Two days.

Until.

Degrassi.

Isn't anyone else excited?

Chapter 2: Back Again

School remains the same. An annoying girl giggles in my ear almost all day, laughing about something that she must've thought about. Still seems like she hasn't gotten the message across. Adam, across from us at the table outside, is acting strange, but I don't think he'd tell with Imogen around. He likes her as much as Clare does.

Clare loves this weather…

Imogen's giggle destroys the thought for a moment. I smile up at her to make her think I'm listening; it's become a habit.

But she has her times of making me happy. I've gotten better since attending therapy, I don't get as attached to people (even though I haven't had many to get attached to), and people don't bother me anymore. It must be because of the whole "he's a psycho" rumor going around. Then again, it may not be a rumor.

A police car rolls into school grounds, gathering all the attention in sight of it. We've had plenty of cop cars come here, but it never means anything good.

It means the whole opposite.

The men step out of the car and one looks around. Adam raises his hand, acknowledging he was there. The cop walks calmly towards where we sit.

"Adam," I mutter under my breath. "What're you doing?" Imogen looked as confused as I was; what did Adam have to do with the police? Adam turns to give us a look that neither of us understands. He has a plan that he didn't tell us about.

"Adam Torres?" The police officer asks. Adam nods his head.

Once he sees Imogen and me he pauses for a second. "You were the one that called—correct?"

Adam nods his head once again. "Yes; I'm reporting a lost friend; she recently just left."

She. She. Who's she?

"Adam!" Jake Martin yells, jogging over to us. "Have you seen Clare? I was supposed to drive her to school today." That toothy obnoxious grin he always wears makes me want to punch him until it comes off.

Is this guy anywhere I'm not?

Adam's tantrum gets the best of him as he screams lowly and hides his face in his hands. "Go away!" He growls, not looking up before Jake's departure.

"Come on, Eli. Let's go." Imogen whispers in my ear, standing from the bench seat. She grabs my arm but I pull out of her grasp, not bothering to answer her. She didn't know how much this conversation might mean to me…

The police officer sits down next to Adam, unfazed by me staying. "Can you give a description of her?"

Adam hums an approval. "She's short, has long auburn hair and wears mostly floral. She's in between with her weight; curvy, mostly. She reads a lot and has good grades."

The police officer writes for a few seconds before asking, "Do you have any idea of why she would run away?"

"Who?" I ask, finding enough courage to, even though I know who. Maybe this is a bad dream I'm having. Adam looks at me for a second.

"Don't give me that, Eli." He growls, but I still don't understand.

"Give me a hint?" I ask, growing impatient.

Adam sighs deeply before the police officer asks, "What's her name? I should've asked you that first."

Adam looks at me one more time before answering. "Clare Edwards. Age fifteen; grade ten."

The world slows down immediately. It doesn't make sense. I just saw her in school yesterday—she seemed fine. Having Jake as her boyfriend, her friends, what else did she need?

What could make her so unhappy that she ran away?

"Why?" I whisper to myself. Adam shoves a note in my face.

"She gave you one, too." He states angrily.

"No she didn't." I reply, befuddled. "Imogen gave me one and-"

It finally makes sense; I never thought Imogen would be one to write me a 'letter'.

Adam would've responded to me but I ran to my car, shoving the keys into the ignition. If God was on my side, even though I didn't believe him, the letter would be untouched in the trash.

And still in the house.

I call Clare's cell a few times as I'm driving like a maniac once again. This was the road where I freaked; where I closed my eyes and trashed Morty. A tear runs down my cheek as my hopes are let down by the sound of her answering machine.

"Clare," I say in a broken tone. "Please call me back. I—I need to talk to you and y—you know better than anyone not to run away. Please call me when you can; I need to make sure you're okay."

Cece's still at home, watching me with a confused expression as I tear the trash bag apart. "I need that damn letter!" I yell at myself, looking through the mess I just created.

"Baby boy…?" Cece curiously asks, still frozen. I look up at her with widened eyes.

"Did you throw out the trash yesterday?" The words jumble out of my mouth like a waterfall. Cece shakes her head.

"It's still there—all over the floor now." She humorously adds. "Did you throw out something accidentally?"

"Yeah—yep I did." I spill out the words. "C—Clare went missing and shewrotemealetterineedtogetit."

It becomes quiet as Cece tries to understand. "Clare went missing?" She quietly squeaks.

I nod in response, kicking the broken bag. "It's my entire fault!" I yell, creating a silence. I hadn't had an outbreak in so long; we all thought I was getting better.

Cece looks around at the mess surrounding me, seeing if she could point out anything to help me. She crouches and picks up a half-wet paper, handing it to me with disgust.

"That looks like a letter." She responds, her face still scrunched. I try my hardest not to rip the paper.

I sigh heavily. "I'm gonna have to wait until it dries." I announce, putting it on the windowsill. My hand runs through my messy hair.

Cece looks awkwardly at me. "Do you want to stay home...? School just started, but it's your choice." Her expression looks concerned for my actions, though I don't blame her.

"I'll stay home." I whisper, walking up to my room. As much as I want to run out of that door and not come back home until I find her, I have to wait.

An agonizing wait.

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I chuck my backpack across the room, the contents spilling all over the floor. I scream lowly, making sure the receptionist won't hear me. I kick the bed repeatedly before stomping my way to the bathroom.

I look at my hideous image reflected in the mirror. "You've done this to yourself." I spat at it, my anger well shown. "And you're going to make this go the way it was planned."