Читать интересную книгу Marianna Baer - Frost

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.

Even with Cubby here, I was expecting to toss and turn.

And, at first, moments from the strange day cluttered my

head—so different from what I’d anticipated when I woke up this

morning. Not all bad—there was David’s smile as he rode

away . . . Soon, though, thoughts of the day faded and I was just

here, in my new room. I concentrated on the breezes that slipped

through the slightly open windows and fluttered across my skin.

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The air was cooler now, because of the second storm. I listened to

the sounds that mingled with Rachael Yamagata’s low, breathy

voice: rain pattering on leaves, windowpanes rattling softly, a

door creaking. I imagined the house was saying it was happy I’d

finally arrived.

The feel of the bed underneath me, the shape of the room

around me, the woody smell of the air: it was all so familiar. I

didn’t feel homesick or lonely at all. In fact, just the opposite. I

was so comfortable—so at home—that Viv probably would have

said I’d lived in Frost House in a past life.

Viv. The darkness. I smiled at the ridiculousness.

Before I knew it, I was asleep.

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Chapter 6

THE NEXT MORNING, I was sitting on my bed reading an

online article about schizoaffective disorder and its effect on

families while supposedly reaping the soothing benefits of a

chamomile-jasmine aromatherapy facial mask. I breathed in

deeply through my nose. If the aromatherapy was bull, at least

the extra oxygen would relax me.

The side door to Frost House squeaked open and the thud of

uneven footsteps sounded in the common area.

“Hello, hello?” Celeste’s voice called.

I shut my laptop and rushed to the bathroom. For some

reason, I hadn’t expected her to arrive this early.

I rinsed and dried my face, put my glasses on, checked my

reflection in the mirror, tightened my ponytail. Celeste was just

another person. No need to be nervous.

She and David stood in the middle of the bedroom. A chunky

cast on her left leg peeked out of a full-skirted white dress with

Mexican-style embroidery and a turquoise sash. The cast was

painted gold, her toenails neon orange. Her thick, dark brown hair

was longer than I’d ever seen it, halfway down her back. Despite a

tan, her face seemed drawn, emphasizing the bone structure she

shared with David.

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He was wearing a thin, white T-shirt and faded black jeans,

cut off at the knee. I had a sudden realization that he’d been in

my dream last night. The details were fuzzy. Still, I couldn’t meet

his eyes.

“Hey, Celeste,” I said. “I’m really sorry about your accident.”

“Yeah, it sucks. For you, too. Right?” She hopped over and

gave me a wiry-arm hug. “David told me you didn’t even know

until you got here. What assholes.”

“It’s not a big deal. It’ll be fun.”

She let out a little snort. “You say that now.”

I didn’t know how to respond.

“Much as I like hearing you charm people,” David said to his

sister, “I’m gonna get going. Once you thank me for setting up

your stuff, that is.”

Celeste glanced around distractedly. “Oh, crap,” she said.

“Did I forget to pack the beetle photo?”

“No,” David said. “It’s in the closet. I thought Leena might

not appreciate having it hanging.”

“Leena doesn’t care,” Celeste said as if she could possibly

know this. “The RISD admissions woman loved it.”

“Fine.” David sounded exasperated. “I’ll hang it later. Now,

are you going to thank me? Or what?”

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“Thank you. You did a very nice job. Sure you aren’t gay?”

He turned to me. “If she acts up, I’ll loan you my Taser.” He

smiled and I couldn’t help but smile back way too widely, both

because David was so cute and because as Celeste’s lab partner,

I’d definitely have taken him up on his offer a few times.

“Call if you need anything,” he said to Celeste. “And don’t

make Leena regret letting you live here.”

He held out a fist. Celeste bumped it twice, then they

pressed their palms together, hers tiny next to his. A small hollow

opened in my chest, the place where a sibling would fit.

David left. As I listened to his receding footsteps, I had an

irrational impulse to call after him, to tell him not to leave me

alone with his sister.

“Pretty room,” Celeste said, sitting down on her bed. “Too

many windows, though. Like being in a fishbowl.” She sucked in

her cheeks and made fishy lips.

“Oh, well . . .” I said. “No one’s ever in the backyard. Did you

see the smaller room with our desks across the hall? And we’ve

got our own bathroom. The fixtures are old and funky, but the

water pressure is good.” I caught myself before droning on.

“Sorry, I sound like my mother, the realtor.”

“Anyone else on the first floor?”

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“Just Ms. Martin, our house counselor. Her apartment takes

up the whole front.”

“I had her for history freshman year. She’s kind of a twat.

Who’s upstairs?”

“Abby Brenner and Vivian Parker-White.”

“Not sure if I know them. I’m terrible with names. What did I

always call you in chem?”

“Lisa.”

“Oh, right. Leena’s much better.” Celeste reached back and

began twisting her hair into a knot. “I like your glasses,” she said.

“They counteract the dumb-blond thing.”

“Excuse me?”

“Not that you’re dumb. Just that with your big boobs and

blondie-blond hair you could look it. Black glasses help.”

I refrained from saying thank you, the way I should have

when she made the comment about my butt that first day of

chem. Anyway, my hair isn’t that blond—sort of a caramel color.

And as for my boobs, they’re only a C—hardly enormous.

“David’s noticed you,” Celeste continued. “I can tell. Do you

like him? Or do you already have a fuck-buddy?”

Fuck-buddy?

“Uh, no.”

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“You don’t think he’s hot? I was kidding about that gay

thing.”

She talked this way about her own brother?

“I meant, no, I don’t have a boyfriend.”

And didn’t want one this semester, for numerous reasons,

even if he wasn’t related to my nutty roommate. Not that I would

have minded if Celeste was right and David had noticed me. No

objections there.

“Me neither, at the moment,” she said, pushing herself up to

stand. “I had a thing with this amazing guy over the summer. The

bassist for Wishmaker. Do you know them? Anyway, I was

completely in love, but he ended up being all obsessed and

stalkerish, so I had to go through this big mess to get out of it.

Really sucked. Maybe there’s a guy here who has a cast fetish.”

“I have to run the peer-counseling orientation for new

students in a little bit,” I said, grateful I had an excuse to leave.

“Do you need to use the bathroom, or anything, before I

shower?”

“Nope.” Celeste’s back was to me as she looked through her

closet. “Something stinks over here,” she muttered, shutting the

door. I grabbed Cubby off the windowsill and hid her in the towel

I was carrying. I didn’t want to have to explain why I was taking a

wooden owl with me to the bathroom.

53

On my way out, Celeste picked up the family snapshot off

her dresser.

“That’s a nice picture,” I said. “I was so sorry to hear—”

“Look.” She turned to face me. “I don’t know what big-

mouth David told you, but let’s get something straight. I do not

discuss my father. Got it? Do. Not. Discuss. My. Father.”

“Okay. But if you ever want to talk—”

“I won’t,” she said. “Ever.” She shoved the photo into her top

drawer, all the way at the back. “David doesn’t know when to

keep his mouth shut. I hope you do.”

“I guess, yeah. I mean, I do.”

“And speaking of David’s big mouth, I want you to know I

didn’t do it on purpose.” She tapped one of her crutches against

her cast. “I know he thinks I did.”

“He told me it was an accident,” I said.

“I’m just telling you. Don’t believe everything he says. He

thinks I’m some sort of delicate creature. I’m not. Okay?”

“Okay.” Although I’d known Celeste for longer than I’d

known her brother, if I’d had to trust one of them, I would have

picked David.

In any case, I didn’t need to worry about it right now. I had a

presentation in front of two hundred students to get through. I

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went to the bathroom and turned on the shower in the claw-foot

tub. While waiting for the water to heat up, I lifted off Cubby’s

head. My first semester at Barcroft, I was embarrassed about a

prescription I was taking for a urinary tract infection, so I’d hidden

the pills in here. Since then, Cubby had become my quirky

portable medicine cabinet.

I took out the folded piece of paper that lay on top: a list I’d

made of the pills’ usage and dosage information. I didn’t keep

them in their boxes or bottles, but in tiny plastic baggies, labeled

with a Sharpie— Tylenol PM, Sudafed Sinus & Cold, Ativan. . . .

All I needed this morning was one of the round, white

antianxiety pills. That should do it. My body’s nervous, physical

reactions got in the way when I made presentations. The

antianxiety medicine was for emergencies. Not spazzing out in

front of the new students definitely qualified.

After showering and brushing my teeth, I went back in the

bedroom.

Celeste stood holding her vase of orange tulips. “What was

David thinking?” she asked me. The flowers hung limply, leaves a

sickly yellow, petals shriveled. The last time I’d noticed, they

hadn’t even opened the whole way—nowhere near dying. Across

the room, my three were still in the flush of early bloom. They

were from the same bunch. How could only hers have died?

“Maybe they ran out of water?” I suggested.

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She shook the vase a little, then dumped it in the trash. A

stream of water poured out along with the flowers. “Oh, well,”

she said. “An untimely frost, I guess.”

“What?” I thought I’d misunderstood.

“Romeo and Juliet?” she said. “Juliet’s death. It’s compared

to an ‘untimely frost’ that kills flowers in their prime.” She stared

at me as if this was supposed to make sense. “This is Frost House,

right?” she continued. “Must be in the air.”

“Frost? ” I repeated.

Celeste’s gaze shifted to my tulips. “On this side of the room,

at least,” she said.

A chill prickled across my neck, even though I didn’t

understand what she was trying to say. Obviously, frost wasn’t

what had killed those flowers. With anyone else, I would have

assumed they were completely kidding.

But something in her expression told me she didn’t quite

think it was funny.

An hour and a half later, I turned over my last page of notes

on the podium in front of me. Finally, the end was in sight.

“So, to sum up,” I said, looking out at the rows of faces, “the

peer-counseling program is all about students supporting one

another. We know how hard it is to make the transition, to deal

with the pressures of school. Don’t feel bad asking for help. And, I

56

promise, we have an amazing group of students working with us.

You’d be lucky to talk to any of them.

“Are there any questions before my cohead, Toby, tells you

about the training program?”

I hoped my speech hadn’t been too boring. Despite taking

the pill, I’d felt too nervous to make eye contact while speaking,

so I hadn’t noticed how many of the new students had been

surreptitiously (or unsurreptitiously) texting or playing video

games.

“Yes?” I said to a small girl in the front.

“Uh, so . . . I . . .” Her voice was shaky. “No, never mind.

Forget it.”

“Sure?” I said. “There are no dumb questions.”

She nodded, and I made a mental note to ask her privately,

after the meeting. Maybe it was something she didn’t want to say

in front of a room of strangers.

“Anyone else?”

I searched the audience for hands. Then I saw David. He sat

in the last row, out of place in the room of mostly freshmen. Our

eyes met. Fuck-buddy. The word flashed like a neon sign over his

head.

“Okay, so . . .” I ruffled through my speech notes and willed

my blush to go away. “I guess that’s it then. Here’s Toby.”

57

I shielded my face from the strong sun as I stood talking to

Dean Shepherd on the path leading from the auditorium to the

main quad, keenly aware of the fact that David hadn’t passed by

us yet.

“You haven’t mentioned your college visits,” Dean Shepherd

said. “How did they go?”

“Okay,” I said. “I don’t have a first choice, yet. Maybe

Wesleyan, or Columbia. But they’re both super long shots.”

Whenever I talked about colleges, the air I was breathing felt a

little thinner. It seemed impossible that I’d choose the right place,

even more impossible that the right place would choose me. And

most of the money in my college fund had been spent on

Barcroft.

“It’s worth a try,” the dean said. “Michael used to teach at

Wesleyan. You’ll have to come to dinner soon and meet him.”

“You’re still seeing him?” I said. “That’s great.”

At the edge of my vision, I sensed people approaching. I

snuck a look—it was David and some girl—then kept my eyes on

the dean as she told me about her boyfriend.

“Hi, David,” she said when he reached us, alone. “Settling in

okay?”

I made my mind a blank slate, ignored that neon sign over his