Now, because of Elena, all the suspicion and hatred for Stefan was starting earlier. And, that time, at least Meredith and Bonnie had been on her side. They hadn’t had any more proof of Stefan’s innocence then than they did now, but they had believed Elena when she swore he was innocent. They’d believed her because they knew she knew Stefan.
Elena wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold. If Fell’s Church turned against Stefan earlier, maybe it would all happen earlier. Was Elena doomed to drive off Wickery Bridge and drown, no matter what she did? She could almost feel that icy dark water rising around her.
Was it hopeless for her to try to fight fate? Was Stefan doomed to die? Would Elena end up back in that cold gray in-between place, heading for death?
The rest of the morning, Elena kept an eye out for Stefan whenever she moved from one trailer classroom to another, but she never saw him. Crowds of students gathered on the crumbling black asphalt between the trailers, talking in low, excited voices. Elena hoped Stefan had come to school today. Nothing would fan the flames of the rumor more than if it seemed that Stefan was hiding.
When she got to history class, Stefan’s seat was empty. Elena’s shoulders slumped. Mr. Tanner began to lecture about the English Civil War, and Elena stared down at her notebook, her eyes stinging.
“I see you’ve decided to grace us with your presence, Mr. Salvatore.” Mr. Tanner’s voice was whip-sharp. Elena lifted her head.
Stefan, grim-faced, hesitated in the doorway. Mr. Tanner waved an arm in an exaggerated gesture of courtesy. “Please, take a seat,” he said. “We’re all so glad you decided to wander in.”
Stefan sat down without glancing at Elena. He bent his head over his desk. His shoulders were stiffly set, betraying his awareness of the gossip and hatred buzzing around him. Elena sighed. He probably thought it was deserved, even though he hadn’t started the fire. Stefan, the Stefan of now, thought he was a monster and that people should fear and hate him.
Elena sat up straight and glared around the classroom. The girls beside Stefan, who had been nudging each other and whispering, exchanged a glance and turned back to their books with new interest.
Caroline, though, stared straight back at Elena, her lips turning up in a smirk. Tilting her head, she whispered something to the girl next to her, her eyes never leaving Elena’s, and her smile widened. She and the other girl both laughed.
At least Dick and Tyler’s desks were empty, since they were still suspended. It was Tyler who had whipped up a frenzy against Stefan last time. Tyler was a bully, he always had been. Elena sighed and pressed a hand against her forehead.
Was everything bound to slide toward the same ends, no matter what she did? Were some things inevitable?
No. She couldn’t believe that. She pulled back her shoulders and sat up straight, running a cold eye over Caroline, who was still smirking. When the other girl finally looked away, Elena felt a jolt of satisfaction. Elena was still the queen of the school after all.
When class finally ended, Elena shot out of her seat and grabbed Stefan’s arm, pulling him aside before he could leave the trailer classroom.
“You’re not afraid to be seen with me?” he asked softly, his head down, eyes fixed on the ugly gray carpeting of the trailer. “They’re right not to trust me, Elena.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she told him, meeting the hostile looks of the other students as they edged past. Bonnie hesitated in the doorway, eyeing Stefan, and Elena gave her a quick, reassuring smile.
“Call me later,” Bonnie said pleadingly as she left.
Once the trailer was empty, Elena turned back to Stefan. She was still gripping his jacketed arm, so tightly that her fingers ached, but he barely seemed to notice. “We don’t have much time,” she told him. “We need a game plan. We need to get Damon under control.”
Stefan huffed a short, bitter laugh. “Damon’s never under control.”
“Stefan, look at me.” Letting go of his sleeve, Elena reached up and framed Stefan’s face with her hands. His skin was cool, and his cheekbones were strong and wide beneath her fingers. She waited for him to bring his eyes up to meet hers, her heart beating hard as the connection between them slid into place, that sense of recognition and almost magnetic attraction. His face cradled in her hands, Stefan blinked as if he was seeing her for the first time.
“Don’t give up,” she said, trying to put the weight of all the secret knowledge she had—all the things she couldn’t tell him in words—behind what she said. “You’re the only one who can change things with your brother. I believe in you.”
Stefan gently pulled away from her hands, and Elena ached as their contact broke. His face was sorrowful. “I don’t think that Damon can change,” he said. “But I think I know where he is.”
20
Unlike the neatly maintained, modern part of the graveyard where Elena’s parents lay, the section dating back to the Civil War was overgrown and crumbling. Long creepers draped themselves across worn gray tombstones, and the ground was uneven beneath Elena’s feet. Half-broken weeping saints and angels loomed overhead, and the dark, iron-barred fronts of the mausoleums gave Elena the sense that anyone could be watching them.
“I don’t understand why you think Damon would be here,” she said, stumbling over a broken tombstone hidden in the grass. She grabbed Stefan’s arm to keep from falling.
“This is exactly the place Damon would be,” Stefan said, his gaze moving watchfully from the ruined church to a mausoleum half concealed by overgrown yew trees. “He thinks acting like a creature of the night is funny. He wants death all around him.”