Hello readers. I am really sorry for the tardy update, but school has been brutal. By the time I open up word to continue this story, I'm too tired to keep my eyes open. I actually wrote a large portion of a chapter before, but it sucked so bad I deleted it. I began writing this, and I thought it sucked, until I read it over and over again and realized it's actually good. I had to revise A LOT, but that's not bad, right?

Okay, who saw the new promo. Only 3 episodes left? What the french toast is that all about? And who thinks Clare and Eli are going to "do it"? I hope they don't, I love how Clare is pure. And who thinks Eli is a hoarder? I do! But this is their last main episode until February (at least I think) =( So they better leave off on a good note. I am so sick and tired of them being bashed on with all this crap. The endless drama is taking over their amazing relationship. And by the way, I am officially in love with Adam and Fiona! Screw Drew! Heyyy, that should be a fan group =)

I try my best to focus on the words running along the page of my World History book. But the more I try to understand the jumble of letters, scrambling them together into anything that makes sense, the more I feel my sanity gliding away. Who cares when Abraham Lincoln was assassinated?

April 14th, 1865.

Who cares who the president after him was?

Andrew Johnson.

Who cares about anything?

Not me.

I shut my book. Attempting to absorb information that will be rinsed out of my memory in a matter of minutes did not seem appealing. Instead, I cross my arms on the table and dip my head inside of them. My skin is warm and the only thing I can see is darkness. Images flash around my brain but don't reach my eyes, although that doesn't seem to fail them from becoming all the more vivid. I see the crowded hallways of the school. I see the light speckles of foundation on my dresser from this morning. I see words, letters, messages, blurred away from contemplation with droplets of water. The ink turns smeared, stretching along my mind like rubber bands.

I see my mother, or what I suppose she was like. I bet she had blonde hair. Long and wavy, the kind that cascades down a woman's shoulders and gives her the glow of an angelic princess from the fairytales. Indeed, I suspect her voice was smooth like velvet, the voice people want, that floats through the air in pure bliss.

But why, I keep screaming to myself, do I see her as such a simulation of perfection? She's everything but. She's drowned in mistakes, falling beneath the surface of them all and floating back up with no pulse left. She walked away, allowing fear and apprehensiveness to take over what she could have given me. Courage, she may have held, but never took the knowledge, or rather, faith, to pay any attention to it. The going got tough, and she got going.

I shake the thoughts away. Picturing her in my mind…it makes me all too aware of what I don't have. A mother. And it somehow yells in my face of what I do have. An abuser. I don't have what I want, and I what I do have, I don't want.

No. No. No. Stop it. I do want my dad. I love him and he loves me. He tells me all the time. I matter. I'm wanted. It's just I'm stubborn, and I don't absorb information well, previously exhibited by my lack of successful studying. He has no choice but to go to great lengths to send me a message.

Yes, that's it. Keep telling yourself that.

I walk into English ten minutes later. I got caught up staring at thin air so I was one of the last people to enter the room. I scurry to my seat, concealing the heated blush on my face with my hair. Adam is reading a comic book and Eli is intertwining his fingers together, over and over and over again.

Mrs. Dawes claps her hands together. Adam and I jolt in our seats, setting our attention on her, but Eli continues playing with hands, completely oblivious to the world around him.

"Today," she announces, "You will be truly beginning your assignment. You must all make an outline of your story before you begin it."

I don't believe in outlines.

"I don't believe in outlines, Mrs. Dawes."

I turn my head towards Eli. He's still gazing at his hands with such a bare expression I question if he spoke at all. However, when I see Mrs. Dawes squinting her eyes down towards the boy in black, I realize questioning myself would be a waste of time.

"Any why is that Eli?"

Still no expression, what so ever. "Because, outlines are just so, I don't know, planned out."

"And why is that a bad thing?" Mrs. Dawes fires at him.

Eli settles his hands down comfortably in his lap, his fingers still laced together. "It's like a limitation for your imagination. When you make an outline, you feel like you cannot go beyond what the outline says. It holds you back from your own capability. Now I understand some people like it, but I, personally don't."

"Well fine," Mrs. Dawes runs a shaky hand through her greasy hair. She points towards Adam and I, the same way she did when we were chosen to work with Eli. "Do you two believe in outlines?"

Adam shrugs and continues reading his comic book. When the teacher's eyes fall on me, I look at Eli, the annoying smirk played along his face once again. A fire builds up in the pit of my stomach and I clench my fists together, shooting daggers at him with my eyes. "Yes, I do."

I lied. It's stupid. I hate outlines. They're disgusting, vile, and so irrelevant. They tie around your potential for using your imagination and choke it. Yet, I went against all my beliefs and said the complete opposite. All to anger some guy I don't even care about.

Mrs. Dawes smiles at me, and the way she does it makes me feel like a robotic doll set up for pleasing everyone around me. As if I'm a dog who did her trick, now deserving a gesture of encouragement for my expected, I mean, appreciated, work.

"Well," she says, "I guess that means you must complete the outline. I apologize Eli, but the instructions, and Ms. Edwards, says so."

Eli sucks in his bottom lip, signifying that he honestly does not care. There's not one sign of defeat, embarrassment, or sheer anger on his face.

The fire ignites again. Why isn't he mad? He should be glaring at me by now, cursing me off in his brain and maybe accidentally shooting one off out loud.

The work begins, and everyone stands up to get with their groups. Eli, Adam, and I set up our desks the same way we did the other day. Adam pulls out a notebook and settles it on his desk, ripping a page out and jotting down our names up at the top.

"Okay," he places the pen down, "How should we start it?"

"We need a character, first," Eli spins the paper around so it's facing him. The tip of his pencil is in between his teeth as he thinks. "What about, a guy. Twenty five years old. His name could be Munro Chambers." (a/n: I couldn't help myself!)

I proceed to let the name slip off my own lips, as though testing to make sure it sounded okay coming from me. It does, so I nod my head in unison with Adam. Eli gives us a small grin, writing down notes about our no longer anonymous character.

Adam speaks up. "What about a setting?"

"No setting," I say, "I found that when you don't give a story a setting, it makes it feel closer to the readers. Like the experience is happening right in their next door neighbor's house."

Adam seems pleased by my answer, but at the same time confused. "How do you know so much about writing?"

I'm about to answer, saying something along the lines of "not sure", but Eli cuts me off. He flashes his eyes back and forth between Adam and I. "You don't really 'know' about writing, Adam. You just kind of have it in you. Obviously, Clare has writing in her blood."

We begin gradually transforming Munro Chambers before our eyes. He seems like a well enough guy; a local editor for the town's newspaper, spends most of his free time writing or reading at the Dunkin Donuts next to his apartment, keeping quiet because trust has always been an on edge aspect of his life ever since his mother had cheated on his father and ruined their family. I can feel layers landing on top of each other, different facets that make him who he his being peeled away by the contrary. I guess that's how most people are. Made up of a million different pieces, some of them not fitting well together, forcing that person to be faced with the decision of which trait to pull out for use during certain situations. Someone who is a total genius can make the biggest mistakes of all. Someone who seems dark and cruel can really have a heart of gold beaten by a traumatic event. A sweet, loyal, good-natured man can actually beat his own daughter.

Eli is bobbing his head to an isolated tune trapped inside his head. "So," he tells us, "We got our man Munro down. Now all we need is a story."

Adam groans, covering his face with his hands. "That shouldn't be hard," he murmurs sarcastically.

Eli looks at me, "Got any ideas, Ms. JK Rowlings? After all, Adam and I did just do all the brainstorming. It's only fair if you contribute to the work as well."

"You never passed me as the 'fair' type."

"You never passed me as the pain in the ass type."

My eyes roll with a mindset of their own. Ideas pass between my ears, junk ones thrown into a garbage can, and considerable ones placed on invisible shelves for later revising.

"Maybe…" I let my voice trail off, picking words out of my throat to place on my tongue. "We could have him fall in love with this girl."

They both moan and shake their heads, wiping the idea away.

I'm not giving up that easily. "No, no, stay with me. And she's kind of a bad ass. You know, drugs, and drinking, and partying, and for once Munro feels like he has this rebellious side to him. Like his life is changing right in front of him and he doesn't want it to end. Keep in mind that he really does love her. But throughout time, his life kind of starts spiraling out of control. He loses his job and can't make rent, so his girl sells drugs and gives him some money. He seems grateful, but before he knows it, he's fallen to pieces with nothing left. It could end with him leaving and coming back to the quote. Obviously, we'll add more to it."

They consider my idea, glancing over at each other for either an apprehensive approval or definite rejection. I can feel their opinions knocking back and forth from side to side, considerations clouding over their judgment. Once that's all over and done with, they look at me and nod their heads.

"You impress us once again," Eli says. He places an elbow on Adam's shoulder and glances at the clock. "We only have a few minutes left, and I don't feel like working anymore. Let's just relax."

Adam stands up and walks to the teacher's desk asking for permission to use the restroom. Eli and I watch, our gazes chasing him as he stalks across the classroom. Our eyes contain the same naïve and tentative aspects they had during the time we watched people pass by at the Dot.

It took me a few moments to notice Eli's heavy stare upon me. When I turn to meet his gaze, he sharpens his stare, seeming to look right past my skin, my bones, my soul. I feel uncomfortably naked and exposed. The feeling grows in the pit on my stomach until I can't take it anymore.

"What?" I snap.

"What?"

"You know what."

"What exactly?"

"What were you doing?"

"I don't know, what was I doing?"

He's driving me crazy. Every word sends me into a new phase of insanity. Pins and needles arise on my skin from head to toe, making me shiver.

I spin myself around, well, as much as I can on the chair, so that I'm facing the wall. My arms are crossed over my chest and I mindlessly hush my urge to scream.

"A little third grade, don't you think, Edwards?"

The funny stops there. The sarcasm is no longer cute. The smirk has lost all charm it once had. Whatever Eli and I had shared during the Dot- if we even shared anything to begin with- had flashed away in an instant, that instant made up of his ability to be an idiot. We are not friends, not acquaintances, not- once again, I'm caught up in a struggle to find an appropriate word. But Eli is my enemy; the only emotion I'm capable of feeling towards him is hatred.

"Shut up, okay?" The words don't come out with any sense of humor or kindness. They are cold, colder than ice, sharp as an icicle itself. His expression quickly changes, turning from boastful to uneasy in a matter of one second.

"Whoa," he puts his hands up in mock-or maybe it's real- surrender, "I'm sorry, okay? I was just joking."

I use my hand to slam my binder shut. I place them against the desk, hard and firm, making sure no hesitation appears. "Yes, I know, Eli. Joking is all you ever do. I bet it's all you can do. Just humor me, will you? Try to be serious for once in your life."

Half of me expects him to crack another joke, the other half waiting for him to apologize again. But he surprises me by squinting his eyes, studying my own with the same intensity as before. Only this time he's not just studying, he's searching, searching for an unknown treasure that I'm not even sure exists.

"I, uh," he fiddles with his hands, dropping his gaze to the floor. His voice is weak and fragile, something I never thought could exist in someone like Eli, "I gotta go. See you tomorrow."

He stands up and walks out of the classroom. No asking permission from the teacher, no excuse as to why he has to leave so suddenly. He just gets up and walks away, staring at the ground the whole time, avoiding me at all costs.

Adam comes back a moment later, and I think he asks me where Eli went. I don't answer. For some reason, I lost all capability to speak. My heart is shattering against my chest. My breathing is raggedy and uneven. My vision becomes blurry, like the world is spinning too fast for me to keep up with it.

I feel like someone has placed something inside of me, and at the same time, taken it away.

See that review button?- it's for you =)

I just have to say I was sooo happy with all the reviews I got since my last chapter. It was the most I've ever gotten! I love my fans soooooo much! You guys are much better than my real friends, who are too caught up in who-likes-who to even pay any attention to my writing. But hey, that's just teenagers.

I say we shoot for the stars and attempt to reach 60. PS: I am currently watching Degrassi this very moment. It is "pre-gay" Riley and when he calls Fiona a bitch. Literally, that just happened right now! Fiona- "We don't talk anymore, okay?" I am sorry, just felt entitled to post that. =)