Marianna Baer - Frost

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 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 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.”

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.”

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.

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 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?”

I remembered—New York. I sat up, wiped drool off my mouth. “What time is it?”