Frost

I fished a pack out of my pocket and handed it to her. “The thing is,” I said, “I’m supposed to drive David and Celeste, and David obviously doesn’t have honor-roll days—he wasn’t even here last semester. I don’t know about Celeste.”

“So?” Abby said. “They can find another way down. We’re giving them a free place to stay, isn’t that enough? I mean, why are they even coming? Don’t they know Viv was just being polite?”

“I’ll think about it,” I said.

“What’s there to think about?” Abby said. “I’m not going to let your perverse sense of obligation get in the way of you having a good time. Nate Warren, Leen!” She had stood up and was mock-shaking me by the shoulders. “Nay-kid!”

Her face was so serious that I had to laugh. “Okay, okay. I’ll let them find another way.”

Days went by, though, and I couldn’t bring myself to tell David or Celeste. I didn’t know why not driving them felt like such a big deal. It wasn’t. But at the same time, I worried that they’d take it as a definite statement about not wanting them there. Abby wanted me to make that statement, obviously. She didn’t know what was going on with me and David. My own fault, for being too chicken to tell her.

The dilemma wrapped itself up into a constant knot in my gut. I needed to get it over with. Finally, one day I ran into Celeste on my way home from dinner and steeled myself to do it. But the whole way back to the dorm she was talking excitedly about a guest artist who had come to her portfolio class and had loved her work, and I couldn’t get a word in at all.

When we entered Frost House the loud clangs of the radiator filled the common room.

“Thank God the heat is finally on,” Celeste said.

“Yeah,” I said, “I spoke to maintenance about it. The way to do it is talk to them in person, instead of just submitting a work order.”

We reached the bedroom. I fumbled in my pocket for my room key. Just tell her.

“Celeste . . .” I turned the key and pushed open the door. “I don’t want—”

I froze. Scattered debris covered an area of the bedroom floor stretching from Celeste’s closet more than halfway across the room. “What the hell?” I flipped on the overhead light. Twigs, twine, dried grass, dirty ribbons. Nests. Or what used to be nests. I took a few careful steps. The closet door was wide open. Inside, a cardboard box on the high shelf lay with its top facing front, flaps agape. More remnants from the nests were below the box, caught among Celeste’s dresses and skirts.

Celeste hadn’t moved from the doorway. Her face was pale, mouth small.

“The box must have tipped over,” I said. My heart hammered.

“And this happened how?”

“Maybe by accident,” I said. “The box tipped when you were getting something? But didn’t spill until—”

“By accident?” She looked at me. “How can you say that? Don’t you see?”

“What?”

She pointed at the floor. “Can’t you see what it says?”

I surveyed the scraggly mess. Then it came together, into two big letters.

GO.

Chapter 18

A SHUDDER BEGAN AT MY NECK and spread throughout my limbs. I shook my head a little, forced myself to see it as just a jumble, a jumble that somewhat resembled the letters. It was a random mess. It had to be.

“That’s not on purpose,” I said. “You’re seeing what you want to see.”

“What I want to see?” Celeste said in a tone of disbelief.

“Well, what you’re scared to see. Why would someone do that?” I asked. “Who would want you to go?”

She stared at the floor. “I don’t know.”

“Like finding shapes in clouds,” I said. “You can see what you look for.” I squatted down and began filling my cupped palm with thin twigs and bits of twine. “Don’t worry,” I said, “I’ll be careful.”

“What does it matter now?” Celeste’s voice was tight. “Do you know how long this all took me?”

“Collecting the nests?”

She nodded. Her chin trembled. “And then I wove other materials into them. It’s a whole project.”

I picked up a narrow purple ribbon, a length of unspooled cassette tape . . .

“Who would do this?” she said.

“The door was locked.”

“It wasn’t an accident, Leena. I know what I saw.”

I swallowed. “David and I are the only other people who have keys.”

“It wasn’t David.”

“I know. I didn’t mean that. I meant that I think there’s another explanation.” I sat back on my heels. “Maybe the house has mice or rats. In the closet.” I didn’t know why I was even saying this. Mice or rats hadn’t thrown the photo the other day. Should I have told her about that? Should I tell her about it now? It would upset her even more, but maybe she needed to know.

Celeste collapsed on her bed and held her head in her hands, then began rocking back and forth.

I looked down again, picked up a fragile clump of materials that had stayed together and set it aside. “Some of this might be salvageable,” I said hopefully.

The squeaking of bedsprings stopped, and Celeste let out a cry. “I can’t take this anymore! I can’t! What do you think I should do?”

“What do you mean?”