A/N: Hello everyone! Here we go everyone, my new fanfic! Just a few things to say, this fanfic is COMPLETELY AU and to be completely honest it is VERY OOC. So if you're not down to read super AU super OOC fanfics I suggest you don't read this one. I on the other hand am really, really happy with this and I hope you'll all enjoy it as much as I do. Another thing, the place in this story IS AN ACTUAL PLACE and the house Clare lives at IS AN ACTUAL HOUSE. If you're here from Tumblr, the picture in the graphic I posted is the actual house Clare lives in. I hope you guys all like this story, because I actually really like it! All of the chapters will be after Crystal Castles songs because they were pretty much my ideas for this fanfic. Basically because they give me the idea of two people dancing at a rave or something. Also if this gives CC some rep you guys should listen to them! Eek! I dedicate this entire fanfic to Erin as well, because she's the smut queen and like demands dirty talk and I hope this fic gives her what she wants.

Rating: I'm only putting this here because I want you to know it's rated M for a reason. There will be a lot of sexual content and drug use. SO if that's also a no-no in your mind then I also recommend you don't read this fanfiction either.

Disclaimer: I don't own Degrassi or Ventura or Arielle's house. Just my mind and my writing mhmm.

"When it's cold outside hold me - don't hold me. When I choose to rest my eyes coax me - don't coax me." Celestica | Crystal Castles

I can remember the first time my mother said that she was sending me to stay with my father for summer vacation, and how the first thing I could think of was that she was "shipping me out" so she could be alone for the first time in forever. And by alone, I mean with her 'new and improved' husband. She had sent my step brother off to stay with his birth mother in Vancouver, and me to stay with my father who had recently moved to the states. California in fact. I remember kicking and screaming and telling her I'd rather die than go stay with Randall. Ever since I had found out the reason for their divorce I could never look at him the same way. Screwing another woman that wasn't my mother just sounded horrifying. It was utter betrayal to the entire family. For months I didn't believe it, until he had left and lived in an apartment for a while with another woman. I met her, too. She was pretty. But not as pretty as my mother. The nerve of someone to share something so intimate with someone that wasn't your one and true love is absolutely revolting to me. Then again, wonder if I should even be talking considering I gave up my virginity to my step brother. It still irks just me thinking about it. I did think it was one of the poorest decisions I had ever made. I thought that before I moved to California. And then when I moved to California, I thought moving to California was one of the poorest decisions. And now that I'm out of California, I think that the things that happened in California were the worst. It's funny how I view everything in this way.

I remember sitting in the airport, and my mother smiled at me, and she told me I'd have fun with my father, and to send him her love. I didn't get it. She was married, and she still wanted to send her love to a man who had deliberately gone off and slept with a woman that wasn't her. God says to forgive those who trespass you. I don't believe that. Well, sure I do believe it; I just don't believe it to some extents. My mother forgave Randall months after their divorce. I couldn't even forgive a boy who allegedly cheated on me in grade nine for nearly two years. And then I'm barely even over what happened with Jake yet, and I'm only forcing smiles and faking laughter. Perhaps, California could have been good for me. Only, I don't believe that now.

"Do you have your passport?" She asked. I nodded. "Do you have your ticket?" I nodded again. "And the American money I gave you before you left?" I nodded for a third time, and she relaxed a little. I looked around, noticing Jake and my step father standing somewhere across the airport, talking to each other as Jake whipped out a small piece of paper and fiddled with it in his hands. I didn't know what it was. Under the circumstances between us I didn't really care anymore, either. It had been weeks either of had talked to each other, and nearly a month and twelve days since we had ended our secret relationship. I wasn't keeping track or anything. Jake looked up at his father, and gave him a half sort of smile. It was fake. I knew Jake well enough to see a faux smile from him and the one he gave Glenn was clearly a fake smile. He mouthed the words thanks dad, and then looked over at me. Even from possibly a hundred feet away we could look at each other and our eyes could meet. I looked away, because I didn't want my last look before California to be Jake Martin. After being broken hearted I was not in the mood to remember him as my last thing.

"I'll see you in September, mom." I kissed her cheek, and she hugged me tightly. At the beginning when she had said she was sending me to Randall's, I had thought she was trying to get rid of me, but now as she held me it was as if she didn't want me to go anywhere. She kissed my hair, and whispered goodbye practically a thousand times. Thankfully what had released me from her grasp had been the flight attendant calling for flight 218. "Hey, don't miss me too much. I'm only a long distance phone call away." I teased, which I probably shouldn't have done because the waterworks followed suit. I'm not entirely sure how I got out of there, how I had torn myself away from an insane woman's grasp. When I was sitting in my seat on the airplane, I could feel her face glued to the window, watching my plane take off and fly away. I had never left the country before, let alone left her for more than a weekend at Alli's house. This was a big step for her, and she had better take it now before I ditched her for college somewhere far, far away. I loved my mother. I loved her so much, sometimes even too much. But everyone knows what an over-protective mother is like every once and a while. But that was her most of the while.

I had been on an airplane once before. To a place way up north. It was a two hour flight to visit my dying grandmother – it was a very dark trip – but this excursion would be a six or seven hours. Thankfully, I had brought along my big book of Sylvia Plath and had a lot of thinking to do before I got to California. The last time I had seen my father, I had told him that I never wanted to see him again. Mostly because when I was invited to his apartment a little ways away from my own house, he had spent the night going on and on about his new girlfriend and was asking if he could invite her over which I thought was totally inappropriate. I had been invited to spend time with him, and all he did was talk about his Farrah Fawcett-esque girlfriend who he was so interested in. The next morning I told him that I never wanted to see him again and that he could have fun with her all he wanted to. She'd be the only lady in his life.


I remember waking up, and finding that my back hurt, and that the plane was coming in for its landing. I remember thinking to myself that my father would be waiting for me once I got off the plane and I'd have to pretend I loved him all over again like a little girl with her father. Though the idea of being around him made me shiver in disgust. I didn't really believe Randall deserved the little childlike love that I'd forcefully give him. As long as he didn't have a new girlfriend on his arm, I figured I could survive a little while – not the whole summer, but definitely a little while – with him. I remember taking my bags and pulling them off of the overhang compartment and slugging them down the aisle to where my father would appear and insist on taking them. I remember him doing just that, and me letting him do it, and give him a big hug and kiss.

"Hi Daddy." I mumbled. The word daddy was sickening on my tongue. I hadn't called him that to his face since the last time I saw him, just Randall.

"Hi sweetheart! Welcome to Sunny California!" he said cheerfully, and I flashed him a fake sort of smile.

"I think you mean Sunny Florida, but I'll take it. It's good to see you." I lied.

It took me a moment to notice that my dad had grown a beard since I had last seen him. He had this ridiculous sort of 'I can't believe I haven't seen my daughter in six months' sort of smile on his face, and I didn't really know how to respond to it. In all honesty it looked as if he was about to cry over me. Nobody ever cried over me except for my mother, but that was completely understandable. Mothers cry. And if they don't cry then something actually must have been wrong that they weren't telling you. It's just in the mom rulebook.

On my way out of the airport, I took notice of a restroom sign, and asked Randall if I could be excused for a moment before going off with him on our (apparently two hour – that's including traffic) car ride back to his house. When he said 'his new house' it gave me a bit of chills. I didn't want him to have a new house, really. I wanted him to be back in my house with my mother and that none of this had ever happened. Perhaps that would mean I would still have my virginity locked up in a heart shaped necklace my mother had given me, but either way I wasn't really thinking towards that. It was more of the three to four months my mother was miserable because of what happened with Randall. Stupid, selfish Randall Edwards.

When I was in the bathroom, it took me a few moments to figure out what the white papery thing was that apparently went over the seat on the toilet. I had never been outside the country before, and Canada didn't have these seat cover things. It made me wonder how unsanitary my country seemed to be, and now I was actually okay with staying in California for three or so months.

"Ready to go, kidd-o?" Randall laughed, as I walked back out to him. My breather (and thinker) time to collect myself was well used, I decided, and the ride to his home seemed do-able for a second. But when we had gotten into the car it was a whole different story.

My dad had always loved The Clash. I never really understood his infatuation with them, but he did. He would play them when my mom wasn't around back when they were married, and he apparently continued to still play them now. And on the way home from the airport, I was silently wishing my headphones weren't packed away in my suitcase so I didn't have to be objected to listening to The Clash any longer. Normally, I'm sure I could take it. But I was just unsettled around my father lately, and I didn't want to put up with it anymore. Even if he was flesh and blood. I guess I had gotten the disliking for my fathers favourite band from my mother, because I can recall her saying probably a thousand times: Turn that racket off! God doesn't like The Clash and I don't either. And then my father would try to think he was funny by saying something about how if God listened to good music, then he'd listen to The Clash.

That's back when my family was happy, but I barely remember times like those.

That's back when my sister lived with us, my sister whose now about twenty and married and also lives on literally the other side of the world. She moved to Kenya towards the middle of my grade nine year. And as much as I thought life without an older sister to yell at you and pick on you and make you feel inadequate would be easy, it truly wasn't. Darcy (that's her name) Edwards was totally gorgeous, popular, and not to mention was also a pretty darn good older sister when it really came down to it. Despite her teasing sometimes (though I deserved it, I used to wear Catholic school uniform every day before I finally got over myself) she was always there for me, and I was always there for her. We were inseparable at home, but at school it was completely different. When she left it was the first time I had been to an airport. The second was the time way up north, and then today. Airports made me think of Darcy. My father made me think of her even more.

We pulled around the corner to the street that was my fathers, and I know that it was my fathers because as we pulled past the Pacific View mall, he went on and on about how excited he was to show me his house. My father seemed far too enthralled about me coming to live with him for the summer. He was constantly going on and on about all the sights to see. Main Street. Salzer's. Golf n' Stuff… this place just didn't seem like my father's scene. He had taken a teaching job at the high school nearby, and had also been searching for a summer job. Good for him considering I wasn't about to spend every moment of my summer with him as he probably expected.

"Goddammit." Randall muttered, and I scowled. He swore now. No, worse than swearing he used the Lord's name in vein. My dad, who used to be 'Mr. Christian' himself, had now thrown all religion out the window again. "Not again." My dad pulled over to the sided of the road and I glanced ahead. Then that's when I saw it. Three boys, all dressed in black were throwing eggs from a grey carton at the house a little ways away. "Hey! Not again! I'll call the police. Not today. Get the fuck off my property!"

One of the boys laughed, and threw another egg up at the second story window. Oh. This was my new house. And I was being welcomed into the neighbourhood with a proper egging. I'd take it as my initiation. "You're bluffing, Randall. You're always bluffing." The boy with the shaggy black bangs spat, and took off with his friends into what appeared to be a hearse, and drove away. I took this moment, now that everyone was gone except for my father, as the cue to get out of the car and tell him that it was totally cool that my new house was being egged my first night in town. It was either do that or let him stand there miserable. So I walked up beside him, took a look at my new house, and said:

"It's cool dad. I like egg salad sandwiches."

That cheered him up; because he pulled me into a side hug we made our descent into the new house. The front was a bit dreary. Perhaps it was the fact that it had egg all over its face, but it was a mush of greens and browns. The inside helped little. There was a creaky setoff stairs that led up to two sets of bedrooms and a bathroom with a creaky door. Actually, all the doors were creaky. I would have judged the house harshly but it was immensely obvious to tell that this house could have been fifty or so years old.

"It's nice." I told him. Off of the kitchen was a pantry and a door to the backyard. It was nearly dark out, though, so I didn't bother checking out the yard.

"I'll get your bags, and then I need to clean the egg off the house." Randall says.

"I can clean up the egg, Dad. I'm feeling a little queasy from the airplane anyway – I need some fresh air." I give him this fake sort of smile, almost like the one Jake had given Glen only six hours ago.

"Okay, it's nearly nine though, so be careful out there." My dad side hugs me once again, and kisses the top of my head. "Only been here five minutes and you're already so helpful."

I meander out of the kitchen, grabbing a role of paper towels and head out to the front yard. My dad was carrying in the two bags and as I was walking out, and the door shut behind him. Alone at last… I thought to myself. There was egg all over the front windows, and the panels of the house. Along with the walkway and the grass – which I wasn't about to waste my time on.

"Pretty girls shouldn't be doing a bad boys work." A voice muttered behind me. I nearly screamed; dropping the egg infested paper towel out of my hand and onto the concrete. And as I spun around to see who was speaking to me, my heart nearly stopped. It was the boy from maybe ten minutes ago. The one who had egged my house in the first place. "I'm Eli Goldsworthy." He grins.

"You egged my dad's house." I responded. My heart was still beating unfortunately fast.

"Your daddy's an ass." He spat. And I don't have the heart to stand up for him because I know that it's true. My dad can be a total ass. He had an affair – that made him an ass. "In my defense, I didn't know Randall was bringing home his daughter. Or that he had a daughter. And I surely didn't suspect her to be pretty." Eli paused, as if he was waiting for some sort of reaction from me. But I wasn't giving in that easily. "Anyway," he starts up again as if he had never taken a moment to stop in the first place. He reached down the paper towel roll, and rips one off, joining me on my quest to lean the windows. "What's your name? Blank Edwards. Randall never mentioned he had a daughter. We didn't even know he was married."

"He isn't." I replied, throwing a gloppy paper towel to the ground.

"Ouch. You sound bitter. Ugly divorce?"

"Yeah." It hadn't exactly yet dawned on me that I was talking about my mother and Randall's divorce to a stranger. A stranger that seemed to be in grade eleven or twelve, and had just egged my brand new house.

"Your dad was my French teacher. He was a total asshole and now I have to go to summer school and learn from him again. Total waste of my time." I raised my eyebrows. Randall hadn't yet told me that he'd be teaching this summer. In fact, he had made it seem like the entire summer would be a total blast because he'd be spending every waking moment with me.

"Oh." I whisper. And then I add: "I'm not like him."

"I hope not. I would hate to have another Debby-Downer in this town." Eli stops cleaning the front window, and then looks at me. I feel as if he's checking me out but I know there's absolutely no chance that would happen. "Are you busy later?"

"I don't know." I shrugged my shoulders.

"Do you like parties?"

"Not exactly."

"Not exactly?" he ponders.

"I mean I've never been to one." Then he starts laughing at me. As if at first he totally thinks I'm joking even though I'm clearly not. I've been to birthday parties, Christmas parties, and I think one bat mitzvah but never a party-party.

"What about a rave?" he asked.

"What the heck is a rave?"

Eli snorted. "They really sheltered you, huh?" Sheltered. I shuddered at the word. I was most definitely not sheltered. Kept in the dark a little, maybe. But certainly not sheltered. "Listen, I can help you out. Let me take you out to a rave."

"That's okay." I reached for a new paper towel, and he grasped my wrist. A gasp fell from my lips and our eyes met. It was dark out – well, getting dark, but the lights from my porch were flickering off of his eyes. They were a green colour. Not quite grass green, but not yet emerald green. Somewhere in between with a dark leaf sort of look. But I immediately turned away, not wanting to start blushing or anything.

"Okay, not a rave. But let me take you out somewhere."

"Why?" I whispered, and Eli shrugged.

"This is my only weekend before summer school. Plus I want to be the first guy in Ventura to take you out. If I don't, and we don't mesh well, then I won't bother. But if we do mesh well, and we don't take the chance then I could let some other asshole mesh well with you and you see; I wouldn't like that very much."

"Why?" I asked again.

"I just wouldn't." he took two seconds to let go of my hand, and clear his throat. As if the whole asking me out situation hadn't happened in the first place. I hadn't rejected him, but he was treating himself as if I had. Then he added: "Why don't you go inside? I'll stay out here and finish cleaning up the mess. I made it, after all."

"I more or less came out here for fresh air, so it's fine. I don't need any assistance from strangers." I grabbed the roll of paper towels, and walked away from him to the front panels of the house – which unfortunately were hard to reach because of the bushes blocking my way.

"Blank Edwards, I insist." It dawned on me at that moment that I still hadn't told him my name. "Then sit on the porch and I'll do it."

"You're persistent, you know."

Eli grinned. "I know." I handed him the paper towels.

"It's Clare, by the way."

"Clare What?"

"Clare Edwards…?" I raised my eyebrows. If he had known my father, the answer should have been obvious.

"Clare What Edwards?"

I sighed. "Clare Diana Edwards." I answered, and Eli smirked smugly towards me as if he was hiding something. "What?"

"That suits you." Then he's cleaning my house, and I'm just watching. This whole place seemed odd. A boy calls me pretty, begs for my full name and suddenly I find him cleaning off my house. Oh, and not to forget, he made the mess in the first place. I tilted my head to the side and finally sat on the front steps.

"So do you live down the street or something?" I asked.

"Nah. I live in Pierpont." He reached into his back pocket and picked out a cigarette. "You got 'a lighter?"

"No." I shook my head.

"It's all right. I've got one on me somewhere." Eli dropped his paper towels onto the grass and shuffled through his pockets until he came across a little black lighter with a skull and roses printed on it. "You want a smoke?"

"No." I shook my head again.

"I didn't think so, but it wouldn't have been very gentleman like of me to not offer you one." Eli lit up his cigarette, and took a drag. Even though he was slightly far away from me, I could smell his cigarette. "Anyway, Pierpont is where the drug addicts live. They're all pretty fucked up, but I'm one of the low-key kids. Along with Adam and Fitz. The guys I was with."

"Oh." I felt as if I sounded interested but for some reason I was a little more worried that this slightly charming teenage boy was trying to poison me. "I'm from Canada."

"Ah, Canadian, eh?" Eli joked. "Soul born Californian. Never been out of the country, and only other states been Nevada. Gotta love Las Vegas."


Eli turned to look at me and he pinned his eyebrows together. "You don't talk a lot, do you?" he asked.

"I guess not." I whispered. I had never really taken into account how I didn't speak much. I couldn't tell if it was because I didn't know Eli one bit, or if it was because I just didn't speak much on my own anyway. I stood to my feet, and leaned against the pillar of the porch. "I should go inside."

"Why?" The roles seemed reversed for a moment.

"I don't know… I think my dad would freak if he saw me talking to you." I paused. "You don't have to finish, by the way."

"If he comes out I can just yell at him in French and prove that I didn't deserve that F he gave me. Because I fucking didn't."

"Why do you say that?" I asked.

"I may have not done the homework, but I aced every single test. Every one of them. He just hated me because I flirted with all the girls in French." Eli took a moment to smirk mischievously at me, before opening his mouth again. "Cela ne me dérangerait baiser une jolie fille comme vous. Les yeux comme ceux-là ne viennent pas autour souvent." He speaks to me, and I nearly have to roll my eyes at him. He even added a wink at the end, which, for him, seemed out of character.

"Peut-être compliments Sèche-vous aller plus loin que un bonjour."

A cheesy grin curled onto his face, and a laugh fell from his lips. "So you speak French."

"Dad's a French teacher. It would be an abomination for his little angel not to speak it." I told him. I was finally starting to feel comfortable around him now. After ten minutes of chit-chatter, I could feel myself becoming attracted to the physical qualities of a guy like him. He wasn't too tall – not nearly as tall as Jake was, let's make that clear – and he wasn't too muscular. But there was just this way about him that made him irresistibly good looking. And when he laughed along with me, it was like we felt some sort of connection. Maybe he wasn't wrong about the meshing together sort of thing. "Anyway, I really think I should go inside." I gestured behind me.

"Couldn't you stay out a little longer?" he croaked, and for a moment he sounded almost needy. But then he quickly picked himself up again by taking a drag on his cigarette. "I don't want it to look like I'm robbing your house."

"Good point." I laughed, and sat back down on the porch steps. We sat in silence for a while. Eli didn't say anything sarcastic – or French – and I just didn't speak. It was probably becoming of me that I was now the quiet girl. He was nearly finished, but after having some form of company that wasn't my fathers, it was like I didn't want him to go. Though clearly his friends were down the street parked in their hearse waiting for him to finish up. I slightly felt bad – but then again, I didn't. "So tell me about Pierpont." I finally blurted out, and Eli looked over at me from his cleaning up and acted as if he was surprised I had initiated conversation.

"Sandy. Really sandy. It's mostly beach. Mostly beach and apartments and then really fucking nice houses. But I'm in the shitty part of the area so I just live around a bunch of rich assholes that piss me the fuck off. I see their kids riding around on their motorized scooters and I think to myself how that scooter could be, like, a pack of cigarettes." Eli rolled his eyes and threw the butt of his cigarette down onto the ground and stepped on it. "Sorry." He muttered.

"So is that all you care about in life? Hooking up with girls and cigarettes?" I questioned. It caused Eli to laugh, which I guess was good. He found me quiet and funny.

"Of course not. I have more substance than that. I just like hooking up and cigarettes. Everyone likes hooking up."

I wouldn't argue with him there. I liked kissing. And for the two times I got to have sex with Jake, it was phenomenal. So perhaps he wasn't lying. Except for the cigarettes part. "But you'd rather an environmentally safe way of transportation be a pack of cigarettes for your pleasure. Would they even last you the week?"

"Would they even last me a day is a better way of saying it, Clare Diana." Eli corrected, as he then proceeded to prove his point by whipping out a second cigarette and lighting it up seconds after.

"You smoke an entire pack of cigarettes a day? That bike thing could last you a year! Maybe even longer!" I argued, and Eli shrugged his shoulders at me. He had finished up the walkway by now, and all that was left was the grass, which we weren't going to bother with.

"You just don't understand. I guess you'd got'a be an addict to get it. And clearly you're not so you just don't get it." Eli took a drag, and blew the smoke towards me; probably expecting that I'd try to brush it away or something, which on the contrary, I sat there and took it like a man. Or woman. Whatever. "Anyway. It looks like I'm all finished here, so I guess I'll be off."

"Okay." I smiled a little, as if our time together was heartwarming or something.

"So when can I see you again?" he slipped the cigarette into his mouth, and reached for my hand to help me stand up again. "Like I said, I want to be the first to take you out."

And then I was blushing. I had hid the red cheeky feeling the whole time, but now I couldn't bare it any longer. Even my ears were feeling hot at this point. I slowly let go of his hand, and shrugged my shoulders just a slow as I had let go of his hand. "I… I don't know." I whispered. "I mean I just got here."

"Better now than never."

"Better late than never." I corrected, and Eli smiled at me.

"Either way, I'd like to take you out. I can wait a while for you, if you want." He offered, but I shook my head.

"It's not your fault or anything, it's me. I've dated two guys ever and they both ended up total… total…" I bit my lip, finding it within me to work up the courage to even mutter such a word. "They were total assholes." And Eli seemed to beam at my word, as if swearing was a big accomplishment for me or something.

"Well, I can assure you that I am also a total asshole. But I have the heart to let you know it before I might so possibly hurt you." Eli gave me this genuine sort of look, and let out a breath of air towards me. And it didn't smell like smoke either. It just smelled like plain air. "But I'm not going to hurt you. I think we could have something, you and I." Eli took a step backwards, and swallowed. "If anything, you'd probably end up crushing me at the end of it. If there'd be an end of it. Anyway. I'll come back tomorrow, how does that sound?"

I looked down, a smile on my face that I was so desperately trying to hide. "Okay. Tomorrow then."


And that was the last I saw of Eli Goldsworthy for the night. He walked down the street, lighting up a third cigarette as he approached his hearse with his friends – Adam and Fitz. And I remembered their names because all night I was replaying what had happened with him in my head. The first person of Ventura that I had met was Eli Goldsworthy. I had met him by a proper egging, and then he asks me out on a date. It all seemed like some cliché movie plot to me, though I was hoping it wasn't. Randall had offered me dinner, but I wasn't hungry. Butterflies had consumed my stomach. I just told him that I wanted to go to bed, and so I did. Or at least I lied in my bed, and stared at the awkwardly slanted ceiling above me just imagining an actual date with this rebellious character.

Eli Goldsworthy would have never seemed to be someone that would ask out a girl like me. He was dark. You could tell by the way he did his hair, and how his eyes were coated with a dark substance ('guyliner', I later realized) and how he drove a hearse. I on the other hand preferred books and silence and wearing floral dresses. How did two of us seem to 'mesh' together as Eli thought? The only reason I figured he was even bothering to talk to me was because he wanted a good hookup. Perhaps even because I was the teacher's daughter and he just wanted to get back at my father in the first place. But deep down I was trying hard to believe that Eli was trying to go after me because he was actually taking an interest in me. Not because he was the boy that liked cigarettes and hookups. Because there was a possibility that he might like me.