Frost - Marianna Baer

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.”