Demanding Ransom

by Megan Squires

  “You’re not going to fail,” I assure. “You’ll do great.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Sawyer says, stepping backward toward the door. “But I’ve got about 53% in there right now. So I’ll be seeing you in class next quarter, Maggie.”

  I offer a smile. “See you then.”

  Sawyer walks out of our room and Cora comes to my side to finish transferring my clothing from my suitcase to the closet.

  “There’s a movie showing tonight on the quad,” she says, slipping a gray, wool sweater onto a hanger. “Most of our floor is going. Wanna come?”

  “I don’t think so,” I say as I fold my underwear and socks into the top drawer of my dresser. “I think I’ll hang low tonight.”

  “Suit yourself.” Cora takes the now empty luggage from my bed and stands on toe to try to place it on the top shelf. “But there are supposed to be some mighty fine upperclassmen attending.” The suitcase wobbles into place, and Cora keeps a steady hand in front of it until she’s satisfied it’s not going anywhere. “Probably won’t be any guys hotter than Ran, anyway.”

  “Probably not,” I reply, my eyes burrowing into the stained concrete floor underneath me. I chance a glance up at Cora, and her mouth is pulled into an ‘I told you so’ smile.

  “Probably not,” she says once more.

  ***

  When the bright light from the hallway slices into our room, I have to squint my eyes to fight the glare, even though they’re still closed.

  “Cora?” I croak, lifting up slightly in my bed. “Cora, what time is it?”

  Two giggles—one female and the other distinctly male—offer me the only answer I need. It’s late. Like middle-of-the-night-and-Cora’s-brought-someone-home-with-her kind of late.

  “Seriously Cora?” I heave a spare pillow across the room toward the intertwined couple and one of them mutters, “Thanks.”

  Ugh. This is so not how I wanted to spend my first night back at school. I’d take the muted sound of Mikey throwing up on the other side of our shared bedroom wall over Cora’s midnight romp. Not that she’d go too far. That’s the funny thing about Cora. She pretends to be this girl that’s been around the block and then some, but the reality of it is that she always stops things before they get to that point.

  We had a conversation the first night we met about our experiences, and I was shocked to learn that Cora was a virgin, and that she intended on staying that way until her wedding night. Cora proved herself to be the perfect example of ‘you can’t judge a book by its cover.’ On the outside she looked experienced, overly confident, and well practiced, yet on the inside she was completely innocent.

  I’d never been jealous of Cora over much, but that was one thing about her that gripped me with envy.

  “Can’t you guys get a room?” I yank my pillow and blanket under my arm and push past them toward the door, snatching my cell phone on the way out.

  “Yeah, we kinda just did,” the boy-of-the-week utters as they tumble onto Cora’s bed with a thump.

  Though it’s the dead of night, you’d never know it based on the amount of noise and bustle on our fifth floor. The movie on the quad finished up hours ago, and my guess is that the following parties and keggers have also just recently wrapped up—or were broken up.

  Foggy with sleep, I trudge to the student lounge at the end of the long hallway and toss my makeshift bedding onto a vacant loveseat. Fluffing up my pillowing, I lie down and stretch myself under the patchwork quilt, hoping to summon the deep sleep I was in just minutes before Cora and her boy-toy barged into our room.

  There’s another student folded into a small armchair to my left, his glasses resting on the tip of his nose, about to slide right off, and a copy of Wuthering Heights held loosely between his fingers, hovering just inches over the ground. I’m tempted to go over and push the glasses back up to his bridge where they belong and pull the book from his grasp, but I stuff down my OCD tendencies and rotate over to face the wall.

  I’ve tucked my cell in the top edge of my sports bra, knowing how loud our floor can get in the morning and how good I’ve become at tuning out the white noise. Keeping my phone close should help ensure that I’ll hear my alarm go off in just a few hours. I’ve only got the weekend to crank out Professor Long’s paper. I’m going to have to start early if I have any hope of making this quarter count for something.

  Just as the commotion on the floor slowly drags itself into the hazy transition of slumber—the point where I don’t know what sounds are real and which are fabricated in my dreams—something vibrates against my chest.

  A text.

  U will never guess what I just did.

  It’s 3:30 in the morning. Must be the wrong number.

  My phone buzzes again.

  BTW, this is Ran.

  Seriously? Ran’s never texted me before. Why would he choose this hour of the night to send his first one?

  Me: What did you just do? (And why do you feel the need to share it with me at 3:30 in the morning?)

  Ran: We just transported a 5 yr old that ate his pet goldfish.

  I chuckle quietly and my student lounge sleeping partner shifts in his too small seat. His book clatters onto the floor.

  Me: Is he OK?

  Ran: Yes. His older bro told him it was sushi.

  Me: That’s a mean older brother.

  Ran: That’s an awesome older brother and even more awesome prank.

  Me: You are cruel. Does that really warrant a trip to the hospital?

  Ran: Yeah, seafood allergy.

  I bite back the smile that’s edged onto my lips and force myself to breathe when I notice I’ve stopped doing so while waiting in between texts.

  Ran: I haven’t told you the best part.

  Me: And that would be?

  Ran: That I stopped by PetPalace earlier today (2 for 1 special) and had an extra goldfish in the front cab of the ambulance. So I gave it to him. Made his night.

  Who is this guy?

  Me: That’s awfully nice of you, Ran.

  Ran: IS THAT COMPLIMENT #5?!?!

  I roll my eyes and my fingers tingle as I punch the letters on my phone.

  Me: Don’t flatter yourself, you stalker.

  Ran: Dang it, Maggie. You keep deducting them.

  A ten second pause.

  Ran: Why am I a stalker?

  Me: Because you showed up at my house and just texted me without me giving you my number.

  Ran: That doesn’t make me a stalker. That makes me resourceful.

  Me: Kidnapper, Hostage Holder, Ransom Demander, and now Stalker.

  Ran: Shoot Maggie. I’m just going to count those each as 1/4 deductions since they were in the same text. You’re going to be in the negatives soon.

  Me: Really? Don’t get me too excited.

  Ran: I’m sure I can get you excited.

  My body goes instantly hot.

  Me: Shut up.

  Ran: I forgot to tell you I downgraded your 5 compliment award to just a kiss, no licking.

  Me: And what if I don’t want to?

  Ran: At the rate you’re going, Insult Queen, you’re not going to get the chance ;)

  My heart twitches inside my chest. He must be drunk. That’s the only thing that makes any sense in this scenario.

  Me: Are you drunk?

  Ran: No.

  Me: You sure?

  Ran: Pretty sure you have to drink alcohol to get drunk, and since I don’t do that, I can say with certainty I’m not drunk.

  Me: Ok.

  Ran: Are you? If so, you’re an angry drunk.

  I groan under my breath and the glasses slip from my new friend’s face as he rotates over again in the armchair.

  Me: No, I’m not drunk. Just tired.

  Ran: Get some sleep. Talk tomorrow.

  Me: Is that a threat?

  Ran: No, it’s a promise.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “That is one hot text exchange, girl.” Cora tosses my phone onto my b
ed as she tugs a cowl-neck sweater over her head. My bed is still unmade from last night, and it reeks of cheap cologne and musty boy sweat. I don’t know how she does it, but Cora always manages to have the guys sleep in a different bed after their PG-13 make out sessions. Since there are just two beds in our room, that bed ends up being mine. She says that sleeping in the same bed all night leads to sex, but I think actually sleeping next to someone is likely much tamer than rolling around lip-locked on the mattress for hours. Whatever. It seems to work for Cora and I’m not sure how, but she’s found a lengthy list of guys that have been willing to comply with her prudish demands.

  I push off the desk and wrap my fingers around my phone. “It’s not hot, it’s annoying.”

  “Oh yeah, it’s really annoying to get middle of the night texts from gorgeous guys saying they want to kiss you and get you excited.”

  “Cora, that’s just wrong.” I grimace. “And that’s not what he said he wants to do.”

  “Umm, yeah it is.” Cora eyes me from her reflection in her full-length mirror as she coats her lips in a shiny pink gloss. “Working on your paper all day?”

  I nod and flip through the stack of books I’d checked out at the campus library earlier this afternoon. “I have to finish. This quarter can’t be a complete waste.”

  “Well, if you need a break, I’ll be at the Student Union with the crew studying up for the Spanish 4 final. Necesito un A+ en la clase.”

  “Good luck with that.”

  “Gracias, chica.” Cora tosses a wave over her shoulder as she slips out of our room.

  It’s a gorgeous day outside, the winter sun streaking through broken patches in the cotton-like cloud cover hanging above campus. I’d rather spend it anywhere other than the prison-like dormitory. I’m just in the middle of contemplating scooping up my things to stretch out and continue my studies on the grassy quad when a light knock sounds through my door.

  “Coming!” I shout, scurrying toward it, reaching for the handle. The door falls open and that familiar face greets me with an unusually warm smile that races my heart. “Brian. What are you doing here?”

  “Nice to see you too, Maggie.” Brian pushes around me and makes himself at home on my bed, glancing across the room. He looks good as always, with his honey blond hair and piercing blue eyes. And he looks tan, too. Way too tan for the beginning of December. “Did you have a good holiday?”

  “Holiday?” I shake my head, confused. “Oh, yeah. Thanksgiving was good. Quiet, just the three of us, but Mikey was able to keep the turkey down, so that was a plus.”

  Brian smiles again, flashing impossibly white teeth under his full lips. “We vacationed in Barbados just like last year. It was nice.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” That explains his unseasonal sun-kissed skin. “Is there a reason you’re here?”

  Brian looks at my bed, scrunches his nose like a bunny rabbit, and cocks his head. “Did some guy sleep in this last night? It smells like dollar store aftershave or something.”

  “Yeah—” I begin, but the rhythmic rap on my open door interrupts me. Both Brian and I flip our heads the direction of the sound just as Ran pokes his head in; a clear plastic bag filled with water and a bright orange fish is grasped in his hand. He thrusts an arm toward us.

  “Hey, Maggie. I brought you some more room décor.” Ran smiles, and though it’s not that same, perfect smile resulting from the years of expensive orthodontic work that Brian flashed a few seconds ago, it makes my knees feel shaky.

  “Is this the guy?” Brian presses a finger into the mattress. “The one who—” He looks down at the unmade bed.

  “I’m Ran.” Ran drops his motorcycle helmet onto Cora’s bed nearby, delicately placing the fish bag inside it, and extends a hand toward Brian. “And you are?”

  “Maggie’s boyfriend.” Brian’s hand clamps down on Ran’s, swallowing it up. “I mean, ex-boyfriend,” he corrects.

  “Well,” Ran smirks, “Any ex-boyfriend of Maggie’s is an ex-friend of mine.”

  Brian shakes his head, clearly not amused and clearly trying to understand who this Ran guy is and what he’s saying. And why he may or may not have been in my bed last night. I don’t bother to offer him an explanation. “Maggie,” Brian continues, rotating toward me. “I came because I need that ticket from you for the Winter Masquerade.”

  “The ticket? You mean the one you gave me the first week of school?” Back when we were still together. Back when I was your obvious date for functions like this.

  “Yeah,” he nods. “That’s the one. Apparently you need the physical ticket to get in and Sophia’s freaking out that they won’t admit her. She’s already purchased her dress and everything.”

  I don’t know who Sophia is—nor do I care to find out—and I definitely don’t still have the ticket. “Brian, I shredded that thing over a month ago.”

  Brian nearly gasps, his blue eyes flashing. “You shredded it?” he growls, his voice rattling the windows, not that it takes much to do so. These dorms are over seventy-five years old and I think they still have the original glass panes.

  Like he’s a spectator at a tennis match, Ran looks back and forth between us.

  “Why on earth would you do that?” Brian questions, much quieter now.

  “I don’t know. It was part of the whole ‘purge my life of anything Brian related’ phase.”

  Brian shakes his head even harder than before, places his hands on his hips, right above his low-slung jeans, and stares at the floor. “You got rid of everything I gave you?”

  “Maggie isn’t good with gifts,” Ran chuckles, and I shoot him my best glare, hoping he feels the intensity behind it. “Her mother never taught her manners.”

  “Believe me.” Brian lifts his eyes to Ran’s. “I’ve met her mother.”

  “Whatever,” I spit. “I don’t have the ticket, Brian. I’m sorry.”

  “You should be. What am I supposed to tell Sophia?”

  I fold my arms across my chest. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe you could tell her that your ex-girlfriend of three years that you cheated on by sleeping with some sorority blonde you barely knew decided she didn’t want to hang onto anything that reminded her of you. That might do the trick.”

  “Maggie, you’re a real piece of work.” Brian shakes his head condescendingly. “Three years and this is how you treat me?”

  “Dude,” Ran speaks up. “I don’t think you have any business accusing Maggie of doing the mistreating.”

  The two are face to face, just a three-foot gap of space separating them. The angry air that passes between them feels thick and physical, like I could reach my hand into it and touch it with my fingertips.

  “Whatever. I’ll figure something else out with the ticket.” Brian storms toward the door. “Thanks for nothing,” he hisses over his shoulder.

  “Same to you, Brian,” I say, proud of myself for holding my own, but hating the burning sensation of tears that sting the back of my eyes and scratch my tongue. I will not cry. I cannot cry. I’ve shed too many tears for Brian in the past. He doesn’t deserve any more from me.

  When he’s out in the hall, Ran quietly walks over and shuts the door into its frame and it’s like the act triggers the dam to break. I push back the tears with the inside of my sleeve and sniff as quietly as I know how, hoping Ran doesn’t notice.

  “Well this is sad, Maggie.” Ran drops down onto my bed and fingers a loose thread on his pant leg.

  “This is sad?”

  “Yeah,” Ran confirms, nodding briskly. “Because I thought I might have had a chance with you. But if you’re attracted to jerks like him, I realize I’m not your type of guy.”

  I hold my finger to my nose to wipe it, as well as stifle the laugh. “I’m not attracted to guys like him,” I defend, pulling a tissue from the box on my desk. I blow into it loudly, sounding like a foghorn. “We started dating when I was just barely sixteen. He’s not the type of guy I’m interested in now.”

  “We
ll that’s a relief,” Ran mocks, throwing his hands in the air. I try again to hold back my laughter, but I’m not successful and I snort. Between the snorting and the snot, I’m making myself real attractive. “Because he’s very pretty, but that’s about all.”

  I look over toward his helmet holding the plastic fish bag inside it. “You brought me a goldfish?”

  “I didn’t bring you just one goldfish.” Ran glides across the dorm and pulls the bag from the helmet. “I brought you two. To avoid that really depressing swimming in circles from occurring. Plus, they still had a two for one deal.”

  “But I didn’t give you any compliments. If I remember correctly, I actually gave you several very harsh insults.”

  “I decided to wipe your slate clean.” Ran hands me the bag with two iridescent, golden fish fluttering around inside and snatches my used Kleenex, tossing it into the wastebasket under my desk. “Everyone deserves a second chance in life. Some people more than others.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I yank the fish from him. “That I’m in desperate need of a second chance?”

  “Not necessarily.” Ran’s eyes hold my own. “But it feels really good to give those second chances. So I’m doing this more for me than for you at this point. Using you to make myself feel good.” He coils back from my attempted slug against his solid shoulder. “Watch it.” He grabs my wrist playfully and twists up the corner of his upper lip. I bet those lips feel amazing. “I said I give second chances freely. Thirds and fourths are harder to come by.”