“Well, keep your eyes straight ahead. Trust me.”
I did, but couldn’t help asking, “What is it? A body?”
“You don’t want something horrible to be the thing you
remember from this weekend, do you?” he said.
“As opposed to remembering my own personal disasters?” I
said. “God, we’re at a total standstill again.”
“Hey. Look at me for a sec.” He rested a hand on my
shoulder. “I’m sorry about this mess,” he said. “I’m really, really
sorry for my sister’s part in it. I am. But about what you said
before—Celeste is not always the center of attention. At least not
the center of my attention. Understand?”
I nodded.
“And this might turn out to have been a pretty important
weekend,” he said. “So you should work on remembering the
good parts.”
“Important?”
“No?” he said. “Nothing that happened strikes you as
important? Nothing’s changed?” His gaze lingered on my lips.
I glanced at the road, looked back at David. “Maybe you
should refresh my memory.”
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He moved his hand to the back of my head and eased me
forward into a long, soft kiss. This time, instead of adding to my
worries, the heat and intensity obliterated them. In that moment
I knew, despite any self-sabotaging nervousness, this was what I
wanted.
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Chapter 26
THROUGH THE WINDOWS of Dean Shepherd’s cozy, shingle-
style house, I could see people gathered in her living room—
standing in clusters, eating, drinking, laughing. . . . I ran my fingers
through my hair, tucked it behind my ears, and rang the bell.
The dean answered the door holding a glass of red wine.
“Leena,” she said. “I was beginning to worry about you.”
I wanted to tell her how nice she looked in her silk, kimono-
style dress. I wanted to tell her David and I had finally gotten
together. I wanted to be one of the people invited to the party,
not the student interrupting it.
We had to pass through the living room to get to her home
office. The smell of onions and garlic cooking poured from the
kitchen. The Cinnabon I’d eaten for dinner sat like a brick in my
stomach. I said hello to Mrs. Fleissner, an English teacher, and Mr.
Prince, a theater teacher, self-conscious about my too-long-in-a-
car appearance. I didn’t know the other guests by name, but I
could feel everyone looking at me with curiosity. Had the
happenings in Frost House been fodder for their party
conversation? Hard to say, since I didn’t even know what the
happenings were.
Dean Shepherd shut the office door behind us. Stacks of
paper filled every surface. She took a messy pile off a chair and
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asked me to sit, then placed her glass of wine on a bookshelf, as if
she’d be too tempted to down it during our conversation.
“So,” she said, sitting. “Have you been back to the dorm
yet?”
Was that a trick question? “No.” I said. “Well, I dropped
David off there to see his sister. But I didn’t go in. You told me to
come straight here.”
She folded her hands together on the desk. “I know I was
vague on the phone. I didn’t want to get into it until I saw you in
person.”
“It sounded serious.”
“When I went to look for Celeste, the dorm was a wreck.”
“A wreck?”
“Your section of the house. It looked like a tornado had hit it.
Clothes everywhere. Boxes in the middle of the hallway.”
“Did someone break in?” I asked, suddenly a bit panicked. I’d
left my laptop there, my only valuable jewelry—
“No,” the dean said. “Celeste did it. She was moving all of her
stuff into the tiny room with your desks, and your stuff into the
room with the windows.”
“She was what?”
“Moving your things, so you’ll have separate rooms.”
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“Oh.” I didn’t know what to say. “That’s weird. We’ve never
talked about doing that. She did all of this on crutches?”
“That’s what she’d called the maintenance worker about—to
help her. But there were other things. I noticed some dried blood
drops on the floor. Honestly, the whole place looked like a crime
scene.” Her pointed stare made me feel like I was the suspected
criminal.
“What did Celeste say?”
“She was very cagey. She said she was moving rooms
because she didn’t like being in a bedroom with so many
windows. Apparently, the blood was from a cut she got while
moving the stuff.”
“I guess I’m not surprised she wanted to change the room
setup,” I said. “She hates that bedroom.”
The dean’s eyebrows drew together. “There must be
something else going on here, Leena. Why would she have left
your trip like that, without telling you?”
“I haven’t spoken to her, so I don’t know,” I said. “The only
thing I can imagine is that . . .” Peals of laugher filtered in from
the next room. I waited until they stopped. “David and I are kind
of, well . . . you know. Involved.”
“You are? Since when?”
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“It’s pretty recent. Anyway, maybe it has something to do
with that. Maybe she felt out of place or uncomfortable.”
Dean Shepherd rested her forearms on the desk and leaned
in. “I don’t want to miss a warning sign that something more
serious is going on. Given Celeste’s family situation, and her
accident over the summer, I can’t just ignore what seems like
troubling behavior. You’re sure there’s nothing else I need to
know?”
I hated not to tell the whole truth, but I wanted to talk to
Celeste, to find out what this was really about. And talk to David,
too. If something were wrong, he’d expect me to tell him first.
Like a kid, I crossed my fingers under the desk. “Well, like I
said, she’s never been comfortable in our bedroom. She can’t
sleep in it. She has nightmares. I don’t know her well enough to
know if it’s really the room, or if she’d have this trouble
anywhere. I’m pretty sure the main problem is me and David,
though. They’re really close, you know.”
“I know,” Dean Shepherd said, sitting back in her chair again.
“Okay, well, I’ll trust you to let me know if you notice anything
else, Leena. Although, I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that you’ve
seriously compromised my trust by lying about your chaperones
this weekend.”
“I’m really sorry,” I said, relieved that I seemed to have
weathered the storm. The meeting hadn’t been nearly as bad as
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the scenarios I’d imagined—Celeste telling the dean she’d been
persecuted all semester. “Being seniors, you know, it just didn’t
seem like that big a deal. Over the summer our parents leave us
alone all the time.”
“The rules at Barcroft apply just as much to seniors as they
do to underclassmen. You know that.”
“I know.” Blah, blah, blah . . . I supposed she had to say all of
this.
“I haven’t checked, but I believe this is the first strike against
everyone involved. Luckily. So, you’ll meet with the disciplinary
committee, but it won’t lead to anything as serious as expulsion.”
Her words hit me like a slap. “The disciplinary committee?” I
said. “Really?”
“Of course. What did you think?”
What did I think? I thought she’d write it off as a stupid, but
harmless, mistake.
I thought I was special.
I stood at the bottom of the narrow stairs, looking up at the
closed door to Viv’s room waiting for me at the top. I hadn’t yet
seen Celeste or the supposed disaster area. In the common room,
the only sign of something amiss was a black garbage bag with
Celeste’s violet comforter inside. It smelled like rotting fruit. I
couldn’t imagine why, and didn’t really care. The only thing I
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cared about was being alone in my room. But I knew I had to face
Viv and Abby first. If I delayed tel ing them, it would just be
hanging over my head for longer.
I forced myself to lift my legs. Step. Step. Step. My hand felt
heavy as a cement block when I raised it to knock on Viv’s door.
“Yeah?” Viv answered.
“Can I come in?” A question I never would have bothered
asking before tonight.
There was a pause. “Whatever.”
Viv and Abby sat together on the bed, each holding a mug of
tea. Normally, I’d have joined them, but I knew better, especially
from the looks on their faces.
“You guys made it back okay?” I said, standing awkwardly
just inside the doorway.
“Obviously.” Abby said. “Seeing as we’re here.”
“I’m so, so, sorry, you guys,” I said. “But I didn’t have any
control over this. I didn’t know Celeste was leaving.”
“No control?” Abby said. “Seems to me you’re the one who
told the dean about Viv’s parents. In other words, the one who
ruined our weekend.”
“I’m sorry,” I said again. “I feel terrible. I’ll do whatever I can
to make it up to you guys.”
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“What do you want, Leen?” Viv asked in a tired voice.
I drew a deep breath. “I talked to Dean Shepherd. And she
said that we have to meet with the DC. But because it’s our first
offense, we don’t have to worry about being kicked out.”
“Kicked out!” Abby sat up straighter. “Are you kidding?”
“I said we’re not going to be kicked out.”
“But it’s a first strike?” Abby said. “You know what that
means? No drinking, no smoking, no illegal parietals or sneaking
out at night. No anything! During senior year! If we’re caught
doing anything, we’re kicked out. We might as well be handcuffed
to our desks!”
“I know. I’m sorry. It sucks.”
Viv’s hand flew up to her mouth. “Oh my God.”
“What?” Abby said.
“Oh my God,” she repeated.
“Viv. What? ”
“Cameron,” Viv said, her voice quiet. “Freshman year. Before
we were together. He was busted for drinking.”
“He’s on probation?” I said. How could I not have known
that?
Viv nodded.
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A weight dropped in my gut like a cannonball.
“Viv,” I said. “You know I didn’t mean—”
She pressed one hand against her eyes and waved the other
in my direction. “Just go. Okay? Go.”
“Please, Viv, I—”
Abby glared at me. “What part of ‘go’ don’t you
understand?”
Thankfully, the door to what was now Celeste’s bedroom
was closed. I’d have locked it from the outside if I could.
Trembling, I took Cubby off the windowsill and opened the
door to my closet, momentarily jarred by how uncomfortably
large and bright it seemed, empty of clothes. But then the smell
and the soft air reached for me, and I knew it was still the same.
Celeste had dumped my clothes from the other room in a pile; it
only took me a few moments to hang them up—everything
except my ankle-length puffer coat, which I spread on the floor in
one corner. The space wasn’t nearly as full as with Celeste’s
wardrobe, but it would do. I scooted into the corner with the
puffer as a cushion. No more worrying about Celeste walking in
on me. And I didn’t foresee Abby or Viv coming to visit anytime
soon. The thought made my throat swell. I breathed deeply,
inhaling the familiar, comforting scent.
“What am I going to do?” I said to Cubby.
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The ring of my phone from my pocket startled me. I only
answered because it was David.
“How’d it go?” he said.
It took me a second to realize he meant the meeting with
Dean Shepherd. “Okay,” I said.
“Really?”
I bit the inside of my lip, remembering. My voice trembled.
“Well, sort of.” Then I started to cry. “Can we . . . I’m sorry, can I
just talk to you tomorrow? I can’t really deal right now.”
“Of course. Are you okay, Leena? Have you seen Celeste?”
“No. Not yet.” And whenever I did would be too soon. “I’m
sorry. I really have to go.”
I hung up, took off my glasses, and pressed the heels of my
hands against my eyelids to try and make it stop. But the tears
were too strong for that. I lifted off Cubby’s head. My fingers
fumbled with the baggies of pills. I set aside ones I didn’t want.
Found the one I did.
“Everything is ruined,” I whispered even though there was
no need to be quiet anymore.
You’re here now, she said. It’s okay.
“But Cameron . . . . I’ve ruined his life. And Viv’ll never
forgive me.”
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Shhh . . . You don’t need her.
I wanted to believe what I was telling myself. Wanted to
believe I’d be all right. But I knew it wasn’t true. Of course I
needed my friends. They were . . . everything.
Bit by bit, a calm settled over my body. My tears stopped,
and I slept. A deep sleep, not the sleep of someone who’s worried
she might have lost three of the most important people in her
life.
The sleep of someone who knows she’s come home.
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Part Two
262
Chapter 27
I SLEPT IN THE CLOSET UNTIL surprisingly late the next
morning. When I stood up, my limbs and spine hurt as if I’d spent
the night digging a deep hole; my head ached so much I was
ready to jump in the hole and be buried. I immediately took a
couple of Tylenol. As the pills scraped their way down my dry
throat, the events of the night before came back with more
clarity, making my stomach hurt, too—the kind of ache that no
medicine could help. I grabbed a clean towel and shuffled into the
hallway. Celeste was just locking the door to the little room,
dressed to go outside in a short, plaid wool cape, miniskirt, and
the green beret. As if everything was perfectly normal.
“Hey,” I said.
She turned to face me. Dark hollows shadowed her eyes, her
