Frost Page 3

  “Thanks. It’s of this window in my bedroom in Cambridge.”

  “At your dad’s?”

  “No. My old room. Before we moved.”

  I turned my attention back to the skirt, clipping it onto the hanger and hanging it up in the exact spot it had been before. I felt an immediate sense of relief.

  “I shouldn’t have done that,” I said, shutting the closet behind me and leaning against the door.

  “What?”

  “Tried on her skirt. Or looked through her stuff at all. Here I am, worried about what kind of roommate she’ll be, and I’m totally invading her privacy.”

  “It’s not a big deal,” Abby said. “And if Celeste thinks you’re a bad roommate, maybe she’ll move out.” She raised her eyebrows.

  No—I didn’t want it to be like that. I’d agreed to the arrangement, after all. Being a bitch wouldn’t help anything. And, despite my fleeting urges, neither would disappearing into the depths of the closet. I wasn’t Lucy Pevensie and this wasn’t a magic wardrobe.

  “Give me two minutes to get dressed,” I said. “I’ll meet you out front.”

  I rummaged through my bags until I found a denim mini and my favorite navy-and-white-striped tee, quickly put them on, and sat on my bed to do the buckles on my sandals.

  Across the room, I noticed that the closet hadn’t stayed shut. The latch must not have caught, even though I’d leaned against the door. It had eased open to show a strip of inviting darkness.

  As if it was telling me I could always change my mind.

  Chapter 5

  “ I’M GOING TO FIND CAM ”, Viv called. She headed out of the food-service area into upper left, our favorite of the four dining rooms in Commons, where Cameron, her boyfriend, was saving us a table.

  “Behind you,” Abby called back.

  I took a minute to pick a Granny Smith apple from the fruit bowl and followed in their direction.

  At the entrance to the dining room, a lone guy with dark hair and a soccer player’s build stood holding a tray, his back to me. David Lazar. Damn. Could I slip past unnoticed? Did I want to? He turned his head, side to side, shifted his weight from foot to foot, the way he had when he’d told me about Celeste. Of course, the view in front of him was a sea of unknown faces.

  “Need a place to sit?” I asked, stepping up beside him.

  He glanced over. “Leena, hey,” he said. “Thanks, but I’m pretty wiped. Probably wouldn’t be great company.”

  So why hadn’t he just taken an empty seat? Maybe, despite the tulip gesture, he didn’t want to eat with me.

  “Sorry I was rude at the dorm,” I said, adjusting the dishes on my tray so it was more balanced. “If you want to sit alone, that’s cool. But I’m with the rest of Frost House, if you’re curious to meet them.”

  He tilted his head slightly. “They’re not going to hide under the table and jump out at me, are they?” he said.

  I laughed. “No. I think you’re safe.”

  We started into the room. I scanned it quickly until I spotted Viv and Abby at a table by the tea-and-coffee station.

  Commons is one of Barcroft’s older buildings. It has a grand, Gothic feel—high, arched windows, paneled walls, massive chandeliers, and dangerously slippery marble floors. It took serious concentration to walk, hold my tray, and say hi to everyone I passed whom I hadn’t seen yet since being back at school, especially since I was conscious of David watching me from behind.

  As we neared the table, Abby’s eyes were round, like I was bringing a gift-wrapped box with her name on it. The neckline of her tank top had dipped mysteriously lower.

  “So,” she said to David, after he and I had sat down and I’d introduced everyone, “your first meal here and you already found the best dining room.”

  “Did I?” he said. “Celeste mentioned this is the one she usually eats in.”

  “Yeah, she would,” Abby said.

  “Why’s that?” David asked. I thought I heard an edge in his voice.

  “Upper left tends to have more artsy types.” Abby gestured at students around us, as if they were all splattered with oil paint. “Although, Leena and Viv aren’t artsy, so it’s not a given. Jocks and more conservative types tend toward upper right. But some of the football guys are in here tonight, so that’s not a given either. The lower halls tend to have underclassmen and more nondescripts. Kind of a mishmash. Anyway, this is where you should look for us first. We’re usually here. Except when we’re not.” She grinned.

  “Valuable information,” he said, smiling back.

  A tall, auburn-haired girl I recognized but didn’t know stopped at the table. “David, right?” she said. “We met earlier? At registration? I just wanted to say that if you’re interested in the. Ride Club, you should totally come talk to me about it. My name’s. Cora.”

  “Thanks so much,” David said. “I will.”

  After Cora floated away, Abby pointed a carrot stick in her direction and said to David, “That’s why you’re going to want to find us at meals.”

  “Uh, why?” he said.

  “You’re such a rarity,” she explained. “A new guy who’s not fourteen years old. You’re going to need our protection from the swarming hoards.”

  “Should I carry a Taser or something?” he said, pretending to be alarmed.

  “Oh, definitely.” More grinning.

  I took a bite of thick, buttered bread and swallowed past my immature jealousy of the obvious spark between Abby and David. Also, I hoped Abby was just flirting, that she wasn’t considering him as a possibility. Gorgeous as he was, we were living with his sister. It could get messy if one of us hooked up with him and it didn’t go well. Although maybe I didn’t have to worry about that with Abby. She didn’t have the fiascos I did when it came to guys.

  “Cam?” I said. “You go on Ride Club trips sometimes, don’t you?”

  “Yep,” Cameron said, peeling a banana. “Usually the overnights.” He and Viv had been together since freshman year. They were noticeable around campus since, after a late growth spurt, Viv towered five inches taller than him. They hated when people called them cute; but, well, they were. “You bike for fun?” he asked David. “Or are you trying out for the team?”

  “For fun,” David said, “and transportation.”

  “Are you an artist, like your sister?” Abby asked.

  He shook his head and took a sip of lemonade.

  “I bet you’re a …” She rested her fingertips on her temples, pretending to be psychic. “A musician. You play guitar.”

  “Nope,” he said. “Tone-deaf.”

  There was a brief silence. I think we were all expecting David to say what he did do, what activity/talent/passion he’d be emphasizing on his college apps. He didn’t say anything, though, just ate a couple of black olives off his salad.

  “Will you guys help me with my peer-counseling presentation for the new students tonight?” I asked Viv and Abby. “I’m already nervous.”

  “You’ll be amazing,” Viv said. She looked at David. “Leena started this whole program where students are trained to counsel other students about stuff, for kids who’d rather not go to psych services. It’s been really successful.” She said this so proudly. I squirmed in my seat, embarrassed.

  “Other schools have similar programs,” I said. “It’s not that big a deal.”

  “Celeste told me about it,” David said. “And I noticed your thing on the orientation schedule.”

  “We’re excited to have her in the dorm,” Abby said. David didn’t respond so she added, “Your sister.”

  “Oh,” he said. “Uh-huh.”

  “Are you guys twins?” she asked. “Or are you a junior?”

  “A senior, but I’m a year older.” He paused. “I took last year off.”

  “Ahh—an older man …” Abby’s voice was kiddingly suggestive. “What’d you do?”

  David pushed his rigatoni marinara around his plate. “Different things.” His energy had sh
ifted. Maybe he really was tired, like he’d said, and not in the mood to be grilled.

  “Abby?” I said. “Can you pass the salt? And the pepper, too?”

  She pulled a Plastic Man to reach the shakers but didn’t switch her focus. “Did you travel?” she asked him.

  “Not really. A week in Costa Rica.”

  “If you did anything interesting, you should be on Viv’s show.”

  “Definitely,” Viv said. “Cam and I host a WBAR show on Tuesday nights. We play music, but we also have guests on to talk about whatever. You could talk about what you did last year, why you’re at Barcroft now, what sign you are … you know, stuff. It’s fun.”

  David laid a napkin over his pasta, as if covering a corpse. Blots of red seeped through the thin, white paper. “How’s this?” he said. “I had to leave school—Pembroke—because they busted me for cheating. At the same time, my dad’s mental illness got really bad and I didn’t want him to have to live in a group facility,

  so I moved home to help my mother take care of him. But I guess I didn’t do a very good job because he decided the government had sent me there to poison him. Barcroft took into account the extenuating circumstances, and the fact that I got really good grades at Pembroke, and let me in. Any questions?”

  The sounds of other diners’ conversations, laughter, and utensils clanking against their plates seemed to swell around us as we sat there staring at our food. I struggled to come up with the right words. A schizophrenic father. God.

  Unfortunately, Abby spoke first. “You might want to put a different spin on that for the radio show,” she said.

  I knew she was hoping to lighten the moment, but she just sounded harsh.

  David didn’t look up.

  The meal ended quickly. On my way out of the dining hall, I stopped to put my tray—minus silverware and uneaten apple— on the kitchen conveyor belt. David placed his after mine.

  “Sorry,” he said. “Long day. I should have sat alone.”

  “It wasn’t you.” I plunked my utensils in the designated bin of murky dishwater, trying not to let any splash on us. “They meant well, though.”

  We followed the flow of students into the hallway and down marble stairs that were smoothed unevenly by years of footsteps. I let Viv and Abby go on ahead, instead keeping pace with David.

  Outside, he said, “I have my ride,” and gestured to the bike rack at the north end of Commons. I was walking the same general direction, so I drifted next to him.

  “Is, um, is your father okay?” I asked as he squatted by a blue road bike. He’d obviously gotten sick of answering questions. Still, I couldn’t leave it hanging like that.

  “Depends what you mean by okay,” he said, undoing the chunky padlock. “He’s alive. Living in a facility, for now.”

  “I think it’s amazing that you took care of him,” I said. “Schizophrenia must be so … scary.”

  “He’s actually not schizophrenic. Something similar.”

  “Oh. The one … what’s it called … with mood-disorder symptoms?” I asked.

  David stood up, massively thick chain in his hands, brows drawing together. “Schizoaffective,” he said. “Yeah. Do you know someone—?”

  “No, no. I took Intro Psych last year.”

  “Oh.” He wrapped and fastened the chain around his waist. I couldn’t believe he could bike with it on. “Well, yeah. It’s scary. In lots of ways.”

  I watched the late sun stream orange through plum-colored clouds. Probably one of the reasons it was scary was because it has a genetic component. The things I didn’t want to inherit from my parents—selfishness, undependability—were things that were under my control, not predetermined, but I still worried about them. This was a whole different story.

  “When is Celeste getting here tomorrow?” I asked as David backed his bike away from the rack.

  “Not sure yet. You know … what Abby said in there …” He stopped and met my eyes. “You guys don’t have to pretend you’re happy to live with her. I know you’re not, and I don’t blame you. You had this nice, private thing going on.”

  Even though he didn’t sound defensive or judgmental, my first instinct was to lie, to tell him that we really were happy to live with Celeste. Then I wondered what the point was.

  “It’s not that I dislike her,” I said, twisting the stem of my apple. “I mean, I love how creative and … passionate she is. But she makes me nervous. Sometimes, I think she might not even like me.”

  “Really?” he said. “I know she can be a pain in the ass, but she definitely likes you. She said … What was it?” He thought for a minute and then smiled. “Oh, yeah. You remind her of an angel.”

  “An angel?” I said. “Hardly.”

  His gaze traced a path from my chin to my hair. “Maybe she meant you look like one.”

  My hand flew to the top of my head. “Frizz. Not a halo,” I said, hoping my suddenly hot cheeks hadn’t pinked. “And if you knew she liked me, why did you have to talk to Jessica Liu?”

  “Jess—? Oh. Right.” He sounded a bit sheepish. “It’s just, Celeste doesn’t always have the best judgment about people and … I tend to be pretty protective of her.”

  We held eyes for a minute. Something had shifted; the connection between us had changed. We’d stripped some things away, like when you strip away layers of lumpy paint and get down to the smooth, original wood.

  I gestured in the direction of Frost House. “I have to go prepare my presentation.”

  David nodded and swung a leg over the frame. “Guess I’ll see you there, if not before.”

  I’d turned the corner toward home when I heard, “Leena?” He biked toward me. “One other thing.”

  “What?” I said.

  “Spoons.”

  “What?”

  He rode around me in a circle. “Abby wanted to know what I do. That’s it.”

  “Spoons? ” I said, turning to follow his path.

  He smiled, wide, with full-on dimples. In this light, the blue of his eyes reminded me of raspberry slushies. “See you, Leena,” he said. And rode away.

  I decided to finish unpacking and arranging my room before working on my presentation, and as I filled drawers and shifted furniture and hung pictures, I kept wondering what David had meant. People played spoons as instruments, but he’d said he wasn’t a musician. There was a card game called Spoons; I found that hard to imagine. So, what … ?

  I hadn’t come up with any feasible possibilities when I joined Viv and Abby upstairs. I didn’t ask for their input, though. Not that I thought it was a big secret. Just that something about the way he hadn’t said anything at dinner made me keep it to myself.

  I did want to talk about something else.

  “You guys?” I said after they’d declared my speech ready for the tender ears of the newbies. “I know that having Celeste here wasn’t the plan, but I think we should make an effort to be welcoming. Not fakey-fake nicey-nice. Friendly.”

  “Seriously?” Abby had been sprawled on Viv’s shaggy white rug, eating a brownie. Now she sat up. “You realize you’re asking me to go against my true nature? Like asking a vampire to be a phlebotomist and not drink from the vials.”

  “I know,” I said, placing my hand on hers in faux sympathy. “You’re truly a mean, mean person. But this won’t change who you are. No one outside of the dorm has to know.”

  She sighed. “In that case, I suppose I can do it.”

  “Viv?” I said.

  “I’m always nice,” she answered from her cross-legged position on the cushioned window seat. “And I don’t even care she’s living with us. I love it here already. This room is so damn cozy. Orin must’ve read it wrong.” Rain tapped the glass behind her. Another storm had started.

  “What does Orin have to do with anything?” I asked.

  Viv paused, a mug of tea halfway to her mouth. Her eyes darted to Abby, who shrugged, and then back to me. “Oh, nothing.”

  “You obviously
told Abby,” I said. “Come on, you know I won’t take it seriously.”

  “We decided not to tell you because you’re the one who picked Frost House,” Viv said, resting her mug next to her knee. “I guess, though, if you won’t believe it anyway … He didn’t want me to live here. There’s some sort of … darkness connected to it.”

  Heat spread up the back of my neck. “You’re right. That’s stupid.”

  “Then again …” Abby waved her brownie. “He could be talking about Green Beret.”

  I loved Abby, but that was the last straw. “That’s it,” I announced, pointing at her. “Let it all out now. Purge. Every nasty thing you have to say about Celeste.”

  “What?” she said.

  “Pretend Celeste is here with us. Let her have it. So when she gets here you don’t have all this snark built up.”

  Viv laughed. “Abby has an endless reserve of snark.”

  “Just try,” I said.

  Abby shrugged. “Okay.” She took a bite of brownie, closed her eyes, and thought for a minute while chewing, then began. “What are you wearing you look like a crazy person and why are you so dramatic and your brother seems nuts too and why are you living here we don’t even know you and why do you wear that green beret all the time or ever la la la I can’t think of anything else oh yeah if you’re going to go schizo like your dad please don’t do it here and stay away from matches.” She opened her eyes.

  “Is that it?” I asked.

  Abby nodded.

  “Okay,” I said. “Let’s have a toast.” We all picked up our tea and scootched closer together. “To Frost House,” I said.

  “To Frost House,” they echoed.

  We clunked mugs and drank, to the applause of a deep rumble of thunder.

  The first night in a new place usually gives me a tinny, homesick feeling that makes it hard to sleep. Not homesick for anywhere in particular. Just a general feeling of uprootedness. Loneliness. Even if people I love are sleeping nearby.

  To help me that night in Frost House, I put on my favorite mellow-girl-singers playlist; made up my bed with my oldest, softest sheets; and set Cubby—a hollow wooden owl my dad carved for me—on the windowsill near my pillow. Cubby’s spot has always been next to my bed. When I was little and scared of the dark, I kept a small flashlight inside her. Now, I just liked the familiarity of having her watching over me with her round, yellow glass eyes.