“Look,” I said, “you’re not going through all this college stuff, so maybe you don’t get that it’s really not a fun topic.” My voice had an edge to it.
His lips parted for a moment. “I’m just asking because I’m psyched for next year. That’s all. Did it … did it not go well?”
“I’m going inside. It’s cold.” I walked around the side of the house. David’s steps crinkled dry leaves behind me.
“Leena,” he said. “Wait …”
My throat tightened. David had no way of knowing it was myself I was angry at. He followed me inside, down the hall.
Hot water from the bathroom faucet cut through the blackish soil on my hands and swirled it down the drain. Warmth flooded up from my hands and through my body as if the boiling liquid was running directly through my veins.
“I’m sorry,” David said from outside the bathroom door. “I just—”
“I can’t hear you,” I called over the whoosh of water. “I’ll be out in a minute.”
I turned off the tap and dried my pink hands on a towel. Afternoon sun filtered through the bathroom’s small stained-glass window, a window not so different in style from the one drawn on my skin, the one that continued to fade, as if my body was trying to forget the memory of my old room. The late sun cast a red-and-blue glow on the wall above the tub. The chalky white paint absorbed the color like a bloodstain.
I did want to live with David next year, didn’t I? Why had I jeopardized that by screwing up my interview? Twenty minutes late is unheard of. Unthinkable. A big, red X on my application folder.
What had Cubby told me when I’d been in the closet after my interview? You’ll end up where you’re supposed to be. A good philosophy to live by.
I found David waiting for me on my bed.
“Did you get parietals?” I asked.
“I checked before. She’s not home.”
“David.” I stood next to him instead of sitting down. “You know we can’t risk getting busted.”
“When has she ever, ever come back here?” he said. “Not once.” He reclined on an elbow and patted the bed with his other hand. Reluctantly, I shrugged off my jacket and sat next to him. He reached his hand under the back of my sweater. The cold touch sent tentacles creeping up my spine. I lay down so he’d have to move it. But he took my shift as an invitation to lean over me, to remove my glasses, to place hands alongside my shoulders and start kissing.
I want this. I want this. I had to repeat this over and over in my head whenever we fooled around in Frost House. For some reason, at David’s dorm, I was completely relaxed. I loved every moment of touching him, and being touched. And loved that we were having fun without going further than I wanted, which, for now, meant we hadn’t had sex. But here, in my own room, my skin never felt quite right with someone else’s hands on them. My heart would pound, but not in a good way. My mind wandered … began to picture things like Celeste’s cockroaches lying right where we were. And, I hated to think it, because it made me feel like Celeste, but I had a bit of a sensation that someone was watching us. Probably because I knew she could be right outside the door at any time.
I rolled out from under David and reached for my glasses. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m just too paranoid. It’s not worth getting kicked out.”
He sat up, his face flushed, readjusted his pants. “So you want me to leave?”
“I don’t want you to.” I leaned over and nuzzled his cheek, rubbed my nose in the warm crook of his neck. Did I want him to leave? He smelled so good. And when he left, it would just be me. “I don’t know,” I said. “I’m just freaked about the probation thing.”
“That’s all it is?” he said.
“Yeah.”
I gave him what I meant to be a quick kiss but it turned into a long, hard one. For a moment, my body hummed and squirmed and wanted to be against his. This time, he pulled away.
“If I’m leaving, it has to be now.” His lips glistened, deep pinkish red.
I considered changing my mind. It had felt so good, for a moment there. But then, behind him, I caught a glimpse of something. The closet door was open just enough so you could see my mattress. Usually I was so careful. I couldn’t believe I’d left it open like that.
“Yeah,” I said. “You’d better go.”
Chapter 31
THE FOLLOWING FRIDAY was the start of Barcroft-Edgerton weekend, our weekend of sports events with our rival school. Old bedsheets, spray painted with war cries and crudely drawn pictures, hung between windows on the big, brick dorms along the center quad. What Do We Eat? RED MEAT!!!! Red = DEAD. Go BIG BLUE!!
At the beginning of the semester I’d imagined Frost House working together on a banner. Ha. I readjusted the strap of my book bag and kicked at a lacrosse ball hiding under a cover of sunset-colored leaves. I leaned over to pick up a quarter, and when I stood back up, the quad spun before me. I closed my eyes to regain balance.
When I opened my eyes, the world stood still again. In the days since my Columbia interview, I’d been taking a regular dose of pills to counteract my constant “What now?” anxiety. Dizziness was a possible side effect, but I’d never had it happen before.
“Leena?” A girl’s voice came from behind me. I turned and saw red hair sprouting from under a navy Barcroft baseball cap. Nicole Kellogg. She stood with a short, curvy girl—another freshman.
“Nicole, hi,” I said. We hadn’t said more than a word in passing to each other since the counseling session. I’d considered talking to her about it, but eventually—when it was obvious she wasn’t leaving school—I didn’t care enough to bother.
“Hi,” she said. “This is my friend, Sera.”
Sera and I exchanged heys.
“I was wondering if you have hours anytime soon?” Nicole asked. “You know, office hours.”
“I’m actually not counseling for the rest of the semester,” I said.
“Oh my God.” Nicole brought a hand to her lips. “It’s not because of me, is it? That whole thing was totally blown out of proportion by my hysterical parents. I felt so bad you got in trouble.”
“Her parents are total whack jobs,” Sera added.
“No.” I shook my head. “I was busted for illegal offcampus. Stupid. Anyway, Dean Shepherd thought I should take a break from the leadership position, blah, blah, blah.”
“Oh. Good,” Nicole said. “I mean, not good, but—”
“I know what you mean,” I said, giving her a smile.
“Well,” she said, “would you maybe have a few minutes to talk to me sometime anyway?”
“There are other counselors, Nicole.” I was sure Dean Shepherd wouldn’t want me to have anything to do with Nicole Kellogg.
“But I know you. And it’s actually not about my own problem.” She fiddled with a button on her peacoat. “It’s, like, I just need advice about how much to butt into someone else’s life.”
“Oh.” I checked the time on my phone. Could the dean get mad (madder than she already was) if I talked to Nicole as a friend? I was almost too tired—too drained—to care. “Well, I have about an hour. I’m walking to town, and if you want to walk with me …” I glanced at Sera. “Unless you want to meet alone, Nicole. I have time after the assembly this afternoon.”
“That’s okay,” Nicole said. “Sera knows about it, too.”
The three of us shuffled through blankets of dried leaves. Winter would be here soon, and then spring, and then … God. Which other New York schools should I apply to? I needed to do some serious research. David kept asking about it.