Chapter 3
SEPTEMBER 9, 2030.
"HOPE?"
When Hope turns around, it's Landon standing there, fidgeting his fingers before a hand moves to play with the hairs on the back of his neck. For a moment, his eyes dance around the cafeteria table where she and Lizzie sit with MG. He almost looks regretful of his decision to approach them.
Landon clears his throat. "Can we talk? Outside, maybe?"
Hope looks to Lizzie for help, but she isn't sure why. Lizzie eats her ham and cheese sandwich like some kind of squirrel while avoiding eye contact with Hope all together. Instead, she exchanges looks with MG who does equally as much avoiding. Hope turns back to Landon.
She wipes her hands on her jeans. "Sure," she half-smiles. It probably looks pathetic, but it's all she can muster up. Behind that half-smile, Hope is screaming, begging for this moment to be some sort of lucid dream that she can snap her fingers and wake up from. Landon does some sort of nod, gives MG a short wave, and leads Hope out of the cafeteria doors and into the courtyard.
First period had been awkward enough. When she walked in, eyes darting around the classroom for the nearest empty seat, she immediately saw Landon placed in the middle of the room like a centerpiece. The second they made eye contact, his eyes pounced in the opposite direction and out the window. Hope could see his chest rising and falling at an unsteady pace.
She didn't know which of them she did it for, but she took the seat the farthest away from him in the back right corner of the room.
She didn't pay attention in history. Instead, she'd looked out the window and watched the birds and the squirrels. She watched the way the wind picked up the fallen leaves and took them somewhere new. She wanted to be one of them. She wanted to be anywhere but there.
Yet now, she's here.
Sitting underneath a tree in the grassy courtyard of Mystic Falls High, with the boy she definitely wasn't k-i-s-s-i-n-g-in-a-tree with anymore.
Neither of them say anything for a moment. Landon just unpacks his lunch and pulls out a sandwich from a container. Hope can imagine, despite his age, his mom prepping it for him in the morning. He'd always secretly been her favorite son.
He holds the sandwich up. "Um... do you want half?"
It's some sort of piece offering, she thinks, so she feels bad if she says no.
"Okay," she takes it slowly. Peanut butter and jelly. "Thanks."
He takes a bite, Hope just holds it.
For the first time, Landon laughs. He forms a fist over his mouth to avoid spitting out crumbs. "I didn't poison it, Hope," he says, voice slightly muffled from the surplus of peanut butter.
"I wouldn't blame you if you had," she checks out the sandwich, then gives Landon a smile. It's guilty and sad and she hopes it shows how sorry she is.
Landon sets down his half and sighs. Birds are chirping and Hope wonders if it's the same ones she saw during first period. They're blue and grey and they shake the tree when they fly away. A leaf lands in her hair and Landon picks it out without thinking.
He clears his throat. "Sorry," he mumbles. "That wasn't like, romantic, or anything."
Hope cracks a grin. "Are you rejecting me right now, Landon Kirby?"
He throws his hands up. "Believe me, it's nothing personal."
There's more to that sentence, Hope can tell by the way his eyes flicker with some sort of fear for a short moment. There's something he's afraid to tell her.
"Um," Landon sighs. "I don't really know how to say it."
Hope shifts. "Okay. Do you want me to start, then?"
Landon looks at her. His eyes are so pretty. She wishes she could've loved him.
She tried, she really did. But something wouldn't let her.
Someone.
Someone she still has yet to see all day. Someone she also hurt. Hope can't help but think if there's a single person in her life that she hasn't hurt one way or another.
Instead of answering, Landon just nods.
"I'm sorry," Hope whispers. It comes out weaker than she would've liked it to. She's pleading, she knows it, and Landon tilts his head the slightest bit, his bright green eyes soften up like melting butter.
"I'm not mad at you, Hope," Landon shakes his head. "I never have been."
Hope's furrows her brows. Landon Kirby had every single right to be mad at her. To be furious with her, in fact. To hate her, to paint devil horns on her head, to throw darts at her photographs. She hurt him, quite possibly more than anyone has ever hurt him.
Didn't she?
"Wait. You don't... hate me?" She whispers.
Landon laughs. "In what world could I hate Hope Mikaelson, my best friend?"
"In a world where I hurt you," Hope meets his eyes when he looks down. "Why are you being so nice to me?"
Hope almost feels like this is some sort of joke. Like a group of Landon's friends are going to jump out from behind the tree with big cameras, laugh and say you should've seen your face.
Landon takes Hope's hand. It's a slow decision— she can see him questioning it for a moment. But within a split second, all doubt vanishes as he interlaces their fingers. His eyes look into hers and she sees the kid she grew up with, loved like a brother and trusted like a best friend. The person she put all of her faith into, the person she once thought she'd never see a life without until she did.
It's this moment when she realizes how much she's missed Landon Kirby. Her best friend.
"You did hurt me," he says, and Hope's heart falls into the pit of her stomach. She feels the tears rushing to the surface, but he squeezes her hand. "You hurt me because you didn't come to me."
Hope blinks. "What?" A tear falls, but she's quick to wipe it away.
"Your dad died, Hope," Landon shakes his head. "I wanted to be there for you. I didn't care what my label was to you. I just....wanted to be by your side."
Hope swallows. It's thick and full of pain, like she's shoving a golfball down her throat.
She doesn't want to cry anymore.
"I thought it was easier, leaving with no strings attached," Hope admits.
"Was it?" Landon asks.
Hope shrugs. "For a while, yeah," she looks away. "Um, but there were some really lonely moments. I mean, I felt like I could die. Everyone would be asleep and I'd be laying in bed in awake, just staring at the ceiling for hours and crying until I couldn't breathe," she paused, before admitting, "I wanted to call you."
"I would've answered."
"I thought you hated me."
"It's always easier that way," Landon says. "It's easier to assume how people feel about you because that way it doesn't hurt as much knowing that they just really just miss you."
Hope shakes her head. She curls her lips to prevent from sobbing. "I missed you so much, Landon."
"I never want you doing that again," Landon narrows his eyes. "From now on, we face things together. Just like we promised."
Hope nods frantically. Landon wraps her in his arms. She curls into his body the way she would when they were young and innocent. When they had nothing to worry about except what flavor popsicle they were going to pick out later. Back when things were easy and free. Back when Hope knew what happy was.
"Now," Landon huffs. "What I'm about to say, I've only ever said to a couple of people. It's not that big of a deal but, maybe it is, I don't really know," Landon shakes his head.
Hope tilts her head. "What is it? What's wrong?"
Landon laughs. "Nothing's wrong, I hope," he says. "Just... different."
Hope takes his hand this time.
"I don't... have feelings for you," Landon's confession is slow and cautious and the slightest bit awkward.
Hope pretends to be hurt, but she's smiling. "Again with the rejection."
"No," Landon laughs. "I, uh... okay. You know how when we were really young, you thought I had a crush on Alyssa Chang? And I said..."
"That you didn't know what it felt like to like someone that way," Hope finishes. "I remember."
Landon swallows. "I still... feel that way," he admits.
"About Alyssa Chang?" Hope's confused, so she thinks for a moment. Before Landon can say anything else, though, it hits her. "Or about... anyone?"
Landon avoids looking at Hope. Like if he does, she'll realize what this means.
He never loved her, either. Not like that.
"Landon..." Hope smiles. "It's okay. I mean, just because you don't love romantically doesn't mean you don't love at all. In fact, you're the most loving person that I've ever met. You have so much love to give people, it doesn't matter what kind, or how you show it. You just... love, and I love that about you."
Landon cracks a grin. "Take a shot every time you say love to the aromantic."
Hope punches his shoulder. "Shut up," she laughs. And he does, too.
And for the first time in years, sitting under the tree with her best friend as the sun draws light onto his face, Hope remembers what happy feels like.
She takes her first bite of the sandwich.
"Josie is so dead."
Lizzie's tone is humorous as she and Hope stand beside each other in Mystic Fall High's gymnasium. They're waiting in an endless line just to jot down the sizes for their P.E. uniforms. Students' laughter bounces off the walls and shoes squeak against the hard ground as those who already wrote down their sizes run a lap or ball basketball— "Your choice," Coach Carter had yelled before blowing a whistle and damaging everyone's eardrums. It was completely unnecessary, and Hope can tell she and him aren't going to be buddy-buddy.
"Why's that?" Hope entertains Lizzie.
"She wasn't at lunch today. I thought maybe she skipped the cafeteria for a fine dine, but she wasn't in sixth period, either. So, I came to the ultimate conclusion that she ditched her textbooks for tokes and hopped on the girlfriend train, far away from here."
Hope tries to act like this new information about the brunette Saltzman doesn't distract her focus, or cause her heart to throb, but she wonders how obvious it actually is as she looks around the gym.
"You know her better," Hope mumbles.
She wants to ask about the girlfriend thing, but it'd be a dead giveaway— she cares about Josie Saltzman more than anyone thinks.
Hope spots MG in what Coach Carter chose as "the male line" (or as Lizzie described it, the "sexist and misogynistic queue made by the King of Toxicity himself"). MG waves, a wide smile taking up his entire face. Hope smiles back and turns around. When she does, someone running a lap bumps straight into her.
"Ow," Hope groans. The collision was a rough knock to her shoulder. The pain is sharp, but develops into a deep, dull ache as she massages the spot she knows will bruise tomorrow. The person grabs her, their touch is gentle counter to their punch, and when Hope looks up, she suddenly feels like she's in a really bad teen movie.
"I'm so sorry," Ethan exclaims. "I can't believe I just did that to you again."
"Makes two of us," Hope rolls her eyes. Lizzie snickers behind her.
"I don't have a shoulder to offer you," he says. "We can try the jacket thing again? Maybe the nurse for an ice pack?"
"It's fine," Hope huffs. She rolls hers shoulder, hoping it will feel good as new, but the sudden movement causes her to hiss in pain.
Ethan winces. "It's really not," he steps forward and hovers his hands in a circle over Hope's shoulder. It feels like it's been torn apart by a dog. "Please tell me there's something I can do."
You can watch where you're going and stop bumping into me, Hope thinks about saying, but swallows it instead.
"You can pay for the surgery," Hope doesn't meet his eyes. Honestly, she kind of just wants him to leave.
Ethan grins. "Send me the bill."
Finally, Hope looks at him. He's backing away, slowly, and his eyes never leave hers. His jaw is sharp, his face so clean-shaven it makes him look younger. Not young young, just... youthful. He's charming, which means he's probably no good. Or he's like this with every person he meets, regardless of gender, so Hope thinks nothing of it.
He smiles to himself, jogs away, and Hope lets out a shaky breath.
"Oh. My. God," Lizzie's jaw is on the floor. "You are so gonna get laid by Ethan Machado."
"Lizzie!" Hope gasps. She looks around. They've gained a few stares— mostly students who haven't looked away since the, apparently most "sought out" guy here, used Hope's shoulder as a punching bag.
"What?" Lizzie smirks. "He was flirting."
"He was not flirting," Hope blushes. "We were having a conversation."
"Yeah. A conversation that involved flirting."
"This line is taking forever," Hope stands on her tiptoes to look over the students ahead of her. There's a group of girls at the front giggling with each other, clearly holding up the line.
"Don't change the subject on me, Mikaelson," Lizzie grins. "You like him."
"I don't even know him!"
"So? I don't know Johnny Depp and I still like him," Lizzie attempts to make a point, but it only draws Hope farther away from any sort of conclusion.
"You're unbelievable."
Lizzie places her hand over her heart. "Thank you, Hope."
"I don't like Ethan Machado," Hope says. It's final. She can't tell if she's trying to convince Lizzie or herself.
Boys like Ethan Machado are too-good-to-be-true. They're handsome, charming, and always find a way to use those two things against anyone who comes their way, whether it be a pretty smile and puppy dog eyes, or cute, heart-warming words that make you forget about everything they've done wrong. Hope's seen the movies— she knows how it ends.
Ethan Machado is just another character in Hope Mikaelson's life that she can't— and won't— let in.
And that's a promise she's going to keep.
Hope doesn't remember the last time she read over a syllabus. Being homeschooled for three years, mostly by her very own Uncle, she never really needed one. Starting to read over the curriculum for American History, she puts it right back down. The sudden movement sends a shock of pain through her arm and up to her shoulder. She pulls down her sweater, cautiously as every move seemed to add to the ache, she saw there's a deep purple blemish accessorizing her shoulder. She winces at the sight of it. Maybe it was worse than she thought. She never knew that one shoulder could cause this to another, but then again, Ethan Machado was built like an college football star.
Hope stands up from the dining table and makes her way into the kitchen. She opens the freezer and searches for something, anything, solid enough to rest on the bruise. It's when she finally finds a bag of frozen cauliflower that she hears what sounds like someone falling down the stairs. Hope rushes to the archway leading into the living room and realizes it was only Alaric marching down the steps, face full of fury, red as the devil. It looked like his heart was bursting.
Slowly, Hope brings the bag to her shoulder. "Ric? Is everything al—"
The front door slams midway through Hope's sentence. Instead of saying anything, she takes a seat. Was someone outside trying to break in? That's irrational— for starters, it's Mystic Falls. Second, Alaric didn't bring down a single item to defend himself with.
And that's when Hope hears her.
Through the glass on the front door, Hope still can't see Josie, she's just out of frame.
But she can hear her.
"I'm the principal, Josette. Did you really think I wouldn't find out you skipped your first day?!"
Hope swallows. She can see Alaric perfectly. He's not as mad as he was when he came stomping down the steps, causing the pictures on the walls to shake like an earthquake had hit central Virginia. Like the sight of his daughter's permanent pouty lips and doe eyes cooled him down just enough to not blow his top off.
"I'm not some trouble-child, okay? I just didn't want to be there."
Her voice is muffled, but it's hers, and Hope can't believe she's hearing it. She knew she'd have to see Josie eventually. It was unavoidable— living together, having room's next door to each other, going to the same school. It was a game of the impossible.
Hope knows she should pack her things and go upstairs. It sounds private and it's rude to eavesdrop. But she can't help it.
Hearing Josie again— it awakens something in her she realized fell asleep a long, long time ago.
She doesn't know whether to be happy, scared, sad. All of the above and more.
"No teenager wants to be at school, Josie, but you go anyway because it's mandatory. Now, give me your phone," Alaric juts out his hand. "You're grounded until further notice."
"What? No! I'm almost eighteen. You can't do that."
Alaric laughs. "I'm your father and I pay the bill. So yeah, actually, I can. Now, give me the telephone, Josette."
Hope watches Josie's hand place the device into Alaric palm. Her nail polish is black.
"Now, go to bed. You have school tomorrow and I'm your ride."
"I have a ride," Josie snarks.
"Yeah. Me," Alaric snaps back. "I'm taking you to school until I decide I can trust you again. And don't even think about skipping out halfway. I'll be making sure you're in class. Now, go to bed."
The front door opens after a few moments. Hope sees her suede ankle boots first, then it's her long legs, the beige suede skirt. And then the smallest amount of her belly is shown, her black shirt not quite reaching the hemline of her skirt. And then it's the plaid black-and-white coat, and then the necklace of the Sagittarius constellation, and then her neck, her jaw, her lips, her nose.
Her.
Hope doesn't know why, but she stands up. The pain in her shoulder goes numb as she stares at Josie. Her hair is down to her waist, pin-straight and silky, and beautiful. Hope remembers when it got caught in her cherry lip gloss.
Their laughter had finally died down and the girls collapsed onto the floor. Hope accidentally knocks into Alaric's bottle of bourbon. She holds it up.
"Are you sure he won't notice?" She shakes it.
Josie laughs. "He'll think he drank it."
"There's still some left," Hope grins. Her and Josie exchange a look before Hope excitedly downs the final shot. She falls back onto the ground and laughs. Her head is foggy, her eyes are heavy, and she feels like she's floating.
For once, everything is calm.
"Here," Josie says suddenly. She's pulling her phone and earbuds out of her hoodie's pocket. She hands Hope one. "Let's listen to some music. I know some good songs."
Hope takes the headphone and puts it into her ear without question. Whatever Josie likes, she wants to like, too. They're lying flat on the ground, eyes up at the ceiling pretending it's the stars.
Hope shuts her eyes as a song begins to play. It's acoustic melody makes her swear she's heard it before, it must've been a hit. Or maybe she heard it playing on a vinyl in the living room one day. Maybe her dad and Caroline danced to it once in front of the fireplace. It sounds like that type of song.
It's older, but Josie always loved those songs the best. Sometimes, Hope can hear her belting Frank Sinatra in the shower. She always sounds beautiful.
"I like this," Hope hums. She keeps her eyes closed.
Josie sighs. "Doesn't it make you want to fall in love?"
Finally, Hope opens her eyes. When she blinks her way back into light, Josie is staring at her. Strands of her hair are caught in her lipgloss. When she realizes she was caught staring, she giggles loudly, pulls the sticky strands from her lips, and her cheeks turn bright red. She covers her mouth, still giggling to herself.
All Hope can notice is how pretty she is.
Hope's voice is barely even a whisper. "It makes me feel like I already am"
Slowly, Josie turns her head back around around. Her eyes search every inch of Hope's face before finally, she smiles again.
"I think it makes me feel that way, too."
Josie doesn't say a word.
Hope takes a step forward. "Josie..." she starts, but she doesn't know what she was trying to say. There's a million different things she wants to say, but not a single one will make it past the tip of her tongue.
Josie takes a step back. "Goodnight, Hope."
She rushes up the stairs. When her hand lands on the railing, Hope sees the emerald jewel, shiny and clear.
Josie's wearing the crescent moon ring.