadily down the corridor, and that's when, to my right, her locker pops out like a sore thumb.

Vivian's locker.

I freeze in my tracks as I look at her pale yellow locker. I would stop by and visit her in between class periods. There's a photo of her mom taped inside along with colorful flower magnets and a small face mirror. I remember her complaining about how awful the color of her locker was, that she could have gotten a light gray one and would be happy about it. "But no: I had to be assigned to one of the ugliest colors ever, and the less common. What rotten luck!" This was usually followed by a chuckle. Vivian laughing is one of my favorite sounds at Degrassi.

Was my favorite sound.

Now all laughing reminds me of is Whack-Your-Brain when my teammates thought it funny to…

FUCK THEM ALL! I place my hands on either side of my head, trying to get the laughing to stop, but I can't...they're in my head! I can't get them to stop!

I see them all again, everybody in the audience of the gym, laughing and pointing and falling out of their chairs. Jay, Spinner and Alex are laughing with them. It happened in front of the cameras. In front of Northern High. In front of Mr. Simpson…

And Vivian. She was there.

I briefly remember locking eyes with her. They were huge, and her hands were covering her mouth. For a moment I imagine her bursting out laughing. If she laughed at me, after all we had been through, I swear to god that would have made me kill myself. Was she choking back a laugh? Was she? WAS SHE? My hands turn into fists. How dare she? How DARE she? We went through so much shit! I SAVED HER LIFE! And she thought that stunt they pulled was funny?! Was she amused...?

"Rick!"

The sound of my name makes me jump. It's a female voice. A very familiar female voice Vivian...?

No. It's Queenie. What does she want? Suddenly I am disappointed.

I turn and face her, but I don't talk.

She bends over, panting and gasping for air. It's like she ran a marathon. "I was...looking for you. I called you four times trying to reach you! Don't you have your cell phone?" She looks up at me, her mouth open as she continues to breathe heavily.

"It's in my locker. Where I was going now."

Queenie stands upright and looks me up and down. "Wh-what happened to your backpack?"

"Also in my locker."

"Oh." She fidgets her fingers. "I just wanted to check and see if you were okay. I saw you earlier coming back to school covered in paint still, and..." she looks me up and down again. "You're...not anymore. Does that mean you're alright now?"

"I've never been better. Excuse me while I go to my locker."

"Rick wait." Queenie grabs my arm. She squeezes so tight that it hurts. "Why didn't you go to class?"

"I..." I look at her. We're practically the same height, me being only a couple of inches taller than she is. She looks like a 5 feet 4 girl tops, but that's not so much bragging points for me being only 5'6". I have to prove my masculinity in other ways. "...I was told to go home."

"But you're still here." Queenie says. "Why didn't you…" she falters even though I know what she was fixing to say, and it makes me aggravated.

"Go home after the show?" I raise my voice. "Does everyone think I'm that much of a coward that they think the paint and feathers would make me go away? Is that what everyone wants?"

"No one would blame you for staying home, Rick! What happened was God awful!" Queenie shrieks. "I hated seeing you up there with pain in your eyes. I know what it's like to feel life isn't worth the hassle when everything about it hurts."

"What are you pitying me now?"

"No." Queenie's calmer this time around. "I'm relating to you." She removes her blue, heart-covered beanie off her head. "I told you about this—" she points to her baldness "—remember? I understand."

I gently remove Queenie's hand from my arm. "How could I forget? Now please I've got to get going."

For the first time I notice Queenie trembling. "I-I'll come with you."

"I can make the journey alone, Queenie."

"I'm sure you can." She walks with me side by side, and my impatience with her begins to grow.

"I really have business to take care of, Queenie, and with all due respect, it's personal."

"I bet it is." She retorts.

"Queenie, I'm serious." I pause to face her. "Leave me alone. I need to be left in silence."

"I'm just as serious." Queenie faces me. "And believe me when I say I'm not leaving your side until you make it out of this building."

I bite my lip. Fine. I'll kill you too then.

I hastily make my way ahead of Queenie, but she still follows me down the hall. I turn around abruptly when I hear her cell phone ringing, the melody reverberating across the lockers. She pauses to answer the phone, but proceeds to follow me. Groaning, I turn back around, but silence is hard to come by hearing Queenie talk on the phone:

"Hello?"

"Yeah."

"Uh-huh."

"Yep."

"...I'm not sure if I can."

"Fine. I'll try. Yeah."

"Don't worry about it."

"Okay. Bye."

There's a clamp sound as Queenie closes her cell phone, and next she addresses me.

"Hey, Rick! Do you really believe getting even will solve your problems?"

I freeze in my tracks. How did she…?

"Hey, you two! Go to class now!" A male teacher from his class to my left yells at us.

"I'm on my way there, sir!" Queenie shouts back.

I nod at the teacher before he retreats back into his room and closes the door.

"You know what? Wish granted, Rick." Queenie says. "I'll let you be. Just fucking take care of yourself! Don't do anything you'll later regret."

"Who cares, woman?! YOU?" I yell, facing her.

"YES! I do!" She yells right back. "Now what? This might shock your system, but not everyone here is against you, BELIEVE IT OR NOT!"

I glare at her in fury and frustration. "And just how do you know that?" I storm over to her. "What do you know about my life? My friends? My personal life?"

Queenie's mouth drops open. Then she does the unthinkable.

She slaps me across the face, sending my glasses flying across the clearing.

My head jerks to the side, and I swing myself upright to face her, holding my cheek, now furiously stinging. My mouth is open, but words don't come up.

"Hopefully I've knocked some sense into that thick ass skull of yours! Open your eyes, Rick!"

She turns around and moves back in the direction we came from.

What the hell has gotten into her?

Queenie Parker

Three minutes earlier...

Right in the middle of Rick and I's confrontation, my phone rings—yet again.

"Hello?" I answer.

"Hey." It's Vivian's voice. "You still at school right?"

"Yeah."

"Did you...find Rick?" She asks.

"Uh-huh." I reply.

"Is he alright?" Frantic as usual. "Do you still think he has a gun? That he might…"

"Yep." I keep my answers brief as I'm within Rick's earshot.

"Do you still think you can try to stall him? At least until there are other adults around to stop him?"

"I'm not sure if I can."

"Okay. Okay. I'll...I'll call the principal and tell him what I told you about earlier today. Do you think you can keep him busy for long? Until Raditch gets a hold of Rick?"

"Fine. I'll...I'll try. Yeah."

"Queenie, you are an amazing friend. Thanks so much for telling me what you know and for helping him out. This means a lot to me. I hope you know that."

"Yeah no problem." I reply, my eyes glued to Rick's back.

"Okay I can tell by the way you're talking that you're...busy right now. I'll call you later."

"Okay. Bye."

That stupid son-of-bitch. He is past gone if he doesn't remember the time we exchanged our darkest secrets with each other. Don't friends confide in each other like that? Isn't that what friends do?

I was expecting Rick to shoot me in the back as I was walking away from slapping the hell out of him. I've known Rick a little in the past, back when he was dating Terri, but the way he was behaving today...it's like a demon has possessed him, and while I'm not typically the praying type, even with the angel of death knocking at my door, I would perform an exorcism on him if I could.

Scared out of my wits, a few minutes ago i decided to confront Rick about his intentions, and his eyes...looked so...his pupils enlarged...his peepers wide as a whale.

Yet still, through it all, he didn't shoot me.

That was the test. To see if he would have the balls to hurt me. But he didn't.

He spared me for one of two reasons:

One: He doesn't have a gun on him (either right now or not at all)

Two: He has a gun, but he didn't want to shoot me

So which one is it? I don't have time to deliberate with myself!

Instead of following him like a creep all the way to his locker, I turn away, giving him the space he requested before I prepare for round two. I can't leave him alone until he gets the whole 411 on what happened to him, and I'll bring up Vivian's name in order to know for SURE if he wants to go through with his plan...a plan that, admittedly, I'm not entirely sure he's going to execute. But he at least deserves an explanation, and I'll give him just that. I'm not through with you yet, nerd!

Rick Murray

I glance behind me every few seconds to make sure no one else decides to stalk me all the way to my locker. Queenie has officially flown off the handle with her wild claims of me having MULTIPLE friends. MULTIPLE friends!? Is she insane?! Multiple means more than one friend, more than TWO friends.

Two as in the two who turned against me. Two who are worse than Spinner, Jay and Alex even for PRETENDING to care! THEY LIED TO ME! Fuck Emma for leading me on! Fuck Jimmy for setting the whole thing up! And fuck Queenie for having the audacity to tell me I'm wrong! You think I wouldn't notice the few friends that I have here? She's got some nerve!

The bell rings, and students begin to pour out into the halls. The air is vibrant, and everyone is happy, perky, oblivious, stupid little humans. Perfect. Now I have an audience. They're all gonna see me wipe out Jimmy. Just a few more feet, and I'll be at my locker. I just need to open my locker, get out my backpack, and—

I freeze abruptly in my tracks. There's someone there...they're sitting in front of my locker. I develop laser focus and slowly creep closer...until I can see her plainly.

Ivory.

She sits in her light denim pants and a green jersey with a yellow "03" on the front of it. Her hands are crossed neatly over her knees, and she stares down at the floor until I come closer. Then she snaps her head up, her wavy red hair bouncing in front of her wide, emerald green eyes. She always had beautiful eyes. Yet the way she's looking at me...I see fear plastered clear as day on her face. "Hey, Rick." She says.

I bite my lip. Her too!?

"Excuse me, I've got to get to my locker."

"I know you do." She responds. "Raditch told you to get your stuff and go home, right?"

"Yeah he did, and it's weird that you know that too." I reply tartly.

"I was with Snake, who was there whenever the principal told you to go home. That was over forty-five minutes ago, Rick. Why are you still here?"

"Why are you in front of my locker?" I grunt.

"Rick, please. I am not your enemy. I just wanted to check up on you."

"Ivory, I'm not a five-year-old. I assure you I'm fine." I spit.

"I didn't say you were." She stands up, her back against my locker. "Just I found out that you didn't go to class today, and that just didn't sit right with me."

My face begins to flush with heat. "Oh, so NOW you're concerned!? Where was all of this compassion over a month ago?!What about the damn ribbon campaign that Emma started when everyone started smashing me into lockers?! Where was your pity when kids sprayed ketchup in my face for a week straight every time I tried to sit a table full of people? When YOU tossed JUICE in my face? What about then, Ivory? I'll wait for a good answer!"

"Alright, you got me!" She throws her hands up. "I have nothing to hide. No, I didn't want to defend you when you first came back, because, yes, I did think you deserved the treatment you got. Not only did you hurt Terri really bad, but you hurt ME! I called you a bluff from the moment you decided to come back. I thought you wanted to cause more harm to me and to Terri's friends by having the audacity to show your face after everything you did! I had no sympathy for you, Rick! But now I realized how wrong it was for people to bully you whenever they felt like it."

"I'm sorry that you had to go through all of that, Rick. But I want to help now. That's why I keep asking you. You say you're fine, but you're face is as pink as a pig, and you look like you're gonna punch me dead in the face. So I'll ask you one more time: are you sure you're okay?"

My hands curl into fists. "I will be once you get out of my way."

"Then you can stay mad cause she ain't goin' nowhere." A different voice dictates.

I jump as Queenie abruptly hops to Ivory's side, completely blocking the way to my locker. Ivory is flinches too, yet her shoulders slouch in relaxation as Queenie comes to her defense.

"I'm gonna ask you again, Rick." I grit my teeth and sweat under my armpits as Queenie continues to command, "do you really think that getting even will solve all of your problems?"

Ivory snaps her head in Queenie's direction, a frown crossed with confusion and concern on her face.

I glare at Queenie, who also glares daggers at me. "Yes. It will." I say through closed teeth.

"Wow. I've never seen a person so selfish, cold-blooded and heartless in my life." Queenie retorts. "Are you sure that you've changed from last year?"

"You. Bitch." It takes my entire will to restrain myself. I could fucking strangle her. Oooooo I want to so badly.

"You're not gonna hit another girl, are you?" Queenie says. "Or better yet. Do it. Get it out of your system, so you can get out of here, get suspended, and spare yourself the trouble."

I start trembling in fury.

"What trouble?" Ivory looks at Queenie, then at me. "Rick? What's she talking about?"

I briefly glance at Ivory when the intercom makes a crackling sound. Mr. Raditch's voice follows it:

"Pardon the interruption. Will the following students report to Mr. Radtich's office immediately: Gavin Mason. Jason Hogart. Alex Nunez. That's Gavin Mason, Jason Hogart and Alex Nunez to Mr. Raditch's office. Thank you."

Queenie's eyes face the speaker as the announcement ensues, and as soon as it's over, revert their attention back to me. "You hear that? Raditch will take care of them."

"What are you talking about?" I squint.

"Rick, tell me: who is responsible for getting paint and feathers on your suit?"

Ivory gasps, looking back and forth between the two of us.

"What's it to you?" I fire back.

"A lot. Now why don't you answer?"

"If I do, will you let me to my locker?"

"It depends." Queenie answers. "Who did it? Do you even know? Is that why you're back at school today? To confront them, and...?"

"Shut up!" I shout. "Fine! It was Jimmy! Jimmy is the guy I hate! I overheard a conversation in the bathroom, and..."

Suddenly my wits kick in. Jay and Spinner were the ones who gave me his name.

"Imma take a wild guess and say that Spinner and Jay probably ratted on Jimmy." Queenie shakes her head. "Shame on them. Especially Spinner. Lying on his best friend like that."

I grit my teeth. "Well that's fine and dandy, but how do you know that Jimmy couldn't have been an inside man? And how do you even know about any of this?"

"How do you know that Jimmy is an inside man? Because Jay and Spinner told you? Now those are two honest reliable sources, eh, Rick? Wouldn't you agree?"

My face is flushing. As annoying as Queenie is right now, she has a point.

"And, like I said, Raditch will handle it." Queenie's tone is firm. "You don't need to take the law into your own hands, Rick, okay?"

"You're telling me to rely on that dick wad of a principal?!" I raise my voice, and passerbys look in our direction.

Queenie raises her eyebrows.

"As far as I'm concerned, he let this happen! All of it! ALL OF IT! He welcomes me back, sure, but to what? A mob of angry beasts who beat me relentlessly and call it justice? Who humiliate me day after day, week after fucking week? Would you be in a peaceful place right now, Queenie, if you went through what I had to endure this past month?!"

Queenie scoffs. "Do I need to slap you again? Apparently your sanity has affected your memory as well!" She raises her voice to match my volume.

"You're crazy." I retort.

"Apparently not as crazy as you." She growls. "I have fucking CANCER, Rick, or did you forget about that time between classes when I confided in you about that? I don't even know how long I'm going to live for, there's no guarantee I'll have a life ahead of me, and look at you!" She waves her pointer finger in my face like a magic wand. "You have your whole life cut out for you! You're one of the smartest people I know, who could probably get into any school he wanted because of your GPA, and you're focused on this one little moment in your school career? One that will end sooner than you think?! I'm trying to help you by saving you from doing something you'll regret! I said it once, and Imma say it again: open your eyes. Please. Do me that one favor. That's all I ask."

I stand glaring at her in silence. Though I'm not staring directly at Ivory, I notice that she is ghost pale in the face as she stares wide-eyed and mouthed at Queenie.

"I know you are in a lot of pain: you told me that, remember? Don't friends tell each other their darkest secrets? Speaking of friends, Rick, it may not feel like it, but you have them. You do. And they care about you, they worry about you. Hell, why do you think either of us are here?" She gestures between herself and Ivory. "Toby came up to you today because he's worried. And hurt and annoyed that this keeps happening to you. Did you forget about him?"

I fold my arms. "What are you? An expert on my life?" I mumble bitterly under my breath.

"I learned a lot more about you this year than I ever would have cared to last year." Queenie continues. "Vivian has helped me to understand you more as a complex person, and I wouldn't have been able to confide in you without her."

Suddenly I'm cold again. Goosebumps cover my arms and legs even though I'm wearing long sleeves. My heart sinks down into my socks.

"You must have forgotten about Vivian entirely, judging by the look on your face." Queenie crosses her arms. "For a smart guy, that's just plain dumb."

I scoff. "Oh really?"

"Seriously", Queenie continues, "someone as dense as Spinner could see that Vivian cares a lot about you! She has a heart that's bigger than this school, and you know it. At the end of day, no matter how hard I try, I can't control what you do or say, but at least think of her whenever you're about to make a life-changing decision."

"I agree with her." Ivory speaks up for the first time in our argument. "Vivian loves you. You don't have to know much to see the signs. Every time she talks about you, her face lights up."

"And she spends half of her life worrying about you whenever she's not around." Queenie adds.

"You mean like today?" I say tartly. "If Vivian was so concerned about me, why haven't I seen her face ONCE since I came back this afternoon?"

Queenie and Ivory exchange a look with each other, then face me again. They both wear identical squints of utter bewilderment.

"Oh my god, Rick..." Ivory starts.

"Do you need to sit down?" Queenie follows up. "You were there."

"What?" I stare at both of them in turn. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh! Well it happened when Jay and them pulled the prank on you, so..." Ivory shrugs.

"Vivian...she threw up right after they dumped that stuff on you." Queenie says slowly, articulating each word. "Remember? She still has that concussion from falling in the well. It was giving her a headache, which had gotten worse after watching you get humiliated on stage. It physically repulsed her, Rick, don't you get that?! She has so many feelings for you that she suffered just as much as you did."

"Which was also caught on camera." Ivory includes.

Now I squint. "No...that didn't happen. I was there. I would have noticed..." Truth be told, no I wouldn't have. I was too far gone. Too humiliated. Too betrayed.

"No you wouldn't." Queenie says. "You were too traumatized on stage to notice anything else."

I return to the Whack-Your-Brain stage once more:

I remember scanning the eyes of every individual in the audience, and ALL of them were laughing. I could see my team members on stage staring at me in wide-eyed shock. Jimmy...has his hand covering his mouth, and while I'm not looking at him directly, I can tell he looks shocked. Pretenders are good at pretending, so that doesn't say much.

But out in the audience...in the back corner of the room to my right I see Vivian...in her light blue student council t-shirt. Her eyes are HUGE. It's like her pupils are dilated, and although she's in the back of the room, her eyes stand out to me like a sore thumb.

But she isn't laughing. In fact she looks like she's choking, or having trouble breathing...but everything else is a blur. I blocked out the rest of that moment from my memory.

"She...she didn't laugh at me." I say impulsively.

"Of course she didn't." Queenie agrees. "Why would she ever do such a thing? You saved her life once. Twice. Remember when she was trying to get away from Jay? There's your first clue! The guy who hurt Vivian also hurt you today on that stage."

I squint at her.

"You know...I was rooting for you, man. I was happy that you finally received some good attention for once. I'm sorry if I came across as a jerk, and that I slapped you, hehe," she chuckles awkwardly, "I was just trying to help you see the truth. You are cared for, Rick. If it ain't me or Ivory, it's most certainly Vivian."

My face turns red, and my muscles pinch up. Ivory stares off ahead.

"She was the one that called me you know. Vivian? In the hallway a few minutes ago." Queenie says.

"She...she called you?" My voice is barely above a whisper.

"She tried you several times, she said, but couldn't get a hold of you. She asked me to check on you, and she wanted me to let you know... that she's sorry that she can't be here to do it herself, and... that she loves you to pieces. I'd say of all of us, she's the most worried about you. Wouldn't you say, Ivory?"

"Yeah." She snaps her head in Queenie's direction.

"I wouldn't say that Vivian is the most concerned." A gentler voice says from behind me. An adult voice.

I flinch. I'm afraid to turn around, even though I know that he has been on my side always.

"Rick," his large hand rests on my shoulder. "I know it's been hard for you today. And in general. I know it can be difficult to feel as if everything is out of your hands, but I think that Ivory and Queenie are right. You should go home."

I look over my shoulder to my left. Archibald Simpson looks down at me with a heavy gaze filled with concern, yet authority. "I'll make sure they pay for what they did. I promise."

I look at him silently then return the look to Ivory and Queenie who stand up straight but still guard the way to my locker. "I...need my bag, please." I stare at Queenie. "Please let me get my bag."

She stares at me long and hard. I stare back. "Vivian." She utters one word.

We look at each other a few more seconds in silence. It's rare when I see Queenie filled with humility. All the while I've know her, she's been a loud mouth, bubbly, animated, confident. But she's like me when it comes to Vivian: a soft spot makes itself known, and she's suddenly more vulnerable than ever before. Her eyes say everything: Please don't shoot anyone.

And I won't. I fucking won't.

"Queenie? Ivory? I think Rick would like to get his things now." Simpson announces with a slight command in his voice.

"Sure thing." Ivory immediately steps aside as soon as Snake speaks.

Queenie lingers a moment more, tears filling her eyes. "I don't want her to get hurt again. You understand, right?"

I nod slowly. "I won't hurt her, Queenie."

"Or yourself?"

I pause, take in a breath. "Or myself."

She slowly moves forward, but doesn't quite clear the way. A tear rolls down her cheek.

"You can trust me, Queenie. I promise." I wanna cry myself looking at her, but I won't dare.

It's Queenie's turn to nod. "Okay." Finally, she moves aside, the opposite direction of Ivory, so now while they aren't directly in front of my locker, they flank either side of it.

Slowly I make my way to my locker, dial the combination, and unlatch the lock. I can feel Queenie watching me out of the corner of my vision, her eyes stuck on me more than the paint and feathers ever were. As I open my locker, the door open towards her face, and she quickly moves around it and grabs my shoulders with a death squeeze. She rests her chin on my shoulder and whispers in my ear.

"Please, Rick. This means everything." I can feel her shaking, and it causes me to shake.

I rest a hand on top of hers. "I know it does. It's okay." I use my other hand, and slowly, I reach for my bookbag, careful not to disturb the gun resting peacefully inside. My shoulders begin to fall asleep from Queenie squeezing them so tight.

"Let me make you a deal, Rick," I turn around to face Simpson again. Queenie still has a hand on one of my shoulders. "You can give that bag to me, we can walk out of here...and we can start completely over next week. We can forget this ever happened, that you never came back to school this afternoon. That you didn't bring anything with you. Okay?"

There's a silent gasp that comes from Ivory. Queenie loosens her grip on my shoulder. "Okay, Rick?"

I stare at Queenie. She is the calmest that I have seen her this afternoon. Ivory looks at me with a glimmer of hope in those pretty green eyes of hers. Mr. Simpson's gaze is locked on me with a tunnel vision focus on me.

"No." I say calmly. "Not okay."

In an instant, I use my backpack to hit Queenie square in the face, hard enough to make her fall back against the lockers. Before she can bounce back, I pull out the gun and fire a single shot to her head. Blood spatters the lockers behind her as she slumps down to the floor, her brown eyes wide open. The sound of the bullet is so loud—a large, sharp, piercing bang—that it temporarily disables my hearing. The students all around me are in chaos, running and screaming, but to me it's like my head is underwater, so their screams are far, far away from my concern as I turn quickly and fire three shots at Mr. Simpson, all landing in the chest and torso region. He falls to the ground with a gaze of pure shock and confusion on his face. I turn and find Ivory several feet away from me-back faced-as she runs for her life down the hall. I hold the gun steady and stretch my hand out as far as it can go—and shoot. Ivory hits the floor immediately. I stare down at my two dead victims, their pools of blood expanding around them and nearing my dad's black dress shoes.

"Rick, you okay?"

I jump at the sound of Queenie's voice.

She has a hand on my shoulder as I hold my backpack with my other hand. "You're shaking."

I stare at her once again. Her eyes are filled with concern. And she is right to be. Ivory's wide green eyes are worrisome as well, and Snake is scowling at me. What the hell has gotten into me? I'm not this person. I won't be that psycho people make me out to be! I'm not him! I'm not like him! I'M NOT LIKE MY FATHER. I'm not him. I won't be him. No, no, no, no, no, NO.

"I...I think I'll go home now." I finally answer, my voice shaking.

"I'll walk with you." Queenie offers.

I pause. "Yes. I would appreciate that very much."

She nods. "Show me the way."

"Of course." I reply. "And...Queenie?"

"Yeah?"

"Could you...hold my bag for me? I'm feeling a little sick." I hold out my backpack to her.

Now it's her turn to pause. "S-sure thing." She stammers, slowly lifting the bag from my fingers.

"Rick." Mr. Simpson says.

I face him. "Yes, sir?"

"See you Monday." He says.

I nod. "You will."

With Queenie at my side, we walk down the grade ten corridor, the reverse of where I came from, all the way to the student lobby, and outside the doors of Degrassi. It isn't until Queenie and I walk down the front stairs, cross the street, do I fall on my hands and knees and bawl like the giant baby we all know that I really am. I cry until my insides hurt. Until I run out of tears, until I can't breathe. Queenie watches me silently, her hand on my back.*

*: Queenie was talking about the Columbine shooting at that point. Also if you're reading this last note, I wanted to say that I wrote this story as a loyal fan of Degrassi: The Next Generation, and am by no means trying to glorify school shootings that have plagued our nation in droves these recent years. I also do not wish to perpetuate the myth that young men shoot school kids due to them seeking out vengeance from being allegedly bullied. This should not be the new norm of the United States, and I am appalled by the fandom and lack of sympathy for the victims of these tragedies. This is simply an opinion of mine that I felt needed to be said in light of recent events. I hope you enjoyed reading, but... I'm still not done yet! :p