Frost - Marianna Baer

outside.

The heat wasn’t on in the house; a chill breeze leaked

through the windowpanes. I could feel it even in my down coat. I

pulled my hat over my ears and took a seat in the corner, as far

out of the cold drafts as I could get without going in the closet. I

spent the morning sitting there, going over the story in my mind,

from start to finish. Trying again to piece together the truth of it.

Knowing I probably never would have answers for some things,

like a tattoo of a stained-glass window—the memory of my

childhood and a house that I loved—that’s now almost invisible,

as if someone wanted it erased.

There is one thing I know to be true, though. No matter what

voice said those horrible things to me, that last time in the

closet—the voice of my own, darkest insecurities, or . . .

something else—in the end, I didn’t listen. I wouldn’t still be here

if I had.

It was almost time for my meeting with Dean Shepherd. I

hadn’t seen her since a short, confused visit at the hospital. I took

a moment to breathe away the rush of nerves, then stood and

stretched my chilled, stiff bones.

Took a last look at this beautiful room.

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A breeze shivered across my face; I sensed movement. The

closet door had blown open wider. I walked in slow, measured

steps until I was close enough to run a fingertip along the

splintered edge of the door, daring it to bite. Then, closing my

eyes, I drew a deep, deep breath. The feeling flooded me. The

same pull penetrated my body. It wrapped around me, strong as

an undertow; it wanted me to come in. I wanted to go in. I

wanted to go inside and shut the door behind me.

But I didn’t.

Part of me is still there, I believe. In that way, Frost House

will always be my home. But not the rest of me. I shut the closet

door. And walked out.

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Acknowledgments

Exuberant and heartfelt thanks:

To my agent, Sara Crowe: for her enthusiasm and hard work,

and for placing Frost in such good hands. To my editor, Kristin

Daly Rens: for her insight, positivity, and patience, and for

believing in me. To Sarah Hoy and Alison Donalty: for designing

the most stunning cover imaginable. And to the rest of the team

at Balzer + Bray: for caring about my book.

To the Vermont College of Fine Arts faculty, especially my

wise, witty, and deeply admired advisors—Cynthia Leitich Smith,

Brent Hartinger, Sharon Darrow, and Tim Wynne-Jones: for their

generous help in building Frost House. It’s a much creepier place,

thanks to them, and I mean that in the best way. To the students

at VCFA, especially my wonderful classmates, the Cliff-Hangers:

for their friendship and loyal support. To Galen Longstreth: for

her warmth and encouragement. To Jill Santopolo: for all the

advice and cheerleading, and for nudging Frost in the right

direction. And to Jandy Nelson: for making me laugh, keeping me

sane, and leading the way.

To all of my amazing friends, especially those who helped me

muddle through story issues while writing Frost —Stephanie

Knowles, Signy Peck, and Samera Nasereddin. To Annie and

Robert Del Principe, Julie and Chris Cummings, and Rachel, Bob

(and Ava!) Prince: for making sure I have a life outside of the

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fictional one in my apartment. To Louise Williams: for astute

critiques and invaluable guidance when I was starting out. To

Sandra Gering: for being a fan of everything I’ve ever written,

down to the last email. To Robin Spigel: for having way more faith

in me than I have in myself. To Brandon Russell: for his spoons.

And to the real girls of Frost House—Kate Donchi, Christina Henry

De Tessan, Marlene Laro Joel, Amanda Lydon, and Christina

Weaver Vest: for letting me sully the name of a place that held

only good memories.

To Tim Sultan: for taking care of me in so many ways; for

inspiring me to be a better writer; and for loving me even though

I have two legs, not four.

To Alexandra Bageris: for listening to me read Frost aloud

and gasping at all the right places; and for over thirty years of

being my best friend and encouraging me (sometimes forcefully!)

to take risks. I don’t know if I’d ever have been brave enough to

write a book without her standing next to me.

Finally, to my family: for raising me to be an avid reader; for

being so proud, supportive, and loving; for everything.

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About the Author

Marianna Baer received an MFA in writing for children and

young adults from Vermont College of Fine Arts and a BA in art

from Oberlin College. She also attended boarding school, where

she lived in a tiny dorm called Frost House, which was

subsequently torn down. She currently lives in Brooklyn, New

York. FROST is her first novel. You can visit her online at

www.mariannabaer.com.

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