Tainted Frost Read online

  Chapter 1

  Natalie kicks my leg under the table.

  “Hey.” I scowl and reach down to rub my shin. “That hurt.”

  “I did you a favor,” Natalie says. She carefully tucks a strand of black hair behind her ear. “You were starting to drool.”

  “Was not.”

  “Were too. You need to stop staring at him.”

  “Whatever.” I blink a few times, and all of the colors, sounds, and smells in the diner come into sharp focus. The bright red of the seat cushions and the jagged moose antlers on the walls, the heavy odor of grease that I can practically taste, the lively chatter of my schoolmates, and the twang of a country song drifting from the jukebox.

  Okay, maybe I was in a daze. And maybe I do stare at Alex too much. But you’d understand if you saw him. It’s not just that he’s beautiful -- it’s this indefinable something about him. This confidence that radiates outward and pulls you in and makes you feel like you’ll always be safe if you’re near him.

  Maybe I’m just crazy.

  “You stare at Gary all the time,” I say, still a little hurt at Natalie’s comment.

  “No I don’t.” She automatically reaches up to smooth her hair behind her ear again, even though it’s smoother than marble. Her hair is always perfect. “I know how to be subtle.”

  I sigh. It’s true. She definitely has the superior social skills between us. I wouldn’t say I’m a total spaz, but I do have a staring problem.

  “I could teach you,” Nat says, “how not to be so obvious.”

  “Gee, thanks,” I grumble, looking down at the menu in front of me. Someone has scratched Jen + Dylan 4ever into the wood of the table, and I wonder if they really did last forever, or only a few months. Or if they’re dead. I look up at Natalie. “What are you gonna order?”

  “Chicken salad,” she says. She always orders the chicken salad. “You?”

  “Cheese fries.” I always order cheese fries.

  She nods and closes her menu, sliding it back into the pocket at the end of the table. I sneak a peek at Alex. Natalie immediately pokes her head into my line of vision. “Stop.”

  “Sorry,” I say and put my head down on the table. I feel so stupid. He never looks at me. Ever. I’ve invested years of my life into this one-sided staring game, and it’s beginning to look like I’ll never get a return on it.

  “It’s okay,” Natalie says, and I tilt my head slightly to look at her. “I’ll just have to follow you around and kick you every time you look at him.”

  “Then you’ll never have time for anything else.”

  She laughs. “But what are friends for?”

  I rest my chin on the back of my hand. “Sometimes I really wish I didn’t like him so much.”

  “I know.”

  “It’s like torture”

  “I know.”

  “Why can’t I convince my brain or my heart or whatever to just give up on him?”

  “I don’t know.” She sighs, twisting a strand of hair around her finger. “Life would be so much easier without stupid feelings getting in the way of everything.”

  Natalie continues playing with her hair absentmindedly, her eyes staring into space. I know she’s seeing her longtime crush Gary in her mind, maybe in some fantasy where he professes his undying love for her, takes her hand and leads her into the sunset or whatever. I know because I’ve had the same fantasy about Alex a million, billion times.

  I used to be friends with Alex when we were younger, but now I barely say more than a passing “hi” when I see him at school. The last time Natalie spoke to Gary was when they both had English sophomore year and she gathered the courage to ask him the time, even though the clock was hanging right above the blackboard. She was so humiliated when he glanced at the clock and then back at her like she was a complete idiot that she hasn’t been able to talk to him ever since.

  “Are you guys ready to order?” the waitress, a senior at our high school, asks. I do a double take, startled by her sudden appearance.

  “Oh, hey, Lissa,” Natalie says, loosening the strand around her finger. “I haven’t seen you in a while. How’s work?”

  “Sucks ass,” Lissa replies.

  “Sorry,” Natalie says, making a sympathetic face. “I’ll have the chicken salad, please. And a glass of water.”

  “Cool.” Lissa looks at me. “And you?”

  “Um. Fries. Cheese fries. And a Coke.” I watch her walk away slowly, looking like she’s ready to give up on life. It’s Friday night and it seems like everyone from school is at Jerry’s Diner. Which is not at all surprising, since the diner is located right off the highway that leads out of town, and it’s the only place open 24/7. It’s got good food, a jukebox, and awful décor, and it’s perfect for socializing. The main reason people come here, though, is because there’s not much else to do during winter nights in Haven, Alaska, population: 2,784. Some cities have high schools with more students than that. If you sit at Jerry’s long enough, you can probably see everyone in town stop by. Hanging out at a corner booth with a book or magazine and a cup of coffee is one of the best ways to pretend you’re not eavesdropping and still get to hear all the town gossip.

  But tonight it’s even more crowded than usual, because winter break has officially begun, and there’s no such thing as a school night for the next two weeks. Every stool near the counter is taken, with some girls sitting on their boyfriends’ laps and sipping soda like it’s alcohol. A group of guys is hanging around the jukebox, playing nothing but old country songs and cracking up. I casually observe all of them, but my eyes are on Alex most of the time. Except when Natalie’s being a good friend and kicking me in the leg.

  Lissa brings our food. I pierce a fry with my fork and try not to look at Alex. Instead, I picture the possible scene at his table. He has ordered either the cheeseburger or the steak and eggs. He is maybe laughing at a joke his friend is telling or going over a play for the next hockey game. He is not looking at me.

  Natalie steals one of my fries. “Okay. So. I have an idea,” she says. I pop a fry into my mouth and look at her expectantly.

  “I’ve been thinking about it a lot,” she says.

  “What is it?”

  “Actually, that’s not true. I just thought of it last night, but I’ve been thinking about it all day today.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Anyway,” she says, tugging at a strand of her hair. “I want you to tell me what you think.” When she dances around a subject for so long, I already know it’s something I probably won’t like. I just look at her.

  She bites her lip and says all in one breath, “Let’s make New Year’s resolutions to talk to Gary and Alex during break. And I don’t mean just say hi, but, like, really talk to them. Have an actual conversation.” She looks at me with a half hopeful, half nervous expression.

  I take a sip of my Coke, feeling anxious all of a sudden. “About what?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t thought that far. It could be about anything, I guess. But it has to last at least five minutes.”

  I chew on a fry and try to imagine having an actual conversation with Alex that lasts at least five minutes. How would I even initiate it? It would probably end up being about the weather. “Okay,” I say. “But how is this a New Year’s resolution when New Year’s isn’t for two more weeks?”

  “It’s a pre-New Year’s, or end-of-year resolution. Who says we have to wait until the New Year to do it?”

  “That just always seemed to be the rule.”

  She waves her fork around in this exasperated way like I’m talking nonsense. “Forget society’s dumb rules. We’re breaking them. It’s time to take action. Are you in or not?”

  I sigh and look at Alex sitting there and being all tall, dark, and handsome. I can’t play the staring game forever. If I want to make him mine, I have to actually do something about it. “Okay, I’m in.”

  Natalie claps her hands. “Yay!” A sense of dread comes over me to rival her enthusiasm. I suddenly feel like this is a very, very bad idea. But I know she won’t let me back out now. “This is so exciting,” she says. “I really have a good feeling about this.”

  “Um...”

  “Okay. So. Here are the rules.” She holds up a finger. “The conversation has to last at least five minutes.” She holds up a second finger. “It can be about any topic, even the weather, because it’s better than nothing.”

  “Is it?”

  Ignoring this, she continues, “It has to happen before school starts on the third, and, um...well…” She puts her hand down. “I guess that’s it for now. If I think of more, I’ll tell you.”

  I lean my head against my hand and smash my remaining fries with the back of my fork. I am suddenly not just anxious but terrified. “Does it…does it matter who starts the conversation? Like, is it okay if they initiate it or do we have to be the ones to do it?”

  She gives me a look like, they would never initiate it in a million, billion years, then seems to decide to humor me. “It doesn’t matter who starts the conversation.”

  “Okay, cool.”

  “Oh, and you have to tell me right away once you do it. No secrets. And you can’t back out. Here, let’s shake on it.” We shake. “Done and done.” She stabs her fork into her salad like a final punctuation mark on the conversation. Outside, it’s snowing hard, the wind whipping the snowflakes into mini tornadoes. Natalie continues talking about Gary and something that happened in school that day. As she speaks, I feel my mind drifting away. Her voice
seems to come as though through a filter, sounding wobbly and unnatural. I feel like I’m hanging from the ceiling, watching everything unfold below me, and having no part in it. Like I don’t belong to this world. I look over to Alex, hoping that somehow he can bring me back, but he’s gone already, and I didn’t even notice him leave. All this time I spent staring at him and talking about him and planning a future with him in it, and I didn’t even notice him leave.

  Chapter 2

  It’s 3:19 a.m. I’m wide-awake, wishing I were asleep. Wishing I could sleep forever. My head is filled with the din of rushing water, three rivers of thought flowing, tumbling, and crashing through it, making sleep an unattainable goal. The first thought-river, loud and wild, is about Natalie’s proposed New Year’s resolution. Or pre-New Year’s resolution, actually. It’s impossible. We’ll never do it. We’ll chicken out and make up excuses justifying our cowardice and continue to live boring lives where we just stare at our crushes from afar, wondering what life would be like if they just liked us back.

  The second thought-river is a babbling brook, an inane, repetitive pop song threatening to destroy all of my brain cells. Babyyyy, please don’t leave meeeeeee; babyyyy, I can’t be without you, you, you, you…

  The third thought-river is still and dark and deep. It’s not rushing like the first thought-river, but it’s more dangerous. Stick a toe in and you will be sucked down to the bottom, dark waters closing over your head as you sink, leaving no evidence that you ever existed. It snakes and spirals through my head, and it always rises up from third or fourth or fifth place and swallows all of my other thoughts. It’s doing that now.

  When my mom came home we did our usual clumsy two-step of asking about each other’s day, then confessing that we’d both already eaten so there was no point in making dinner before finally escaping to our respective rooms. It’s been like that since my dad disappeared. We don’t talk about it. It’s so much easier not to say the ugly things you’re thinking and feeling. And yet, once you realize all the unspoken words are eating you from inside out, it’s almost too late. Sometimes I wonder if we’ll ever be normal again, if we’ll adopt a different dance, something less strained, more fluid and upbeat. Time is supposed to help. So far it’s only felt like a skin-scorching crawl through an infinite desert.

  My dad went missing four months and three days ago. It was a routine hunting trip, a trip he’d taken every year in August with two of his closest friends. This time, he didn’t come back, and neither of his friends had any idea what had happened to him. They all came back in a daze, looking haggard and worn, like they’d just returned from battle. We just don’t know, they said. One minute he was there, and the next…it was like he’d vanished into thin air. Search parties were assembled. Almost everyone in town volunteered to help look for my dad. After three weeks they gave up, and my hope almost died, but a part of me was in deep denial, and that’s when I decided I’d start looking for him myself.

  My dad’s disappearance was a big deal, and yet, not. It wasn’t such a big deal because it wasn’t rare. People seemed to mourn and move on. They’d had years of practice. Tragedies are common in Alaska. Too common. Bush planes crash into mountain faces, fishing boats drown, bears attack lone hikers, hunters accidentally shoot their friends, and sometimes people just vanish without leaving any evidence behind. Alaska is beautiful but dangerous. I’ve always known that. But I’ve always been too naïve. I never thought any of those tragedies would become my reality. It’s like I always hear people say how teenagers think they’re immortal, and it’s kind of true for me, or was true for a while. It’s not that I’m delusional and honestly believe I’ll live forever. It’s just that I always felt safe. Bad things couldn’t possibly happen to me or anyone I cared about. Bad things always happened to other people. Maybe I’d been too smug. Maybe fate wanted to teach me a lesson.

  I think that my dad could still be out there somewhere. He’s lived in Alaska his whole life; he knows how to survive out in the wilderness. He knows how to build a fire without any matches, how to set up a snare trap, how to find true north without a compass, how to tell poisonous berries and roots from edible ones. Maybe he’s just lost; maybe he’s hurt and needs medical attention; maybe he’s found a hunting cabin and made it his home for now while waiting to get rescued; maybe, maybe, maybe…Maybe a million and one things.

  The other people in town don’t agree with me. They say he’s gone and never coming back. They say he’s — well, you know. And he probably is. He probably is that thing that people say he is. The D-word. I don’t want to say it. It’s so ugly and final and heavy. It’s one of those words that seem to fall out of your mouth and hit the ground hard, like a brick. Despite what they whisper when they think I can’t hear them, I’m not ready to give up hope yet, even when it feels like I’m holding onto it with the tips of my fingers.

  I reach down and pull out the flashlight I keep under my bed. I shine it at a quote on my wall.

  when you have hope, you have everything

  My dad painted those words before he disappeared. He wrote it in small block letters on the wall opposite my bed. Ever since I went looking for my dad on my own and didn’t find him, or any trace of him, the hope has been dwindling, the light growing dim. Maybe I’m just lying to myself, and all the hope has died, but because this quote is so perfect and rosy, I want to believe it and to force hope to grow.

  There are a bunch of other quotes all over my walls and even on the ceiling. My dad painted them all. They used to inspire me, and make me move, and make me want to make the most of life. Now, most of them just irritate me with their cutesy, preachy, holier-than-thou attitudes, and I want to drag a giant paintbrush all over them, erasing every word. The irony is that at the time I thought they were all so profound, but now it’s finally hit me that most of them are just empty platitudes. The most annoying one is written directly above my bed, on the ceiling. I aim the light on it.

  Today Is A New Day

  I hate this one. Days don’t feel new anymore. They seem to sort of crash into each other, or run into one another like drops of water. I was such a different person when I chose that quote. I was a different person living a completely different life. I want to erase this quote more than any of the others, because its sole purpose seems to remind me that today is a new day, another new day without my dad in it.

  It’s 7:49 a.m. now. I kick the covers off me, get up, and open the window, letting the wind in. It’s finally stopped snowing. I savor the feel of the icy air against my skin. Maybe if I freeze on the outside, I won’t feel much on the inside either. My thoughts will get locked in ice and stop badgering me. Sometimes I’ll leave the window open so long that the cold will drain the heat from my blood and leave my fingers numb. And for a brief, yet delicious time, I don’t feel anything at all.

  The winter wind flings my curtains to the side and rifles through the pages of the paperback novels on my nightstand. Light from the full moon falls in, giving my room a blue-ish gray glow. A thick, flat layer of snow covers our backyard. There appears to be almost two feet of snow on the roof of the shed in the back. The woods are directly beyond, skinny, naked spruce trees standing in rows like soldiers, some bent at the waist with snow resting in the nooks and crannies. I take a few deep breaths, telling myself to relax and that everything’s gonna be all right. I don’t really believe any of it though. I know I should try meditation again. It’s just that every time I do I get anxious and impatient and give up. I can’t relax long enough to teach myself how to relax. It’s one of those vicious cycle things. I step away from the window, taking several more deep breaths as I take in the beauty of the winter morning. I can do this. I can relax.

  I can do this.

  A blur of black shoots through my window, startling me so completely that I fall to the floor. I spring back up and look around, wondering what on earth that could have been. Grabbing my flashlight, I slowly cast the light about along the floor, under my desk, on the bed. I lower myself onto my desk chair, heart pounding, the flashlight shaking in my hands, and then I see it peek out from beside my dresser. It’s a bird. A big black bird. A raven. I wish my dad were here. He loves birds. We go bird-watching together sometimes. Once he found a baby great horned owl with a broken wing in the woods, and together we nursed it back to health. He taught me to identify birds, and he taught me how to tell a crow apart from a raven, which is not a skill you may find useful until a raven flies into your bedroom in the middle of the night.