“I think it’s amazing that you took care of him,” I said. “Schizophrenia must be so … scary.”
“He’s actually not schizophrenic. Something similar.”
“Oh. The one … what’s it called … with mood-disorder symptoms?” I asked.
David stood up, massively thick chain in his hands, brows drawing together. “Schizoaffective,” he said. “Yeah. Do you know someone—?”
“No, no. I took Intro Psych last year.”
“Oh.” He wrapped and fastened the chain around his waist. I couldn’t believe he could bike with it on. “Well, yeah. It’s scary. In lots of ways.”
I watched the late sun stream orange through plum-colored clouds. Probably one of the reasons it was scary was because it has a genetic component. The things I didn’t want to inherit from my parents—selfishness, undependability—were things that were under my control, not predetermined, but I still worried about them. This was a whole different story.
“When is Celeste getting here tomorrow?” I asked as David backed his bike away from the rack.
“Not sure yet. You know … what Abby said in there …” He stopped and met my eyes. “You guys don’t have to pretend you’re happy to live with her. I know you’re not, and I don’t blame you. You had this nice, private thing going on.”
Even though he didn’t sound defensive or judgmental, my first instinct was to lie, to tell him that we really were happy to live with Celeste. Then I wondered what the point was.
“It’s not that I dislike her,” I said, twisting the stem of my apple. “I mean, I love how creative and … passionate she is. But she makes me nervous. Sometimes, I think she might not even like me.”
“Really?” he said. “I know she can be a pain in the ass, but she definitely likes you. She said … What was it?” He thought for a minute and then smiled. “Oh, yeah. You remind her of an angel.”
“An angel?” I said. “Hardly.”
His gaze traced a path from my chin to my hair. “Maybe she meant you look like one.”
My hand flew to the top of my head. “Frizz. Not a halo,” I said, hoping my suddenly hot cheeks hadn’t pinked. “And if you knew she liked me, why did you have to talk to Jessica Liu?”
“Jess—? Oh. Right.” He sounded a bit sheepish. “It’s just, Celeste doesn’t always have the best judgment about people and … I tend to be pretty protective of her.”
We held eyes for a minute. Something had shifted; the connection between us had changed. We’d stripped some things away, like when you strip away layers of lumpy paint and get down to the smooth, original wood.
I gestured in the direction of Frost House. “I have to go prepare my presentation.”
David nodded and swung a leg over the frame. “Guess I’ll see you there, if not before.”
I’d turned the corner toward home when I heard, “Leena?” He biked toward me. “One other thing.”
“What?” I said.
“Spoons.”
“What?”
He rode around me in a circle. “Abby wanted to know what I do. That’s it.”
“Spoons? ” I said, turning to follow his path.
He smiled, wide, with full-on dimples. In this light, the blue of his eyes reminded me of raspberry slushies. “See you, Leena,” he said. And rode away.
I decided to finish unpacking and arranging my room before working on my presentation, and as I filled drawers and shifted furniture and hung pictures, I kept wondering what David had meant. People played spoons as instruments, but he’d said he wasn’t a musician. There was a card game called Spoons; I found that hard to imagine. So, what … ?
I hadn’t come up with any feasible possibilities when I joined Viv and Abby upstairs. I didn’t ask for their input, though. Not that I thought it was a big secret. Just that something about the way he hadn’t said anything at dinner made me keep it to myself.
I did want to talk about something else.
“You guys?” I said after they’d declared my speech ready for the tender ears of the newbies. “I know that having Celeste here wasn’t the plan, but I think we should make an effort to be welcoming. Not fakey-fake nicey-nice. Friendly.”
“Seriously?” Abby had been sprawled on Viv’s shaggy white rug, eating a brownie. Now she sat up. “You realize you’re asking me to go against my true nature? Like asking a vampire to be a phlebotomist and not drink from the vials.”
“I know,” I said, placing my hand on hers in faux sympathy. “You’re truly a mean, mean person. But this won’t change who you are. No one outside of the dorm has to know.”
She sighed. “In that case, I suppose I can do it.”
“Viv?” I said.
“I’m always nice,” she answered from her cross-legged position on the cushioned window seat. “And I don’t even care she’s living with us. I love it here already. This room is so damn cozy. Orin must’ve read it wrong.” Rain tapped the glass behind her. Another storm had started.
“What does Orin have to do with anything?” I asked.
Viv paused, a mug of tea halfway to her mouth. Her eyes darted to Abby, who shrugged, and then back to me. “Oh, nothing.”
“You obviously told Abby,” I said. “Come on, you know I won’t take it seriously.”
“We decided not to tell you because you’re the one who picked Frost House,” Viv said, resting her mug next to her knee. “I guess, though, if you won’t believe it anyway … He didn’t want me to live here. There’s some sort of … darkness connected to it.”
Heat spread up the back of my neck. “You’re right. That’s stupid.”
“Then again …” Abby waved her brownie. “He could be talking about Green Beret.”
I loved Abby, but that was the last straw. “That’s it,” I announced, pointing at her. “Let it all out now. Purge. Every nasty thing you have to say about Celeste.”
“What?” she said.
“Pretend Celeste is here with us. Let her have it. So when she gets here you don’t have all this snark built up.”
Viv laughed. “Abby has an endless reserve of snark.”
“Just try,” I said.
Abby shrugged. “Okay.” She took a bite of brownie, closed her eyes, and thought for a minute while chewing, then began. “What are you wearing you look like a crazy person and why are you so dramatic and your brother seems nuts too and why are you living here we don’t even know you and why do you wear that green beret all the time or ever la la la I can’t think of anything else oh yeah if you’re going to go schizo like your dad please don’t do it here and stay away from matches.” She opened her eyes.
“Is that it?” I asked.
Abby nodded.
“Okay,” I said. “Let’s have a toast.” We all picked up our tea and scootched closer together. “To Frost House,” I said.
“To Frost House,” they echoed.
We clunked mugs and drank, to the applause of a deep rumble of thunder.
The first night in a new place usually gives me a tinny, homesick feeling that makes it hard to sleep. Not homesick for anywhere in particular. Just a general feeling of uprootedness. Loneliness. Even if people I love are sleeping nearby.
To help me that night in Frost House, I put on my favorite mellow-girl-singers playlist; made up my bed with my oldest, softest sheets; and set Cubby—a hollow wooden owl my dad carved for me—on the windowsill near my pillow. Cubby’s spot has always been next to my bed. When I was little and scared of the dark, I kept a small flashlight inside her. Now, I just liked the familiarity of having her watching over me with her round, yellow glass eyes.
Even with Cubby here, I was expecting to toss and turn.
And, at first, moments from the strange day cluttered my head—so different from what I’d anticipated when I woke up this morning. Not all bad—there was David’s smile as he rode away … Soon, though, thoughts of the day faded and I was just here, in my new room. I concentrated on the breezes that slipped through the slightly open windows and fluttered across my skin. The air was cooler now, because of the second storm. I listened to the sounds that mingled with Rachael Yamagata’s low, breathy voice: rain pattering on leaves, windowpanes rattling softly, a door creaking. I imagined the house was saying it was happy I’d finally arrived.