“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.
“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 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.
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….
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.
“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.
“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.
“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.
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