Frost

I hurried down the side path and up the porch steps, my field hockey stick clattering against them. The minute I burst through the door I knew the house was empty; I could tell by the stillness. And, oh . . . it felt so good to be home. The solid walls wrapped around me like a blanket. I headed straight to my bed, curled up on my side, and hugged my pillow, letting my tears soak into it, trying to muffle the dean’s voice echoing in my head. Bad judgment . . . How could I have been so stupid, saying those things to that girl? And what if she left school because of me? I’d be responsible for ruining her chance here at Barcroft. All I wanted was to turn back time, to talk to that girl again and say the right thing.

I reached for Cubby and wrapped my hand tightly around her. Calm down, I told myself. I drew in deep breaths as well as I could through my stuffed nose. You made a mistake. Everyone makes mistakes. I traced Cubby’s feathers with my fingertip—over and over. It’s okay to be upset. You’ll feel better soon.

Through my rough breaths, I heard a noise—the front door opening. I sat up and wiped my face, listened to the sound of someone coming in the entryway. It wasn’t Celeste. Her crutches were so distinctive. But whoever it was didn’t go upstairs either. Footsteps started across the common room, which meant they were headed in this direction.

I didn’t have time to think, just knew I couldn’t bear talking to anyone. Quick and quiet, I hurried to the only safe place—Celeste’s closet. I pulled the door closed behind me—it made no noise at all—slid through dresses and skirts, all the way to the back, into a corner, Cubby clutched in my hand.

I made it there just in time; footsteps sounded in the room.

I sat very, very still. Who was out there? Viv or Abby, borrowing clothes again? I didn’t hear drawers being opened. But it wasn’t someone just checking if we were here—they would have left already, if that were the case.

Maybe . . . maybe someone had broken Celeste’s vase on purpose. Maybe whoever it was was in the room now, looking for something else to do to her. Was that possible? I swallowed, reached forward slowly, carefully, and parted the curtain of clothes, hoping . . . No, there wasn’t a keyhole to look through, nothing to—

Click-click.

My body went rigid.

The doorknob right in front of me—it was turning. The door itself rattled.

Someone was trying to get into the closet.

Click-click. I shrank back against the wall, my heart beating like crazy now, beating so hard I was sure the person could hear it through the solid wood barrier between us. What should I do? What could I do? I pressed my spine harder against the wall as the doorknob click-click-click ed and the door rattled some more. I wondered if I pressed back hard enough whether the wall would open up and swallow me before the door unstuck. Click, click, rattle, rattle. My heart was about to stop, it was thump-thump-thump ing too hard. I pressed back and closed my eyes, waiting for the inevitable light to stream in. A little kid, thinking, If I don’t see you, you don’t see me.

Rattle, rattle. BAM. Like a fist against the door now. Click-click, rattle, rattle.

Maybe the person had ripped Celeste’s skirt, too, and had hidden in this very closet and knocked on the wall with the same fist they were now— BAM—banging against the door.

I held Cubby up to my face, wrapped both my hands around her, and prayed to whatever nameless entity someone like me who doesn’t believe in anything prays to, and then . . .

Nothing.

Wait . . .

Still nothing.

The rattling, the turning—they had stopped before my heart did.

Now, a voice. A male voice, incongruously calm, muffled but still understandable. “Hey, so, I’m here trying to get your laundry bag, but I can’t open the damn closet. Is there some trick? Anyway, I’ll come by later, I guess. But call if you get this message in the next couple minutes.”

David. Leaving a message for Celeste. It was David.

A shudder poured through me. Both relief that no one was doing something bad to Celeste—of course they weren’t—but also a moment of panic at the thought of David being the one to find me in here. How would I have explained that I was hiding in his sister’s closet?