Marianna Baer - Frost

the conversation had added years to her age. “What happened

this semester, Leena?” she said. “I feel like in the past, you would

have come to me with this.”

I swallowed and tried not to tear up. “I . . . I kept screwing

up. You’ve been so mad at me.”

“It’s been a rough semester,” she said. “That’s true. But I

would still have been here for you. Always.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. All her words did was make me feel worse.

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The paths crisscrossing the Great Lawn stretched empty;

everyone else was in class. I fought against a strong wind as I

hurried toward Frost House. Leaves swirled above me like the

flocks of ravens in Hitchcock’s The Birds.

David still hadn’t answered my call. I needed to find him. I

hadn’t told the dean about his part in this whole mess, especially

not the fact that he might have been lacing the house with lighter

fluid as we spoke, because I wanted to believe that he— we—

could have a life together here at Barcroft for the rest of the year.

A life without Celeste. If the dean knew he was going along with

the whole haunted house thing, well, that wouldn’t be good.

Maybe, just maybe, once he realized his sister was sick, he’d see

that I’d actually helped save her. Maybe he’d see that I’d risked

my own happiness to make sure she was safe. Maybe he would

even realize it now. Maybe I wouldn’t have to wait.

My head was killing me. I searched the inside of my jacket

pockets, in case I had any of my meds hanging around. Nothing.

I’d get some at the dorm. Assuming it was still standing. No—that

wasn’t really a concern—David hadn’t talked about burning down

the whole place, and he certainly wouldn’t do it without telling

me first, letting me get out the things that mattered to me. Still, I

couldn’t help scanning the distance for any sign of smoke.

Branches swayed in front of the little house when I reached

the driveway. My little old lady house. Vulnerable. But not on fire.

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I opened the side door. The common room looked the same

as ever; clueless as to what was going on around it. Waiting for us

to come hang out and watch TV or make microwave popcorn. Or

have another Sunday night dorm dinner. All the things I’d

envisioned when we moved into Frost House. I automatically

straightened the tapestry that covered the couch.

Once in the hallway, I heard the sounds. Objects moving,

shifting, in Celeste’s room. I moistened my lips. It couldn’t be

Celeste—she had classes straight through to lunch. And if the

dean had called her immediately, she wouldn’t have come back

here, would she? Would the dean call her? Or send people to pick

her up at class in person? A vision of Celeste in a straitjacket

flashed in my mind. Being carried out of her class, wrapped up

like a lunatic.

Celeste’s door was closed. I kept my footsteps soft, so I could

make it to my own room first and take at least a little something

to help with this headache. The floorboards creaked and groaned.

Click. I stopped. The door to Celeste’s room opened. David

stood there. His hair leapt out from his head in messy clumps.

Circles of sweat darkened his shirt. From the look of the room he

had been moving things out of her closet.

“Leen, hey. I’m so glad you’re here,” he said.

He opened his arms. My body fell into his. I was pulled in two

directions. Pulled into his warmth, like I wanted to crawl under his

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shirt and hide there, as if I could be folded into his body and leave

mine behind. But the buzz, the life I felt in his body also gave me

strength to remember I’d done the right thing. Energy darted

back and forth between us. When I felt the push rather than the

pull I separated from him, taking that strength, feeling it in my

bones. What I had to do now was a thousand times harder than

what I’d already done. A million times harder.

“Did you get my message?” I asked.

“No. You called?” He patted his pockets. “Oh, right. My

phone’s in my bag. I left it in your room. What’d you say?”

“Did you . . . did you need something in my room?”

“I borrowed a couple of tools.” He reached over to Celeste’s

desk and picked up my hammer. He smiled and raised his

eyebrows. “I have a plan. I would’ve called but I figured you were

in class all morning. Shouldn’t you be at math?”

“David,” I said. “It’s too late.”

“Too late? For what?”

I filled my lungs as if preparing to be submerged underwater.

“I told Dean Shepherd about Celeste.”

His head jutted back slightly, his chin pulled into his neck.

“You what?”

“If she’s not sick, they’ll find out. And if she is sick, she needs

help.”

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Now he stepped back completely; I could no longer feel the

heat from his body. The hammer dangled from his hand. “You’re

kidding, right?”

“I knew that you were too close to her to do it yourself. And

it had to be done.”

“You told the dean everything?”

“Most of it. I didn’t tell her that you know. I thought . . . well,

I thought it would be better to keep you out of it. Dean Shepherd

might find it kind of odd that you believe all the haunted stuff,

too.”

There were nails in his voice when he spoke. “What were you

thinking?”

“We talked about this before, David. You know what I think.

Celeste needs help.”

“I know she needs help. I’m the one helping her. That’s why

I’m here.”

“Please, David. Please don’t be mad.” I wanted to touch him,

but knew it wasn’t the right thing to do. I rested my hand on the

desk, instead. “This isn’t the Dark Ages. They won’t just lock her

up.”

“Shit.” He banged the hammer down with a jarring crash,

barely missing my fingers. I snatched my hand back.

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“This ruins everything,” he said. “What the hell do I do

now?”

“David—”

“Shut up, Leena. Okay?”

He pushed by me, across the hall, into my bedroom. I leaned

against the wall next to Celeste’s desk, pressed fingertips against

my forehead. What had just happened? My whole body felt cold

with dread.

I heard the sound of David putting his coat on, then metal

jangling. He stood inside my room, near the door, where I’d hung

my keys since the day Celeste gave me his room key. I assumed

he was taking it back. Please don’t.

“I understand what you’re feeling,” I said, moving into the

hall, closer to him.

He came out of my room, hands shoved deep in the pockets

of his army jacket. “No you don’t. You don’t love your family the

way I do.”

I froze. “What?”

His heavy lids narrowed his eyes into slits. His expression

wasn’t just anger; it was disgust. “I would die for my sister.

You . . . you don’t want anything to do with your family. You don’t

even know what family means.”

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“That’s not true,” I said, barely able to speak. It felt like he’d

taken the hammer and driven a spike straight in my chest. “I love

my family. And my . . . my friends are like family.” I did. I loved my

family and friends—more than anything.

“Who? Viv? Abby? I don’t think so. And not me and Celeste,

obviously. Unless you show your love through betrayal.”

Along with the throbbing pain in my ribs, a fire burned in my

head, and coldness penetrated the rest of my body. Anger now.

The voice echoed inside my skull. Cubby’s voice. The closet’s

voice. Tell him, she said. Tell him, Leena.

“What about you?” I said. “You and Celeste are so bonded

it’s creepy.” Tell him. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re the one

who’s been hurting her.”

The words sucked the air out of the hallway.

David and I stared at each other. His lips parted, jaw slack. As

shocked as I was that those words had come out of my mouth.

“You think I would hurt Celeste?” he said.

Did I?

Of course you do.

I shook my head to clear her words out. “No. I don’t know. I

know it wasn’t some . . . some ghost.”

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“How could you be so close to me, and think I would do

that?” he said.

“I didn’t. I don’t.” My brain was spinning. Had I ever really

thought that? I’d had my suspicions, but did I really believe he

was capable of that? “I just don’t understand how you can think

she’s not sick.”

“Because she’s not!” he said. “How could you be with

someone you think might be abusing his sister? God, Leena.”

“I don’t think that. Really. I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t

know why I did.” I wrapped my arms around myself. I was

shaking. “David, I told the dean because I’m worried about

Celeste. I did it even though I knew it might mean I’d lose you.

Doesn’t that tell you anything? I love you, but your sister is sick.”

David had started walking down the hall, toward the

common room. He paused and turned his head slightly, so I was

looking at his profile. Turn, I willed him. Meet my eyes. Let me

know it will be okay. He didn’t.

“Who’s the sick one here, Leena?” he said.

He didn’t wait for an answer.

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Chapter 40

A STRANGE CALM SETTLED over the hallway once the side

door banged shut behind David. Okay. Okay. It had happened. My

limbs tingled on the edge of numbness. I touched my arms. I was

still there. I was alive. I touched my face. Dry. I did the same body

check I’d done the one time I’d been in a car accident, making

sure all of my parts were in their right places. Numb, but intact.

Okay. I was okay. I stumbled into the bedroom. Only, I

couldn’t feel the floor under my feet.

Once I was back in the closet, physical sensations started to

return. First, a sense of the mattress as it held my body, then of

the clothes that dangled above and brushed against me. I curled

into a fetal position, holding Cubby. As the feeling came back to

my skin, though, I realized the numbness had penetrated all the

way inside. Where I expected to feel the intensity of sadness,

there was nothing.

The worst had happened. I’d lost David, and in a way that

meant I’d never have him back. But it didn’t seem real. The

numbness seemed to be my body refusing to believe what had

taken place. I knew this feeling—or lack of it. The moment of

divine intervention before all hell breaks loose. “We’ve grown

apart, Leena,” my mother had said, the first time my world was

demolished. For days I’d been fine after she’d said that. Hadn’t

told any of my friends, had played the part of the understanding

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daughter. I’d been fine until the feelings came crashing down, the

day I’d emptied my parents’ medicine cabinet and lined the pills

up on my bed according to size and shape.

This time, I wasn’t going to wait until it was too late. I found

the plastic baggie of pills, reached inside, fondled the hard bits of

betterness. I placed a small oval one in my mouth. Then a round

one. The sadness was coming. But I could head it off. Because I

knew, I knew what I’d done was right. That was what mattered.

The sadness was unnecessary. A stupid, physical reaction. If David

had to leave me, well, what was there to do about it?

But why did I say those things to him? Maybe it would have

been okay, later.

No, it wouldn’t. The words were all around me. You’d already

lost him.

He might have forgiven me. Understood why I did it.

He never loved you. None of them did.

My family, Viv, Abby. Never loved me? Hearing those words

shriveled me inside, as if all my organs were dried and cracked.

“No,” I protested. “They did. They do.”

Another pill or two or three found their way into my mouth,

down my throat, leaving a bitter trail. Didn’t care what they were.

Anything would help.

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God, I was tired. The headache I’d had earlier grew and grew

so I took something for that, as well. Enough to get rid of this one

and the next one. Maybe I could wait it out. The feelings. Just stay

in here until it was too late to care anymore.

Shelter. Wait out the storm.

You can. Stay with me. I held Cubby close, almost too

exhausted to lift her hollow wood body. These words had nothing

to do with her anymore. They were from the walls, the ceiling, the

floor. Should this have surprised me? I wondered. Maybe I was

just too tired to be surprised.

“I don’t understand why this had to happen.”

You’re safe now, Leena. Admit what you’ve always known.

“What?” I said. “Admit what?”

Why it’s all happened. Why all your pain has happened.

A wave of marrow-deep fatigue swept through me. I needed

to sleep—for a week, a month, more—I couldn’t imagine I could

ever sleep enough.

I drifted off, who knows for how long, but woke when a

steady beep, beep, beep filled my ears. I forgot where I was,

thought it was my alarm clock. I tried to move, to turn it off, but

couldn’t. Then I remembered.

Nausea swelled in my stomach. The beeping grew louder.

Louder.

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The fire alarm?

Had David . . . ?

I reached for the doorknob. My hand could barely stretch

that high, my arm was so heavy. I was fighting against more than

gravity. I finally felt the knob, turned, and pushed. Nothing. The

door wouldn’t move. The bolt. Had I locked it? No, I hadn’t. The