First There Was You

Chapter 1: Elle

Eleven months later...

June 10

Toronto, Ontario

I'm wide awake, staring up at the frame of my enormous canopy bed, waiting for my alarm to go off in precisely three hours. I've barely slept. Today is the last day of school before the summer break, and I'm excited, anxious, but desperate for it to be over all at once.

I raise my arms above my head and let them fall back into my fluffy duvet with a dramatic poof.

While I wait for my alarm, I find my mind cycling over the events of the year, in no particular order. I have what you'd call a busy mind. Mum and Dad tease me, saying they can hear the gears turning from downstairs in their bedroom most nights.

It's no joke, though; sometimes my mind spins all night. The only way I can fall asleep is through physical exertion. I need to exhaust myself to the point of collapse.

That's why I'm involved in every sport at school and several outside of it, from swimming to tennis, to competitive horseback riding, which is my true passion, then to rowing.

I also try to go to the club for spinning and pilates classes each week. Anything to take the edge off the endless cycle of thoughts.

I've tried therapy, medication, but nothing seems to calm my busy mind, and the endless breathing exercises my therapist recommends are only a bandaid. Temporary.

Sometimes I wonder if my brain is just a little broken.

Knowing well enough by this time that there is no escape from the buzzing in my mind, resigned to the kaleidoscope of memories and moments looping over and over, I latch onto the individual memories as they wind their way through my active mind. I try to sort them and idly wonder what brings specific memories to the surface.

I've had a fantastic year. Coming back to school last September was so different. Rather than being the 'new girl', I'd come back to friends. For the first time, I had real girlfriends, and I loved it.

At the beginning of school, my parents let me move into our upstairs, third-floor bedroom suite. My grades last year prompted Mum and Dad to reward me with a space of my own, some more privacy.

The first thing I'd done: redecorate. I was happy to be done with the candy pink walls of my old bedroom, a reminder that in life, tastes change, so to be careful what permanent choices you make.

My room is now a pale, soothing grey, accented by crisp white linens, subtle golds, iron, and black pops. The fabrics I've chosen add a French bohemian vibe. Three various sized vintage steamer trunks stacked atop one another make up my bedside table. They're packed to the brim with photos, horse show ribbons, and books.

Closer to the stairs is a small sitting area, where I have a pullout loveseat, also known as Mads' and Jules' bed, and a spacious corner desk with a large iMac.

Since I'd moved upstairs, my best girlfriend Vi, and our two closest friends, Mads, and Jules slept over at least one night each weekend. There's normally at least one of them sleeping in my bed.

Honestly, they have more stuff in my closet than I do, anyway.

I hate clutter; it stresses me out beyond measure, so I have everything tucked away in boxes and decorative baskets. I only have clothes I actually wear in the closet. That's why there's room for the girls. My only weaknesses are the Polaroid pictures strewn about the room haphazardly. I'm completely addicted.

Out of reflex, I sit up to check my alarm clock, four forty-five a.m. I groan, mentally cursing myself for looking at the time. I glance at my bookshelf idly, considering the temptations inside. It's easier to distract myself with a book sometimes, but then I'll never have a chance of sleeping, not even for a few more minutes.