Frost

I got no clues from their conversation on the drive to Tonio’s. Celeste spent the whole time talking about the upcoming student exhibition her photos were going to be in, and soliciting our opinions about what she should wear to the opening. If this wasn’t a joke, had David even talked to her?

At Tonio’s, the maître d’ gave us the polite but tired smile Barcroft students always get and led us to a small, velvet-upholstered booth at the back of the dark restaurant.

Celeste immediately grabbed a breadstick from a ceramic jar. David opened the stiff, gold-embossed cover of his menu.

I opened mine, but the words didn’t coalesce into meaningful phrases. I shut it. “So, why are we here?” I said. “It’s not your birthday, is it? That’s in a couple weeks.” A ludicrous guess; of course this wasn’t a birthday party.

“We wanted somewhere private,” David said.

“Aren’t these booths great?” Celeste ran a hand over the tufted, burgundy velvet. “Old-school glamour. I’d like to have one in my house.”

A waiter in black pants and a white button-down appeared at our table. “My name is Cliff and I’ll be your server this evening. May I take your drink order?”

“Diet Coke, please,” I said, then added, “Actually, just water.” I didn’t need any caffeine.

“Club soda,” Celeste said. “With one maraschino cherry, and a slice of lime.”

“Sam Adams,” David said.

“May I see some ID, sir?” Cliff said.

David looked surprised, then embarrassed. He began patting his pockets. “Oh, sorry, I don’t think I brought . . . That’s okay. I’ll just have a Coke.”

“Why somewhere private?” I said, once we were alone again.

“We have a plan,” David said. “Well, the start of one.”

“Okay . . .”

David placed both palms on the table and leaned forward. “Here’s what we do. We convince the school that Frost House isn’t safe to live in. That way, you all get to move out, no one knowing the real reason you need to.”

“What do you mean, ‘isn’t safe’?” I said. “You’re going to tell them there’s something evil in the house?”

“Of course not,” David said. “We prove that it’s physically unstable. I don’t know, like the roof might collapse or whatever. Maybe we could start a fire or something, just a small one.”

I sat there, looking back and forth between the two of them. Their expressions were anxious, but in an excited, not-nervous way. Kids listening for Santa’s sleigh on the roof.

The waiter placed our drinks on the table. “Would you like to hear this evening’s specials?” he said.

Specials? Who could think about food? I couldn’t even conceive of reading through the menu with David’s words hanging in the air. A fire? Was he kidding?

“I don’t need to hear specials,” I said, just to say something. “I’ll have the fettuccini Alfredo, please.”

“Steak for me,” David said. “Rare.”

“Ooh, me too.” Celeste was almost giddy. “Listen,” she said to the waiter, “do you think the restaurant is going to get new seating anytime soon? Because if they do, I’d be interested in buying one of these booths.”

Cliff stifled a smile. “I don’t think so. I’ll check, though.” He chuckled as he walked away.

“You’re joking, right?” I said to David.

“I know it sounds extreme,” he said. “But think about it.”

“Burning down the haunted house,” I said. “Like in a cheesy horror movie? Are you crazy?” Right away I knew it was a bad choice of words.

“David and I are both crazy,” Celeste said in a woo-woo, exaggeratedly eerie voice. She wiggled her fingers in the air. “And we’re going to make you crazy, too.”

“No, we’re not,” David said. “I don’t necessarily mean a fire. Just something to make the house unlivable. You know all about house construction. What could we do to make it unlivable? Like,

a major plumbing leak or something that ruins some stuff.”

“I don’t want it to be unlivable,” I said. “In case you’ve forgotten, I live there!”

“So you’ll move into an empty room somewhere else.” David pulled out a breadstick and snapped it in half.

“No. This is a ridiculous idea.”

“Leena,” David said. “Celeste can’t keep living there. And any other solution involves making her look sick. Unless you want us to make up some story about how you guys are mean to her. We’ll tell the dean she’s too miserable to stay there.”

“No way,” I said. “Absolutely not.” Aside from the fact I’d be mortified for them to do that, this whole plan was predicated on the fact that Celeste would be okay if she moved out. Could David honestly believe that?

“Come on,” David said, cajoling, as if he was trying to convince me to take a breadstick or something equally trivial. “Next year we’ll have a nice place in the city. You can handle living in some other dorm until then. What’s the big deal about you staying there?”

The big deal? He knew how I felt about my room. How could he even ask? And how could they be so casual, so . . . so . . . so goddamn cheery? I stared at my fork. “I don’t want to move out.” My voice was tight.

“It’s a good plan,” Celeste said to me. “We know it’s kind of weird, but not so much if you think about it.”