Marianna Baer - Frost

subletting his place and it would actually be affordable if I get a

roommate.”

“A roommate?” I scooped a bit more Spackle from the

bucket.

“Yeah. With New York prices, I’ll be lucky to have only one

roommate.”

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“Huh. I wonder if . . .” My heart thudded harder and faster as

I strained to reach the next hole.

“If what?”

“If I’d have to live in a dorm at Columbia. I mean, maybe I’m

being crazy, but what if we shared a place?”

“Lived together?”

Crap. Why had I said that? Same city is one thing, but this

would probably completely freak him out. “Yeah, forget it. I was

just thinking that financially, it might . . . but I’m being—”

“No, Leena. It’s a great idea. I’d love to have you as a

roommate. Obviously.”

“Really? You would?” I said. “Because living with you is

probably the one thing that would make me psyched to leave

Frost House.”

All of a sudden, the earth tipped. I saw myself falling before

it happened, then it did happen. The chair toppled backward. My

cell and Spackle knife flew out of my hands. I pitched toward the

floor, hit with a thud, landing partially on top of the overturned

chair. Pain flared through me.

“Shit,” I said. “Oww!”

I rolled onto my side. After a second, I inched over and

grabbed my phone.

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“Are you there? Leena? Leena?” David was saying.

“Oww. I fell. It hurts.”

“Are you okay? Jesus, you scared me.”

“I think so,” I said, though I was shaking pretty hard from the

shock. I pulled myself up and walked wobbily over to the bed.

“What happened? Are you okay? Should I come over?”

“No. I’m okay. I don’t know what happened.” I rubbed my

hip. “The chair tipped. I guess I shifted my weight funny.”

I didn’t tell him that, actually, it felt like I’d been pushed.

I stared at the chair, searching for some evidence of what

had happened. It looked perfectly normal. Still, I didn’t trust it

enough to climb back up on it. After I’d physically calmed down, I

decided to work on the closet instead, cutting down the foam and

installing the lock. Once I had the foam down to the right size, I

covered it in an extra tapestry and nestled it into the space. It fit

perfectly. I’d even cut out one corner to accommodate a metal

scrollwork grate in the floor. I wasn’t quite sure but assumed the

grate had some purpose. Maybe it let air up from the basement,

which would explain the way it had stayed cool on hot days. I

took a couple of throw pillows off my bed and tossed them in.

Installing the lock required a bit more patience—measuring,

drilling holes. When I’d finished, I stood inside the dark closet and

slid the small bolt back and forth, back and forth, happy with how

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smoothly it worked. I left it in the locked position, turned on the

small camping lantern I’d bought, and curled up on the mattress,

enormously pleased with my new setup. Still a bit achy, though,

from my fall, I reached for Cubby, opened her up, and found a

pain reliever.

“David wants us to live together,” I said.

That’s not going to happen.

Cubby’s words came to me easily now whenever I was in the

closet. Like I’d realized before, the closet—its smell, its

familiarity—was what let me into my subconscious. I didn’t even

need Cubby here, although I usually still brought her in; she made

me feel less alone.

“I have to leave here,” I said. “And living with David would be

the best thing I could imagine.”

I’d never mean to hurt you.

“Hurt me?”

All I want is to protect you. If you can’t do it yourself.

You are myself, I thought. I shivered and reached up to

unlock the door.

Don’t go, she said.

I was pretty sleepy. I let my arm fall back down.

There’s nothing wrong with admitting you’re weak, she said.

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I had given into David, when I said I wouldn’t.

In here, she said, it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters.

My head felt strange, heavy. If nothing mattered, then it

wouldn’t be a problem for me to just lie down, take a little

nap. . . .

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Chapter 29

FOR THE NEXT COUPLE OF WEEKS, I divided my

nonstudying free time between being with David and working on

my room. Because painting edge-work around windows is so

much more difficult than covering big areas of open wall, it took

longer than I expected. But the meditative quality helped keep my

mind off how much I missed Viv and Abby. And, in the end, the

effort was worth it. With the paint, plants, shelves, and a new

furniture arrangement, it was the nicest room I’d ever seen at

Barcroft. I could tell how impressed David was when I showed

him. “You did this?” he kept saying, eyes all lit up. He was still

talking about it the next day as we sipped coffee at senior tea.

A change of expression on his face made me glance over my

shoulder. Abby was headed in our direction.

“I think I’ll give you some space,” he said.

I brushed muffin crumbs off my lap and tossed my napkin in

the trash.

“Hi,” I said as Abby stood in front of me. I scooched over on

the small love seat. “Want to sit?”

She shook her head. Her nails were newly painted deep

purple. I was suddenly conscious of my chipped and uneven ones.

All the work I’d been doing wasn’t conducive to pretty fingernails.

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“I want to make sure you know that you’re not coming home

with me for Thanksgiving,” she said, crossing her arms.

“Oh? I hadn’t really been thinking about it.” I was surprised

the lie made it past the grapefruit-size lump in my throat.

“Well, you need to make other plans.”

“Don’t you think, maybe, we’ll . . . we’ll be okay by then?” I

folded my hands so my nails, which looked more disgusting by the

minute, weren’t visible. “And, I mean, I always go with you. It’s

our tradition, right? Remember last year, how funny your mom

was with the turkey? Remember, you did that imitation of her

during dinner?”

I dared to look up, and thought I glimpsed a bit of a softening

in Abby’s face. She shrugged. “Yeah, but . . . just make other

plans, okay?” She turned to walk away, the black-and-white wool

skirt we’d bought together at Urban Outfitters swishing against

the top of her boots.

“Abby,” I said. I didn’t know what I was going to follow it

with. I just couldn’t stand for our interaction to be so brief. For it

to end like that.

“What?” She turned back to me.

“You should come downstairs and see all the stuff I’ve done

in my room,” I blurted.

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“What stuff? Something to do with all the noise you’ve been

making?”

I nodded. “Celeste moved across the hall, you know, so the

room’s just mine until Kate gets back next semester. I painted,

built some stuff. If you and Viv want to come down and hang out,

we don’t have to worry about Celeste being there or anything.”

Abby shook her head. “I can’t be—”

She stumbled sideways with a jolt. Ponytail Guy, her crush

from the beginning of the semester, had snuck up and hip

checked her.

“Hey,” she said, regaining her footing. “Watch out.” I could

tell by her smile she didn’t mean it. Something was going on with

them, obviously, and I didn’t know anything about it.

“Did you get what Brighton was saying about that whole

thing with peripeteia or whatever,” Ponytail Guy said. “The

Aristotle stuff?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Why? You want me to explain it to you,

dum-dum?”

“If you’ve got a minute in your busy schedule.”

“I might.” Abby cast a distracted glance in my direction.

“So, see you later?” I said.

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“Yeah, later.” She nudged Ponytail Guy as they walked away.

“You really don’t understand Aristotle?”

After dinner that night I spent a couple of hours cleaning and

re-reorganizing so everything was just how I wanted it. (How

could I have thought those Ball jars filled with pebbles and shells

looked good on that shelf? Way too Martha Stewart.) Then I went

upstairs for the first time since I’d told them about my meeting

with the dean.

I knocked on Abby’s door.

“Go away, Viv!” she called.

Were the two of them in a fight now? “It’s me,” I said. No

response. “I wanted to know if—”

The door cracked open and Abby slipped out, shutting it

behind her. Her hair was all mussed up, her cheeks flushed pink.

“What do you want?” she said in a rough, low voice.

“Is someone in there?” I said. “Ponytail Guy?”

“Shhh!” she whispered. “Yes. Now what do you want?”

“Just for you to come see my room. But you can come down

after he leaves, obviously. Or tomorrow. Sorry to interrupt!” I

gave her a smile and started to head down the stairs. I’d taken a

few steps when she spoke again.

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“Don’t you get it?” she said. I stopped and looked back up at

her. “You made your choice, Leena. All semester. You chose

Celeste over us. And you screwed everything up. You can’t just

come back now . . . like . . . I don’t know . . . like nothing

happened.”

“You’re blowing this all out of proportion,” I said. “And it had

nothing, nothing to do with choosing Celeste over you. Never.”

“That’s not what the facts say.” She rested her hands on her

hips. “Why don’t you think about it from our perspective for

once?”

“Abby, I know I screwed up. I feel terrible. But can’t we just

have it out and be done with it? Get in a fight and make up?”

“Not as far as I’m concerned. And Viv is the one whose

boyfriend is gone, so I wouldn’t count on her either.”

I didn’t know what more I could say. “Okay, well . . . let me

know when you’re ready to talk.” My back was to her when I

heard her voice again.

“You should know that we’re thinking about moving out next

semester.”

“What?” I swung around to face her.

“You heard me. We’d both rather be somewhere else. I don’t

know if they’ll let us. But we’re looking into it.”

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“But . . . but Celeste won’t even be living here next semester!

Kate will. The four of us. Like we planned!”

Abby reached to open her door. “It’s too late, Leena,” she

said. “Maybe Kate will stay here with you. Viv and I don’t want

to.” And with that, she disappeared.

I pressed my hands against the walls of the narrow staircase.

It felt like they were closing in, shutting out air. I tried to breathe

into my tight lungs and stepped down. The floor at the bottom

looked so far away, then veered up toward me, then fell back

down. Just one step at a time, I told myself, keeping my gaze on

my feet now. Step down and breathe. Step down and breathe.

When I made it to the bottom, I took my hands off the walls and

forbade myself from turning around. I knew what I’d see: the

walls of the staircase collapsing toward each other, closing me

out for good.

The pain was physical. My whole body hurt as I crawled into

the closet. I lifted off Cubby’s head, took one, then two of the

strong oval pills that would help me relax, and waited for some of

the pain to go away because I wasn’t sure I could stand it. I hadn’t

felt this desperate since not knowing what to do about my

parents, since feeling like my life was crashing apart. It was the

type of hurt that felt like it wouldn’t ever let me go, that I’d carry

it with me for the rest of my life.

I breathed in the soothing air and pressed my cheek against

the cool wall, wishing I could just become a part of it. I let the pills

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seep into my cells, telling myself I’d feel better soon, that help

was coming. And it did. I’m not sure how long it took, but the pills

and the quiet and the walls of the closet worked together to build

me back up. And eventually, what had happened drifted away

into a haze of unimportance.

“Everything’s easy in here,” I said, lying down now, staring up

into the dark. “If I don’t feel it, is the pain still there? Like the tree

falling in a forest? Because I should care about Abby and Viv. But

in here, I don’t.”

In here, none of that matters. What you don’t feel doesn’t

exist.

“I like that,” I said. “That’s how it should be.”

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Chapter 30

DURING THE NEXT WEEKS, my ability to concentrate

almost vanished with the last of the tree leaves. Responsibilities

faded into a sort of background noise that only rarely got loud

enough so I’d pay attention. Not that I stopped attending class or

doing homework, or that I wasn’t aware that college apps and

interviews were looming, just that I felt sort of numb when I tried

to care about any of it. Occasionally, I’d realize that I needed to

pull myself together—when I got a B minus on an English paper,

for example—but most of the time I couldn’t work up enough

energy to make a difference.

Some colleges sent interviewers to campus. Columbia was

one. The morning of my interview I woke up with the sudden

realization that I’d done nothing to prepare. Hadn’t I received a

Columbia catalogue? And hadn’t my college counselor given me a

handout with interview tips? Well, if I’d ever had either of these

things, I couldn’t find them. So instead of going to my Gender