Frost

“He must have forgotten,” I said, unsurprised. It did make me feel a little better to know she’d tried to get in touch with me, though.

“It’s my fault,” she said. “I should have called again. Celeste is just one of the crises I’ve had to deal with this week.”

“I feel bad for her, of course,” I said. “But, the thing is, it’s only me, Viv, and Abby in Frost House, and I’m wondering if she might feel uncomfortable, living with a group of friends. Not that we wouldn’t be nice to her. Just . . . it might be awkward. Do you know if . . . if there might be another first-floor room open somewhere?”

From the slightest intake of her lips, I could tell this wasn’t what the dean wanted to hear. A pang of guilt twitched in my gut. “Maybe one of the dorms in the middle of campus,” I added. “More convenient.”

“There were a couple of other rooms we could have moved her to,” she said. “But I talked it over with faculty who know Celeste, and we all felt that Frost House was the best option.”

“Really? Can I ask why?” There were other rooms—that was good news.

She placed her palms together and interlocked her fingers. “Between us, there’s been some difficulty with Celeste’s family over the past year. We think it’s best if she’s in a small, quiet dorm. More like a home.”

With Celeste there, it wasn’t a home anymore. Homes are for families, not strangers. And our family was set—Viv, the caretaking mother; me, the problem-solving, fix-it father; Abby, the impatient, excitable kid. Where would Celeste fit in? 

 “I just don’t picture the two of us as roommates,” I said.

“I know, Leena. But Ed Roper told me you got along beautifully as lab partners in his class last year. One of the things we all appreciate about you is your ability to get along with different people. Frankly, I didn’t feel comfortable with the other possible roommate matchups.”

Her eyes held mine. I saw admiration in them, but also expectation. The vise tightened around my chest again.

A knock came at the door.

“Yes?” Dean Shepherd said.

While the dean had a conversation with Marcia, I scanned the paper-strewn surface of her desk. Two thick manila files sat by a Lymphoma Society mug. Handwritten tabs read Celeste P. Lazar and David M. Lazar.

I never wanted to be a thick file. 

 “Of course,” Dean Shepherd said, once we were alone again. “if you have any serious objections, I’ll rethink the other options. The last thing I want is to make you unhappy. And I know how much you’ve been looking forward to Frost House.”

Even though she knew that, she was counting on me to agree to this. For some reason, she thought Celeste needed Frost. House, and I trusted Dean Shepherd. Could I do this for her?

“Just this one semester, right?” I said. “When Kate comes back from Moscow, she’ll be able to move in?”

“Definitely. Kate will be your roommate this spring, as planned. Celeste’s cast will be off by then.”

“What if it’s not? Or what if she wants to stay?”

“Leena.” The dean smiled. “You have my word that Kate will be your roommate in Frost House next semester. No matter what happens with Celeste.”

I looked down at my hands, pale and veiny. White and blue. Like porcelain, I’d been told. I curled them into fists. 

 “Okay,” I said. “I’m sure it will be fine.”

Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I’d taken that resolve and told Dean Shepherd I wanted Celeste moved somewhere else. Would things have turned out differently in the end?

For Celeste, yes, of course. But for me?

 I still would have lived in Frost House, after all.

Chapter 4

WITH ONLY TWENTY MINUTES before dinner, I couldn’t bring myself to put on all my clothes after cold-showering. I stood in front of a fan, wearing boy shorts and a bra, trying to figure out the best furniture arrangement for my side of the bedroom.

The room extends off the back of Frost House—almost more of a sunporch. Three of the walls have windows that look out on the postcard-size backyard bordered by thick foliage. Even on a gray day like this the room glowed with natural light. Along with the original moldings around the windows and the worn wooden floorboards, the light made the space especially cozy and cheerful. Welcoming.

It was even nicer than I’d remembered over the summer. But, of course, the furniture setup and decorations I’d planned weren’t possible now that it was a double. Look on the bright side, I told myself. Celeste’s bedspread and pillows were pretty, and her hat collection looked funky lined up on a bookcase. It could have been worse. She could have been a fan of cliché posters like Starry Night and The Kiss.

David had placed a bunch of persimmon-orange tulips in a painted ceramic vase on top of her dresser. He’d also put three tulips on my dresser, in a water bottle. I couldn’t believe he’d thought of that, considering everything else he had to do. And considering how rude I’d been to him.