My lips were cracked and bleeding, my legs ached for a break, and my lungs screamed for air; but Dylan Saunders never gave up until he reached his goal.

Hockey was everything. Most people told me I was a prodigy, destined for the NHL and great things like my stepfather Dallas before me. But they were wrong. I wasn't as good as they said. I needed to be better, to work harder, and to be more devoted if I ever even wanted to dream of living up to their expectations.

That's why I was here. Two hours after normal hockey practice was over, running drills. This rink was like a second home to me, I had been playing ever since I could remember. But still, there was something lonely about the place, even when it was crowded with people. To be fair, it could just be me. I never really connected with other people very well. The only thing that took away that feeling of loneliness was rocking out on my drums or strumming my electric guitar. Music was my second everything, if I ever actually got any free time to play. I never even had one lesson, it just came out. My mother said the same things to me that Dallas said about hockey, only about music. I never played publicly though; stage fright. Maybe someday I'd overcome that…

"Hey Kid!" A yell from behind me ripped me from my thoughts.

I swirled around to see a rough man around sixty years old. He was the janitor here. "Sorry to disrupt ya, but I gotta lock up."

I nodded and silently made my way off the ice. After sliding off my skates and getting my stuff from the locker room I headed home.

When I got home, as expected, I found my step-dad in the living room with his eyes glued to a football game. My mom was sitting in the kitchen with a cup of hot tea pressed to her lips.

She looked me over, taking in my bleeding lips and exhausted expression. She set her cup down slowly. "You just get back from the rink?" she asked.

I nodded. For some reason, sometimes when she looked at me a look of pain crossed her face. It didn't really start until last year, or maybe I just hadn't noticed it until then. One time I asked Dallas about it. He shrugged and said it probably had something to do with how much I was starting to look like my dad.

After that every time she looked at me, I felt a pang of guilt.

"Well," she sighed knowing that scolding me about overworking myself would just be a waste of breath "there's a plate for you in the microwave if you're hungry."

Suddenly realizing how hungry I was I rushed to the microwave. I scarffed down the slightly chilled meal of chicken and mashed potatoes in less than a minute.

Times were tough right now; my mom had lost her job as an elementary music teacher due to the budget cuts at the board of education. Dallas was barely hanging on to his job as guidance counselor at my high school. Along with being the football and basketball coach there and one of the assistant coaches of the Cold Lake Ice hockey team, which I was a part of, after retiring from a short on again off again career as a professional hockey player.

We were living in a modest house in a quiet neighborhood in Cold Lake, Alberta. My mom, my dad, my little sister Asha, and I.

Asha was actually my half-sister. She was a little girl, only 6 years old, with a big and fiery personality. She had tan skin, curly jet black hair, and dark brown eyes. She was the first and only child of my mother and stepfather. Her full name was Asha Margaret Dallas. Asha meant hope, which was something Dallas though we all could use. And Margaret was my grandmother's name on my mother's side. She had died two years before Asha was born.

I had a step-brother too, Rocky. But he lived in Toronto, more than 24 hours away. I only saw him every other Christmas. But he was my best friend, the one person I could talk to about anything.

When I was finished eating, I rinsed off my plate, stuck in the dishwasher, and started for the stairs.

"Going to bed?" My mom asked hopefully.

"Nope, I have a paper to do for tomorrow." I answered her without turning around.

"How many words?" She questioned.

There was a long moment of silence before I answered her. "2000 words…"

"2000? Dylan Campbell, it's already 10:30! You need your sleep; don't you have a history test in the morning? Why didn't you think about this earlier?"

"I was at the rink! And yesterday after I got home I went through some plays for Friday's game!" I told her, finally turning around to face her.

"I've told you this a million times Dylan, school comes before hockey."

I turned around not wanting to start an argument and risk waking Asha up. "Whatever" I muttered and went up to my room.

When I was finally finished my paper, the clock read 1:30. Not too bad… I found my stomach growling so I decided to get a snack before I went to sleep. When I got to the bottom of the steps I heard voices coming from the kitchen.

As I crept closer I saw my mother and Dallas sitting at the kitchen table. My mom looked solemn and serious, but Dallas just looked annoyed.

"His grades have been dropping, and he's spending all of his free time at the rink over working himself!" My mother said, her voice full of concern. "And when was the last time you heard him talk about a friend? He's struggling to develop peer relationships!"

"He gets along with the team just fine…" Dallas answered rolling his eyes.

It took me a minute but finally I realized that they were talking about me…

"Have you ever actually seen him talk to them? Or even go out with them after a game without complaining afterwards. He's becoming socially withdrawn."

"He's always been socially withdrawn. That's just who he is. Just give the boy some space. He's 16 years old; he doesn't need his mommy to protect him."

"But…" she sighed "I'm just worried about him… after what happened with…" She trailed off eyeing the ground.

I could see the tears welling up in her eyes from where I hid in the shadows.

I was terrified, so shocked and terrified I couldn't move. My mom was usually so tough and easy going. I had never seen her cry before. After what happened? And why was she so worried about me making friends?

Dallas went to embrace her, but she shoved him away. "I'm going to go check on the kids." She mumbled pushing her chair back.

The sensation that came before every hockey practice and game hit instantly. My heart dropped into my stomach and my breath quickened.

To my relief Dallas stopped her in the doorway and embraced her once again. This time she didn't protest.

"That's not going to happen with Dylan…" he soothed. "He's a strong kid."

I took this moment to escape up the stairs and to my room.

I didn't sleep at all that night. What in the world were they talking about? What wasn't going to happen with me? I found

that by the time my alarm clock went off at 6 am I had more questions than answers…

That morning when I fell asleep during my history test I had an odd dream. I was looking in the mirror in the locker room at the hockey rink. But my reflection wasn't me… It looked like me, but different. The eyes were brown instead of blue, and the hair was darker than mine. There were more small differences like that. I reached my hand out and found that I was not looking in a mirror after all, but staring at another person.

The other guy looked me up and down, his eyes wide as saucers.

I opened my mouth but nothing came out. Suddenly the guy across from me spoke. His voice was a coarse whisper that made the hair on the back of my neck stand on edge. "Dylan?"

I nodded slowly as he reached a hand out for me. When I looked down his hands were covered in blood that I suddenly realized was flowing from two big gashes on both arms.

I stared in horror as he touched my cheek, smearing his crimson blood on my face. I looked away, down to my own arms which were now covered with their own gashes and blood. But I didn't feel anything. Not pain, not sadness, but a sense of content.

And then we smiled at each other, me and the other guy. Until we heard the scream. My mother, screaming her lungs out and sobbing.

Finally a scream escaped my own throat. I screamed for my mother, and then awoke with a start to find my whole history class staring at me. The class clown made some wise ass crack about me being a little too much of a momma's boy and the whole class started laughing. But I didn't hear it; I didn't hear any of it. Before I knew it my legs were pushing me out of the classroom and then the school, out into the ice cold air.

What was happening to me?!

Hey everyone! I am so so sorry about how long it has been! It's just… to be blunt I hate Degrassi now. I stopped watching after like 2 episodes of the new season. It's just not going there for me anymore. But I can't leave this story without an ending. I had more planned with Maya and Zig and Dallas and the rest but I decided to skip right to Dylan to give you a treat for waiting so long! I had a bunch of other personal problems mixed in with the lack of inspiration. But quite honestly I've missed writing this, because I really do love this story. Be looking for more updates on my other stories!Thank you so much for sticking with me! I love you guys! Hope you enjoyed it! Reviews are much appreciated!