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Chapter Four<br />
By the time Elena reached her locker, the numbness was wearing off and the lump in her throat was<br />
trying to dissolve into tears. But she wouldn't cry at school, she told herself, she wouldn't. After<br />
closing her locker, she made for the main exit.<br />
For the second day in a row, she was coming home from school right after the last bell, and alone.<br />
Aunt Judith wouldn't be able to cope. But when Elena reached her house, Aunt Judith's car was not in<br />
the driveway; she and Margaret must have gone out to the market. The house was still and peaceful as<br />
Elena let herself in.<br />
She was glad for that stillness; she wanted to be alone right now. But, on the other hand, she didn't<br />
exactly know what to do with herself.<br />
Now that she finally could cry, she found that tears wouldn't come. She let her backpack sag to the<br />
floor in the front hall and walked slowly into the living room.<br />
It was a handsome, impressive room, the only part of the house besides Elena's bedroom that<br />
belonged to the original structure. That first house had been built before 1861, and had been almost<br />
completely burned in the Civil War. All that could be saved was this room, with its elaborate<br />
fireplace framed by scrolled molding, and the big bedroom above. Elena's father's greatgrandfather<br />
had built a new house, and Gilberts had lived in it ever since.<br />
Elena turned to look out of one of the ceiling-to-floor windows. The glass was so old that it was<br />
thick and wavery, and everything outside was distorted, looking slightly tipsy. She remembered the<br />
first time her father had showed her that wavery old glass, when she had been younger than Margaret<br />
was now.<br />
The fullness in her throat was back, but still no tears would come. Everything inside her was<br />
contradictory. She didn't want company, and yet she was achingly lonely. She did want to think, but<br />
now that she was trying to, her thoughts eluded her like mice running from a white owl.<br />
White owl… hunting bird… flesh eater… crow, she thought. "Biggest crow I've ever seen," Matt<br />
had said.<br />
Her eyes stung again. Poor Matt. She'd hurt him, but he'd been so nice about it. He'd even been nice<br />
to Stefan.<br />
Stefan. Her heart thudded once, hard, squeezing two hot tears out of her eyes. There, she was crying<br />
at last. She was crying with anger and humiliation and frustration – and what else?<br />
What had she really lost today? What did she really feel for this stranger, this Stefan Salvatore? He<br />
was a challenge, yes, and that made him different, interesting. Stefan was exotic… exciting.<br />
Funny, that was what guys had sometimes told Elena she was. And later she heard from them, or<br />
from their friends or sisters, how nervous they were before going out with her, how their palms got<br />
sweaty and their stomachs were full of butterflies. Elena had always found such stories amusing. No<br />
boy she'd ever met in her life had made her nervous.