Frost

His footsteps left the room. I sat for a minute, letting my body recover from the scare. Every muscle had been taut, and as they loosened, I even laughed quietly at how ridiculously frightened I had been. I briefly considered taking some sort of calming pill, but then realized that sitting here in the closet was having a similar effect. Surrounded by the smell of my attic and these cool walls, in the now not-quite-pitch dark. Just light enough so I could make out where things were. Being in here made everything seem so far away—what had happened with the dean, my confusion about David. In here, there was a sense of being out of time and place. Safe.

I held Cubby up to my face. “Rough day,” I said. “Any advice, O wise one?”

Stay in here, she said.

So I did. I leaned my head back against the wall and let myself just be.

Eventually, though, I realized that Celeste might come home earlier than she’d said. I pushed through her clothes, and as I put my hand on the doorknob, I wondered why it hadn’t occurred to me that I might not be able to get out, since David hadn’t been able to get in. But when I turned the knob, the door opened easily. Like it always did for me. Back in the bedroom, I shut the door again and tried to open it. No problem. Why hadn’t it opened for David, after all his shaking and rattling? Was it like when you try to open a jar, and you strain with all your might, and then hand it to someone else and it comes off first twist?

I supposed that’s all it was, that I’d been incredibly lucky, and with one more pull, David would have gotten in. It didn’t seem quite believable that he hadn’t been able to, since he was trying so hard, but I couldn’t think of another explanation.

As I stood there with my hand on the door, I said a little thank-you to Frost House, for doing such a good job of protecting me.

Chapter 13

MS. MARTIN’S KITCHEN RESEMBLED a construction site, the counters covered with ingredients and cooking equipment for the inaugural dorm dinner. Abby was helping me make vegetarian lasagna, garlic bread, and arugula salad with apples and toasted walnuts, and helping frost the red velvet cupcakes I’d baked yesterday afternoon.

I opened the freezer door of the ancient mustard-yellow refrigerator and took out two packets of spinach I’d stored there. I’d just finished telling Abby how bad I’d screwed up when trying to help that girl Nicole, and how upset Dean Shepherd had been. I’d been worried that talking about it would make me feel like an idiot, that it would bring back all of the horrible feelings. But Abby was so incensed, so convinced I’d done nothing wrong, that I actually felt better.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me this sooner,” Abby said. “I would’ve kicked that girl’s ass. And then kicked the dean’s ass, too. Maybe I still will.”

“Please don’t,” I said, smiling as I imagined it.

“If she leaves school because of this, she’s a total wuss. Good riddance.” Abby threw the top of an onion in the trash for emphasis.

“I saw her from across the quad today, so she hasn’t left yet,” I said. “Can you hand me that?”

She reached for the glass bowl I’d gestured at. “Why’d you lock your room today?” she said as she passed it to me. “I wanted to get back the jeans you borrowed.”

I hadn’t mentioned to Viv and Abby that we’d started locking it. I’d been hoping that, by some miracle, they wouldn’t find out, and that Celeste would change her mind once she calmed down and realized we didn’t need to.

“No reason,” I said, placing the icy, green bricks in the bowl. Leo the cat rubbed his side against my leg. “I can’t pick you up while I’m cooking, cutie. Sorry.”

“I’m too heavy to pick up anyway.” Abby patted her stomach.

“Ha.”

“But seriously,” she said. “You never lock your room. There must be some reason.”

“Celeste and I agreed that since we’re on the first floor, maybe it’d be a good idea.” I slid the bowl in the microwave.

Abby was quiet for a moment. “Did she tell you to? Because she thinks I broke that vase?”

“We’re just being careful, Abb. I told her you didn’t do it.”

Abby rinsed a red pepper and set it on the cutting board. Then she said, “I’ve tried to be nice. What’s her problem?”

“She doesn’t know you.” I turned my attention to the flashing countdown on the microwave. I hated being caught between them like this. “If she did, she wouldn’t have accused you to begin with.” The microwave beeped. I stirred the spinach into a ricotta-and-egg mixture.

Abby’s chopping had slowed to one chop per second. It occurred to me that I had a perfect change of subject. “You know,” I said. “She invited Whip to this dinner.”

Abby looked over at me. “Whip? Are you kidding?”

I grinned and shook my head. “Nope. I just found out.”

“Celeste invited Whip. Why? What possible reason?”

Whip Windham—Spaulding Whipple Windham IV—is an old-school preppie of the madras shorts and bluchers, white-blond hair and thin lips, destined to be a (Republican) member of Congress, variety.

“They’re doing some project together,” I explained.