Frost Page 9

  These things have to happen slowly. You don’t just break away like that because you’ve spent a few weeks at boarding school.”

  I put the shell down, lining it up with a piece of smoky quartz that I’d given to the dean when her husband died. A sick feeling filled my chest. “I guess I see what you mean. But that wasn’t my intention. I meant to make her feel better.”

  “Well, of course. But you said something that came from your personal experience, that didn’t help this girl in her situation.”

  “I … I’m sorry. What can I do? Should I talk to her? Tell her she misunderstood me?”

  “It doesn’t sound like she did misunderstand you. Rather that you used bad judgment in your advice.”

  I stared down at the grain of the wooden desktop, willing my eyes to stay dry. “So what do you want me to do?”

  “I don’t think there’s anything you can do for Nicole,” she said. “I’m dealing with it now. Hopefully, it will blow over, and she’ll stay at school. I just want to make sure you understand what you did wrong.”

  I looked up. “I do. And …” I was sure she could see my lips trembling. “ … I’m sorry.”

  “All right,” Dean Shepherd said with a half smile. “I’m sure it won’t happen again.”

  She began shuffling the papers in front of her. Was there another topic I could bring up? Something to bring us back to the way we usually were?

  Before I thought of anything, she said, “Oh—by the way, how’s everything in the dorm? One of Celeste’s teachers is worried she’s seemed kind of tired and distracted this semester. Everything okay?”

  “Fine,” I said. “She’s got a bit of insomnia, but it’s better than it was at first.” I certainly wasn’t going to tell the dean about the problems we were having. That would just give her more proof that I wasn’t as good with people as she’d thought. That I wasn’t living up to her expectations.

  “Okay. Good.” She nodded and went back to her papers.

  I sat there a moment longer, still feeling like I needed to say something, like I needed to make this better.

  “Leena,” she said. “You can go now.”

  I pushed back the chair and stood up. On my way out I noticed I’d tracked clumps of mud all over her rug.

  Chapter 12

  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.”

  “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. 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.

  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.

  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 c
alming 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?”

  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.

  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.

  “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.”

  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.”

  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.”

  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 vodka to my own can of soda and passed the flask to Cameron. Abby’s “date,” the guy who was playing Tilden in the play, had canceled; it was the four of us Frost Housers, plus David, Whip, and Cam.

  Since we didn’t have a proper dining table, the seven of us were seated around the coffee table in the common room. Celeste wore a slinky silver evening dress and a thin black shawl over her shoulders. With Whip’s blazer and khaki pants with embroidered whales, they made quite a pair sitting together on the couch.

  I went into the kitchen and started bringing out the plates of food I’d prepared. As I brought out the last two, Whip was saying, “I can’t believe they made this place a girls’ dorm. I was supposed to live here. My great-grandfather, my grandfather, and my father all did. It’s a frigging Spaulding Whipple
Windham tradition.”

  “It’s been around that long?” Viv asked.

  “My great-grandfather lived here the first year it was a dorm.”

  “What was it before that?” I said, settling cross-legged on the floor next to David.

  Whip took a bite of lasagna, chewed, wiped his mouth, and then said, “A family’s house—nothing to do with Barcroft. My grandfather says during his time, all the guys made a big joke of living here because there’d been some hysterical chick—I mean, woman—living in it years before. Like the chick in the attic in Wuthering Heights.”

  “Jane Eyre,” I said. “You know, Whip, it’s not really referred to as hysteria anymore.”

  “What is it now? PMS?”

  “Yeah. Right,” I said. My eyes met David’s. He gave his a slight roll, then reached over and picked something out of my hair.

  Food, already? “Lasagna?” I whispered, appalled.

  David grinned. “Kidding.”

  “He told me this story,” Whip went on as I made a face at David, “about how everyone was scared of Frost House because of the rumors about the girl. So they pretended it was haunted or some shit and got all these kids to come over.” He took a swig of his drink.

  “And?” Celeste said after a minute.

  “And what?” Whip said.

  “What happened?” Celeste asked.

  “What do you mean?” Whip said. “That’s what happened. They scared people and got busted for making some freshman piss his pants.”

  “Sounds like a good time,” David said. “Can you pass the salad, Vivian?”

  “Yeah,” Whip said, apparently not noticing David’s sarcasm. “Anyway, it sucks they made it a girls’ dorm this year.”

  “Everyone always thinks Victorian houses are haunted,” I said, finishing chewing a bite. “When I was little, my friends were scared to spend the night because we lived in an old Queen Anne and they thought it was creepy. It was so stupid.”