Marianna Baer - Frost

from before.”

“Before?”

“The conversation we had, earlier.”

We sat in silence for a moment, my hand absorbing the

tremors from her body.

“Are you okay to go back to sleep?” I finally said. “I swear, no

one was in here except me.”

She gathered her quilt around her shoulders. “Can you hand

me my crutches?” she said.

I did. She stood up and made her way out of the room. With

her stooped posture, the blanket around her shoulders, and the

sunken, haunted look in her face . . . well, I wondered if, when I’d

promised not to tell anyone about her fears, I’d made a promise I

shouldn’t keep.

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The next day, I couldn’t get that image of her out of my

mind. As my teachers talked on, I kept hearing her voice—so

much fear in it. I didn’t know what to do. Before last night, I’d

settled into thinking that Celeste was doing the things herself

because I couldn’t imagine who else would have. But yesterday

her surprise—her horror—had seemed so genuine. Nothing made

sense.

The first time I saw her was in the afternoon. She was sitting

on the main quad underneath the statue of Samuel Barcroft,

listening to music and writing or drawing in her sketchpad. Part of

me wanted to head in the opposite direction, pretend I didn’t see

her. But I had to deal with this sometime.

I walked up and waited for her to take out her earbuds.

“So,” I said, sitting next to her on the base of the statue. The

granite pressed cold and hard underneath me. “How do you

feel?”

She shrugged. Rhinestone-studded sunglasses hid her eyes.

“Okay,” she said. “Sorry for all the commotion last night. God,

David couldn’t believe it when I told him the cat did that to my

nests.”

Wait, what? “The cat?” I said.

“Oh, right. I didn’t tell you yet.” Her voice was breezy and

crisp as the autumn air, as if this was all perfectly normal. “I

realized this morning it must have been Leo. I’m sure he smelled

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the materials and jumped up there. Batted them around the

room.”

“But . . . he doesn’t ever leave Ms. Martin’s apartment, does

he?” I said, totally confused. “And the bedroom door is always

locked.”

“He must get out sometimes,” she said. “I think I’ve seen

him. And the door’s open when we’re in the bathroom, or the

common room.”

“Oh,” I said. “Okay. So, you don’t think it said—”

“Leena.” She moved the sunglasses onto the top of her head

and stared at me, her eyes slightly bloodshot and somehow bluer

than ever. “It was the cat.”

In that moment as we sat there looking at each other, I knew

she was asking me not to fight her on this. To agree to say it was

the cat. I didn’t know, though, whether she had done it herself,

and this was her way of saying that she’d screwed up and let’s

just move on. Or whether she really did want to believe what she

was telling me. Either way, I knew she was saying that she didn’t

want me to worry about her.

Looking back, maybe I should have fought her on it. But I

know why I didn’t: She was giving me exactly what I wanted. I

wanted to put all of the anxiety behind us. To know that there

was nothing wrong with Celeste except her usual melodramatic

tendencies. To know that I didn’t have to worry about what was

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going to happen the next time I opened the door to our room. I

wanted it to be a sanctuary again.

“You’re probably right,” I said. “The cat.”

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Chapter 19

A WEEKEND AWAY FROM FROST HOUSE would be good.

For all of us. Right?

At least, that’s what I told myself as I packed and unpacked

every item of clothing I owned, trying to figure out what would be

appropriate for New York, and as I tried not to admit that what I

really meant by appropriate was something that would appeal to

David, and as I struggled not to keep dwelling on all of the fights

that might or might not happen and all of the possible ways this

could turn into an enormous disaster, and as I debated whether I

should fill the gas tank tonight so we wouldn’t have to waste time

in the morning, and as I remembered Abby’s reaction when I told

her and Viv I couldn’t come early. . . .

We’d been at Lorenzo’s Pizza, just the three of us.

“It’s David, isn’t it?” Abby’d said. “You’re trying to hook up

with him.”

“I just don’t feel like it’s fair to strand them without a ride,” I

said, avoiding her question. “It would be an incredible hassle for

Celeste to take the bus with her leg.”

“Have you always been such a Goody Two-shoes?” Abby

tossed down her pizza slice. “Fine. Do whatever you want. Drive

down on Saturday. Maybe we’ll run into you somewhere in the

city.”

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She stood up, pushed her way out of the booth, and

stomped to the restroom.

I bit my bottom lip. “I’m not trying to piss her off,” I said to

Viv. “Can you help her chill out about this?”

“I don’t know,” Viv said. “She’s pretty jealous.”

“Jealous?”

“Of Celeste. You know, because it seems like you’ve sort of

chosen her over us.”

I rested my head in my hands. “God save me. I have enough

to worry about without this.” I looked up at Viv’s reassuringly

placid eyes. “I’m not choosing Celeste. It’s not a contest.”

“I know,” Viv had said. “I’m just explaining where she’s

coming from.”

Aargh! I zipped my duffel shut—whatever was in there

would have to do. I locked the bedroom door and went into the

closet with Cubby, then took a small oval pill to calm my out-of-

control nerves.

I held Cubby up. “Sorry,” I whispered. “You’re not coming

with me. You have to guard the fort.”

You shouldn’t go either. It’s dangerous. I didn’t speak out

loud for Cubby’s voice now. Just imagined her in my head.

Sometimes surprising myself with what I made her say.

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Like just then. Of course I was going to New York, but

Cubby’s words gave me a brief fantasy—spending the weekend

here, in Frost House, alone. I hated to admit it, but if I’d had a

choice, that’s what I would have picked. There were so many

ways in which the trip might go wrong. Although . . . I was excited

about spending the time with David. Scared, yes, but excited, too.

“Should I just forget about my moratorium?” I said. It had

been feeling stupider and stupider lately.

He doesn’t care about you.

“That’s not true,” I said.

It is true. He’s just like the others.

“No, he’s not.” He wasn’t, was he? He was all those things

that made him a good brother—loyal, protective, honest. And

much older than Jake and Theo when I’d hooked up with them.

He was almost nineteen.

He’ll hurt you.

At these words, the excited tingling in my limbs turned to a

cold numbness. Coziness became claustrophobia. Why was I

telling myself this? It’s not what I expected. Not what I wanted.

He’ll hurt you, Leena.

I pushed aside Celeste’s clothes and stumbled back into the

room, slamming the closet door shut behind me, my chest wound

tight. I sat down on the bed, pushed Cubby to the end of the

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windowsill. I put my hands next to me on the mattress and tried

to steady myself. Reality crashed into my head. What had I been

doing? Sitting in a closet, talking to a piece of wood?

I took slow, steady breaths. Okay, nothing was wrong here. It

was just a way I was accessing my subconscious. Something about

the way the closet’s smell reminded me of my fort in Cambridge.

Something about how comfortable I was in there was bringing out

the way I really felt about stuff. That wasn’t so strange, was it? I’d

felt a connection to that little space from the first day of school.

Obviously, it was tapping into my brain in a way a neurologist

could probably explain.

Deep down, I was scared. Scared of being hurt by David. This

shouldn’t have surprised me. I’d been telling myself for so long to

stay away from boys. But life was about overcoming fears, wasn’t

it?

I went to bed early and expected my nerves to wake me up

before my alarm. Instead, I hit SNOOZE. Repeatedly. When I came

to a fuzzy consciousness, there was a hand on my shoulder,

nudging me.

“Mmmph.” I turned my head into the pillow. “Neurons not

firing.”

“C’mon, Leena. It’s late.” It was David’s voice. “Where’s

Celeste?”

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I remembered—New York. I sat up, wiped drool off my

mouth. “What time is it?”

“Seven thirty. You were supposed to pick me up half an hour

ago. Where’s Celeste?”

“Seven thirty? Shoot. I don’t know. Across the hall?”

David walked into the hallway. I grabbed some clothes and

hurried to the bathroom. I couldn’t believe I’d overslept, today of

all days. I’d promised Viv and Abby that we’d get an early start so

they wouldn’t be stuck at the house all day, waiting for us. I’d

have to call and tell them we’d be late. I took a quick shower,

threw on jeans and a hoodie, cursing myself the whole time.

When I went back in the bedroom, Celeste was piling clothes on

her bed. I watched her with my arms crossed. Couldn’t she have

done this yesterday?

“Is your bag still where I put it when I moved your stuff in?”

David asked, looking over at her from by the closet.

“I guess,” Celeste said.

“What are those?” David pointed at a couple of bruises on

her lower thighs. Celeste pulled her skirt down to cover them.

“Nothing,” she said.

“What are they?” he pressed.

She rolled her eyes. “I don’t know. Maybe from when things

got a little frisky with Whip. Okay? Like that answer?”

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“He hurt you?” David said.

“Jesus! No. I bruise easy. Don’t you remember? From all our

games of tickle monster?”

“I never hurt you like that,” David said.

“I bruise easily, too,” I said, sensing that their conversation

was rapidly deteriorating. I rolled up my sleeve and pointed at a

blue-yellow blotch on my forearm. “This one, I don’t even know

what it’s from. Field hockey, maybe, but I don’t remember it

happening.”

Neither of them said anything else. Just stared at each other

as if I wasn’t even in the room.

The next time Celeste spoke was as I backed the car out of

the driveway.

“I am so fucking happy to be getting out of this place,” she

said.

The silence between Celeste and David lasted through

getting coffee at The Mean Bean, and past multiple exits on the

Mass Pike. Celeste may have been happy to leave Frost House,

but all I could think about was how much I’d rather be back there

alone than here in the car, trying to ignore the obvious tension.

Somewhere near Sturbridge, I heard a small snore from the

backseat. I felt as if I was being released from thumbscrews.

“Is she asleep?” I asked quietly.

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David twisted around and watched her for a moment. “Yeah,

she is.”

“So,” I said once he was facing front again, “what’s with all

the weirdness?

Before answering, he turned up the volume of the music a

bit. “She used to cut. Before Barcroft, but I get nervous when I see

bruises. It’s stupid, I know.”

“Oh,” I said, understanding better now. I thought of her

burn, and how she’d asked me not to tell him. That must have

been why. She was worried he’d assume she’d done it on

purpose.

“How has she seemed to you?” he asked. “Aside from letting

that asshole abuse her.”

“I don’t think he’s abusing her,” I said gently. “I think she was

just trying to get to you. She’s seemed . . . okay. Really upset

about what happened to her nests, of course. Honestly, I don’t

see her that often. You should ask her how she’s doing.” That was

true. Ever since that event with the nests, she’d spent more and

more time in the little room, and out of the dorm entirely. I

wasn’t sure where or when she was sleeping.

David turned around again to look at Celeste, then rested a

hand lightly on the back of my neck, sending a jolt of electricity all

down my spine.

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“I’ve been really looking forward to this weekend,” he said in

a low voice.

“Yeah. Me too. It’ll be fun.” I knew that my tone didn’t match

his. But since that disturbing episode in the closet, I’d gotten

more and more worried that maybe I was headed toward a big

mistake. How did I know whether to trust my gut, or my rational

mind?

“Is there anything special you want to do while we’re there?”

he said. Up and down, his fingers traveled the length of my neck.

He’s just like the others. I gripped the steering wheel tighter

as I passed a massive Jordan’s Furniture truck. “Left on Spit Brook,

right on Daniel Web-stah.”

“What?”

“Jaw-dens Funicha Weah-house. The radio ads? The guys

have those crazy accents?”

“Leena.”

“What?” My mouth felt dry.

“I just wanted to see if we’re, you know, both looking

forward to the same sort of weekend.”

I decided to switch lanes and flipped on the windshield

wipers instead of the turn signal. I fumbled with the controls

while saying, “I, um, I don’t really know. . . .”

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He took his hand off my neck. “Sorry. I thought . . . I guess

I’ve been misunderstanding. I knew you didn’t want to get

involved this semester, but I thought . . . the way we’ve been

acting. Sorry. I guess I’m just stupid.”

A moment of silence went by. I heard Celeste breathing in