Disclaimer: I don't own Degrassi, or Bite My Tongue by You Me At Six ft. Oli Sykes

I can't recall the last time, someone asked me how I was. Last I checked I was a fucking wreck. I called for help, and no one showed up, I sit in the dirt.

Clare

That Monday morning came briskly, and I was excited yet not, because I wasn't sure how the day would go. On one hand, I could be able to prove myself to Jake and the rest of the cast, or I'll be ignored until needed. My pessimistic side is going for the latter. That Monday came and went, just as Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday did all the same.

But even so, there was something about being in the theatre that made real life just disappear. You could just take the personality of another and escape your own reality for awhile. Maybe it was just the feeling of being able to not think like yourself for a bit – or that people saw you portrayed as another and not yourself. Taking in the personality of a character was almost like changing old habits to fit the situation, and it made you second guess yourself. You wanted to become that character; become like that character; have their way of thinking; just be them. You could forget yourself and just be someone else. It was what I strived to be: something I wasn't.

The grace, the talent, the feeling that emitted from this place was so maudlin. I just wanted to stay in this calm energetic place and not have to go back to my old life. Well, my old life was back in Ottawa. This is my new life, and I was making it my goal to make it into something worth wile.

But I wasn't the one on stage; no, that was Imogen, and me? I was just her understudy. The understudy that no one knew the name to; the girl who was invisible until needed, which was almost never because Imogen was obsessed with getting her parts right every time, and she succeeded at so. I was forced to sit behind the curtain and watch her fill my role. I was only back here because I was the new girl and they didn't know what I was capable of. Although I sound thoroughly confident, I was not so. I was shy about it all; I felt like I didn't do as well as others made it out to be. But I guess sometimes you just have to accept what people say instead of constantly putting yourself down. And people say I'm good. So I'm going to act like I am without being greedy.

Watching Imogen got annoying very quickly. She was like that stubborn bubble that floated around but refused to pop. In my opinion, she simply had too much energy on stage. But apparently it was what the directors wanted – because Jake couldn't keep his eyes off of her the whole time she was acting, smirking from time to time. Even Fiona seemed to be thoroughly impressed, although she just glanced from under her eyelashes and continued to write on her clipboard like she usually does, and when Imogen is around, she makes some excuse to leave the area. I don't think Fiona knows that I notice this. Maybe she just doesn't like Imogen's annoyingly over-positive aura either.

I made friends quickly with the people backstage. The make-up girl (whose name was Mariah) was very nice, and the sound technician Adam was very funny, even if most of his humor was comic book related. I talked to Fiona too, and sometimes dropped subtle hints asking why I didn't get the part, but Fiona would just mumble, "it's what Jake wants", or something along those lines.

One day, Jake called me out to center stage. I was puzzled, but went out anyway. I laced my fingers together in front of my body and awaited his Majesty's orders.

"Clare," he said, "I know you're the understudy, but I need to see how you're coming along with your lines. Pick up from where Hazel talks about the infinities, if you would please." Jake asked.

I didn't say a word to question, before slipping into my acting mode: "There are infinite numbers between 0 and 1," I made a zero with my right hand and a one with my right, "There's .1 and .12 and .112 and an infinite collection of others. Of course, there is a bigger infinite set of numbers between 0 and 2, or between 0 and a million. Some infinities are bigger than other infinities. A writer we used to like taught us that. There are days, many of them, when I resent the size of my unbounded set. I want more numbers than I'm likely to get, and God, I want more numbers for Augustus Waters than he got. But, Gus, my love, I cannot tell you how thankful I am for our little infinity. I wouldn't trade it for the world. You gave me a forever within the numbered days, and I'm grateful."

Fiona clapped, and Jake had a satisfied smirk on his face. Obviously, he wasn't expecting that.

And obviously I wasn't expecting what happened next.

Suddenly, I'm drenched in water, and I open my mouth to gasp in shock. Then objects come flying at me and breaking – I identify them as eggs – and the yolk becomes tangled in my hair. I shield my face, and before I could run, I open my arms to Imogen running at me with mysterious cans before pressing the button, releasing purple Silly String onto me. Finally I ran, embarrassed, wet, and covered in egg yolk and silly string.

Rage boils inside me, and the last thing I expected myself to do, was start to cry. I fled through the back door of the auditorium to the back parking lot – the one that nobody but the drama department uses – and crumbled into a egg-covered mess as tears streaked down my cheeks. I wiped them away hastily in anger. Imogen won't get away with this. She won't. I refuse. But I can't do anything about it now if I'm sitting against a brick wall in the dirt, prying purple string from my hair as best I could, and getting the raw chicken abortions away from my face.

I wanted to destroy Imogen. Destroy her. But I had to bite my tongue. I had to be better than she is. I won't stoop that low.

And to my next surprise, a body suddenly appeared next to me. I was sure to have looked like a wet purple and yellow mess to whoever dared to come near me while I was having a breakdown. I glanced, and I was met with piercing green eyes holding sympathy, and I just continued to sniffle.

"I think you're better than her," the mystery boy with the green eyes said.

"Apparently Jake doesn't think so," I mumbled, wiping a stray tear from my cheeks.

"Jake doesn't know anything about theatre. He's just Simpson's pet and looks like a lumberjack," he growled with distaste at the mention of Jake's name. I chuckled a little, and took in this boy physically. To be honest, he was breathtakingly striking. His eyes were a jade green, his lips full, with raven black hair swooped across his forehead. I wished I didn't look so bad right now or else I would have tried to flirt with him, but it probably would have come out like "uh hi, I'm a potato, and you're a hot potato".

"Then why didn't he cast me as Hazel if I am better?" I questioned.

"Because he's stupid," the boy shrugged.

"It has to be more than that," I pressed.

He smirked, something I found instantly attractive, "Maybe there is, and the rest of us just don't know it." The boy got up, and I almost whined at his absence. He walked towards a car – erm, a hearse? and reached in, grabbing a band t-shirt inscripted with A Day to Remember on the front, and some random red gym shorts. He handed them to me, looking down sheepishly. I got up slowly, extended my hand and took them from him, our hands brushing in the process. I gasped quietly – the contrast of his hands on mine was electric. I almost jumped at the contact. I looked up to search his eyes, but was met with the same look as I'm sure I had – while covered in egg yolk, water and purple silly string.

"I'm Eli," he said quickly.

"Clare." I responded.

And he walked away to his car, without so much another word. I was left holding clean clothes and a puzzled expression. How frustrating, and how rude, to walk away in an otherwise meaningless conversation, but for me, left me confused, and wanting more of his touch?

And never in my life had I ever been more intrigued.

End of Chapter Five