It was her secret.

Her one and only dirty, twisted secret that she kept hidden from those that thought they knew her the best.

Becky Baker stood on the roof of the High Rises, a twenty five floor appartment building overlooking the Toronto bay. Her feet were planted on the very edge, the tips of her flats suspended in the air, so only her heels kept her rooted on the building.

Below her, Toronto roared with night life, cars buzzing down the roads, street lights flickering on and illuminating the specs of people rushing down the streets.

Becky kept her eyes peeled on a yellow Hondu, watched as it sped down a street and turned a sharp corner without using its blinkers. Everyone, she realized, was always in such a rush.

For what?

A strand of blonde hair fell against Becky's face, and she wiped it away with a defeated sigh.

Months ago, before she entered Degrassi, she had thought that there was much to look forward to.

Now, she knew she had been fooling herself.

She had thought, stupidly, that God had a plan for everyone. For her.

She had thought, wholeheartedly, that He never made mistakes.

Now she was starting to think that she had been wrong her whole life.

If God had made a mistake with Adam, who is to say he didn't make a mistake with her?

What if there was no plan for her?

Becky looked down with a shaky breath, surveying the danger below her.

One step. One step and I'd know.

For weeks, Becky Baker had been making a nightly trip to the top of this building.

The first week, she had remained far from the edge, had simply rested her back against the rooftop door.

She had come soley to assure herself that it was an option. There was always an option. There was always a way out.

The second week, she had moved a little close to the edge, but kept her eyes forward, not daring to look down.

By the third week, she found her eyes moving to the traffic twenty five stories below her, and now, a month later, she perched precariously on the edge, listening to the small voice that whispered "jump" in the back of her mind.

Somewhere, deep within her, she knew she could never do it. It would not only kill her, but also her father and Luke. She would not end only one life, but three. And that nagging, pesty Christian voice still whispered in her constantly. The one that wouldn't allow her to hurt anyone.

Still, the practice, the almost ritual, of gambling her life every night, of reminding herself there was a way out, comforted her.

It was sick, and she knew that.

It was Unchristian.

But it was her secret.

Her only dirty secret.