Total drabble. Just had to get it out of my mind. One-shot.

Please, excuse spelling and grammar mistakes - I'm (hopefully temporarily) using WordPad instead of Office.

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Clare Edwards is mortified, her crystal blue eyes filled with confusion and panic as she realizes what exactly the small, white capsuls are. She shakes her head instinctively, her pink lips letting out an incredulous breath as she struggles to find the right words to say.

"Mr. Simpson, th-those aren't mine. You know that - You know me!"

But Imogen knows that this right here is no acceptable excuse; she smirks. Clare is not a liar, and she doesn't have the quick instincts to react to a false accusation anyway, not without stuttering and pausing to think up a good lie.

It's those lack of skills that has her being ushered away with the principal, the scowl on Mr. Simpson's face especially evident right now.

But suddenly, it's Eli's expression she's focused on. He's glaring after Clare, his black-rimmed eyes alive with shock. "No, no, no," he mutters, "Not her. It was supposed to be him!"

Jake Martin is leaning against his locker now, glancing in the direction in which his girlfriend has disappeared with concern. He suspects nothing yet. What do you expect from a back country, saw-bearing lumber jack?

Still, cutting wood all day does wonders for his facique. She studies the bulging muscles that make up his shoulders and arms, feeling a little uneasy. She reminds herself to think up a good explanation if Jake ever finds out that the pills are Eli's.

Imogen is still studying Jake when Eli whips around to direct a glare of anger at her. "You put the pills in the wrong locker!" He roars, his eyes almost dangerous.

"I'm sorry, Eli," she apologizes instantly, allowing the fake innocence to flood over her eyes and seethe into her voice. Only Imogen Moreno can stutter fluently.

But to her own surprise, Eli sees right through her, something no one has ever been able to do before - not even her parents. "No, you did this on purpose!" He accuses, increduously. Somewhere deep inside of her, a flare of pleasure sparks as she realizes how accustomed Eli has become to her behavior.

It dies instantly at the words that follow. "Don't you get it, Imogen?" He hisses in the most cynical voice she has ever heard him use, layered with bitterness that chips away at the mask concealing her shock and dread awaiting the next words. "You are to me what I am to Clare, and I am nothing to her!"

Nothing.

Her legs feel weak, and she knows that her mouth is slightly open, trying desperately to find words. Nothing comes.

Clare loves Jake. Eli loves Clare. Imogen loves Eli. But who is there to love her?

No one.

Because she's nothing.

In some aspects, it's like having your breath knocked out of you. Because realizations and surprises have never been the same for her. She sees things the way they are from the very beginning, always has. Misperceptions are anything but common for Imogen Moreno. For a moment, she's sure that Eli can't mean it.

You're wrong, Eli, she wants to shout, You'll get over her. You know I'm right for you . . . At least, you will.

But maybe he won't, Imogen considers this for the first time. Maybe, she is the one that hasn't been understanding this whole time.

. . . But she's the only one who listened to him, supported his decisions, while Saint Clare shook her head in disappointment. She saved him from suspension. She helped him write the play. She stood by him through it all.

And . . . he had kissed her. No, made out with her.

She had thought . . .

But, seeing everything in his eyes contradict this now, Imogen realizes she's been horribly wrong. She hasn't done him any favors - at least, not in his eyes; she's just hindered him from Clare, the girl he really wanted. Had he done it intenionally, strung her around like she actually meant something to him? She couldn't be sure.

Thinking back, maybe she had let him do that to her.