Frost - Marianna Baer

when I stood back up, the quad spun before me. I closed my eyes

to regain balance.

When I opened my eyes, the world stood still again. In the

days since my Columbia interview, I’d been taking a regular dose

of pills to counteract my constant “What now?” anxiety. Dizziness

was a possible side effect, but I’d never had it happen before.

“Leena?” A girl’s voice came from behind me. I turned and

saw red hair sprouting from under a navy Barcroft baseball cap.

Nicole Kellogg. She stood with a short, curvy girl—another

freshman.

“Nicole, hi,” I said. We hadn’t said more than a word in

passing to each other since the counseling session. I’d considered

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talking to her about it, but eventually—when it was obvious she

wasn’t leaving school—I didn’t care enough to bother.

“Hi,” she said. “This is my friend, Sera.”

Sera and I exchanged heys.

“I was wondering if you have hours anytime soon?” Nicole

asked. “You know, office hours.”

“I’m actually not counseling for the rest of the semester,” I

said.

“Oh my God.” Nicole brought a hand to her lips. “It’s not

because of me, is it? That whole thing was totally blown out of

proportion by my hysterical parents. I felt so bad you got in

trouble.”

“Her parents are total whack jobs,” Sera added.

“No.” I shook my head. “I was busted for illegal offcampus.

Stupid. Anyway, Dean Shepherd thought I should take a break

from the leadership position, blah, blah, blah.”

“Oh. Good,” Nicole said. “I mean, not good, but—”

“I know what you mean,” I said, giving her a smile.

“Well,” she said, “would you maybe have a few minutes to

talk to me sometime anyway?”

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“There are other counselors, Nicole.” I was sure Dean

Shepherd wouldn’t want me to have anything to do with Nicole

Kellogg.

“But I know you. And it’s actually not about my own

problem.” She fiddled with a button on her peacoat. “It’s, like, I

just need advice about how much to butt into someone else’s

life.”

“Oh.” I checked the time on my phone. Could the dean get

mad (madder than she already was) if I talked to Nicole as a

friend? I was almost too tired—too drained—to care. “Well, I

have about an hour. I’m walking to town, and if you want to walk

with me . . .” I glanced at Sera. “Unless you want to meet alone,

Nicole. I have time after the assembly this afternoon.”

“That’s okay,” Nicole said. “Sera knows about it, too.”

The three of us shuffled through blankets of dried leaves.

Winter would be here soon, and then spring, and then . . . God.

Which other New York schools should I apply to? I needed to do

some serious research. David kept asking about it.

“So, it’s like this,” Nicole said. “I’m in that freshman PE class,

you know? Where they try to drown you?”

“Sure,” I said. “We hated it. Abby told them submersion in

water was against her religion.”

“Abby?” Nicole said.

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I waved my hand. “No one. Sorry. Go on.”

“Well, when I was using the locker room a couple of days

ago,” she continued, “I saw this girl in the showers, and she didn’t

look too good.”

“You think she might have an eating disorder?” I said.

“No. It’s not that.” We reached a crosswalk. Nicole

readjusted her baseball hat, fussed with her hair. When the sign

changed to WALK she spoke. “I don’t know. Maybe I shouldn’t be

gossiping about this.”

“Nicole,” Sera said, stretching out the last syllable. “It’s not

gossiping.”

Nicole drew in a breath. “Okay,” she said. “Well, this girl had,

like, bruises all over her body. I don’t know. Like someone’s

hurting her.”

“Maybe she’s on the girls’ rugby team?” I said. “Have you

ever watched one of their matches? They’re totally brutal.”

“I really doubt it,” Nicole said. “Her leg’s been in a cast all

semester.”

Nicole never mentioned Celeste’s name. I don’t know

whether she even realized I knew Celeste. But once it was clear

that’s who she meant, I told her not to worry. That I’d figure out

what was going on. I also told her not to spread this to anyone

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else. I was upset that she’d already told Sera, and who knew how

many other people.

I continued on to town alone, my book bag not the only

weight on my shoulders. Since Celeste and I rarely saw each other

now, I had been trying to think about her as little as possible.

Especially since when I did see her, she looked harried and tired.

I’d heard her call out in the night, too, through her door. So I

knew she was still having nightmares.

One thing Nicole said that struck me was the fact that

Celeste had been showering at the gym. She wasn’t playing a

sport, of course. So why would she be at the gym? Was she

hoping to keep me from seeing the bruises? I tried to remember

the last time I’d had to wait for her to get out of the bathroom so

I could use it, the last time I’d seen her coming out in a towel. But

I couldn’t. Whenever I was in my room I had my door closed, and

if I heard her in the hall, I usually made a point of waiting to go

out.

Sure enough, when I got back to the dorm and checked, I

saw she’d taken away her wire basket of shampoo and soap. Her

toothbrush still rested in the holder. That was the only sign of her

in the bathroom. For some reason she was using the shower at

the gym. And for some reason, she was covered in bruises.

Of course, they could be from Whip, like she’d said before.

But I had my doubts. This had gotten to the point where I’d have

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to tell someone else—David or the dean. First, though, I wanted

to know what I was dealing with.

I knocked on her door. “Celeste? Are you in there?”

I tried the knob. It wiggled only the slightest bit. Locked. I’m

not Nancy Drew at heart and didn’t entertain thoughts of lock

picking or anything like that. I decided to just wait until Celeste

was back and go in while she was there. It’s not as if I knew what

I’d be looking for, anyway. Just, something . . .

I’d given up and had moved on to writing a paper about the

unreliable narrator in Nabokov’s Pale Fire when it occurred to me

how stupid I was being. I had the key from before she’d changed

our living arrangement. Duh.

Celeste’s windowless room was nighttime dark. I ran my

hand over the rough plaster wall until I felt the switch. I held my

breath and flipped it.

I don’t know what I expected. Nothing as obvious as whips

and chains, of course. Something more subtle—a clue . . . One

wall was covered with sketches and notes. Her hat collection sat

piled in a corner. Shoe boxes sat in stacks, labeled on the side

with notes like Bugs—done ; Bugs—to do ; Nests . All perfectly normal—for Celeste, at least.

Under her desk, there were six large, white candles, with

deep enough depressions at the top that I could tell they’d been

burned quite a bit. Candles were definitely not allowed in dorm

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rooms, so she was risking something by having them, which was

odd. But nothing to do with bruises, clearly.

I turned off the light and closed and locked the door behind

me, simultaneously relieved and disappointed.

David was standing in the hallway.

“What were you doing in there?” he asked.

“Oh, hi!” I shoved the key in my pocket. “I was just looking

for my Barcroft sweatshirt. I thought I might have left it in the

closet when we switched rooms. I wanted to wear it to the

assembly later.”

“No luck?” His words, and his eyes, were steel hard. Because

I’d been in there without Celeste?

“Nope,” I said, ignoring his strange reaction. “What’s up?

Should I get parietals?”

“That’s okay.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Is there

something you want to tell me, Leena?”

So it wasn’t me being in her room that had made him mad. A

pressure started in my chest. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.

You’re just making it worse.”

Celeste’s bruises? Was that what he meant? “David,” I said,

“I really don’t know what you mean. Honestly.”

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“I know , Leena,” he said. “I know you were an hour late for

your Columbia interview. An hour late.”

“No, I wasn’t,” I said, stiffening. “Who told you that?”

“Doesn’t matter. Is it true?”

“No!”

David raised his eyebrows.

“Twenty minutes,” I said. “I was twenty minutes late.”

“Still. You’re never late. Why would you be twenty minutes

late for something so important?”

“It was an accident. Why are you so mad? Please, don’t be.” I

reached out and touched his arm, but he brushed my hand off.

“Why am I mad? Leena, if you cared about being in New York

with me, you wouldn’t have screwed up the interview. And you

lied to me about it, too.”

“I didn’t screw it up,” I said. “The interview itself was fine.

Look, don’t you want to go in the bedroom to talk?” Honestly, I

didn’t know how the interview had gone. Once I arrived I was in

such a state—blurry from sleeping, panicked at being late,

nervous about being unprepared—that I barely heard myself

answering the woman’s questions. It was probably a moot point,

anyway. Columbia had been a long shot. And I had blown it.

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“Not particularly.” He leaned against the wall and rested one

foot on top of the other, his arms tightly crossed. I was in sock

feet, and he seemed to loom over me in a way he didn’t usually.

“That’s a whole other thing, the bedroom,” he said. “You’re

different in there. Here. In the dorm. You’re always so

preoccupied and nervous. The other day you couldn’t get me out

of here fast enough. When’s that going to change, Leena? Maybe

you just don’t want to be with me, is that it?”

I grasped his arm, but he shook me off again. Roughly. My

elbow jolted back into the edge of the door. Pain fired through

my nerves. “Of course I want to be with you,” I said, trying to

ignore the sharp pulsings. “Maybe I’ve been weird, but don’t you

know what a hard semester this has been for me? With Viv and

Abby and Dean Shephard all disowning me? Thank God I have

you! But maybe that’s why I’ve been acting weird, if I have been.”

My heart pounded. I couldn’t lose David, too.

But you will , Cubby said. The words, her voice, came to me

out of nowhere.

“What about when we fool around?” David said. Had he

heard Cubby? Had I said that out loud? “We’re talking about

moving in together. I can’t imagine you’ve been like this with

other guys.”

“No,” I said. Why had I imagined Cubby’s voice? “No, I

haven’t.”

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“Doesn’t that tell you something? That this has all been a big

waste of time?”

“No, that’s not it. I promise. I haven’t been like this with