Chapter 2
HOPE IS EXPECTING A STORM. Not an actual one, of course. More of a metaphorical one in the shape of Lizzie and Josie Saltzman.
Downstairs, silverware is chiming against plates and the aroma of bacon flows through the vent in Hope's bedroom. She would be lying if she said it didn't make her stomach growl. Her dad always made the best breakfast, something she misses every time she opens up her eyes.
But her dad is dead. So it looks like Alaric's will have to do.
Hope hesitates before taking the first step down the stairs. She stares at her worn-out black boots for a while instead, one foot hovering over that first wooden step. She could always sneak right out the front door, not say a word and disappear into the abyss of the world. She could leave and never come back.
But that's what got her into this mess in the first place.
Despite feeling like she's going to throw up at any given moment, Hope inhales and takes that first step. She still doesn't know if she's walking on death row. Like the second she wanders into the kitchen, one of the twins (probably Lizzie), will aim a butter knife perfectly into her chest without batting an eye. Josie would laugh, Alaric would shrug, and Hope would die on their kitchen floor. They'd step over her like gum on a New York City sidewalk.
But that doesn't happen.
The first thing Hope notices when she steps into the kitchen is that Josie is missing. Maybe she's in the bathroom, or maybe she's still upstairs getting ready and Hope barely missed her. Maybe she's hiding in the living room or took her breakfast to the backyard.
Lizzie's there, though. She doesn't meet Hope's eyes. She doesn't say a word. She only, rather aggressively, bites off a piece of her toast and chews so hard and for so long it looks like her pointed jaw might snap. The top of her blonde hair is frizzy, and Hope notices that it's likely due to the knitted orange beanie sitting beside her plate. She probably yanked it off the second she realized her head was sweating. Her outfit, a grey t-shirt tucked into a pair of thigh-length overalls, finished with a flannel, is rather cute, something Hope might wear if she was feeling bold enough. But it's not something the Lizzie she used to know would wear.
"Hope, you're up!" Alaric grins. He sets a plate down in the same spot where Hope sat for dinner. He slides a pancake onto it. "I made pancakes. There's some bacon, too. I can make you some toast? I usually manage to burn it but I promise I'll try not to," he laughs. He's dressed in a fitted grey suit and a Mystic-Falls-maroon tie.
"That's okay," Hope sits down. It's slow and cautious. For the first time, Lizzie meets Hope's gaze. She follows her every move and Hope checks to make sure she isn't snake-eyeing her and reaching for the butter knife. "Just some bacon is fine."
Alaric places two slivers down. Hope doesn't touch them. She's too busy having a staring contest with the blonde Saltzman.
Alaric holds up a carton. "OJ?"
"Uh... sure," Hope holds out the glass beside her plate. She clears her throat. "Where's Josie?"
Finally, Lizzie breaks eye contact. "Josie gets a ride to school with her obnoxious friends. She left earlier than she would last year, though."
It's that moment when Hope starts to wonder if Lizzie knows what happened the night before she ran from Mystic Falls and never looked back. Everything Lizzie says, for years, has always seemed to have a double meaning. Hope spent countless hours dissecting every word with the sharp tip of a scalpel, but the only thing she ever finds is more questions. She can't tell if she's more terrified or impressed with Lizzie's poetry.
Hope can never say anything at all. Part of knowing what to say is knowing how you feel. Hope doesn't have a clue about anything anymore.
That's when Hope notices the placemat for Josie sitting at the end of the table. They were expecting her to stick around for breakfast. If she were here, she probably would've kept her eyes straight ahead, or darted them to Lizzie to share looks of distaste for the new addition to family breakfasts. Or she wouldn't have looked anywhere but her plate, eyes locked on the pancakes. No bacon, though, because Josie gave up meat in the fifth grade.
Either way, Hope knows not a word would've been spoken from those pouty lips.
Will she be living with a ghost for the rest of the school year? She'll probably hear Josie in the room next door, hear her laughter and hear her talking on the phone to her friends. Hear her brushing her teeth in the morning and tip-toeing to use the bathroom in the middle of the night. Hear her whispering secrets to Lizzie, hear her telling Alaric all about her day at school.
But Hope will never see her. And she can't tell how that makes her feel.
Sad, angry, relieved. All of the above.
"Crap," Alaric checks his watch. "We have five minutes. Eat fast."
So, Hope does. She scarfs down everything that she can— the pancakes, the bacon, and she downs it with the entire glass of orange juice. She'd hardly eaten her dinner last night, so everything tastes like it was made on a cloud in heaven.
Lizzie collects Hope's dishes. Hope thinks it's a force of habit, and Lizzie seems to shock herself for a moment, too. She falters, visibly embarrassed by her own hospitality, before turning on her heel and dumping it all into the sink with a loud clash. But Hope hardly hears it over Alaric rushing out the door.
Hope's fumbling for her bag when she feels steady breathing lifting the hairs on the back of her neck.
"Um," she turns around. "Is there a reason I can feel a breeze?"
Lizzie rolls her eyes. "I'm waiting. You're my ride."
Hope blinks. "I figured we'd ride with your dad 'cause, you know, he works there."
Lizzie gasps. "Nuh-uh. No way. That is so not cool. So hurry up. My feet are starting to throb from waiting on you."
Hope follows Lizzie out the front door. She doesn't know why she's listening to the bossy blonde, but she grabs her car keys out of her bag, anyway, but all she can think is what a waste of fucking gas.
Hope has been inside Mystic Falls High only once in her life. Back in middle school, the high school hosted a heritage night. Each classroom was decorated like a different part of the world. Klaus and Caroline forced Hope and the twins to go because it would open their eyes to other cultures and allow them to meet a more diverse group of people. But Hope spent the entire duration of the night racking up on hors d'oeuvres from different countries and eating them with Landon in the auditorium. They'd sat on the stage the entire night because seeing people from school, outside of school, made them both anxious.
Landon always helped Hope whenever she felt anxious.
And yet, right now, he's the last person she wants to see.
There's a crowd of students walking across the school yard. By what seems to be some sort of stoner pit, there's two jocks passing a football back and forth. They nearly hit a nerd in the head but laughed it off like it was nothing. Cheerleaders are welcoming the senior class inside, kicking their legs up higher than the Eiffel Tower and just the sight causes Hopes' to cramp up. There's laughter and joy and she wonders if this is how every other person in the world apart from herself felt on the first day of school.
The seniors here have been together for four years. Hope hasn't seen these people in that long— she knows they likely won't be welcoming her with open arms.
"Hello?" Lizzie waves her hand across Hope's face. "Are you done reminiscing? We have things to do, Hope."
Hope blinks. "Um, sorry," she mutters. "Let's go."
On her way up the pavement, a boy running past Hope accidentally attaches himself to her cardigan. He doesn't pay attention so he continues to run, tearing a strip right down the middle of her sleeve. Hope's frustrated groan must've been loud enough because he turns around, looks at the gigantic gash in her fabric, and runs right back to her.
"Holy shit," he widens his eyes. "Did I do that?"
"No, it was the other guy," Hope rolls her eyes. "Yes, you did it!" She looks down at the slit again. It could easily be fixed if Hope had the time, or the talent, to stitch it up. But quite obviously, that wasn't an option at the moment.
"Wow, I'm so sorry. Uh... here," he digs into his bag and pulls out a varsity jacket. A jock. Why is it always a jock?
Lizzie stands idly by. Hope can hear her feet tapping impatiently against the pavement.
"Forget it," Hope huffs, pushing away the boy's held out hand. She turns to walk away, but the impressistant runner grabs her arm and keeps her from taking another step.
"Please, take it. It's the least I can do."
For the first time, Hope looks at him. Golden olive skin and tousled brown hair. Pretty brown eyes, she notices, and a perfectly placed mole on his cheek bone. If Hope wasn't so annoyed by him, she would've found him cute.
"Seriously," Hope shifts. His eyes are intense without even trying, and it makes her look away. "It's just a cardigan. It's not even cold out."
"Thought that counts?" He asks. He wiggles it again, as if to say one last time before I take it back.
She looks at it. "Thanks anyway," Hope doesn't look back as she walks away, grabbing Lizzie by the elbow to get the both of them away as fast as possible.
Lizzie makes a noise. Hope thinks for a moment that it was nothing, until she makes it once again, and this time, it's louder.
"Okay, what?!" Hope snaps.
"Harsh," Lizzie gasps. "I was about to give you good news, Mikaelson."
Hope sighs. "And what is that?" She takes off the cardigan and ties it the best she can around her waist. They're stopped in front of the steps to the school and Hope thinks it looks like a pathway to Hell itself.
"Ethan Machado just offered you his jacket."
Hope crosses her arms. "Who?"
"Only the most sought out boy in school. I'd like him too if I were as basic as the other girls here when it comes to crushes. I'm more into the mysterious types. Ethan leaves nothing to the imagination."
"It was just a jacket."
"Nuh-uh. It's never just a jacket, Hope. Ethan Machado accidentally broke my charm bracelet freshman year and he didn't offer me a thing."
"The guy sounds really good at breaking things. If you ask me, that's a red flag," Hope snarks. "Can we just get this over with?"
"Fine," Lizzie huffs. "But just remember, first he's offering you a jacket, next it'll be his hand in marriage. So watch out."
Hope doesn't say anything to that. Ethan Mac-his-name doesn't give a damn about Hope Mikaelson. He made a mistake and he tried to fix it like any sane human being would do.
Of course, Hope is one to talk. Maybe she could actually learn a few things from him.
Inside, the hallways aren't nearly as crowded as the front yard. Looking straight ahead, Hope feels like she's seeing tunnel vision. The hallway doesn't seem to have an end, but if she squints, she can see what looks to be a trophy case sitting at the end. The recess lighting is oddly dim, but the sunlight beaming through the windows brightens the place up. Students hang around with their groups of friends, muffled sentences passing through their lips and Hope feels like everything is moving in slow motion.
"Lizzie!"
Someone is running toward Lizzie at full-speed. By the time Hope is finished blinking, there's a boy standing beside the blonde Saltzman girl, dark skin and black poofy hair. His smile is charming and his teeth are so white Hope thinks they look fake. He's bending over the slightest bit, visibly drained from his jog.
Why is everyone running?
"Scram, MG," Lizzie rolls her eyes.
"Don't play me like that, you know I'm your best friend," he grins. "Now introduce me," he motions to Hope.
"Last I checked, you were perfectly good at talking all on your own," Lizzie insisted.
MG ignores the snide comment. It must be a regular thing because the poor boy isn't even phased. He turns to Hope. Handsome, she notices easily, and he seems to be the nicest guy at this school so far.
At least he didn't tear apart my sweater like a dog with a chew toy, she thinks.
He holds out his hand. "Milton Greasley, but my friends call me MG. You, however, can call me anything you like," he smirks, laughing halfway through the end of his sentence. He radiates positivity and doesn't seem to have a dimmer.
Hope turns to Lizzie. She can't tell if she's angry or just annoyed, but it amuses her either way, a small smile tugging at the edge of her lips.
"I'm Hope," she takes his hand. It's soft and his shake is gentle, maybe even romantic. It doesn't take Hope a moment more to realize that he's a flirt.
"Wait— Hope Mikaelson? Lizzie, isn't she your step-sister? The one you told me about—"
"Beat it, MG!"
MG scatters like a cockroach and Hope takes note that the boy could run track if he wanted to.
"You say jump and they ask how high," Hope proclaims as her and Lizzie start down the hall. "Impressive."
"Please. That's just MG. Step on his toe and he'll go running to the bathroom to cry about it for an hour," Lizzie rolls her eyes.
"He's cute," Hope shrugs.
"Hands off, Mikaelson," Lizzie sneers. "You don't get to barge into my room and steal all of my things."
Hope cocks a brow. "So he's a thing now?"
"No," Lizzie huffs and crosses her arms. "He's an MG. There's supposed to be a difference."
For the first time, Lizzie cracks a smile at Hope.
But that's when Hope sees him. Curly black hair and that stupid blue flannel she feels like he's been wearing since elementary school. She remembers his eyes, greener than grass, so bright and full of wonder and the moment they meet her blues, Hope wants to sink into herself and disappear forever.
She hurt him, she knows that. And seeing him there, curious and confused eyes staring directly into hers, hand on the strap of his book bag, frozen in place, she knows he remembers it all.
Landon wants to say something. She can tell by the way his lips part the smallest bit, and his hand raises up almost as if to wave, like this was some kind of regular occurrence, seeing each other in the halls. And once, it was normal for them.
Until Hope ruined all of it.
But she can't help it, it's what she does best. She ruins everything she touches.
He takes the tiniest step forward, his mouth opens wider, but his hand finds the back of his neck, his shoulders slump, and he turns on his heel and walks straight into the classroom next to him.
Hope feels sick.
"What's the deal with you two?" Lizzie crosses her arms. "I thought you were best friends, always and forever," she mocks Hope's mantra. She only shared it with the people she loved the most.
With family.
Hope straightens up. "Always and forever is a lie," she admits.
"Maybe, I don't know," Lizzie shrugs. "All I know is that things are about to get even more awkward. That class your pet mop just walked into?" Lizzie grins.
Hope cringes. "Please don't say it," she closes her eyes. Tight.
"Welcome to first period, Hope Mikaelson. Looks like two have history together."