Frost (15 page)

Chapter 23

W
E ALL STUMBLED INTO
the Parker-Whites’ town house sometime after two a.m. Celeste disappeared up the elevator immediately, alone. Whip had gone back to Manhattan.

“Hungry, hungry, hungry,” Abby said. “How can I be so hungry?”

We moved en masse to the kitchen. Usually, I’d have been psyched to raid the pantry, but my stomach was too tied up to eat much. After our little . . .
conversation
outside the bar, David hadn’t gone to find Celeste and Whip; he’d come inside right after me, and had sat close and apologized and touched me in the ways that are socially acceptable in public—hand on knee, arm across shoulders, foot on foot. It had all been suggestive of more to come, and now here I was, confronted with a whole night in front of us, and nothing stopping us from spending it together.

Eventually, Viv and Cameron went upstairs.

“Want to watch a movie?” Abby said.

“Nah,” I said. “I think I’ll go to bed.”

David stood up and stretched his arms over his head, showing his stomach. “Me too.”

“Your loss,” Abby said.

Should I follow David to his room? I wanted to just as badly as I didn’t want to. We padded up the stairs next to each other. When he turned off to go to his room on the third floor, I hesitated a minute.

“So,” I said. “It’s late.”

“Yeah,” he said. “But it is New York. Right? City that never sleeps?” He raised his eyebrows in an expectant look. An adorable, expectant look.

“I’ll be right down,” I said, sounding more sure than I felt.

I was sure about one thing, though. I wasn’t going to his bedroom wearing his mother’s dress.

I stopped in the bathroom first, and Celeste was asleep—or pretending to be asleep—by the time I went in the bedroom to change. As I slipped into my tank and boxers (Would he expect lingerie?) the words I’d tried to banish from my mind nagged at me:
he’ll hurt you; he’ll hurt you.
By the time I tiptoed down the carpeted stairs, the Indian food and beer and those stupid words churned in my stomach.

David had left the door to his room ajar. He lay on the bed—a full size—propped up against pillows, reading. He only had a small table lamp on, so the room was mercifully dark. I was embarrassed not to be wearing a bra, and I knew I looked tired and not especially pretty. And I should have showered. He was probably expecting a clean girl in a nightie.

Walking toward the bed was like walking into a final exam I hadn’t studied for. Not a final, I told myself. A mini-quiz. Because it’s not like we were going to go all the way or anything. He wouldn’t assume that. Right? I wasn’t planning on waiting until marriage, but I wasn’t planning on doing it tonight either.

“Hey.” I perched on the opposite side from where he lay.

“Hey.” David put the book on the bedside table. He was wearing striped boxers and a white T-shirt.

I placed my hands on the bedspread to wipe off some of the clamminess.

“Why don’t you sit up here?” He patted the pillows next to him.

I slid over. I could feel a deep seismic rumbling in my body. Shaking on the molecular level. I’d never been in a bed with a guy before. Not like this, at least.

I swallowed to try and get some wetness in my mouth. “I’m kind of . . . kind of nervous,” I said, figuring he’d notice anyway.

“That’s okay,” he said. “So am I.”

“You are?”

“Sure.”

But I knew he wasn’t, at least, not nervous like I was. So nervous that all I could think about was being at home, safe in my room, or better yet, safe in a deep, dark closet. I started thinking of what excuse I could possibly make—cramps, my period, demonic possession—to get out of there. I swallowed again.

He reached over and gently took off my glasses, placed them on the table. He brushed the hair away from my face. I moistened my dry lips. I could feel my pulse throbbing even in my palms.

Then David’s lips were on mine. Soft, sweet, fuller than they looked. Gentle but insistent as they moved. Oh, kissing! It had been so long, I’d forgotten the intensity. Warmth poured through every cell of my body. His hand held the back of my head. I touched his shoulder, firm and alive under the soft T-shirt. I slipped my fingers up inside the sleeve, touching his smooth, smooth skin. He must have showered; he smelled like citrus and grass and . . . boy.

Kissing harder, now. I recognized the flavor of natural cinnamon toothpaste. And then his tongue. Darting. Tasting. The bright green toothpaste I used probably caused cancer.
What? Don’t think about that now!
I tried to stop thinking and let myself enjoy the kissing, as I had been a minute ago. But then I felt David’s hand inching its way closer to my breast. And then it was on my breast, the side of my breast, pressing against it, moving slowly. And I lost track of the kissing and wondered how hard he would have to be touching me to leave bruises like the ones on Celeste.

Stop it! Think about the kissing. Or the touching. Not about his sister.
But then I didn’t want to think about the touching either, because he’d moved the hand underneath my tank top and was playing with my breast, swirling his fingers around it, cupping it, kneading,
needing
. I was glad we were on our sides so that his second arm was trapped underneath him. It was so intense, his hand, like it couldn’t get enough of what it was doing. Images of Celeste with someone’s hands kneading into her darted into my brain. Hands pressing too, too hard. Hurting. David was going to hurt me.

“Relax,” he said. “Is this too much?”

I realized that I was shaking, quite noticeably. Like a stray kitten out in the cold.

“Um, yeah. Maybe. Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” He reached down and pulled the covers up over me. “Turn on your side.”

“I am on my side.” Even my voice was shaking. I didn’t know what was wrong with me. I’d never had a reaction like this before, had always loved fooling around. If anything, I’d had to force myself to stop before I’d gone further than I wanted, because it felt so good.

“Other way,” he said.

I turned the other way and felt him spoon his body behind mine. His arm held me close. I tried to just breathe easily and calm down. I tried to ignore his hard-on, firm against me. I was so embarrassed. He’d never want to do this with me again. Who would?

“I’m sorry,” I repeated.

“Shhh . . .” he said as he ran his hand up and down my arm. “We can just lie here.”

“Really? You’re . . . you’re okay with that?”

I felt him kiss the back of my head and snuggle even closer, his arm wrapped around, protectively. Was there something wrong with me, I wondered, that I liked this so much better than the actual fooling around?
He’ll hurt you.

“You don’t know,” I whispered.

“Huh?” David sleepy-grunted into the back of my neck.

“Nothing,” I said. “Just . . . good night.”

His arm squeezed me more tightly. I pressed against him and wished that, like Dorothy, I had a pair of ruby slippers to click, click, click. . . .

Chapter 24

I
N THE MORNING
, I didn’t have time to be anxious. My body and David’s body had found each other before I’d even really woken up. When I swam to total consciousness, we were kissing with a heat that my nerves had made impossible the night before. I was on top, straddling his hips, pressing against him, only the thin layers of our clothes between us, now kissing his neck and inhaling his gorgeous morning skin, which smelled like sun even though the blinds were drawn. The way I felt—it was as if while I’d been asleep, someone else had entered my body.

The minute I had that thought, though—the minute I was aware enough to analyze—a switch was flipped. Just like that, my muscles tightened. My nerves rebelled. And the shaking started again. Jesus. What was wrong with me?

“You okay?” he said when we broke away for a moment. “You seemed okay with it. I didn’t mean . . .”

What was I supposed to say? That I’d been okay until I actually woke up? “I . . . I’m fine,” I said. “I just have to get up for a minute.” When I said it, I realized it was true—I needed to pee. Bad.

I sat on the toilet seat and wrapped my arms around myself. I was conscious of the sound of pee hitting water and hoped David couldn’t hear it. After flushing, I looked at myself in the mirror. I stared into my pupils and tried to hypnotize myself into a state of calm.
You chose this. You want this.

“You’re incredibly sexy,” David said as I walked back across the room. He’d opened the blinds; the morning was gray and blustery.

“No I’m not,” I said reflexively. I sat on the edge of the mattress.

“Hey. Tattoo.” His fingers lifted up the hem of my tank top. “Nice.”

“Thanks.” I smiled down at the top of his head as he inched forward and then placed his lips against my tatt. I shivered. He pulled back, rested his head on my thigh, stared up at me.

“The way you looked last night, in that dress?” he said.

The way I looked in that dress. His mother’s dress. The dress his sister loaned me. His sister, who was in a bedroom in this very house. His sister, who was jealous of the way I looked in their mother’s dress.
Stop it, Leena!

“What time do you think it is?” I asked. “We should probably get up.”

David propped himself up on one arm and grabbed his phone off the night table. “Ten fifteen,” he said. “I guess we should.”

“Can you hand me my glasses?” He did. I slipped them on and stood up. “See you downstairs?”

Back on the fourth floor, Celeste’s bed was already made and there was no sign of her. Thankfully. I took a steaminghot shower. My body still felt jarred from the physical intensity of being with David. With a clearer mind, I considered the strangeness of having woken up in the midst of it. It really was like my body had made a decision, bypassing my conscious brain. I rubbed lather over my skin and tried to imagine my hands were David’s. Tried to imagine enjoying it. I had to get over my nervousness. That shaking thing couldn’t happen again.

Before getting dressed, I put on my glasses and stared at my naked body in the full-length mirror. It wasn’t a dislike of my figure that made me nervous about being with David. Sure, I had my issues, but whatever. So what was it?

I turned around and looked at my butt, my back—my eyes stopped scanning and focused. My tattoo. I turned my gaze from the mirror to my actual body. Normally, I didn’t see myself naked with my glasses on—in the tub or shower I was half blind. So I couldn’t remember the last time I’d given the tatt a clear-eyed appraisal. It had changed. The colors didn’t glow with that depth of pigment that had made it really look like stained glass. Now they were washed out. And the black lines had thickened and bled. As if David’s kiss had reacted with the ink.

Damn. It wasn’t the most expensive tattoo, but it wasn’t cheap either. And I’d taken such good care of it. I kept staring, as if it was going to change back before my eyes.

When I was sufficiently sure it wasn’t going to, I dressed and followed the smell of bacon downstairs, into the kitchen.

Viv stood at the marble countertop island, cracking an egg into a bowl. At the table, Abby sat hunched over a mug of coffee and Cameron leaned back in his chair, reading the paper.

“Morning, sunshine,” Viv said. “Eggs? Veggie bacon? Home fries?”

“Mmm.” I got myself some grapefruit juice from the fridge then sat down next to Abby. “Hungover?” I said to her.

She nodded. “A little. Need food.”

“Hey,” I said, “have either of your guys’ tatts faded or bled?”

“Nope,” Abby said.

Viv turned from the stove. “Cam? You see my butt more than I do.”

“Looks good to me, baby,” he said.

I swirled the juice around in my glass. “Mine looks like hell.”

“Go back to the place,” Abby said. “They can fix some stuff.”

“I will. Where’s Celeste? Did she eat already?”

“Haven’t seen her or David,” Viv said.

“David’s getting up.” I tried to keep any suspicious notes out of my voice.

I wasn’t successful. All eyes turned toward me.

“And you know this how?” Viv asked.

I would have lied, but my smile and blush told the story. “We just, you know, hung out.”

Abby rested her head on the table. “Why do I always have to be right? Why, why, why?”

“So where’s Celeste?” I said. “She’s not in the bedroom.”

Viv ate a bite of eggs off her spatula then recommenced using it to stir. “Yesterday she asked me if she could take some pictures around the house. Maybe she’s doing that.”

Honestly, at that point, her absence just seemed like a gift, one I wasn’t going to question too strenuously. Especially not after David came into the room, fresh from a shower and looking ten times hotter than I’d thought before, if that was possible. I was sure I could get used to that fooling-around stuff. I was just nervous I’d do something wrong, probably. Push the wrong button, pull the wrong lever. It had been a long time since I’d been with a guy, after all. And I’d never felt as excited about anyone as I was about David. That was probably it: overexcitement.

Viv served us breakfast and we passed around the best sections of the Sunday
New York Times
. David’s foot found mine under the table. I skimmed through the real-estate section, fantasizing.

I was happy to ignore Celeste’s absence for as long as possible. After a bit, though, David got antsy. He called her cell and it went straight to voice mail. For once, I wished he wasn’t such a caring and thoughtful brother.

“Maybe she went to the park?” Cameron said.

“In this weather?” I said, then turned to Viv. “Is Annika around? Maybe she’s seen her.”

“Nope. Saturday night and Sunday she has off.”

David and I decided to look through the house. It didn’t take us long to figure out she wasn’t here—unless she was hiding, which, I hoped, was beyond even Celeste. The whole thing was giving me a flashback to the bar last night. Maybe we were going to find her sitting in an alley behind the house, smoking with Whip.

“What should we do?” I asked David, annoyed that this was how we were spending our morning. “Walk around the neighborhood and look in cafés and stuff?”

“I think we should wait for her here,” he said. “If we go out and she comes back, she won’t be able to get in the house.”

I went to my bedroom to grab a sweater. As I did, I checked around to see if I could tell what type of clothes Celeste had worn, in case that told us anything. I quickly realized I should have thought to check earlier.

Everything was gone.

All she’d left was a piece of paper folded over one of the hangers in the closet with a scrawled note:
Back to Barcroft. Sorry, took the dress with me.

“She’s what?” David said, placing his glass of orange juice down without taking a sip.

“Gone,” I said in disbelief. “Back to school.”

“What? Why?” Viv said, collecting dishes to be washed. “She seemed okay last night. Was she upset or something?”

“I have no idea.” I thudded down in a chair.

David picked up his cell, sent a message. Called, left a voice mail telling her to call back immediately.

“Do you think she took the train?” I said. “Or bus? I mean, what a hassle with her bag, and her cast. What do you think we should do?”

“She’s a big girl,” Abby said, looking at us over the top of the Style section. “Can’t we assume she knows what she’s doing?”

No one said anything. The last thing I
wanted
was to spend another minute worrying about her, but it was just so strange.

“Since it’s bad weather,” Abby continued, “I think we should go to that movie. It starts in twenty-five minutes. But the theater’s a quick walk, right, Viv?” She folded up the newspaper with loud snapping noises.

“Yeah. Ten minutes,” Viv said.

“And we can go to that museum you read about after,” Abby said.

I looked at David, could read in his face right away that he didn’t feel right going out without hearing from his sister. I didn’t think I’d be able to concentrate on a movie either.

“You guys go,” I said. “David and I will stay here. We can meet you later at the museum, okay?”

Abby pushed her chair back and stood up. “Whatever. Hope you have fun.”

Despite the fact that it was the afternoon after our first kiss and first night together, our time alone was not at all cozy or romantic. We spent most of it staring at David’s phone. I attempted the
Times
crossword puzzle but had trouble concentrating well enough to make a dent in the clues.

I was trying to remember who wrote the short story “The Lottery,” seven letters, when the phone finally rang. But it wasn’t David’s; it was mine. And it wasn’t Celeste.

“Leena?” Dean Shepherd said. “Sorry to bother you.”

“That’s okay,” I said, surprised. “What’s up?”

“Sorry if there’s noise around me,” she said. “I’m in the parking lot at Whole Foods—dinner party tonight. But I just got a strange message. Apparently, a maintenance worker was called over to Frost House to help a student with something. And since no students are supposed to be there . . .”

A maintenance worker? “Uh, I guess that’s something to do with Celeste,” I said.

“Celeste?”

“You know how we all came to New York, to Viv’s house?” I said. “Well, Celeste has sort of, well, she left early.”

“What?” A car honked near her as she spoke. “Why?”

I ran my finger along the side of the place mat, feeling David’s eyes on me. The only possibility we’d come up with was that Celeste was having some overblown reaction to us getting together. I couldn’t exactly tell that to the dean. “It’s kind of a misunderstanding,” I said. “I’m not quite sure why. She left early this morning.”

“And came all the way back to Barcroft? Alone? On crutches?”

“I guess.” It sounded so ridiculous. I didn’t blame the dean for being confused.

“Did Viv’s parents take her to the train station, or something?”

“No. I mean, we don’t really know.”

“Well, I don’t quite understand, Leena, and don’t have time to talk about it right now. But I’ll go to Frost House on my way home from running errands and see what’s going on. In the meantime, please have one of Viv’s parents call me.”

I could have lied. I could have told her they were out, or whatever. But I didn’t. At the moment, it didn’t strike me as that big a deal. Dean Shepherd loved me. She trusted me. And Celeste was the issue at hand.

“They’re actually not around,” I said. “They got this last-minute trip deal to Paris so they went. But Viv’s housekeeper is here, or was here, I mean, yesterday, and took great care of us.”

“They aren’t there?” she said.

“No.”

I could hear a sigh of annoyance. “I’ll call you back after I’ve been to Frost House. In the meantime, you and whoever is with you—Vivian and Abigail and whoever else—are going to pack up and drive right back here.”

Drive back to Barcroft? Today? That’s when I realized the mistake I’d made. My stomach turned inside out.

I slumped against the back of my chair. “Abby is going to kill me. K-I-L-L, kill me. Now that Dean Shepherd knows that our chaperones aren’t here, she’s making us come back to school. She sounded really pissed. We’re seniors. I didn’t think she’d care. And everyone knows chaperone letters are bullshit.”

“What’s going on with Celeste?” David asked.

I explained about the maintenance worker being called to the dorm. “I shouldn’t have told her,” I said, then rested my cheek on the cool table. “I am so dead.”

I was in my room folding clothes into my duffel when my phone rang again.

“I found Celeste,” Dean Shepherd said. “She was the one who called maintenance. I can’t discuss anything now, Leena, but please come find me at home the minute you arrive back on campus. I need to talk to you.”

“I know,” I said. “I’m sorry about the thing with Viv’s par—”

“It’s not about that,” she said.

“It’s not?” I rested my full bag on the floor.

“No,” she said. “I want you to tell me what has been going on in this house.”