Frost

David still hadn’t answered my call. I needed to find him. I hadn’t told the dean about his part in this whole mess, especially not the fact that he might have been lacing the house with lighter fluid as we spoke, because I wanted to believe that he— we—could have a life together here at Barcroft for the rest of the year. A life without Celeste. If the dean knew he was going along with the whole haunted house thing, well, that wouldn’t be good. Maybe, just maybe, once he realized his sister was sick, he’d see that I’d actually helped save her. Maybe he’d see that I’d risked my own happiness to make sure she was safe. Maybe he would even realize it now. Maybe I wouldn’t have to wait.

My head was killing me. I searched the inside of my jacket pockets, in case I had any of my meds hanging around. Nothing. I’d get some at the dorm. Assuming it was still standing. No—that wasn’t really a concern—David hadn’t talked about burning down the whole place, and he certainly wouldn’t do it without telling me first, letting me get out the things that mattered to me. Still, I couldn’t help scanning the distance for any sign of smoke.

Branches swayed in front of the little house when I reached the driveway. My little old lady house. Vulnerable. But not on fire.

I opened the side door. The common room looked the same as ever; clueless as to what was going on around it. Waiting for us to come hang out and watch TV or make microwave popcorn. Or have another Sunday night dorm dinner. All the things I’d envisioned when we moved into Frost House. I automatically straightened the tapestry that covered the couch.

Once in the hallway, I heard the sounds. Objects moving, shifting, in Celeste’s room. I moistened my lips. It couldn’t be Celeste—she had classes straight through to lunch. And if the dean had called her immediately, she wouldn’t have come back here, would she? Would the dean call her? Or send people to pick her up at class in person? A vision of Celeste in a straitjacket flashed in my mind. Being carried out of her class, wrapped up like a lunatic.

Celeste’s door was closed. I kept my footsteps soft, so I could make it to my own room first and take at least a little something to help with this headache. The floorboards creaked and groaned.

Click. I stopped. The door to Celeste’s room opened. David stood there. His hair leapt out from his head in messy clumps. Circles of sweat darkened his shirt. From the look of the room he had been moving things out of her closet.

“Leen, hey. I’m so glad you’re here,” he said.

He opened his arms. My body fell into his. I was pulled in two directions. Pulled into his warmth, like I wanted to crawl under his shirt and hide there, as if I could be folded into his body and leave mine behind. But the buzz, the life I felt in his body also gave me strength to remember I’d done the right thing. Energy darted back and forth between us. When I felt the push rather than the pull I separated from him, taking that strength, feeling it in my bones. What I had to do now was a thousand times harder than what I’d already done. A million times harder.

“Did you get my message?” I asked.

“No. You called?” He patted his pockets. “Oh, right. My phone’s in my bag. I left it in your room. What’d you say?”

“Did you . . . did you need something in my room?”

“I borrowed a couple of tools.” He reached over to Celeste’s desk and picked up my hammer. He smiled and raised his eyebrows. “I have a plan. I would’ve called but I figured you were in class all morning. Shouldn’t you be at math?”

“David,” I said. “It’s too late.”

“Too late? For what?”

I filled my lungs as if preparing to be submerged underwater. “I told Dean Shepherd about Celeste.”

His head jutted back slightly, his chin pulled into his neck. “You what?”

“If she’s not sick, they’ll find out. And if she is sick, she needs help.”

Now he stepped back completely; I could no longer feel the heat from his body. The hammer dangled from his hand. “You’re kidding, right?”

“I knew that you were too close to her to do it yourself. And it had to be done.”

“You told the dean everything?”

 “Most of it. I didn’t tell her that you know. I thought . . . well, I thought it would be better to keep you out of it. Dean Shepherd might find it kind of odd that you believe all the haunted stuff, too.”

There were nails in his voice when he spoke. “What were you thinking?”

“We talked about this before, David. You know what I think. Celeste needs help.”

“I know she needs help. I’m the one helping her. That’s why I’m here.”

“Please, David. Please don’t be mad.” I wanted to touch him, but knew it wasn’t the right thing to do. I rested my hand on the desk, instead. “This isn’t the Dark Ages. They won’t just lock her up.”

“Shit.” He banged the hammer down with a jarring crash, barely missing my fingers. I snatched my hand back.

“This ruins everything,” he said. “What the hell do I do now?”

“David—”

“Shut up, Leena. Okay?”