Frost - Marianna Baer

other guys because I haven’t been with any other guys.”

David shook his head as if he was clearing water from his

ears. “What do you mean? I thought you dated a couple other

people?”

“Yeah, but we . . . I . . . I only got together with them a few

times,” I said. “They wouldn’t . . . they wouldn’t really count in the

scheme of things. They weren’t relationships.”

David hesitated. “Well, that explains a lot.”

“What? Why I’m so incompetent?” I said.

“No, no. Come here.” He held his arms open. I hesitated a

moment, then let him wrap them around me. “It helps me

understand why it makes you nervous. I thought it was me.”

“David.” I tipped back my head to look up at him. “I’m scared

to death to leave school at the end of the year. And the only thing

that makes it seem bearable is that I’ll be with you.”

“Really? Because it seemed so strange about the

interview . . .”

“I know. I don’t know what that was about, honestly. It was

weird and not like me, and I didn’t even want you to find out. I

think maybe I was so nervous about it that I freaked.”

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I remembered my feelings before the interview. Looking

back, they seemed as foreign as if they belonged to a stranger. All

I wanted was to live there with David. It was the only way I could

imagine feeling safe when leaving Barcroft. No matter what

Cubby said.

We stood there, his arms around me.

“Columbia was my first choice,” I said. “But it was a huge

long shot to begin with. There are other schools in New York.

NYU, The New School . . . or if I want to do architecture,

somewhere like Pratt or Parsons. I’ve been looking into them. It’ll

all work out. I’ll end up where I’m meant to be.”

“Just as long as it’s in New York, I don’t care about anything

else,” David said, pulling back a bit. “Hey, now that I know you

don’t want to get rid of me, I need to ask you something. Sunday

the seventeenth is my mom’s fiftieth birthday. She’s having a big

party at the house—kind of like a family reunion. Would you

come with me and Celeste?”

Celeste. Bruises. The sincerity in David’s eyes. Why did there

always have to be something about Celeste hanging over me?

I tried to smile. “I’d love to.”

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Chapter 32

STUDENTS ENTERING THE CHAPEL later that afternoon

filled the cavernous space with shouts and laughter, waved at

each other, and rushed to get seats near friends. More than one

person had blue face-paint on; Barcroft apparel was ubiquitous.

Stupidly, I’d worn a red sweater. After my talk with David, the last

thing on my mind was Barcroft-Edgerton weekend. Now I looked

like a Red Sox fan in a room full of Yankees.

Instead of letting my eyes stray in the direction of the left-

side balcony, where I used to sit with Viv and Abby, I watched the

hundreds of bodies milling around the oak pews on the main

level. Too short, too pale, too heavy—no one matched my David

blueprint. He’d had an appointment with his advisor right before

this. Maybe she’d kept him late.

I randomly followed a group down the center aisle, now

searching the pews for anyone to sit with. I was about to give up

and sit alone when I saw a familiar green beret.

“Hey,” I said. “Are you saving that seat?”

Celeste followed my eyes to the spot next to her. “Nope.”

I stepped over her crutches and sat on the hard, wooden

bench. Almost none of Celeste’s skin was showing. She had on a

velvet blazer, a high-necked, Victorian-style blouse, and men’s

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khakis, slit up the leg to accommodate her cast—an interesting

change from her usual style.

Someone tapped me on the shoulder.

I craned my head around and saw peer-counselor Toby’s

dark hair and silver glasses. “Hey, Toby.”

“We miss you,” he said.

“Of course you do.” I smiled. “Can’t say it’s mutual. I’d

forgotten how nice it is to have free time.”

He laughed thinly. We both knew I was lying.

I turned back around, bumping my elbow lightly against the

pew, reigniting the pain. I rubbed it as I studied the assembly

program and tried to decide what to say to Celeste. My eyes

caught on a familiar name.

I nudged Celeste and held the program out in front of her.

“Did you know Whip’s father and grandfather are speaking?

Telling stories about fifty years of blue-red rivalry?”

“Of course,” she said. “I’m having dinner with them.”

She was? “So you’re still hanging out with Whip? I haven’t

seen him around the dorm.”

“I wouldn’t bring him there,” she said. She tipped her face

toward the chapel’s soaring windows. The light brought out the

thin lines on her chapped lips.

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“Is everything okay, Celeste?” I asked in a lower voice.

“Yeah, fine.”

“Well, is there some reason you haven’t been using our

bathroom?” I felt like I was walking on hummingbird eggshells. “If

something’s wrong with the water pressure, or whatever, I can

figure it out. I’m good with that stuff.”

A low, rhythmic thumping crept into my ears from behind us.

“No. No reason.”

“I know you’re not using it,” I said. “There must be

something wrong. You didn’t burn yourself again, did you?”

She gave an exaggerated sigh. “I’m showering at the gym

after physical-therapy sessions. The tub is too slippery with my

cast.”

“Really? That’s it?” I said. The thumping had gotten louder.

Now I could feel it under my feet.

Celeste turned to face me and smiled. “Somehow you know

that little redhead saw me in the locker room, and now you’re

trying to find out why I’m all beat-up looking. Right?”

“Well?”

She began to make quick, precise folds in her program, like

origami. “I’m fine,” she finally said. “I’m handling it.”

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“There’s no reason you should have to handle it on your

own,” I said.

“If I needed to talk about something, I would. Okay?” Her

program had turned into an origami crane. She balanced it on the

back of the pew in front of us. It trembled from the vibrations

coming up from the floor.

“It’s weird, Celeste. Being covered in bruises. I don’t want to

lie to David if he asks how you’re doing.”

“Don’t tell him anything,” she said. “I mean it.” Her sharp jaw

clamped together and appeared even more angular than usual.

The thumping was now thunderous, hundreds of students

slamming their feet down in unison. The energy made my face

hot. I had to raise my voice.

“I only would because we worry about you. If you’re being

hurt in some way . . .”

“Shh! I’m not.” Her eyes bored into mine. “If I tell you, will

you shut up about it already? You’re as bad as my smothering

brother.”

“Okay,” I said.

Thump, thump, thump, thump.

Celeste stared up at the organ pipes behind the dais. “I’m

getting my blood tested to make sure there’s nothing wrong, like

some sort of condition that’s making me bruise easily.”

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“What do we eat? What do we eat?” The cry came from a

group of senior football players at the back of the chapel.

“Condition? Like what?” I said.

“Red meat! Red meat!” the rest of the student body

answered, shouting.

She shrugged.

Bruises. Blood test. “Like . . . like leukemia?” I said. My

stomach rolled.

“What do we eat? What do we eat?” Louder this time.

“That’s just the worst possibility,” Celeste said. “It’s probably

not that.”

“Red meat!! Red meat!!”

Probably? “Celeste, aren’t you worried? Don’t you want to

tell David? I’m sure he’d go with you to the doctor.”

“No!” she snapped. “Don’t tell David anything.”

“What do we eat? What do we eat?” Full-throated hollers

now.

“But—”

“Don’t tell David anything,” Celeste said, “and I won’t have

to tell him about your little pill problem.”

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The rows of heads filling the pews swam in and out of focus.

A wave of nausea passed through me.

“Red meat!!! Red meat!!!” everyone screamed.

“My pill problem?” Toby’s laughter behind me reminded me

he was there. Could he have heard any of this over the

commotion in the chapel? I lowered my voice again. “You must be

kidding. I don’t have a problem.”

“How do we like it?” the seniors bellowed.

“I could convince David you do,” Celeste said. “You know

he’d believe me. I’ve seen what’s in your owl, Leena.”

“RAW!!!!!!”

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Chapter 33

DESPITE THE COLD PANIC in my chest and the flashes of

heat on my skin, somehow I made it through the assembly. The

walk home blurred by as I stared at my feet and told myself that

everything was under control, that Celeste wouldn’t tell David. I

wasn’t doing anything wrong by having medications, of course,

but I didn’t trust that he’d understand my explanation—especially

not if he asked where I got them all from.

Back at the dorm, I snagged Cubby off the windowsill and a

plastic bag out of the trash can—appropriately one from Barcroft

Drugs. I opened Cubby and let the small baggies of pills tumble

into the bigger bag, tied the handles in a knot with shaking hands,

then stashed it in the closet, snug between the foam mattress

and the wall. If Celeste did tell, I could at least make sure she

didn’t have any evidence. Sweat trickled down my spine; chills ran

through me. A sharp pain stabbed at my temples and sent my

brain spinning.

I shut the closet door and locked it from the inside, curled up

in the corner, and wrapped my arms around myself, not sure if I

was trembling from nerves or from cold. Should I take a pill? I

wondered. No. This wasn’t that big a deal. Everything was fine.

Being inside here, quiet and safe, was enough. My headache and

chills didn’t lessen, but, slowly, I did feel calmer. As if warm milk

had been infused into my veins.

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If I could stay in here all the time, I wouldn’t need any pills.

Being out of panic mode, though, didn’t mean my worry was

erased. Certainly not about Celeste’s bruises. I found it hard to

believe that she wouldn’t tell David if she thought she had a blood

disorder. As much as she fought against it, I still knew she loved to

have as much of his attention as possible. Why wouldn’t she want

him to know she might be sick?

And even if she did have some condition that made her

bruise easily, would the bruises be so prominent that they

freaked out Nicole? Was any of this related to Celeste’s broken

leg? Or her burn? Maybe she was hurting herself on purpose, like

she used to cut, and that’s why she didn’t want David to know. I

felt around the mattress until I found Cubby, then held her in

both hands and wished for her wisdom. If Celeste was hurting

herself, I’d have to do something.

Or is someone else doing it to her?