Frost - Marianna Baer

to sleep with, and one to marry.

“Okay,” I said.

Students sat in clusters all over the wide marble steps of the

chapel as we walked past. We’d just KSM’ed a group of freshmen

when a new threesome sat down: Simone Dzama, Mr.

Bartholomew, an English teacher, and David. My heart did a

nervous jump at the sight of him; my body had a flashback to how

it had felt on the roof.

“Exempt,” I said immediately.

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“No one’s exempt,” she said. “You know the rules.”

“Come on, Celeste.”

“Don’t be so uptight.” She stopped walking. “I’ll even go first.

It’s an easy one. Kill Simone, marry Mr. Bart, screw David.”

I looked at her with a grimace.

“What?” she said. “I’m not going to kill or marry my own

brother.”

She was trying to shock me. I should have been used to it by

now. “Okay,” I said, “Kill Mr. Bart, sleep with Simone, marry

David.”

“If that’s your plan, you better hurry up.” Celeste gestured

with her chin toward the steps. “You’ll be out of luck on both

counts.”

Simone had a hand on David’s shoulder and was laughing,

her long legs—with striped knee socks and bare thighs—stretched

out in front of her. David stared, apparently mesmerized. A lump

settled in my stomach.

“So, what’s up with you and Whip?” I asked, turning away.

Because of the distraction of her burn and the photo, I’d never

asked her last night.

“He looks surprisingly good in body paint,” she said, “if that’s

what you mean.”

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“So, you had fun?”

“Jesus, Leena.” Celeste glared at me. “David’s obviously

already using you to do his dirty work.”

My face flushed. “He worries about you.”

“I know,” she said. “That’s the goddamn problem.” She

turned toward the steps and called, “Hey! David!” He looked in

our direction and she beckoned him over. Crap. What was she

planning?

David said something to Simone then grabbed his bag and

walked over.

“What’s up?” he said.

“You guys are annoying me,” Celeste said, gesturing at the

two of us. “That’s what’s up. All this delay. Dilly-dally, twiddle-

twoddle. It’s annoying.”

The flush in my cheeks flared hotter. “Celeste—”

“No. Wait a minute.” She reached into her bag I was holding,

brought out a bunch of papers, and began shuffling through

them. “I don’t know what the holdup is, but . . . here. A catalyst.”

She separated out a sheet of white paper. David reached for it but

she hid it behind her back and turned to me. “The other day,

David brought me papers he’d picked up for me at the office,” she

said. “But a couple of his own things were mixed in the pile.” Now

she held out the sheet for us to see.

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The syllabus for David’s English class.

“So?” I said.

Celeste turned the paper over.

On the back, David had done a bunch of doodles: a

remarkably realistic eye, a glass of water, a cartoon cat . . . My

immediate thought was, Wow. David can draw . A split second

later, though, my brain made sense of the largest doodle on the

page. An elaborate graphic version of a name—in black ballpoint

pen, a name turned into an almost Celtic twisty-turny hedge of

intertwined, swooping strokes.

Leena.

My breath stopped.

David grabbed the paper from Celeste. “What the hell?” he

said, shoving it in his bag. “Who cares?”

“Yeah,” I said, recovering enough to jump to his defense. “So

he doodles. Big deal.”

Celeste snorted. “Anyone who has ever been in love knows

the primal urge to doodle the loved one’s name.”

“You’re unbelievable,” David said, shaking his head. “I’m

outta here.”

“It’s just a name on a piece of paper,” I added, to assure him

I wasn’t making a big deal out of it.

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David walked away without looking again at either one of us.

“I’m doing this for your own good,” she called after him.

“Don’t you want to actually live life, instead of just thinking about

it? Instead of focusing on everyone else?”

David didn’t turn around, just held up a hand giving Celeste

the finger. People on the path had stopped and were staring.

“Thanks for ruining a nice friendship,” I said as his figure

receded.

“He’ll get over it.”

We started walking again. I couldn’t believe I wasn’t making

her carry her own bag after that little episode. And I couldn’t

believe that instead of just being angry, some of what I felt

coursing through my body was actually excitement. I didn’t want

to let her know that, though.

“Has it occurred to you that if something were going to

happen between me and your brother, it should happen at its

own pace?” I said.

“No,” she said plainly.

I shifted her bag on my shoulder. “Well, has it occurred to

you that if something were going to happen, the fact that you are

so suspiciously, overly gung-ho about it would give someone like

me second thoughts?”

“Huh.” She seemed to consider this. “No.”

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“It is a little weird,” I said. “Your insistence. Just tell me—why

do you want us to get together so bad? Do you have some

ulterior motive?”

She stopped walking and looked at me. “Okay. Yes, actually, I

do.”

Of course. I raised my eyebrows.

“I want you to get him off my back,” she said.

“What?”

“I want him to have someone he can take care of so he’ll

stop spending every free minute wondering who I’m hooking up

with or whether I’m losing my mind or whether I took a crap

yesterday. Is that so weird? I have enough to worry about without

worrying about him worrying about me.”

Her voice and face made it clear she was telling the truth. I

didn’t quite know how to respond.

“I just know,” she added, “that if he had the right girlfriend,

not just some fling, he’d be the best boyfriend ever. It’s not like I

randomly picked you. I really, honestly think you’d be great for

him. Don’t you think he’d be great for you?”

I stared at her some more, at the almost pleading look in her

eyes. “You sound like you’re trying to sell your used car,” I said

finally, laughing a little.

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“Leena,” she said, smiling now, too. “I promise, he runs

really, really well.”

As I walked away, after leaving Celeste at the religion

building, I found myself unable to contain a huge smile. Celeste’s

reason for wanting us to get together wasn’t that weird. And

despite feeling bad about David’s embarrassment, I couldn’t help

feeling a giddy jolt of excitement when I thought about what had

happened on the quad. I actually broke out into a skip.

For once, I wasn’t the one doing the elaborate name

doodles. They were being done about me.

David called me that evening. “So, that was awkward,” he

said.

“Yeah,” I said, hugging a pillow to me, “you could say that.”

“Sorry she’s such an ass,” he said. “I wasn’t mad at you when

I walked off like that. I just couldn’t believe her. Of course, I

should have acted like I didn’t care. That would have been much

better. She’s like a three-year-old throwing a tantrum. She really

is.”

“I know.”

“And, you know, that wasn’t—”

“Don’t even worry,” I said. “I doodle all the time. Totally

random stuff.”

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“Because I respect the moratorium,” he said. “So I wouldn’t

ever, you know, ask you to compromise that. Even in my

fantasies.”

“Uh-huh,” I said, smiling, because the way he said it was

insinuating just the opposite.

“The seriousness of the moratorium must be respected,” he

went on. “Celeste wasn’t aware of it, I guess.”

“I guess not,” I said. And I closed my eyes and hugged the

pillow tighter, and dared to think that something good—

something very good—might have come from rooming with

Celeste Lazar.

My favorite part of books and movies is almost always the

“before.” The beginning, before whatever upends the characters’

lives has happened— before she knows he’s a vampire, before the

spaceship arrives . . . And for me, the next week or so had that

same sort of feeling. I knew, almost for sure, that something was

going to happen with me and David. I wasn’t sure when—maybe

not immediately; I hadn’t shed my stress about how much work

lay ahead of me this semester. But still, the air was filled with the

thrill of possibility.

Every time we talked—not about anything serious, just the

usual conversations about classes and homework and stuff—

there seemed to be a little more physical contact. But nothing to

push us over that line. Nothing that meant I actually had to deal

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with the complications of the situation. Just . . . the beautiful

before.

And as for what had happened with Celeste’s photo, well,

Kate had reassured me as much as anyone could have. Not that I

forgot about it, of course. I was vigilant about locking the

windows and doors whenever I left. But I’d pretty much decided

that her theory was correct: Celeste had thrown the photo

herself, and had been too embarrassed to let me know. And all I

could do was sit tight and wait for the semester to be over.

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Chapter 17

“ BUT HOW DO YOU MANAGE EVERYTHING-” I said to

Marika, my co-counselor. “I mean, how do you have time for all

your work, plus this, plus soccer, college stuff, and a girlfriend? It

seems . . . impossible.”

I’d decided to take advantage of a lull in activity at the peer-

counseling office and had been asking Marika’s opinion about my

“friend’s” dilemma—to get involved in a relationship or not—

while she practiced yoga poses on the carpet.

“I don’t know,” Marika said as she balanced in tree, arms

stretched over her head. “I don’t really think about it. It all just

happens.” She looked at me as if I might have a brain deficiency.

“You do realize a lot of people have relationships while living full

and productive lives?”

“But what would you do if Susanna dumped you, right before

midterms or something?”

The door to the office flew open. Abby breezed in and

dropped her bag on the floor. “I need help.” She placed the back

of her hand on her forehead in a swoon.

“I’ll take this one,” I said.

Abby followed me into one of the two small, private rooms

adjoining the main one.

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“I have to warn you,” I said as we settled into the plush

purple armchairs, “I may not be qualified to treat mental

disturbances as deep as yours.”

“That’s understandable,” she said. “I just wanted to tell you

the plan for New York.” She kicked off her shoes and drew her

legs up. “You still have an honor-roll day left, right?”

I nodded. “Two.” Barcroft has the ironic policy of awarding

honor-roll students with two days the next semester that they