Frost - Marianna Baer

“You’re blowing this all out of proportion,” I said. “And it had

nothing, nothing to do with choosing Celeste over you. Never.”

“That’s not what the facts say.” She rested her hands on her

hips. “Why don’t you think about it from our perspective for

once?”

“Abby, I know I screwed up. I feel terrible. But can’t we just

have it out and be done with it? Get in a fight and make up?”

“Not as far as I’m concerned. And Viv is the one whose

boyfriend is gone, so I wouldn’t count on her either.”

I didn’t know what more I could say. “Okay, well . . . let me

know when you’re ready to talk.” My back was to her when I

heard her voice again.

“You should know that we’re thinking about moving out next

semester.”

“What?” I swung around to face her.

“You heard me. We’d both rather be somewhere else. I don’t

know if they’ll let us. But we’re looking into it.”

283

“But . . . but Celeste won’t even be living here next semester!

Kate will. The four of us. Like we planned!”

Abby reached to open her door. “It’s too late, Leena,” she

said. “Maybe Kate will stay here with you. Viv and I don’t want

to.” And with that, she disappeared.

I pressed my hands against the walls of the narrow staircase.

It felt like they were closing in, shutting out air. I tried to breathe

into my tight lungs and stepped down. The floor at the bottom

looked so far away, then veered up toward me, then fell back

down. Just one step at a time , I told myself, keeping my gaze on

my feet now. Step down and breathe. Step down and breathe.

When I made it to the bottom, I took my hands off the walls and

forbade myself from turning around. I knew what I’d see: the

walls of the staircase collapsing toward each other, closing me

out for good.

The pain was physical. My whole body hurt as I crawled into

the closet. I lifted off Cubby’s head, took one, then two of the

strong oval pills that would help me relax, and waited for some of

the pain to go away because I wasn’t sure I could stand it. I hadn’t

felt this desperate since not knowing what to do about my

parents, since feeling like my life was crashing apart. It was the

type of hurt that felt like it wouldn’t ever let me go, that I’d carry

it with me for the rest of my life.

I breathed in the soothing air and pressed my cheek against

the cool wall, wishing I could just become a part of it. I let the pills

284

seep into my cells, telling myself I’d feel better soon, that help

was coming. And it did. I’m not sure how long it took, but the pills

and the quiet and the walls of the closet worked together to build

me back up. And eventually, what had happened drifted away

into a haze of unimportance.

“Everything’s easy in here,” I said, lying down now, staring up

into the dark. “If I don’t feel it, is the pain still there? Like the tree

falling in a forest? Because I should care about Abby and Viv. But

in here, I don’t.”

In here, none of that matters. What you don’t feel doesn’t

exist .

“I like that,” I said. “That’s how it should be.”

285

Chapter 30

DURING THE NEXT WEEKS, my ability to concentrate

almost vanished with the last of the tree leaves. Responsibilities

faded into a sort of background noise that only rarely got loud

enough so I’d pay attention. Not that I stopped attending class or

doing homework, or that I wasn’t aware that college apps and

interviews were looming, just that I felt sort of numb when I tried

to care about any of it. Occasionally, I’d realize that I needed to

pull myself together—when I got a B minus on an English paper,

for example—but most of the time I couldn’t work up enough

energy to make a difference.

Some colleges sent interviewers to campus. Columbia was

one. The morning of my interview I woke up with the sudden

realization that I’d done nothing to prepare. Hadn’t I received a

Columbia catalogue? And hadn’t my college counselor given me a

handout with interview tips? Well, if I’d ever had either of these

things, I couldn’t find them. So instead of going to my Gender

Relations seminar, I read everything I could on the Columbia

website and printed out a few online lists of the most popular

college interview questions.

After lunch I went home to change clothes and gather

myself. I chose a black miniskirt, black tights, and a charcoal-gray

turtleneck sweater. Then I went into the closet.

286

I turned on the camping lantern and settled into the corner

with my list of possible questions. For a moment I closed my eyes

and felt the calming effect of the space seeping into my mind and

muscles. Everything was going to be okay. I had plenty of time to

prepare. I just needed to concentrate.

I assigned Cubby the task of interviewer. I didn’t need her in

here to hear her voice, but I’d have felt stupid being interviewed

by the walls.

Why do you want to go to this college? she began, her

schoolmarm tone perfect for the role.

“I don’t,” I said, then laughed. “No, wait. I don’t think that’s a

good answer. Ask me again.”

Why do you want to go to this college?

Even in here, without the pressure, my mind was blank. I

couldn’t say, Because I need to live in New York so I can shack up

with my boyfriend. Not to mention that I’d read on the website

that first-year students were supposed to live on campus. (There

had to be a way around that, right?) Such a basic question and I

couldn’t even think of an answer, couldn’t remember why

Columbia had been one of my top choices this past summer. My

eye twitched. Okay, I’d come back to that one.

I moved on to the next question.

What do you think you can bring to this college?

287

“Uh, I guess I bring a concern and caring for the . . . the

health of the community. I’ll talk about starting peer counseling

here.” I didn’t think I had to mention that I was on hiatus from the

program.

What is your biggest weakness?

“Hmm . . . I’m supposed to say something that’s really a

strength.”

You don’t know?

I pulled my turtleneck up over my chin. “My biggest

weakness?” I had plenty of weaknesses, but none of them

seemed like the type I could spin into strengths.

This one isn’t a strength.

What did that mean? What was I trying to say? “If you’re

trying to make me less nervous for my interview, it’s not

working.”

I pushed Cubby aside. This wasn’t the time to be worrying

about all of the things that were wrong with me. Maybe trying to

anticipate questions was stupid. Not to mention, my body was

beginning to crave a nap, the way it often did after lunch. Resting

was probably a better plan than making myself more nervous

about the interview. I slid down and curled up with my head on a

pillow, and let my mind go blank, a slight ache pulsing at my

temples. The minutes ticked by. My limbs felt heavier and

heavier. At 1:45 I made a motion to stand up, but I couldn’t bring

288

myself to do it. It was like a multiple snooze-button morning. I

kept trying to get up, but my mind kept dragging me down.

“I don’t want to go,” I said. And I knew what I meant. There