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Chapter Six
September 26
Dear Diary,
I'm sorry it's been so long, and I can't really explain why I haven't written – except that there are
so many things I feel frightened to talk about, even to you.
First, the most terrible thing happened. The day that Bonnie and Meredith and I were at the
cemetery, an old man was attacked there, and almost killed. The police still haven't found the
person who did it. People think the old man was crazy, because when he woke up he started raving
about "eyes in the dark" and oak trees and things. But I remember what happened t us that night,
and I wonder. It scares me.
Everyone was scared for a while, and all the kids had to stay inside after dark or go out in
groups. But it's been about three weeks now, and no more attacks, so the excitement is dying down.
Aunt Judith says it must have been another vagrant that did it. Tyler Smallwood's father even
suggested that the old man might have done it to himself – though I would like to see somebody
bite himself in the throat.
But mostly what I've been busy with is Plan B. As far as it goes, it's been going well. I've gotten
several letters and a bouquet of red roses from "Jean-Claude" (Meredith's uncle is a florist), and
everybody seems to have forgotten that I was ever interested in Stefan. So my social position's
secure. Even Caroline hasn't been making any trouble.
In fact, I don't know what Caroline is doing these days, and I don't care. I never see her at lunch
or after school anymore; she seems to have drawn away from her old crowd completely.
There's only one thing I do care about right now. Stefan.
Even Bonnie and Meredith don't realize how important he is to me. I'm afraid to tell them; I'm
afraid they'll think I'm crazy. At school I wear a mask of calm and control, but on the inside – well,
every day it just gets worse.
Aunt Judith has started to worry about me. She says I don't eat enough these days, and she's
right. I can't seem to concentrate on my classes, or even on anything fun like the Haunted House
fund-raiser. I can't concentrate on anything but him. And I don't even understand why.
He hasn't spoken to me since that horrible afternoon. But I'll tell you something strange. Last
week in history class, I glanced up and caught him looking at me. We were sitting a few seats
apart, and he was turned completely sideways in his desk, just looking. For a moment I felt almost
frightened, and my heart started pounding, and we just stared at each other – and then he looked
away. But since then it's happened twice more, and each time I felt his eyes on me before I saw
them. This is the literal truth. I know it's not my imagination.
He isn't like any boy I've ever known.