Author's Note: Thank you again for the reviews. Keep them coming! I like to know that my hard work isn't going to waste. :] And thank you for your patience. I want to turn out good stuff and not give you lame, hastily-written installments.
And again, this one is pretty short. I'm sorry! I'm going to try to make the next few longer.
Mark Fitzgerald was a Degrassi detention regular. He was at the point where he didn't mind all that much about staying after school. There wasn't anything better to do, seeing how his friends were usually doing time with him. Besides, Ms. Oh wasn't bad to look at. Neither was Bianca. However, Fitz was more than a little distracted by the new addition to detention that afternoon. Eli's lip was still healing from their fight at the convenience store earlier that week. The split made his smug smirk even more irresistible, though whether the urge was to punch or kiss remained unclear. He was running a black-nailed finger over a paper – probably some English assignment – and on occasion would chuckle or shake his head minutely. When he pulled a pen from his bag and began to notate on the back of the essay, Eli sighed, and Fitz felt oddly weak. The dark-haired boy's simple act of sighing drew his silent admirer in. He wished to know what had moved the other boy to such an exasperated yet affectionate expulsion of breath. He wished for each chuckle to be a joke between the two of them alone, and each head shake to be a flirtatious moment returned.
"Are you trying to figure out the best way to ask him to the dance or something?"
"What?"
Bianca smirked at Fitz. "You've been gazing all goo-goo eyed at that goth kid this whole time."
"What the hell are you talking about, Bee?" He sounded more defensive than he meant to.
"I hear Riley and Zane are up for King and King. You and Eli could give them a run for their money, I bet."
Fitz's blood went cold. She knew. No. No, how could Bianca know? But aren't girls supposed to have a sixth sense for this sort of thing? What if she told Owen? Would she do that? Or would she keep quiet if he asked her to? She wasn't keeping very quiet now, in any case. Anyone could hear her. Eli. Eli was mere feet away. If he heard...
"Shut up," Fitz snarled.
"I was only joking, idiot. God, what's wrong with you today?"
Ms. Oh's icy over-the-glasses glare fell on the two delinquents and they ceased conversation. Fitz returned to watching Eli in peace. He tried to imagine what sort of paper the boy was writing. A review on a novel for class? Boring. That would hardly elicit such smirk-filled readings. It had to be about something he enjoyed. Perhaps it was music, vintage cars, maybe even death. Rumor had it that he was death-obsessed – probably true, now that Fitz thought about it. That had to be why he sought fights over and over again. Eli would not have any other reason to take such an avid interest in Fitz. It was only the feud.
Isn't it? Of – of course... he doesn't... he couldn't feel like I... right?But if he did, we could maybe... Who am I kidding? Snap out of it, Fitzy. He hates you. You should hate him. Don't be such a dumbass.
Still, the new notion sent him reeling and in need of a distraction. He remembered the paper on Eli's desk. Carefully, Fitz shifted in his seat to get a closer look. The content itself was too hard to make out from far away, but he could plainly see that the paper's heading did not list Eli Goldsworthy's name as author. It belonged to Clare Edwards.
Of course. All the stupid grinning, laughing, sighing: it was all for her. The notes he consistently flipped the page to write were obviously some sort of critique for her. That infinitesimal glimmer of hope that shone and refracted Fitz's darkest daydreams stuttered out at this realization, and his foolish heart sank.
.
-x-x-x-x-x-
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For someone stuck in detention, Eli was feeling pleasantly light. His first – and only, as he had promised Clare – stint in public school's version of jail was the perfect amount of time to read and critique his English partner's assignment before meeting for coffee at The Dot.
His English partner.
Clare.
Clare, who was sympathetic once he had explained to her that the after-lunch fight had been instigated by Fitz. Clare, who, after listening to advice from Adam, apologized for being so cold before. Clare, who had chatted airily with Eli all through Ms. Dawes class as though things were back to normal. Clare, who had agreed to a coffee date later that evening. Clare, who smiled her sweet, genuine smile goodbye after walking him to detention. Clare, whose writing was excellent but still adorably over-structured.
Eli made extensive notes on the back of her paper as he read, getting distracted here and there by an especially typical Clare expression or impressive samples of raw truth: signs that she was taking some of his critique to heart. Ceratin things she wrote would remind him of something that happened, something she said, and he'd be gone for a few minutes, content to relive every detail of their time together. Wrapped up in his own mind, Eli had all but forgotten the people around him. That disconnect unfortunately could not last.
"Writing love notes, Eli?" Fitz dragged out the sharp vowels of his name in hushed sing-song tones. "Telling Saint Clare that you wuuuuv her?"
A smirk automatically tugged at the corner of Eli's mouth. "You've been watching me, have you, Fitzy Boy? See something you like?"
The reaction to this comment was confoundedly inexplicable. He noticed the bully's eyes momentarily widen, his breath catch in his chest as though Eli had caught him stealing. But as quickly as he had tensed, Fitz relaxed back into his smarmy self and Eli wondered if he had imagined it.
"You wish, freak," Fitz quietly sneered. "What's wrong, is the Saint of Prude not giving you any loving? Need a little something on the side to quench your thirst?"
At the mention of Clare, Eli bristled. That's right, come after her when we're under teacher supervision so I can't do anything about it. Asshole. If we were off school grounds, I swear...
'I thought violence wasn't your style.' Clare's voice rang out in his head, wind chimes in a summer breeze. She wouldn't approve of any more sparring. He breathed deeply and took up his smirk once more.
"Sorry, Fitzy. You're not exactly my type."
Fitz coughed out a husky laugh that caught Ms. Oh's attention. She stared them down for a moment, but exhaustion from a long day was evident on her face. She wasn't interested in watching them or keeping them quiet.
"Just go," the young teacher sighed, already gathering her things. "You're done in five minutes anyway. Only this once, Miss DeSousa. Don't get any big ideas."
.
-x-x-x-x-x-
.
Morty choked a bit, then settled into a disgruntled pur. Eli patted the dash affectionately.
"It's alright, boy, you can do it. Just get me to The Dot and home and I promise you can die there, okay?" He glanced at his reflection in the rear view mirror to check his appearance before his coffee date. A figure moving across the lot caught his eye. Fitz was climbing into Bianca's car, laughing about something the girl had just said as she gunned the engine to life. They sped past Morty on their way out to the street, and Fitz looked over at him. Though he expected threatening contempt, Eli could have sworn that his enemy's eyes were wistful, and that he had sighed before the car trundled out of sight.
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