Frost - Marianna Baer

guess this is about Celeste?”

385

I started at the beginning, with the ripped skirt, the broken

vase, the ruined nests. “I thought she believed Ms. Martin’s cat

had done everything,” I said. “I didn’t realize she was connecting

it to this other stuff.” I explained about Celeste’s fear she was

being watched, the knocking noises, everything Celeste had told

me, how she’d built it all up into this final paranoid delusion.

Dean Shepherd listened with a furrowed brow,

absentmindedly running her fingers over her chin. “Are you sure

this isn’t a joke?” she said when I’d finished. “Maybe she’s upset

about you and David, trying to get back at you. Isn’t that what you

told me before?”

“No,” I said. “She’s serious.”

“And the bruises? They’re part of this?”

I repeated what I’d told David, about how she might not

realize she’s hurting herself. The way she might not have realized

she was causing the other things to happen, as well.

“It sounds like there’s been a lot of trouble in the dorm I

didn’t know about,” Dean Shepherd said. “I can’t help feeling that

maybe it could have been noticed earlier that something was

wrong.”

“Noticed by me, you mean.”

Most people might have missed the look that flitted across

her face, but I didn’t. Just a twitch of her lips that let me know

that’s exactly what she’d meant. That it was my fault for not

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coming to her earlier. That I’d missed obvious signs the person I

was living with—the person she’d trusted me to watch out for—

was deeply sick.

“I just thought she was eccentric,” I said, trying to ignore the

heavy sadness bearing down. “How could I ever have guessed

something like this? It’s completely crazy. I was trying to make

things work out okay . . . you know, in the dorm. I didn’t know.”

The dean nodded, her mouth a solemn straight line. “Okay,”

she said. “We don’t want to come to any premature conclusions,

of course. But I’ll handle it from here.”

“What will you do?”

“Don’t worry—I’ll do what’s best for Celeste. Does David

know yet?”

“No,” I lied. “Not yet.”

We sat for a moment. Her face seemed to sag slightly, as if

the conversation had added years to her age. “What happened

this semester, Leena?” she said. “I feel like in the past, you would

have come to me with this.”

I swallowed and tried not to tear up. “I . . . I kept screwing

up. You’ve been so mad at me.”

“It’s been a rough semester,” she said. “That’s true. But I

would still have been here for you. Always.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. All her words did was make me feel worse.

387

The paths crisscrossing the Great Lawn stretched empty;

everyone else was in class. I fought against a strong wind as I

hurried toward Frost House. Leaves swirled above me like the

flocks of ravens in Hitchcock’s The Birds .

David still hadn’t answered my call. I needed to find him. I

hadn’t told the dean about his part in this whole mess, especially

not the fact that he might have been lacing the house with lighter

fluid as we spoke, because I wanted to believe that he— we—

could have a life together here at Barcroft for the rest of the year.

A life without Celeste. If the dean knew he was going along with

the whole haunted house thing, well, that wouldn’t be good.

Maybe, just maybe, once he realized his sister was sick, he’d see

that I’d actually helped save her. Maybe he’d see that I’d risked

my own happiness to make sure she was safe. Maybe he would

even realize it now. Maybe I wouldn’t have to wait.

My head was killing me. I searched the inside of my jacket

pockets, in case I had any of my meds hanging around. Nothing.

I’d get some at the dorm. Assuming it was still standing. No—that

wasn’t really a concern—David hadn’t talked about burning down

the whole place, and he certainly wouldn’t do it without telling

me first, letting me get out the things that mattered to me. Still, I

couldn’t help scanning the distance for any sign of smoke.

Branches swayed in front of the little house when I reached

the driveway. My little old lady house. Vulnerable. But not on fire.

388

I opened the side door. The common room looked the same

as ever; clueless as to what was going on around it. Waiting for us

to come hang out and watch TV or make microwave popcorn. Or

have another Sunday night dorm dinner. All the things I’d

envisioned when we moved into Frost House. I automatically

straightened the tapestry that covered the couch.

Once in the hallway, I heard the sounds. Objects moving,

shifting, in Celeste’s room. I moistened my lips. It couldn’t be

Celeste—she had classes straight through to lunch. And if the

dean had called her immediately, she wouldn’t have come back

here, would she? Would the dean call her? Or send people to pick

her up at class in person? A vision of Celeste in a straitjacket

flashed in my mind. Being carried out of her class, wrapped up

like a lunatic.

Celeste’s door was closed. I kept my footsteps soft, so I could

make it to my own room first and take at least a little something

to help with this headache. The floorboards creaked and groaned.

Click . I stopped. The door to Celeste’s room opened. David

stood there. His hair leapt out from his head in messy clumps.

Circles of sweat darkened his shirt. From the look of the room he

had been moving things out of her closet.

“Leen, hey. I’m so glad you’re here,” he said.

He opened his arms. My body fell into his. I was pulled in two

directions. Pulled into his warmth, like I wanted to crawl under his

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shirt and hide there, as if I could be folded into his body and leave

mine behind. But the buzz, the life I felt in his body also gave me

strength to remember I’d done the right thing. Energy darted

back and forth between us. When I felt the push rather than the

pull I separated from him, taking that strength, feeling it in my

bones. What I had to do now was a thousand times harder than

what I’d already done. A million times harder.

“Did you get my message?” I asked.

“No. You called?” He patted his pockets. “Oh, right. My

phone’s in my bag. I left it in your room. What’d you say?”

“Did you . . . did you need something in my room?”

“I borrowed a couple of tools.” He reached over to Celeste’s

desk and picked up my hammer. He smiled and raised his

eyebrows. “I have a plan. I would’ve called but I figured you were

in class all morning. Shouldn’t you be at math?”

“David,” I said. “It’s too late.”

“Too late? For what?”

I filled my lungs as if preparing to be submerged underwater.

“I told Dean Shepherd about Celeste.”

His head jutted back slightly, his chin pulled into his neck.

“You what?”

“If she’s not sick, they’ll find out. And if she is sick, she needs

help.”

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Now he stepped back completely; I could no longer feel the

heat from his body. The hammer dangled from his hand. “You’re

kidding, right?”

“I knew that you were too close to her to do it yourself. And

it had to be done.”

“You told the dean everything ?”

“Most of it. I didn’t tell her that you know. I thought . . . well,