Something awful is going to happen today.
I don’t know why I wrote that. It’s crazy. There’s no reason for me to be upset and every reason for me to be happy, but…
But here I am at 5:30 in the morning, awake and scared. I keep telling myself it’s just that I’m all messed up from the time difference between France and here. But that doesn’t explain why I feel so scared. So lost.
The day before yesterday, while Aunt Judith and Margaret and I were driving back from the airport, I had such a strange feeling. When we turned onto our street I suddenly thought, “Mom and Dad are waiting for us at home. I bet they’ll be on the front porch or in the living room looking out the window. They must have missed me so much.”
I know. That sounds totally crazy.
But even when I saw the house and the empty front porch I still felt that way. I ran up the steps and I tried the door and knocked with the knocker. And when Aunt Judith unlocked the door I burst inside and just stood in the hallway listening, expecting to hear Mom coming down the stairs or Dad calling from the den.
Just then Aunt Judith let a suitcase crash down on the floor behind me and sighed a huge sigh and said, “We’re home.” And Margaret laughed. And the most horrible feeling I’ve ever felt in my life came over me. I’ve never felt so utterly and completely lost.
Home. I’m home. Why does that sound like a he?
I was born here in Fell’s Church. I’ve always lived in this house, always. This is my same old bedroom, with the scorch mark on the floorboards where Caroline and I tried to sneak cigarettes in 5th grade and nearly choked ourselves. I can look out the window and see the big quince tree Matt and the guys climbed up to crash my birthday slumber party two years ago. This is my bed, my chair, my dresser.
But right now everything
looks strange to me, as if I don’t belong here. It’s me that’s out of place. And the worst thing is that I feel there’s somewhere I do belong, but I just can’t find it.
I was too tired yesterday to go to Orientation.
Meredith picked up my schedule for me, but I didn’t feel like talking to her on the phone. Aunt Judith told everyone who called that I had jet lag and was sleeping, but she watched me at dinner with a funny look on her face.
I’ve got to see the crowd today, though. We’re supposed to meet in the parking lot before school. Is that why I’m scared? Am I frightened of them?
Elena Gilbert stopped writing. She stared at the last line she had written and then shook her head, pen hovering over the small book with the blue velvet cover. Then, with a sudden gesture, she lifted her head and threw pen and book at the big bay window, where they bounced off harmlessly and landed on the upholstered window seat.
It was all so completely ridiculous.
Since when had she, Elena Gilbert, been scared of meeting people? Since when had she been scared of anything? She stood up and angrily thrust her arms into a red silk kimono. She didn’t even glance at the elaborate Victorian mirror above the cherrywood dresser; she knew what she’d see. Elena Gilbert, cool and blond and slender, the fashion trendsetter, the high school senior, the girl every boy wanted and every girl wanted to be. Who just now had an unaccustomed scowl on her face and a pinch to her mouth.
A hot bath and some coffee and I’ll calm down, she thought. The morning ritual of washing and dressing was soothing, and she dawdled over it, sorting through her new outfits from Paris.