Frost - Marianna Baer
from before.”
“Before?”
“The conversation we had, earlier.”
We sat in silence for a moment, my hand absorbing the
tremors from her body.
“Are you okay to go back to sleep?” I finally said. “I swear, no
one was in here except me.”
She gathered her quilt around her shoulders. “Can you hand
me my crutches?” she said.
I did. She stood up and made her way out of the room. With
her stooped posture, the blanket around her shoulders, and the
sunken, haunted look in her face . . . well, I wondered if, when I’d
promised not to tell anyone about her fears, I’d made a promise I
shouldn’t keep.
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The next day, I couldn’t get that image of her out of my
mind. As my teachers talked on, I kept hearing her voice—so
much fear in it. I didn’t know what to do. Before last night, I’d
settled into thinking that Celeste was doing the things herself
because I couldn’t imagine who else would have. But yesterday
her surprise—her horror—had seemed so genuine. Nothing made
sense.
The first time I saw her was in the afternoon. She was sitting
on the main quad underneath the statue of Samuel Barcroft,
listening to music and writing or drawing in her sketchpad. Part of
me wanted to head in the opposite direction, pretend I didn’t see
her. But I had to deal with this sometime.
I walked up and waited for her to take out her earbuds.
“So,” I said, sitting next to her on the base of the statue. The
granite pressed cold and hard underneath me. “How do you
feel?”
She shrugged. Rhinestone-studded sunglasses hid her eyes.
“Okay,” she said. “Sorry for all the commotion last night. God,
David couldn’t believe it when I told him the cat did that to my
nests.”
Wait, what? “The cat?” I said.
“Oh, right. I didn’t tell you yet.” Her voice was breezy and
crisp as the autumn air, as if this was all perfectly normal. “I
realized this morning it must have been Leo. I’m sure he smelled
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the materials and jumped up there. Batted them around the
room.”
“But . . . he doesn’t ever leave Ms. Martin’s apartment, does
he?” I said, totally confused. “And the bedroom door is always
locked.”
“He must get out sometimes,” she said. “I think I’ve seen
him. And the door’s open when we’re in the bathroom, or the
common room.”
“Oh,” I said. “Okay. So, you don’t think it said—”
“Leena.” She moved the sunglasses onto the top of her head
and stared at me, her eyes slightly bloodshot and somehow bluer
than ever. “It was the cat.”
In that moment as we sat there looking at each other, I knew
she was asking me not to fight her on this. To agree to say it was
the cat. I didn’t know, though, whether she had done it herself,
and this was her way of saying that she’d screwed up and let’s
just move on. Or whether she really did want to believe what she
was telling me. Either way, I knew she was saying that she didn’t
want me to worry about her.
Looking back, maybe I should have fought her on it. But I
know why I didn’t: She was giving me exactly what I wanted. I
wanted to put all of the anxiety behind us. To know that there
was nothing wrong with Celeste except her usual melodramatic
tendencies. To know that I didn’t have to worry about what was
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going to happen the next time I opened the door to our room. I
wanted it to be a sanctuary again.
“You’re probably right,” I said. “The cat.”
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Chapter 19
A WEEKEND AWAY FROM FROST HOUSE would be good.
For all of us. Right?
At least, that’s what I told myself as I packed and unpacked
every item of clothing I owned, trying to figure out what would be
appropriate for New York, and as I tried not to admit that what I
really meant by appropriate was something that would appeal to
David, and as I struggled not to keep dwelling on all of the fights
that might or might not happen and all of the possible ways this
could turn into an enormous disaster, and as I debated whether I
should fill the gas tank tonight so we wouldn’t have to waste time
in the morning, and as I remembered Abby’s reaction when I told
her and Viv I couldn’t come early. . . .
We’d been at Lorenzo’s Pizza, just the three of us.
“It’s David, isn’t it?” Abby’d said. “You’re trying to hook up
with him.”
“I just don’t feel like it’s fair to strand them without a ride,” I
said, avoiding her question. “It would be an incredible hassle for
Celeste to take the bus with her leg.”
“Have you always been such a Goody Two-shoes?” Abby
tossed down her pizza slice. “Fine. Do whatever you want. Drive
down on Saturday. Maybe we’ll run into you somewhere in the
city.”
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She stood up, pushed her way out of the booth, and
stomped to the restroom.
I bit my bottom lip. “I’m not trying to piss her off,” I said to
Viv. “Can you help her chill out about this?”
“I don’t know,” Viv said. “She’s pretty jealous.”
“Jealous?”
“Of Celeste. You know, because it seems like you’ve sort of
chosen her over us.”
I rested my head in my hands. “God save me. I have enough
to worry about without this.” I looked up at Viv’s reassuringly
placid eyes. “I’m not choosing Celeste. It’s not a contest.”
“I know,” Viv had said. “I’m just explaining where she’s
coming from.”
Aargh! I zipped my duffel shut—whatever was in there
would have to do. I locked the bedroom door and went into the
closet with Cubby, then took a small oval pill to calm my out-of-
control nerves.
I held Cubby up. “Sorry,” I whispered. “You’re not coming
with me. You have to guard the fort.”
You shouldn’t go either. It’s dangerous. I didn’t speak out
loud for Cubby’s voice now. Just imagined her in my head.
Sometimes surprising myself with what I made her say.
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Like just then. Of course I was going to New York, but
Cubby’s words gave me a brief fantasy—spending the weekend
here, in Frost House, alone. I hated to admit it, but if I’d had a
choice, that’s what I would have picked. There were so many
ways in which the trip might go wrong. Although . . . I was excited
about spending the time with David. Scared, yes, but excited, too.
“Should I just forget about my moratorium?” I said. It had
been feeling stupider and stupider lately.
He doesn’t care about you.
“That’s not true,” I said.
It is true. He’s just like the others.
“No, he’s not.” He wasn’t, was he? He was all those things
that made him a good brother—loyal, protective, honest. And
much older than Jake and Theo when I’d hooked up with them.
He was almost nineteen.
He’ll hurt you.
At these words, the excited tingling in my limbs turned to a
cold numbness. Coziness became claustrophobia. Why was I
telling myself this? It’s not what I expected. Not what I wanted.
He’ll hurt you, Leena.
I pushed aside Celeste’s clothes and stumbled back into the
room, slamming the closet door shut behind me, my chest wound
tight. I sat down on the bed, pushed Cubby to the end of the
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windowsill. I put my hands next to me on the mattress and tried
to steady myself. Reality crashed into my head. What had I been
doing? Sitting in a closet, talking to a piece of wood?
I took slow, steady breaths. Okay, nothing was wrong here. It
was just a way I was accessing my subconscious. Something about
the way the closet’s smell reminded me of my fort in Cambridge.
Something about how comfortable I was in there was bringing out
the way I really felt about stuff. That wasn’t so strange, was it? I’d
felt a connection to that little space from the first day of school.
Obviously, it was tapping into my brain in a way a neurologist
could probably explain.
Deep down, I was scared. Scared of being hurt by David. This
shouldn’t have surprised me. I’d been telling myself for so long to
stay away from boys. But life was about overcoming fears, wasn’t
it?
I went to bed early and expected my nerves to wake me up
before my alarm. Instead, I hit SNOOZE. Repeatedly. When I came
to a fuzzy consciousness, there was a hand on my shoulder,
nudging me.
“Mmmph.” I turned my head into the pillow. “Neurons not
firing.”
“C’mon, Leena. It’s late.” It was David’s voice. “Where’s
Celeste?”
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I remembered—New York. I sat up, wiped drool off my
mouth. “What time is it?”
“Seven thirty. You were supposed to pick me up half an hour
ago. Where’s Celeste?”
“Seven thirty? Shoot. I don’t know. Across the hall?”
David walked into the hallway. I grabbed some clothes and
hurried to the bathroom. I couldn’t believe I’d overslept, today of
all days. I’d promised Viv and Abby that we’d get an early start so
they wouldn’t be stuck at the house all day, waiting for us. I’d
have to call and tell them we’d be late. I took a quick shower,
threw on jeans and a hoodie, cursing myself the whole time.
When I went back in the bedroom, Celeste was piling clothes on
her bed. I watched her with my arms crossed. Couldn’t she have
done this yesterday?
“Is your bag still where I put it when I moved your stuff in?”
David asked, looking over at her from by the closet.
“I guess,” Celeste said.
“What are those?” David pointed at a couple of bruises on
her lower thighs. Celeste pulled her skirt down to cover them.
“Nothing,” she said.
“What are they?” he pressed.
She rolled her eyes. “I don’t know. Maybe from when things
got a little frisky with Whip. Okay? Like that answer?”
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“He hurt you?” David said.
“Jesus! No. I bruise easy. Don’t you remember? From all our
games of tickle monster?”
“I never hurt you like that,” David said.
“I bruise easily, too,” I said, sensing that their conversation
was rapidly deteriorating. I rolled up my sleeve and pointed at a
blue-yellow blotch on my forearm. “This one, I don’t even know
what it’s from. Field hockey, maybe, but I don’t remember it
happening.”
Neither of them said anything else. Just stared at each other
as if I wasn’t even in the room.
The next time Celeste spoke was as I backed the car out of
the driveway.
“I am so fucking happy to be getting out of this place,” she
said.
The silence between Celeste and David lasted through
getting coffee at The Mean Bean, and past multiple exits on the
Mass Pike. Celeste may have been happy to leave Frost House,
but all I could think about was how much I’d rather be back there
alone than here in the car, trying to ignore the obvious tension.
Somewhere near Sturbridge, I heard a small snore from the
backseat. I felt as if I was being released from thumbscrews.
“Is she asleep?” I asked quietly.
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David twisted around and watched her for a moment. “Yeah,
she is.”
“So,” I said once he was facing front again, “what’s with all
the weirdness?
Before answering, he turned up the volume of the music a
bit. “She used to cut. Before Barcroft, but I get nervous when I see
bruises. It’s stupid, I know.”
“Oh,” I said, understanding better now. I thought of her
burn, and how she’d asked me not to tell him. That must have
been why. She was worried he’d assume she’d done it on
purpose.
“How has she seemed to you?” he asked. “Aside from letting
that asshole abuse her.”
“I don’t think he’s abusing her,” I said gently. “I think she was
just trying to get to you. She’s seemed . . . okay. Really upset
about what happened to her nests, of course. Honestly, I don’t
see her that often. You should ask her how she’s doing.” That was
true. Ever since that event with the nests, she’d spent more and
more time in the little room, and out of the dorm entirely. I
wasn’t sure where or when she was sleeping.
David turned around again to look at Celeste, then rested a
hand lightly on the back of my neck, sending a jolt of electricity all
down my spine.
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“I’ve been really looking forward to this weekend,” he said in
a low voice.
“Yeah. Me too. It’ll be fun.” I knew that my tone didn’t match
his. But since that disturbing episode in the closet, I’d gotten
more and more worried that maybe I was headed toward a big
mistake. How did I know whether to trust my gut, or my rational
mind?
“Is there anything special you want to do while we’re there?”
he said. Up and down, his fingers traveled the length of my neck.
He’s just like the others. I gripped the steering wheel tighter
as I passed a massive Jordan’s Furniture truck. “Left on Spit Brook,
right on Daniel Web-stah.”
“What?”
“Jaw-dens Funicha Weah-house. The radio ads? The guys
have those crazy accents?”
“Leena.”
“What?” My mouth felt dry.
“I just wanted to see if we’re, you know, both looking
forward to the same sort of weekend.”
I decided to switch lanes and flipped on the windshield
wipers instead of the turn signal. I fumbled with the controls
while saying, “I, um, I don’t really know. . . .”
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He took his hand off my neck. “Sorry. I thought . . . I guess
I’ve been misunderstanding. I knew you didn’t want to get
involved this semester, but I thought . . . the way we’ve been
acting. Sorry. I guess I’m just stupid.”
A moment of silence went by. I heard Celeste breathing in
