Frost - Marianna Baer

She looked down at a piece of notepaper in front of her. The

yellow sheet was covered with her loopy handwriting, illegible

from where I sat. “. . . that she doesn’t have a home anymore?”

“Nicole Kellogg?” It took a minute for me to remember that

she was the crying redheaded freshman I’d counseled. “What?

No. Of course not.”

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“You know how much I trust you,” Dean Shepherd said, “but

you’ve got to help me understand what this is about. This girl,

Nicole, she’s very upset. She’s considering leaving school.”

“Are you serious? Because of me?” I must not have

understood correctly. There was no way.

“What did you say to her?”

I picked up a shiny, leopard-spotted shell from the desk and

started running my fingers over it, trying to remember the

meeting. “Um, well . . . She was having trouble with her

roommate, not respecting her boundaries, being loud,

inconsiderate, you know, normal stuff.”

“Mm-hm.”

“And I just, I told her that she had to think of her like a sister,

who she might not choose to live with, but has to find a way. And

that the best way to do that is by trying to communicate right up

front about what she needs.”

“But did you say something about her home?”

“Just that to be happy at boarding school, it helps to think of

school as your home. And your parents’ house as just that—your

parents’ house. Somewhere you visit. Because you don’t live

there anymore, and probably never will. I mean, right?”

Dean Shepherd’s nostrils indented as she drew a deep

breath. “Leena, can’t you see how upsetting that might be for

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someone? It’s hard enough for her to be away from her family for

the first time, but then to tell her that it’s not her home anymore?

These things have to happen slowly. You don’t just break away

like that because you’ve spent a few weeks at boarding school.”

I put the shell down, lining it up with a piece of smoky quartz

that I’d given to the dean when her husband died. A sick feeling

filled my chest. “I guess I see what you mean. But that wasn’t my

intention. I meant to make her feel better.”

“Well, of course. But you said something that came from

your personal experience, that didn’t help this girl in her

situation.”

“I . . . I’m sorry. What can I do? Should I talk to her? Tell her

she misunderstood me?”

“It doesn’t sound like she did misunderstand you. Rather

that you used bad judgment in your advice.”

I stared down at the grain of the wooden desktop, willing my

eyes to stay dry. “So what do you want me to do?”

“I don’t think there’s anything you can do for Nicole,” she

said. “I’m dealing with it now. Hopefully, it will blow over, and

she’ll stay at school. I just want to make sure you understand

what you did wrong.”

I looked up. “I do. And . . .” I was sure she could see my lips

trembling. “ . . . I’m sorry.”

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“All right,” Dean Shepherd said with a half smile. “I’m sure it

won’t happen again.”

She began shuffling the papers in front of her. Was there

another topic I could bring up? Something to bring us back to the

way we usually were?

Before I thought of anything, she said, “Oh—by the way,

how’s everything in the dorm? One of Celeste’s teachers is

worried she’s seemed kind of tired and distracted this semester.

Everything okay?”

“Fine,” I said. “She’s got a bit of insomnia, but it’s better than

it was at first.” I certainly wasn’t going to tell the dean about the

problems we were having. That would just give her more proof

that I wasn’t as good with people as she’d thought. That I wasn’t

living up to her expectations.

“Okay. Good.” She nodded and went back to her papers.

I sat there a moment longer, still feeling like I needed to say

something, like I needed to make this better.

“Leena,” she said. “You can go now.”

I pushed back the chair and stood up. On my way out I

noticed I’d tracked clumps of mud all over her rug.

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Chapter 12

I CONCENTRATED ON THE SOUND of my cleats hitting the

slate path that crossed the quad— tock, tock, tock . I tried not to

run, but I wasn’t sure how long I could hold in the tears. A girl

from Gender class said hi as we passed, and I managed to say it

back, my smile straining from fakeness. Okay, I just had to pass

Commons and then down the hill and I’d almost be home. Tock,

tock, tock . . . I reached the driveway, turned in, and there was

Celeste. Coming toward me. I wiped under my nose.

“Can’t talk,” she said, moving as fast as I’d seen her go on

crutches. “I am so, so, so late.”

Thank God. “When will you be home?” I asked, trying to

sound casual.

“Not till after dinner.” She almost passed by me, but then

stopped. “By the way, thanks for telling David all that.” Her voice

was heavy with sarcasm.

“Oh. I—”

“You told him I was paranoid ? What were you thinking? Do

you realize the crap I have to deal with now?”

I pulled myself together with my last bit of energy. “Sorry. I

was worried about you.”

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“You don’t have to worry about me,” she said. “ David

doesn’t have to worry about me. I told you that before. I told you

to keep your mouth shut.”

“Sorry,” I said again, but she’d already turned away from me.

I hurried down the side path and up the porch steps, my field

hockey stick clattering against them. The minute I burst through

the door I knew the house was empty; I could tell by the stillness.

And, oh . . . it felt so good to be home. The solid walls wrapped

around me like a blanket. I headed straight to my bed, curled up

on my side, and hugged my pillow, letting my tears soak into it,

trying to muffle the dean’s voice echoing in my head. Bad

judgment . . . How could I have been so stupid, saying those

things to that girl? And what if she left school because of me? I’d

be responsible for ruining her chance here at Barcroft. All I

wanted was to turn back time, to talk to that girl again and say

the right thing.

I reached for Cubby and wrapped my hand tightly around

her. Calm down , I told myself. I drew in deep breaths as well as I

could through my stuffed nose. You made a mistake. Everyone

makes mistakes. I traced Cubby’s feathers with my fingertip—

over and over. It’s okay to be upset. You’ll feel better soon.

Through my rough breaths, I heard a noise—the front door

opening. I sat up and wiped my face, listened to the sound of

someone coming in the entryway. It wasn’t Celeste. Her crutches

were so distinctive. But whoever it was didn’t go upstairs either.

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Footsteps started across the common room, which meant they

were headed in this direction.

I didn’t have time to think, just knew I couldn’t bear talking

to anyone. Quick and quiet, I hurried to the only safe place—

Celeste’s closet. I pulled the door closed behind me—it made no

noise at all—slid through dresses and skirts, all the way to the

back, into a corner, Cubby clutched in my hand.

I made it there just in time; footsteps sounded in the room.

I sat very, very still. Who was out there? Viv or Abby,