OOC means Out Of Character. As in the story won't follow the plot of Degrassi and the characters won't act as they do on the show. And thank you to everyone that reviewed! (:

Merryweather High was not a school of accepting people. The students went out of their ways to make sure they were not walking next to Clare, or sitting next to her. It was as though she carried a deadly disease, but she wasn't. She simply moved into a new house. These people are completely over reacting. On the bright side, there was one welcoming person at Merryweather. Adam. He took Clare under his wing and showed her around the school. He showed her where all her classes where, and who not to mess with, unless you like having a black eye. Clare was just happy they she had someone to turn to if she needed help.

"Do you need a ride?" Adam asked. Clare and Adam were walking down the main hallway of the school, the last bell had rung and they were on their way out.

"No I don't, my mom should be here any moment now. But thank you." Clare smiled.

"Okay, see you around Clare." He waved and walk towards a blue SUV.

Clare sighed and waited for her mother's arrival.

Helen pulled up to the school and Clare opened the door and stepped in.

"How was school?" She asked. Clare signed and ran a hand through her hair.

"It was okay. I made a friend. His name is Adam" She said. Helen smiled as she puled out of the school parking lot.

"That's good. Now Clare, I need to go back to work. I have to get organized. Do you mind staying home by yourself for a while? You could start unpacking your stuff. When I get home we can start on some of the other boxes."

Clare nodded. "That's fine mom. I should be okay."

Clare's mother dropped her off at the house and drove away. Clare walked up the stairs and into her room; she dropped her back pack on the floor and fell onto her bed. She closed her eyes and sighed. School sucked. The kids there were so horrible and judgmental, Clare hated it. Well, at least she found Adam. Clare opened one eye and spotted a box. She deiced that she better start unpacking.

She pulled out picture frames and books and lined them on the bookshelf. Clare loved to read, it was something she always liked. There was something about how she could fall into this completely different world that just pulled her in.

After finishing organizing her books, Clare decided to work on her clothes. She picked up another box and walked to the other side of her room, where her closet was. She opened the closet and began to empty her clothes. She hung them up on the rail, until something caught her eye. The back of the closet was made of wood, so the small outline of a door stood out.

Clare set down her clothes on the bed and walked towards to closet. She stepped into it and pushed the door outline. The wall moved, exposing a small staircase. Clare chuckled.

"You've got to be joking me. A secret staircase, really?"

Clare grabbed her cell phone off the night stand and pushed a bottom so the light turned on. She carefully walked down the stairs.

When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she looked around. She was in a small room. There was a black couch on the far corner that stood under a tall lamp. A wooden desk was pushed against the wall on the other side. Clare walked over the lamp at attempted to turn it on. She finally got it to work, the light was dim but it was enough for Clare to see.

She walked over to the desk and opened a few draws. Most were empty, containing dust and dirt. But one draw contained a notebook.

The notebook had a leather cover that was cracked and worn down. Clare's eye widened when she realized what was written on the notebook.

The Thoughts and Poems of Eli Christopher Goldsworthy

Clare couldn't believe her eyes. This was the boy's secret room. The 16 year old boy that had died all those years ago. Clare felt sick to her stomach. She quickly turned off the lamp and ran up the stairs, carrying the leather covered notebook.

When her mother came home, she didn't tell her about the stairs or the notebook. She wanted to learn more about it before she went off and told everyone.

After Clare and her mother had dinner, they unpacked some boxes. The kitchen was almost finished. Helen told Clare she could go relax, so she did. Clare ran up to her room and grabbed the notebook. She opened it up to a random page.

August 3rd 1955

I asked my dad if I could transfer to the public school here in Empirevillie, Merryweather High. Dad told me no and that I should be thankful that I go to East Port. Why should I be thankful that I go to school with a bunch of self-centered kids? They don't like me. Either do the teachers. I can tell. I know they talk about me with each other. I told Felicity about the people at East Port. She said that she could go talk to them if I wanted. I don't think I want her to though. She might end up making them hate me more than they already do. She asked me why I think they hate me. I know why. It's because of how I act. All the kids there walk around like they own the place because they parents are millionaires My parents are too. But I just don't go around gloating about it like they do. If I had the choice, my parents wouldn't be millionaires. They would be normal people. So I could be normal. My parents just don't understand. Either do my brothers and sisters. Well, Felicity's an exception. Sometimes I think she's the only person that truly cares about me.

Clare closed the book. She took a deep breath and placed it on the nightstand.

That's enough for tonight. Clare thought. She pulled down the blankets on her bed and got into it.

.

.

.

Clare opened her eyes the next morning to a ray of sunlight peeking though the curtains on the window. She smiled and sat up.

Her smile was quickly faded away. Clare tried to scream for her mother, but nothing came out.

Sitting on her dresser across from the bed, was a boy. He had long, dark brown hair that hung in front of his bright green eyes. He was wearing a back t-shirt, dark jeans and black converse sneakers. A silver necklace hung from his neck. In his hand lay the leather notebook. He jumped down from the dresser. When his feet met the floor, Clare heard no sound.

"W-Who… What are you doing in my house?" Clare's voice quivered. She didn't yell for her mom because she didn't want to anger the boy standing a few feet away.

The boy chuckled. "Your house? I think you're mistaken." He walked, almost glided across the room to the end of her bed. "This is my house."

Clare's eyes widened in realization.

"You're Elijah, ar-aren't you?"

The boy smirked. "Two points for the red- head."