Frost - Marianna Baer
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.”
126
“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.
127
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,
borrowing clothes again? I didn’t hear drawers being opened. But
it wasn’t someone just checking if we were here—they would
have left already, if that were the case.
Maybe . . . maybe someone had broken Celeste’s vase on
purpose. Maybe whoever it was was in the room now, looking for
something else to do to her. Was that possible? I swallowed,
reached forward slowly, carefully, and parted the curtain of
clothes, hoping . . . No, there wasn’t a keyhole to look through,
nothing to—
Click-click.
My body went rigid.
The doorknob right in front of me—it was turning. The door
itself rattled.
Someone was trying to get into the closet.
128
Click-click. I shrank back against the wall, my heart beating
like crazy now, beating so hard I was sure the person could hear it
through the solid wood barrier between us. What should I do?
What could I do? I pressed my spine harder against the wall as the
doorknob click-click-click ed and the door rattled some more. I
wondered if I pressed back hard enough whether the wall would
open up and swallow me before the door unstuck. Click, click,
rattle, rattle. My heart was about to stop, it was thump-thump-
thump ing too hard. I pressed back and closed my eyes, waiting for
the inevitable light to stream in. A little kid, thinking, If I don’t see
you, you don’t see me.
Rattle, rattle. BAM. Like a fist against the door now. Click-
click, rattle, rattle.
Maybe the person had ripped Celeste’s skirt, too, and had
hidden in this very closet and knocked on the wall with the same
fist they were now— BAM—banging against the door.
I held Cubby up to my face, wrapped both my hands around
her, and prayed to whatever nameless entity someone like me
who doesn’t believe in anything prays to, and then . . .
Nothing.
Wait . . .
Still nothing.
The rattling, the turning—they had stopped before my heart
did.
129
Now, a voice. A male voice, incongruously calm, muffled but
still understandable. “Hey, so, I’m here trying to get your laundry
bag, but I can’t open the damn closet. Is there some trick?
Anyway, I’ll come by later, I guess. But call if you get this message
in the next couple minutes.”
David. Leaving a message for Celeste. It was David.
A shudder poured through me. Both relief that no one was
doing something bad to Celeste—of course they weren’t—but
also a moment of panic at the thought of David being the one to
find me in here. How would I have explained that I was hiding in
his sister’s closet?
His footsteps left the room. I sat for a minute, letting my
body recover from the scare. Every muscle had been taut, and as
they loosened, I even laughed quietly at how ridiculously
frightened I had been. I briefly considered taking some sort of
calming pill, but then realized that sitting here in the closet was
having a similar effect. Surrounded by the smell of my attic and
these cool walls, in the now not-quite-pitch dark. Just light
enough so I could make out where things were. Being in here
made everything seem so far away—what had happened with the
dean, my confusion about David. In here, there was a sense of
being out of time and place. Safe.
I held Cubby up to my face. “Rough day,” I said. “Any advice,
O wise one?”
130
Stay in here, she said.
So I did. I leaned my head back against the wall and let
myself just be.
Eventually, though, I realized that Celeste might come home
earlier than she’d said. I pushed through her clothes, and as I put
my hand on the doorknob, I wondered why it hadn’t occurred to
me that I might not be able to get out, since David hadn’t been
able to get in. But when I turned the knob, the door opened
easily. Like it always did for me. Back in the bedroom, I shut the
door again and tried to open it. No problem. Why hadn’t it
opened for David, after all his shaking and rattling? Was it like
when you try to open a jar, and you strain with all your might, and
then hand it to someone else and it comes off first twist?
I supposed that’s all it was, that I’d been incredibly lucky, and
with one more pull, David would have gotten in. It didn’t seem
quite believable that he hadn’t been able to, since he was trying
so hard, but I couldn’t think of another explanation.
As I stood there with my hand on the door, I said a little
thank-you to Frost House, for doing such a good job of protecting
me.
131
Chapter 13
MS. MARTIN’S KITCHEN RESEMBLED a construction site,
the counters covered with ingredients and cooking equipment for
the inaugural dorm dinner. Abby was helping me make vegetarian
lasagna, garlic bread, and arugula salad with apples and toasted
walnuts, and helping frost the red velvet cupcakes I’d baked
yesterday afternoon.
I opened the freezer door of the ancient mustard-yellow
refrigerator and took out two packets of spinach I’d stored there.
I’d just finished telling Abby how bad I’d screwed up when trying
to help that girl Nicole, and how upset Dean Shepherd had been.
I’d been worried that talking about it would make me feel like an
idiot, that it would bring back all of the horrible feelings. But Abby
was so incensed, so convinced I’d done nothing wrong, that I
actually felt better.
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me this sooner,” Abby said. “I
would’ve kicked that girl’s ass. And then kicked the dean’s ass,
too. Maybe I still will.”
“Please don’t,” I said, smiling as I imagined it.
“If she leaves school because of this, she’s a total wuss. Good
riddance.” Abby threw the top of an onion in the trash for
emphasis.
132
“I saw her from across the quad today, so she hasn’t left
yet,” I said. “Can you hand me that?”
She reached for the glass bowl I’d gestured at. “Why’d you
lock your room today?” she said as she passed it to me. “I wanted
to get back the jeans you borrowed.”
I hadn’t mentioned to Viv and Abby that we’d started locking
it. I’d been hoping that, by some miracle, they wouldn’t find out,
and that Celeste would change her mind once she calmed down
and realized we didn’t need to.
“No reason,” I said, placing the icy, green bricks in the bowl.
Leo the cat rubbed his side against my leg. “I can’t pick you up
while I’m cooking, cutie. Sorry.”
“I’m too heavy to pick up anyway.” Abby patted her
stomach.
“Ha.”
“But seriously,” she said. “You never lock your room. There
must be some reason.”
“Celeste and I agreed that since we’re on the first floor,
maybe it’d be a good idea.” I slid the bowl in the microwave.
Abby was quiet for a moment. “Did she tell you to? Because
she thinks I broke that vase?”
“We’re just being careful, Abb. I told her you didn’t do it.”
133
Abby rinsed a red pepper and set it on the cutting board.
Then she said, “I’ve tried to be nice. What’s her problem?”
“She doesn’t know you.” I turned my attention to the
flashing countdown on the microwave. I hated being caught
between them like this. “If she did, she wouldn’t have accused
you to begin with.” The microwave beeped. I stirred the spinach
into a ricotta-and-egg mixture.
Abby’s chopping had slowed to one chop per second. It
occurred to me that I had a perfect change of subject. “You
know,” I said. “She invited Whip to this dinner.”
Abby looked over at me. “Whip? Are you kidding?”
I grinned and shook my head. “Nope. I just found out.”
“Celeste invited Whip. Why? What possible reason?”
Whip Windham—Spaulding Whipple Windham IV—is an old-
school preppie of the madras shorts and bluchers, white-blond
hair and thin lips, destined to be a (Republican) member of
Congress, variety.
“They’re doing some project together,” I explained.
“Wow.” Abby smiled, bucked up by this amusing piece of
news, as I knew she would be. “That’s quite a couple. Green Beret
and Whippersnapper. Whichever teacher paired them up is my
new hero. I’d love to be a fly on the wall while they’re working
together.”
134
I laughed. “Whip’s probably scared to death.”
“I assumed she invited David for dinner,” Abby said. “Viv told
me he’s coming.”
I stirred more vigorously.
“Leen? I thought we were all only supposed to invite one
person?”
“I invited David,” I said.
“What? Celeste made you?”
“No. I wanted to.” I poured olive oil into a pan on the stove.
“He’s a really good guy, Abby. You should see how much he
worries about his sister. He’s not all obsessed with himself, like
the other guys here are.”
“Yeah,” she said, “instead of being obsessed with himself
he’s obsessed with her. He’s in here all the time, carrying her
books, her laundry. God knows what else. I don’t think it’s nor—”
“Abby,” I said. “He’s my friend. Okay?”
“Oh my God,” she said, putting down her knife. “You like
him.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I do. As a friend.”
“You want to have his crazy babies!”
“Jesus.” I turned from the snapping and cracking pan of hot
oil to face her. “You sound just like Celeste.”
135
Abby stared at me, obviously taken aback. “Thanks a lot.”
“I mean . . . the way you’re blowing this up just to make it
into a big drama. We’re friends, okay? Sure I have a crush on him,
but we’re just friends. And if you gave him a chance, you’d like
him, too. It doesn’t mean anything bad that he’s Celeste’s
brother.”
“Okay,” she said, picking up the knife again. “Whatever you
say.”
Whip brought out a silver, monogrammed flask from the
inside pocket of his navy blazer.
“My contribution to the evening, ladies.” He poured a shot
into the can of Coke I’d just given him and offered me the flask.
I sniffed it.
“Grey Goose,” he said. “I have a second one. Plenty for all.”
Ms. Martin was out until eight at the earliest—that’s when
we had to be finished in her kitchen—so I added a splash of the
