Frost

“Nicole Kellogg?” It took a minute for me to remember that she was the crying redheaded freshman I’d counseled. “What? No. Of course not.”

“You know how much I trust you,” Dean Shepherd said, “but you’ve got to help me understand what this is about. This girl, Nicole, she’s very upset. She’s considering leaving school.”

“Are you serious? Because of me?” I must not have understood correctly. There was no way.

“What did you say to her?”

I picked up a shiny, leopard-spotted shell from the desk and started running my fingers over it, trying to remember the meeting. “Um, well . . . She was having trouble with her roommate, not respecting her boundaries, being loud, inconsiderate, you know, normal stuff.”

“Mm-hm.”

“And I just, I told her that she had to think of her like a sister, who she might not choose to live with, but has to find a way. And that the best way to do that is by trying to communicate right up front about what she needs.”

“But did you say something about her home?”

“Just that to be happy at boarding school, it helps to think of school as your home. And your parents’ house as just that—your parents’ house. Somewhere you visit. Because you don’t live there anymore, and probably never will. I mean, right?”

Dean Shepherd’s nostrils indented as she drew a deep breath. “Leena, can’t you see how upsetting that might be for someone? It’s hard enough for her to be away from her family for the first time, but then to tell her that it’s not her home anymore?

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.