“Oh. Maybe,” I said, just to end the conversation.
This new attitude of hers was completely bizarre. And the only possibility for what caused it, that I could see, was that she was jealous. She was used to being the center of David’s universe. As much as she said she didn’t want so much attention from him, maybe now that David was acting blatantly interested in me she was having second thoughts.
“Do you think my bruises are too obvious in this dress?” she asked.
“It’s a bit short,” I said. “You could wear leggings under it. Although, not over your cast, I guess.”
“Too short? You mean, too sexy?” she said. “I’m just following your lead.”
She was jealous. For a minute I considered not wearing the wrap dress, so I wouldn’t be the target of these digs all night. Then I remembered the expression on David’s face. Forget it. Let her deal. I sat on my bed, shoved my foot in my boot, and pulled at the laces.
When I finished tying up both boots, Celeste was still looking at herself in the mirror, holding the dress up a little bit so her thighs were bare. After a second she let it drop, then turned to face me. I was dreading her next comment about David, but instead she said, in a strange, tight voice, “What do you think’s happening in Frost House right now?”
After the six of us convened downstairs all dressed and ready, we called a car service—the Brooklyn version of a cab—to take us to the bar. We split into two groups; I went with the Lazars. Somewhere during the ride, I wondered if Celeste and David were members of a Mafia family and their little private talk had actually been about setting me up for a hit. Because after driving through a couple of normal neighborhoods, our car crossed under an expressway, into an area with warehouses and dilapidated liquor stores. Eventually, we turned onto a cobblestone street.
“I didn’t know cobblestone streets still existed,” I said as the car jostled forward. “This area’s pretty desolate, huh?”
A pair of skinny dogs trotted alongside us for a minute before sliding through a gap in a barbed-wire fence into an abandoned lot.
“I bet I could find some great stuff for projects here,” Celeste said. I prayed she wasn’t going to tell the driver to stop so she could pick up a desiccated rat carcass or something.
Earlier, when she’d asked me what I thought was happening in Frost House, I’d been spooked by her tone. And by the question.
“Nothing,” I’d said. “Seeing as it’s empty. Right?”
She’d seemed surprised I’d even answered, like she hadn’t meant to ask it at all. “Of course,” she’d said. “I was kidding.”
The driver took a left on a street that was lined with parked cars. On one side was the water. On the other side was a small, dark storefront with a neon sign of a dolphin curved around an anchor. Above it was a sign that said BAR. We tumbled out of the car and walked up to the door. As David held it open, warm light spilled out along with the sounds of low voices and live music. Bodies filled the long, narrow space; a band was squeezed in the middle of the crowd. We worked our way inside and found Abby, Viv, and Cameron just taking off their coats.
David and Viv said they’d get our drinks. The rest of us pushed through the room, past where the four-man band was playing Johnny Cash–type music. No one seemed to give us a second look, but we were definitely the youngest people there. We ended up in a back room that was a little less crowded and noisy. A group was just leaving a round, red leather booth, so as soon as they got up we claimed it. The space and everything in it seemed to have been here for a hundred years—walls and shelves were filled with artifacts: from delicate models of old clipper ships, to figurines of the Marx Brothers, to real shark jaws. I loved that everything about it felt genuine. Not at all what I expected from a bar in New York.
David and Viv appeared minutes later with an assortment of beers. I waited until Celeste and Abby had picked, knowing they’d be the two to make a fuss if they didn’t get what they wanted.
“So, is everything okay?” I asked David quietly, during the first lull in our group conversation. He was sitting on my left, solid against me. “Whatever you needed to talk to Celeste about?” I glanced over; she was talking to Viv. “She seemed upset earlier.”
“Sort of okay,” he said, tugging on the corner of his beer label. “I got a call from our mother. Our father’s not doing too well.”
“I’m sorry. What’s wrong?”
“Bad reaction to a new drug,” he said. “Something for a trial.”
I studied my dress. How long ago had Mrs. Lazar worn it? When her husband looked at the red-and-black pattern, had his brain seen it the way mine did? Maybe he was already seeing things differently, finding meanings and messages in the geometric forms, instead of just thinking how good the dress looked on his wife.
“I don’t want to talk about it tonight,” David said, startling my mind off the track it had been going down.
He reached over and smoothed my hair behind my ear. Our eyes met and a whole conversation seemed to pass between us in an instant. I was only snapped out of it by a clunking noise on the other side of the booth.
“Back in a minute,” Celeste said as she hopped off.
My hands rested on the table. David reached over and began fiddling with my bracelet. His thumb brushed against my wrist.
“Have I told you how great you look?” he said, his mouth by my ear.
“Yes,” I said. More a breath than a word.
“What are you guys talking about?” Abby called from across the table.
“Nothing,” I said. “David was just saying he misses Barcroft.”
“Yeah, right,” Cameron said. “How do people live through senior year? The freedom is so damn close. I swear, I’m not going to make it.”
“We make it through by having weekends like this one,” Viv said, giving him a big kiss on the cheek.
Cameron lifted his beer. “To weekends like this.”
“To weekends like this,” we all echoed, clanking our bottles together.
We went around making several other toasts until our bottles were drained. Viv and Cameron got up and took our orders. With nothing to drink, the natives were restless.
By the time they returned with beers, so was David. Twenty minutes had passed; there was no sign of Celeste.
Chapter 22
“ I HAVE TO GO TO THE BATHROOM ANYWAY-” I said to David. “I’ll find her.”
I made my way up and down the narrow front space, pushing myself between people and dodging the band members’ guitar necks. I checked all of the seats. I figured out where the women’s bathroom was and knocked on the door. From inside, I could hear the sounds of someone being sick. Damn.
“Celeste?” I knocked again.
After a bit, a voice that was definitely not Celeste’s called out, “Can you wait a minute?”
Finally, I asked the bartender if he’d seen the girl on crutches recently.
He nodded as he squeezed a lime into a cocktail shaker. “She was talking to a guy. He bought her a drink. Everything okay?” He gave me a funny look, and I got the sense he was about to ask for my ID.
“Yup,” I said, turning around. I wasn’t sure it was okay, though. What the hell was Celeste doing? Who was this guy who bought her a drink? She’d been in such a strange mood earlier. And all she had on was that borderline-pornographic dress.
I made one last round of the front room, then pushed open the heavy wood door to the street. A thick mist and the briny smell of the harbor hung in the air. I heard the clank of a bottle.
A girl and a guy sat on the pavement to the right of me, leaning against the wall.
“You waiting for a car service, too?” the guy asked me.
“I’m looking for my friend. She’s on crutches.”
The woman pointed toward the water, bracelets jangling on her arm. “They went that way. To the pier.”
I started walking down the cobblestone street, trying to ignore my nervousness. In the middle of nowhe
re, in a neighborhood that didn’t seem particularly safe, and Celeste off with some guy. I kept thinking about what David said about her self-destructive decisions. I kept thinking about those bruises.
Then I thought about her strange fit of jealousy. Maybe my flirting with David had pushed her to get together with some random guy, just to feel wanted, or to get David’s attention back.
I came to the end of the street and heard rustling noises from down by the water. A damp, fish-scented breeze blew my hair across my face. I hoped to God the noises were from Celeste and not some waterfront rats. Or rats climbing all over Celeste’s body.
“Celeste?” I said loudly enough to scare them off.
More rustling. “Mmm?”
I could now make out her shape, sitting next to someone else on a big slab at the edge of the shore. I picked my way over rocks and chunks of concrete and waterlogged scraps of wood.
Surprise and relief hit me at the same time when I saw whom she was sitting with. “Whip! Hey! How did you get here?” I asked.
“This amazing innovation,” he said, lifting a cigarette to his lips. “It’s called a cab.”
“I think I’ve heard of that.” I turned to Celeste. “I was just checking to make sure you were okay.”
“Let me guess,” she said. “David sent you.”
“No. We were all wondering.”
“My brother,” Celeste said to Whip, “has an irrational fear that if I’m ever out of his sight, I’ll do something stupid like sit on a darkened waterfront with a totally untrustworthy male. While drinking alcohol. And smoking. So he has to send out his little minion to check up on me.”
“You said you’d only be a few minutes,” I pointed out, annoyed.
Celeste ignored me and kept talking to Whip. “Maybe she’ll get to give him a blow job for the information she brings back.”
My mouth fell open. “I—”
“The word’s always been Leena doesn’t do stuff like that,” Whip interrupted. “I know plenty of guys who’d be happy to hear otherwise.”
“David did not send me out here,” I snapped. I wasn’t even going to address Whip’s comment. “I came on my own because I couldn’t find you inside and I was worried. I don’t know where I ever got the idea that Celeste Lazar couldn’t take care of herself. Maybe it’s because every time I leave you alone in the dorm I come back and some horrible thing has happened to you.”
“God, Leena,” Celeste said. “I must have really hit a nerve. Did you already service David tonight? In the bar bathroom, maybe?”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Is that your job?”
Oh my God.
The words rang in the air. I could not believe I’d said them. I didn’t know where they’d come from.
“Snap!” Whip said.
Celeste didn’t say anything. I was about to apologize when she starting making a strange noise. It took a second, but then I realized what it was. It was laughter. She was practically convulsing.
“Oh, sweet Jesus,” she said once she’d calmed down. “I had no idea you could be so funny.”
Was she being serious?
“I shouldn’t have said that,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
“No,” she said. “It was funny. Real y. I’ll tell David. He’ll think so, too.”
I knew perfectly well David wouldn’t think it was funny. And I had a feeling Celeste knew he wouldn’t think it was funny, too.
“Look, just forget it. It wasn’t funny. Anyway, do whatever you want. I’m going back inside. It’s freezing out here.”
I tugged open the door just as David was coming out.
“What’s going on?” he said. “Did you find her?”
“Yeah. She’s okay.” Seeing David made me feel bad for what I’d said to Celeste, the tasteless joke. I prayed that she’d forget and wouldn’t repeat it to him. “She’s down by the water, with, uh, Whip.”
“Whip? What the hell is he doing here?”
“I guess she called him,” I said.
“You just left her out there with him?” David started to brush by me. The door closed behind him.
“David.” I gripped him by the forearm. “She’s fine. They’re just sitting there.”
“Are the bruises not enough proof for you that this is a really bad idea?” he said.
“Isn’t telling her not to do something the worst approach?” I said. “The more you tell her not to be with Whip, the more she’ll push it with him. Right?”
“That’s your assessment?” David said. “Reverse psychology. Very tricky.”
I took my hand off his arm. “Don’t be such a jerk. I’m just trying to help. If you want to know the truth, I don’t really feel like being in the middle of this sibling drama. But I don’t want to see you getting all upset at each other, either, especially when you might just be being overly protective.”
David looked out toward a bell clanging in the fog on the water.
“She likes to do the unexpected,” I said. “It’s too obvious for her to date some artistic, emo guy.”
“I don’t need you to tell me about my sister,” David said.
“Then why do you ask me about her all the time?” I pushed by him and opened the bar door, my eyes burning. Before going inside, I said one last thing in his direction. “Do what you want. Go down there and beat him up. That should help things.”
“So you think I should just do nothing?” he said. He sounded not mad, but genuinely upset.
“David,” I said. “You know that Celeste survived three years at Barcroft without you. I think the best thing you can do is to leave her alone and concentrate on your own life.”
He stared out at the low clang-clang-clang of the bell. The neon sign cast a soft, red glow on his face.
“What happened to all of that energy?” I said. “The energy that was going to go toward something other than worrying about her?”
“The energy?” he said, looking back at me.
“Yeah. In the car, remember? Where’d it go?” I tilted my head. “If you find it, I’ll be inside.”
Chapter 23
WE 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 nagge
d 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.
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