Lana feels

Samhain a la snow. Everything's coated in a thin layer of white. The sky is completely clouded over and it feels like we're in a bubble, the mountains our jagged walls and the clouds the lid that snaps closed around us. It seems like we could disappear, the whole school, maybe the town, even the whole valley. We could have been picked up and jumped through time, we could all have slept for a hundred years, and we'd never know. I don't know why it feels more like that here than anywhere else - wouldn't the flatlands look as much the same? But it feels so sheltered, so enclosed here. Maybe because if Chicago was to disappear somebody would notice. Eventually somebody would notice us, but sometimes it feels like we're a world entirely apart, secluded in our pretty campus.

Speaking of seclusion. Today is talk-to-Andrew day. I'm scared, scared that I'm going to say something and get myself in trouble, scared that I'm not going to make a difference, scared that I'm going to burst into tears and make a fool of myself. The plan is still to go in there and tell him the things he doesn't know about Cesca. Tell him that she's got so much in her that is so good. Tell him that she's not a danger or a negative influence or anything other than my best friend. She's cleaner than most of the kids at this precious institution. She's finally found herself, or at least, come closer. I need her. I miss her. I'm terrified of losing her, of losing touch with her, of being without her. She means so much to me and I never see her. Maybe I wouldn't see her much more if she could be here, but maybe I would. At least I could show her my room now that I've got it set up, we could bake in the kitchen together, she could maybe feel better about this place. I could feel better about this place. Whenever I'm with her, her family, the CRMS thing comes up and it's so hard hearing how bitter they are. How bitter Kat is. How bitter everyone who leaves this place is. And yet I am so happy here, a lot of the time. I want to be happy here.