Disclaimer: I do not own TVD.

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"It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to."
—J.R.R Tolkien

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Waking up in Mystic Falls the next morning feels totally different than it did going to bed last night. I'm now officially a resident. Every nook and cranny of this great, big old house is my permanent residence. Like the mouse deterrent buzzer humming quietly in the outlet near the dresser.

How have I never noticed it before?

Does Grams have a rodent problem?

The little whir of the motor is super annoying.

Will the issue get worse as the weather gets colder?

There are answers to these questions that I don't want to find out.

"I'll be on campus today," Grams tells me over breakfast. She's an adjunct professor at Whitmore College. She teaches Occult Studies. Could she be any more obvious? "I have some papers to grade."

I stand over the sink eating a buttered piece of toast that's dark-brown and crispy. I always pop the hammer back down to get the bread slice to its crunchiest, duskiest color content only moments before it burns. My timing is impeccable.

"Would you like to join me?"

"Nah, I'm good here." I shrug, catching the crumbs as I take another bite. Little toasty morsels rain down into the sink below. A few crumbs tumble onto my clothes. I wiggle, trying to catch them as they tickle against my skin.

"Alright. And, Bonnie, baby? Use a plate."

"Right, of course." I grab a saucer from the dish rack and hover over it with the remaining crusts.

"Why not go exploring?" Grams suggests, sipping her tea.

"I haven't done that since I was a little girl."

"You're still young," she says pointedly with a sad smile.

To myself, I just roll my eyes.

"Well, alright. I guess if I'm living here, I better learn all I can about this..." I trail off. Dump, I want to add, but I don't have the nerve. Instead, the end of the sentence just hangs in the air.

Compared to Salem, Mystic Falls is a bit dumpy.

Only living thirty minutes outside of Boston, I grew up on streets lined with bespoke shops, fancy stores, hole-in-the-wall restaurants, and delicious eateries. I grew up in malls, trolling the food courts, faced with hundreds of culinary choices, each selection cheaper and bigger and saltier and sweeter.

What's so great about Mystic Falls?

It has a farmers market, a bar/grill, two independently owned coffee shops on Main Street, and one fancy golf course restaurant that requires reservations if you don't want to sit at the bar. The stores on the strip are mediocre tourist traps with handwoven, overpriced clothing, magnets, knickknacks, etc.

At least I have the option to order whatever I actually want over the internet.

"There's a roof over your head," Grams says. "What more do you need?"

Some information about my father would be nice, I think to myself, but say nothing. I won't get anything more by attacking the source.

"I remember this one summer...," she then rolls into the story of the season she spent living in a converted motorhome, skipping out on paying rent for a four week period.

I pretend to listen.

Spending a month in her car didn't make her a bohemian any more than moving to Mystic Falls makes me a townie. When I hear a pause in her story, I make a break for the front door and wander away from the house over to the garage shed.

The weather is just starting to show signs of the summer's end and the quick descent into winter that will follow on the heels of autumn. But it will hold itself together for today's little adventure, I feel certain. I hop on my bike and take the two-lane road into town.

I trek from one end of town to the other in under fifteen minutes. After completing that circuit, I head for the one place I've never ventured before. On all of my summer visits, it's the one place I've never bothered to go: the high school.

Today, the grounds of Mystic Fall High are empty. Still summer vacation for another week, their appearance is gaunt and forgotten. But there is some movement as the staff begins getting ready for the new season. In the back field, a custodian rides a motorized vehicle to cut the large, grassy lawn.

I roll right up to the front doors and try to get in the building. Locked. I lean close to the window and shield the reflection, peering inside.

"It's not so bad."

I whip around to see a handsome boy leaning out of his driver's side window. He's watching me, grinning. His vehicle has to be some green energy, whisper-quiet thing because a moment earlier, I was certain that I was alone.

"Didn't mean to scare you," he adds, but the twinkle in his dark eyes says otherwise.

"You didn't," I reply, holding my head high, hiding my jumpy feelings.

"You registering this year?"

"Yeah."

The boy's arm is surprisingly muscular. Maybe it's the way he's leaning out of the car a little, but his forearm has a crease that alludes to the strength and agility of an athlete and a tan that implies a leisurely season of swimming and sun.

Plus, he has his own car.

A new car.

His family has money.

Grams has always valued her time and freedom far more than any trinkets a big payday can provide. She expects me to do the same, no doubt.

"Do you have any plans for next Sunday night?"

I scrunch my nose. "Who's asking?"

The guy chuckles. "The name's Tyler Lockwood," he supplies, nodding his head at me. "You should come out to Dunham Lake."

"What's there?" I inquire.

"Back-to-school bonfire," he answers, shrugging. "It's a pretty lax scene that mostly consists of questionable music choices and lukewarm beer."

"Sounds promising," I drawl out sarcastically, crossings my arms.

"Does that mean you'll come?" Tyler questions, eyebrows raised.

"I'll have to run it by my grams," I respond, internally praying that she will tell me no.

He nods. "By the way, your tire is flat."

I peer down at my wheel, then back to his car, but he's all ready driving away.

"Thanks...for nothing."

I climb off the bike and check the frame. He's right. The back tire is a total pancake. So much for my little ride about town.

I consider calling Grams. She'll definitely come pick me up, but I don't want her to question how I got the flat tire. I don't really have an answer, and I don't want her to think I'm any less responsible that she probably already does. I want to prove I can handle myself.

I'm an adult. I'll do my own rescuing.

Of course, if Tyler Lockwood was even a teensy bit of a gentleman he would have offered me a lift to the nearest gas station, and I wouldn't need rescuing at all. But he didn't. And, truthfully, if he did, I probably wouldn't have gone. Who gets in the car with some strange...cute guy?

I grin to myself. Yes, I can admit he's kind of good-looking.

Maybe there will be more guys like him and Mystic Falls won't be such a bad little town after all.

I test the bike frame. Without my extra weight, the pancake tire rolls along fine, so although I can't ride it, I can travel along beside it.

It's going to be a long, slow walk home. But then, I almost laugh. Because it doesn't matter if it is a long and lonely stroll.

I have nowhere else to be.

I have nowhere else to go.

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September, 2009

Tuesday morning of the following week is my first day at my new high school. There's a bus that goes between our neighborhood and Mystic Falls High, but I am not about to hop on my very first day.

Grams drops me off in front of the building just before eight o'clock, and I step gingerly out of the car as if my feet doesn't want to hit the sidewalk and make this part of the move real. I'm attending a school of just under four hundred students, so jumping into a junior class where everyone all ready knows each other isn't exactly my dream social scenario.

I walk through the main entrance surrounded by people who see right through me. I'm nobody to them, but maybe that isn't such a bad thing.

I walk through the building, a sign pointing me in the direction of the administration office where the secretary hands me my schedule and assigned locker info with a warm welcome and smile.

"The paper on top needs to be signed by all of your teachers. Then, bring it back here at the end of the day," she instructs. "You'll find your first class up the stairs, down the hall, and make two lefts." She glances down at the piece of paper in her hand. "Mr. Huxley—English. Good luck, Bonnie."

I nod, thank her, and then I'm off.

Here we go. No big deal, or anything.

The halls are still flush with people and I just pray that I won't walk into class late. I promise myself I'll even ask someone for direction if I have to.

I manage to find the classroom, walking right in as the bell rings. I glance around. Everyone else is seated. Mr. Huxley is a tall, balding man but looks nice enough. At least, that's what I'm thinking until he opens his mouth.

"Cutting it close today, are we?"

My eyebrows shoot up in surprise. I assume it would be common practice to cut the new kid a little slack, but apparently not. I won't make that mistake again. "Sorry." I hand the man the slip.

Mr. Huxley signs it and hands it back to me. "You can take the empty seat in the back."

With one last wary glance at Mr. Huxley, I turn and walk to the back of the class to take my seat. Mr. Huxley resumes his lecture on the Bronte sisters. Evidently we'll be learning English Lit this semester. I've been nervous about being behind in my studies, but I've already read most of the classics as that's my mother's favorite subject. Still, I take out my notebook and make an effort to take notes.

They end up being a fruitless endeavor, however. I can't concentrate due to the stares of my classmates. Even though I'm in the very back of the classroom, I'm apparently more interesting than dead English authoresses. Can't say that I blame them.

Eventually, the bell rings.

"Boring, huh?"

I glance up into the face of a pretty blonde girl sitting across from me.

"What?"

She smiles. "The class," she clarifies. "You didn't look like you were enjoying it. Not that I blame you, or anything. It is kind of dull."

"Oh, yeah. Well, I've read the Bronte sisters before."

"You know all this stuff?" She asks perkily. "In that case, hi, I'm Caroline Forbes." She extends a hand out toward me.

I stare at her hand and take a deep breath before placing mine in hers. So far, so good. I've been known to shock people if I touch them. I'm usually fine if I know I'm going to make contact with someone, but if I don't get to brace myself...it never ends normally.

I smile at her. "I'm Bonnie Bennett. And I read the works of the Bronte sisters a couple years ago."

"Then that makes you my new best friend." She grins playfully. "I'm mostly kidding. So, you're new...?"

"I am."

"Where did you move from?"

"Salem."

Her eyes widen slightly. "Ooo, Salem, Mass.? We covered the Witch Trials last year in U.S. History. Dark stuff. You know all about that all ready, though, I'm sure."

I know she's trying to be friendly and I'm in no position to turn down a potential friend so I should be grateful, but her comment really only makes my stomach tighten.

"Well, we're kinda really into our history back home." I force a smile onto my face but I'm pretty sure it comes out more like a grimace.

"You'll like it here," Caroline assures me, smiling faintly. "Our little town has an interesting history all of its own, if you're into that sort of thing."

"I hope you're right."

"Did you leave a boyfriend back home, or something?"

"Oh." I'm sure my cheeks flush. "Nope. No, I'm single."

"Honey, welcome to the club," she chuckles. "So, what's your next class? I'm designating myself as your personal tour guide."

Talking to Caroline like this just feels so...mundane.

I want to try and make friends here, I really do. I want a normal social life that I've never been allowed to have. I know it won't be completely normal with the whole magic factor, but I at least want to do well in school and make a couple of friends.

Don't I at least deserve that?

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A/N: First chapter of the new year!

Thanks so much for the feedback so far, guys! I have a lot of ideas for this story, so I hope you stay and enjoy the journey. :)