Disclaimer: I don't own Degrassi, or BigCityDreams by NeverShoutNever! I own an iPod touch that tends to crash a lot. I use it to read books. I'm currently on the Delirium series, because I just finished the Divergent series, (of what is out right now. Counting down the days until the last book is released in October) both of which I strongly recommend. But be warned, you will get attached to the male protagonists. It's inevitable.

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These big city dreams are what you're about

Clare

Even though we met sort of abruptly, Eli and I have become quite good friends. The type that sit together at lunch and walk to class with only a few inches between each other, and sometimes a hug when you must depart. I knew as soon as I met him, that there was something going on between us. I wasn't sure if it was romantic or not. But maybe one of these days I'll find out.

I was stupid not to report the hazing incident that Imogen and her cronies ensued on me. I know I should have, but I convinced myself not to, in the thought that being a snitch would make it that much worse than it already was. I decided to completely ignore it and pretend it didn't bother me. Although, I did get some mean snickers and dirty looks from Imogen sometimes in the hall – the kind of stare that you can feel burning into the back of your head like acid. But I always kept walking. I knew if I looked, it would throw more fuel on the fire.

Play rehearsals went on as usual, except now I actually had friends to be around. Eli made me laugh when I was stuck being depressed over how I didn't have the part of Hazel. It still bothered me a little that I didn't get it. I wasn't being bitter, more like disappointed.

"When I hopefully become famous one day, I'm going to emotionally ruin people like Imogen. It's becoming my second biggest dream besides getting famous," I said to him one day, popping a pretzel in my mouth. He just smirked and never said a word.

I took these opportunities on stage waiting to be noticed, and spent them backstage with Eli. We talked about a lot, but I still felt like he was hiding things from me. I never pressed my suspicions. One time, I asked him what he wanted to be after this, and he said, "I want to be a writer; a director of Degrassi's plays." I narrowed my eyes when he said this, "Why aren't you?" I asked, adverting my eyes to Jake for a second and back to him, confused. He sighed, his shoulders slouching.

"Because here, you either sink or swim, and if you're me, you hang onto whatever you can to keep from drowning. Only the populars can swim. They get what they want because they have money and power; they don't need floaties to swim. But the unnamed stage hands, like myself, or even the understudies, like you, need floaties to keep from drowning in this place. We're like minnows in a shark tank. They eat us because they can, and take whatever their precious daddies can get them. But most of the time, it's us who pay the price for something that is at their convenience," he said. It took me a moment to fully take in his words, before nodding my head and a comfortable silence emerged between us.

That night, I wrote down what he said, almost verbatim. The words echoed in my mind like a song, and I wrote them down so I'd never forget the lyrics.

I practiced my lines until they were perfect – usually pacing around my room trying to get just the right tone of voice for every word I spoke. I color coded different tones on each one of my lines. Whether it was "sarcastically" in blue,or "nostalgic" in green, and sometimes the occasional "bitchy" in red, my script became a rainbow of emotions that I just had to get right. Sometimes I even read through my script while walking through the halls of Degrassi; running into people often and mumbling "excuse me's" before going on my merry way.

Oh, but I am a fool, a fool to think that my previous tortures would end so easily.

I was reading my script one Wednesday, stepping between a couple who shot back a glare at me and I stumbled a little while turning back and shouting "I'm sorry!", and when I turned back around, lo and behold, Imogen steps in front of me, and my head snapped up at the sudden body in my path, and backing up a few inches so I didn't look straight into her brown eyes of pure evil, but not enough to feel intimidated.

"As long as I am here, you will never be needing this," she said, grabbing my script and tearing it into two pieces, four pieces, six pieces, until it was just mediocre squares in her fingers. I fought the urge to scream every time her manicured hands ripped away at my hard work. My jaw clenched, and so did my fists, as I fought the urge to deck her straight in the face. Landing myself in the principal's office will surely get me out of the play for sure.

Instead, I just glared at her, trying to will myself not to cry how of pure anger, and out of the corner of my eye behind her head, I saw Eli approaching me fast. He had a concerned look on his face, his eyebrows scrunched, "Leave her alone Imogen," he said sternly, pushing himself in the space between her and I. He ducked his head and glared at her like a human werewolf would as they stared at their prey, and this was about the time where his eyes turned yellow and the most obvious thing to do at that point would be to run. But this wasn't a cliche werewolf movie. Eli looked murderous, but the most surprising part was, I liked how protective he was of me, and also, he's really hot when he's angry.

"Oh, there was nothing to interrupt, Eli, because we're done here," she huffed, turning her back in an instant and strutting away. My fists remained clenched as I thought of the many shapes I could mold her face into like Playdoh.

"God, I hate her." I seethed, bringing my hands to my hair and pulling; a tear fell down my cheek out of anger and I wiped it away before Eli could see it.

"Why didn't you fucking hit her? She deserved it," Eli said.

"Because I knew I would land my ass right in Simpson's office, and right out of the play production! That would give Imogen exactly what she wanted - me out of her turf!" I answered. Eli's head tilted back and forth, weighing options, "Or," he said, "You can hit her where it hurts, and not in a way to get you in trouble."

"And how do you propose I do that, Aristotle?" I said sarcastically, slapping my arms against my sides.

"Let's spy on her. Find out her secrets. Expose them to the school," he raised his eyebrows. I felt a little jumping feeling in the pit of my stomach. This sounded downright maniacal, but I was curious.

"And how do we do that?" I asked again.

"Let's tail her after school. Find out where she hangs out. Keep an eye on her." Eli said.

"And she won't notice a giant black hearse following her everywhere? Or will she get the hint she is being followed by death and feel ultimately guilty for some crime she never committed and fall into a dark depression before an evitable suicide?" I guessed excitedly. Eli chuckled, and my stomach did that weird flipping thing again. When Eli looked back at me, I took a moment to look at his green eyes. They were gorgeous, and I wondered why I never noticed them before. I saw my reflection in them in one second, and for that one second, I wondered what he saw when he saw me. I shook that thought away immediately for having wishful thinking that Eli might have a romantic interest in me.

"That sounds like a soap opera, Edwards, which I feel like you watch too many of," he joked lightly.

"Hey now, I had my One Tree Hill phase, but that's about it." I joked back. Eli chuckled again, his hair falling into his eyes and he quickly brushed them out of his face, and for one second, I wished it was my hand brushing his bangs out of his face. I shook that thought away too.

"But seriously, we're following Imogen right after school," he averted right back to our previous topic. I pursed my lips, before nodding and agreeing to meet him on the front steps directly after the final bell rang.

As he walked away, I felt this sense of loss. My side didn't feel as warm. My heart wasn't beating as fast. My stomach stopped flipping. I didn't know what this feeling was, and I couldn't shake it off.

And I swore I saw a smirk dangle on his lips as he strode away, and for a moment, I thought I wasn't having wishful thinking.

This was the thought I didn't shake off.

End of Chapter