A/N: Hey guys! I know I should be working on Now, Mary but I'm kind of suffering from writer's block. This idea came suddenly to me and I'm just going to go with it. I can honestly say I have a general idea of where this is going but I'm not too sure. Please review if you'd like me to continue! Enjoy!

All that glitters is not gold - Shakespeare's The Merchant of Venice

Lots of people think that having a secret identity is cool. Escaping your mundane life and becoming someone else, anyone else. But, let me tell you, easier said than done, I would know. First, you're constantly on the lookout, because if someone finds out about you, you're screwed. Then, you'll always be tempted to tell someone. I know you're thinking, "Well isn't the point of having a secret identity, not to tell anyone?", but trust me, you want to always be like, "That's me, you idiots! I'm the one everyone's talking about!" But you can't because, once again, if anyone finds out, you're screwed.

And I'm not talking about the good type of screwed; I'm talking the-most-embarrassing-secret-being-revealed type of screwed. I'm talking even-wose-then-the-time-you-walked-in-on-your-parents-going-at-it type of screwed. Yet, maybe you don't believe me, so let me start from the beginning.

"Alright, class. I'll be handing back your creative writing assignments from last week and I've got to admit, they were less then stellar. C'mon guys, passion! You people are on the cusp of adulthood, but you write like three year olds. You need to find something you're passionate about and focus. Write about what you know! Remember what Mark Twain says: Most writers regard truth as their most valuable possession, and therefore are most economical in its use."

Poor Mr. Myers, always trying to get us excited about writing, doesn't he know that our school is filled with lemmings that possessed the imagination of a brick? I suppose that's what all fresh faced, twentysomething teachers think like. Poor creature, his idealism will be crushed within a year of working in this place.

"CJ, I wanted to speak to you." He said as I was leaving. Miranda oooed at me; I rolled my eyes at her immaturity.

I went over to his desk and he handed me my paper. I had wrote about when my brother's dog died and the sadness he had probably felt at losing it. I thought it was a decent paper, but evidently he seemed to disagree. A big, fat, red C was scribbled on the front. I stared in disbelief, silently fuming. Did I say poor Mr. Myers? I meant that I hope his dreams will be crushed into little, tiny, undecipherable pieces.

"It was a good paper, CJ, but it had no emotion. I felt like I was reading an information piece about the death of a dog. There was no heart, no feeling. I believe in you and I know you can do better than this."

What the hell did he think this was? Good Will Hunting? He gave me an inspiring speech and I would kiss his ass like the rest of my class? If only he knew the type of writing I was capable of. I refrained from voicing my thought and pasted a smile on my face.

"Of course, Mr. Myers. I'll try better next time."

"Alright, you're free to leave."

I turned to leave but he called me once again.

"Oh, and CJ? Why don't you talk more in class? I'm sure you have some valuable input to share with the rest of us."

"Okay, I'll do that." I replied mechanically.

He nodded at me and I left the classroom. Miranda was eagerly waiting for me by my locker.

"So, did you do a little extra credit for Mr. Hot Stuff?"

Well, that's Miranda Peterson for you. The girl has never heard of a verbal filter, one of the reasons I can't really tell her everything. But, we've been friends since we were three and she's pretty okay about some stuff.

"Hardly. He wanted me to participate more in class." I shoved the paper in the depths of my locker; I just wanted to be rid of the stupid thing.

She laughed and said "Well now, I could have told you that. Don't you know that half the school thinks you're a damn mute, CJ?"

I closed the locker and shoved my books into my shoulder bag. "I just don't have anything to say Miranda and I could really care less about what these people think of me."

Miranda shrugged. "Whatever, hey did you hear? Carter Stevens and Della Roderick broke up. He told her "he wanted to see other people." Yeah right, everyone knows he's screwing her older sister and apparently that had been going on for a while. God, what a dumb ho."

I failed to mention that Carter had said the same thing to Miranda when he broke up with her to date Della.

"What or who King Carter does is really none of my business."

This didn't settle well with Miranda, queen of all gossips. "Christ, Cassiopeia! Why can't you act like a normal teenage girl for once? Must you always be calm and levelheaded?"

"Well, dear Miranda, you act like a teenage girl enough for the both of us." I smiled as she huffed childishly. We entered the cafeteria and were greeted by our cheerleaders getting ready for the pep rally tonight.

"First and ten

Do it again

Come on Cougars

Let's Win!"

Noticeably absent was Della, who happened to be the captain. She was sitting in the corner, dully picking at her salad. Her eyes were rimmed red from what I assumed was crying and she kept staring to her right. I followed her line of vision and saw it led to Carter, who had Hali Whiteman on his lap and they looked quite cozy. Hali kept leaning in and running her fingers through Carter's hair, at which time Della would viciously attack her salad.

I didn't realize how long I had been looking, because suddenly Carter's eyes met mine. I quickly dropped my eyes and kept walking to me and Miranda's usual table.

I really didn't want to get into Carter Steven's drama today.

Ashton and Miranda were talking about Carter and Della when I got there.

"I really don't get why all the girls fall all over themselves for him. He's an ass, plain and simple and they deserve better." Ashton argued between bites of his burger.

I almost sighed but quickly kept myself in check. Ashton Mercer was perfection. He wasn't just a pretty face (although he had that in his favor); he was a gentleman and I was in love with him. Although, I would never do anything about it. First of all, he was one of my best friends.

"He's gorgeous, Ash. Girls love the bad boy." answered Miranda, not noticing that Ashton stiffened when she complimented Carter.

Ahh, there was the second reason. He also happened to be in love with Miranda. And why wouldn't he be? She was vivacious, beautiful, blonde Miranda. Any guy's wet dream wrapped up in St. Christopher's school uniform.

"Back me up CJ. Tell 'Randa over here that Stevens is an asshole."

"Well, considering the fact that he has dated the entire female population at St. Christopher's and has broken their hearts in an inconsiderate manner, then yes Ash, I would agree. He is an ass."

Miranda slapped her hand to her face and groaned. "CJ doesn't count. She is the only girl at school that hasn't dated Carter, so how would she know? He was really sweet for the month that we dated."

"It was a week, Miranda and he dumped you after you slept with him, for Della Roderick, who coincidentally, he had been seeing behind your back." I corrected while opening my ham sandwich.

Ashton grinned as Miranda flustered and tried to search for an answer, but failed to come up with anything. She looked like she was about to leave the table, so I intervened.

"New topic, please. All this talk about King Carter is going to make me sick."

Miranda visibly perked up and supplied." Did you read the new piece from Madame DuBois? Oh my 'Lanta it nearly killed me! How the heck does she do this?"

Ashton and her discussed the genius of Madame DuBois and I suppose I looked a little out of it because Ashton asked, "Hey, CJ, do you read any of her stuff?"

Miranda rolled her eyes, "What? Our CJ? She probably thinks Madame DuBois is "immature" or something."

I didn't reply and continued eating. I wanted to tell them my secret, to see their faces painted with shock. But, I finished my sandwich and got up.

"Madame DuBois is probably a bored housewife who fills her afternoons with cheap writing. She's a half rate author and anyone who thinks otherwise is just wrong."

I left the table, but I could hear them still talking about "how wrong CJ was" and "Madame DuBois is the best thing that's happened to this school."

I shook my head at them. Oh, how they'd never know.