Monday, September 1, 1902

Today I woke from a dreadful nightmare that it was the first day of school, only to discover that it was the first day of school. Sordid coincidence!

Since the wretched Mrs. Halloran went and put her stupid sheep's eyes all over the old diary, leaving me no choice but to consign it to the flames, I have resolved to keep this one under lock and key. When Father gave me money for a new hat, I bought this hideous deposit box instead, and he can writhe in confusion all he likes when I meet him next week in last year's.

I am pleased with the box. It's big enough to keep all my scribblings together, and such a grim banker's exterior no one would suspect it to be chock-full of that dismal wonder, The Soul of a Young Girl. Of course someone may try to snatch it expecting jewels and stock options, but I can live with the risk, and any burglars will have to live with disappointment. The risk of Hallorantamination is far more fearsome, don't you think?

Though – I guess you don't know who Mrs. Halloran is, do you, Diary? All your knowledge is ashes now. Poor thing! That's the trouble of starting fresh.

Must breakfast and dash to school. Tom hasn't said word one to me since he got back from Paris. Aunt Dan claims fatigue, but I suspect he's holed up in his room with the blinds shut in a desperate bid to pretend he's not back in Canada. That's what I would be doing in his place, anyway- - provided I didn't have the sense to stay abroad, Shrewsbury High School be damned.