Ransom

by Rachel Schurig

  “He’s still calling a lot?” Paige asked, watching me put my phone back into my purse.

  “He’s freaking out,” I say. “It’s kind of annoying.”

  “Well, you did the right thing. Putting the phone on silent and pretending it doesn’t exist is exactly how I like to deal with my parents.”

  We join Karen by the display of car chargers, and I manage to find one that fits my phone. “So that’s about it for me,” I tell them.

  Karen peers into the cart. “Me, too. We have tampons, snacks, and an extra memory card for my camera. I’m good to go.”

  “I guess I’m ready, too,” Paige says, though she doesn’t look happy about ending our shopping trip. She’s been sending me shopping-related texts with lots of exclamation points and smiley faces for the past week. “Shopping is an essential part of the road trip process,” one read. “It encourages excitement and helps build anticipation.”

  “So I guess we’re ready now,” I say, feeling a little lurch in my stomach. In less than twelve hours, the girls will show up at my house in Paige’s Cavalier to pick me up. Then we’ll start our twelve-hundred-mile journey.

  Over the last few weeks, I’ve come to really enjoy hanging out with Karen and Paige. We spent long hours studying for finals in the library, hung out in their dorm, and met up at the Student Center for lunch nearly every day. I feel more comfortable around them than just about anyone else in my life right now, which, granted, isn’t saying much, considering my interpersonal interaction is currently limited to phone calls with my dad, lectures from professors, and sessions with my shrink.

  Still, I have fun with these girls. Paige does her best to run interference for me, distracting me from things that she can see are upsetting me, or even more importantly, distracting Karen when she sees a panic attack is imminent. Having an attack in front of other people is terrible. I feel exposed and judged, which in turn, makes the panic worse. Paige does her best to give me time to get away from the curious eyes of her roommate, and I’m beyond thankful for it.

  But now we’re not talking hanging out several times a week. Starting tomorrow, I’m going to be with them nonstop, pretty much twenty-four/seven. I don’t know how I’ll deal with that. I’m used to having the emptiness and quiet of my apartment to decompress. What if I can’t handle being social for more than a few hours at a time?

  And then there’s the matter of who we might be seeing on this tour. I’m pretty sure I’ll see Daltrey at least once; that just seems logical. What will I say? Will he still be mad? Will he be able to tell that I’m different now? I automatically pull my sleeves down, feeling close to sick.

  “We’re going to have the best time,” Paige says. Her voice is casual, but she’s looking right at me, as if she knows exactly what I’m thinking. “I have my playlists all set up on my iPod. There’s going to be so much Ransom in that car it will make your ass hurt.”

  Karen laughs. “What the hell does that even mean?”

  “A lot. It means a lot.”

  Karen shakes her head. “Personally, I’m more excited about all the greasy fast food we’re going to eat.”

  Paige makes a face. The girls have a deal that Paige isn’t allowed to mention anything relating to a food’s healthiness level—or lack thereof. She’s supposed to happily munch on chips and fast-food burgers for the duration of the trip. I can’t tell yet if she’s excited about it or pissed. She certainly seemed pretty eager to pick out snack food, almost as if she’s been imagining what self-restricted foods she’d be “forced” to eat for quite some time. From the way Karen is smirking, I have a feeling she thinks the same thing.

  We go to the registers to pay for our loot. I’m kind of shocked by how much we’ve racked up in snacks and soda, but Karen assures me it’s just part of the proper road trip experience. They drop me off my apartment around eleven.

  “I cannot believe I still have so much to do,” Paige says, turning to face me from the front seat. “I’ve barely packed a thing.”

  I’ve been done packing since three days ago. But then, my social life is not nearly what Paige’s is. What else was I supposed to do all the nights I’ve been here alone, if not obsess about the trip? It’s also pretty easy to pack when you live exclusively in jeans and hoodies.

  “Good luck,” I say. “Try to get some rest.”

  “Yeah,” Karen says. “Because the drive schedule is nonnegotiable.”

  I laugh. I’ve found that Karen and Paige are kind of obsessed with schedules and lists. Much like their food-fetching turn-taking schedule, they determine ahead of time whose turn it will be for just about any task imaginable. Buying groceries, stopping by Red Box for their Wednesday movie nights, picking up coffee before their only 8 a.m. classes—all are scheduled ahead of time. Driving during the road trip definitely falls under the category of Things That Must Be Scheduled.

  “Ooh, speaking of tired.” Paige pulls out her phone and opens a memo app. “I need your coffee order for tomorrow. It’s my turn.”

  I grin. “I’ll take a caramel latte with an extra shot.”

  “Skim, half, or whole? Vente or Grande?”

  I stare at her in bemusement. “Um, I don’t know, Paige. I just want a giant-ass coffee with lots of caffeine.”

  Karen cackles. “She’ll figure it out.”

  I open the door. “Bye, guys. Thanks again for asking me to go. I’m really excited.”

  “You should be,” Paige says, grinning. “We’re awesome.”

  “See you tomorrow,” Karen calls as I step out onto the sidewalk. “Sleep good!”

  “You too.” I head up to my apartment, my plastic bags full of goodies in hand, wondering if I’ll be able to sleep at all.

  ***

  “Ooh, we should stop there,” Paige squeals, her face pressed to the glass of the passenger-side window.

  “What? Where?” I take my eyes off the road to glance in her direction. All I’ve seen is rolling fields for the past two hundred miles.

  “That sign.” She turns around, her face alight with excitement. “It said there was a salt and pepper shaker museum at the next exit.”

  I stare at her, not sure if she’s serious or not. “Are you kidding me?”

  “What? I think it would be cool. And how many times in your life do you get to say you’ve been to a salt and pepper shaker museum?”

  “No,” I say firmly. “Absolutely not. I’m not stopping.”

  She flops back into her seat, pouting. “You sound just like Karen.”

  I have to laugh at that. It hasn’t taken very much time at all for me to start reacting to Paige in a very Karen-like way. After a full day in a contained environment, there’s only so many times one can hear someone beg to stop the car at the slightest provocation before patience runs thin.

  “Well,” I say, peeking in the rearview mirror; Karen appears to still be sleeping. “What do you think Karen would say if she woke up and found that we were at a salt and pepper shaker museum?”

  Paige giggles. “Good point.”

  “Are you really that bored?” I ask. “Didn’t you bring like, two stacks of magazines?”

  “I read them all this morning.”

  “Which is your own fault,” Karen says from the backseat without opening her eyes. “I told you to save some for when you were bored.”

  “I couldn’t help it!” Paige retorts. “This morning, I was too excited to sit still. I needed something to distract me.”

  “Well, now you’re too bored to sit still, which I’m pretty sure I warned you about. So you’re just going to have to put on your big-girl panties and deal.”

  “I’m not sure, Karen,” I say. “I’m kind of changing my mind. It might be fun to visit a salt and pepper shaker museum.”

  “You guys are the worst,” Karen says, cuddling up against her pillow. “Wake me up when it’s my turn to drive. And don’t you dare stop at that museum. Or anywhere else ridiculous enough to attract her attention.”

  “
Come on, Karen,” Paige says, leaning across the middle console to poke her friend’s arm. “You promised you’d entertain me. I’m bored.”

  Karen groans. “Listen to your iPod.”

  “We can’t get a signal out here,” Paige says. “Your transmitter thingy is crap.”

  “Sorry we don’t all have new cars with iPod jacks,” Karen says. “Oh, wait, this is your car. Shut up.”

  “Karen, come on. Get up and talk to me.”

  “Oh, fine.” Karen throws off the sweater she was using as a blanket and sits up. “I was saving this for a disaster, but I suppose now is as good a time as any. Let’s do a talk list.”

  “Yay!” Paige yells, clapping her hands. “I love talk lists!”

  “What the hell is a talk list?” I ask.

  “Oh, my gosh, Daisy, you’ll love it. It’s this thing Karen does when I’m bored or getting all cuckoo.” Paige lowers her eyes a little. “I don’t know if you noticed, but I get a little wired sometimes. I have ADHD.”

  Well, that makes a lot of sense, considering how excitable and distracted she often seems. And maybe that explains why Paige was so quick to treat me with compassion when she found out about my panic attacks.

  “You don’t get cuckoo,” I tell her. “You just seem to enjoy yourself. We could all stand to be a bit more like that.”

  “Thanks, Daisy!” She grins. “Anyhow, the talk list. So Karen gets out a piece of paper, and we make a list of things we have to talk about, serious or really silly or whatever. And then we have to talk about everything on that list.”

  “Uh… okay?”

  “You don’t get it?”

  “No, I get it. I just don’t get why it’s a thing. I mean, why don’t you just, you know, talk about those things as they come up? Why do you need a list?”

  “Because it’s so much more fun this way!”

  I meet Karen’s eyes in the mirror.

  She smiles kind of sheepishly. “It is fun. I have no idea why. And sometimes it helps Paige when she’s feeling a little scattered.”

  I suddenly realize that Karen’s obsession with lists and schedules might not be quite as random as it seems. Maybe all of these things were created with the purpose of helping Paige find some elusive order in her life.

  I smile. “Okay, I’m sold. Let’s make a talk list.”

  Karen retrieves a piece of paper from her bag. “Me first. Um… let’s discuss… what is the hottest thing we can imagine each member of Ransom doing?”

  I groan. “I cannot do that. I can’t imagine Reed Ransome doing anything sexy, I’m sorry.”

  “Too bad,” Karen singsongs. “No one is allowed to veto an item on the talk list. All subjects are equally worth discussion.”

  I roll my eyes. “Whatever.”

  “Okay, my turn,” Paige says, clapping her hands. “Um… how do you think the world would be different if dinosaurs had never gone extinct?”

  Karen laughs as she scribbles it down. “Good one. Daisy?”

  “Uh…” I’m at a complete loss. It probably doesn’t help that I’ve had very few conversations in the past year to draw from.

  “It can be something totally random and silly,” Paige tells me. “Obviously. Or it can be something real. Whatever you want.”

  “Okay. How about… what’s your favorite vacation and why?”

  “Nice,” Paige says. “That’s a good getting-to-know-you-better question. Karen?”

  “My next subject will be… what is the sexiest thing that you want to do with a member of Ransom?”

  “You have a one-track mind, Karen,” I say drily.

  She waggles her eyebrows at me. “Paige?”

  “Would you rather replace your ears with toes, or replace your hands with giant noses? Discuss.”

  Karen and I both crack up.

  “Paige is the best at making talk lists,” Karen says, writing it down.

  “That’s a lot to try and follow,” I say. I decide I may as well embrace the silly. “Okay, here’s mine: Describe, in detail, what your zombie apocalypse plan is.”

  “Our what?” Paige asks.

  “You know, what’s your game plan should the undead walk the earth? When the outbreak first starts getting going and the shit hits the fan, what’s your plan? Where would you go? What would your priorities be?”

  “I like it,” Karen says. “Okay, my next topic: food.”

  “Food?” Paige asks. “What about it?”

  Karen shrugs. “I just like food. I want to talk about it.”

  For some reason, that cracks me up even more than Paige’s body-replacement question. I realize that the girls had a point: Talk lists are much more fun than regular old conversation. We go around like that for several more rounds until Karen is finally satisfied.

  “That ought to be just about right,” she says, capping her pen.

  “How do you know when you have enough topics?” I ask.

  “You just know,” she says solemnly.

  It takes us more than an hour to go through the topics on the talk list. I’m surprised to learn that both Karen and Paige have a sexual preoccupation with Cash. I had assumed that they, like most of the girls our age, would be into Daltrey.

  “He’s totally hot,” Paige says, when I mention this. “But he’s so… I don’t know. Good. Cash, on the other hand, has a bad streak. You can just tell.”

  “That’s definitely accurate,” I mutter, thinking of the long string of girls I’ve seen disappear across my lawn and into his basement window over the years. “But why is that attractive to you?”

  Paige grins. “I don’t know. Sometimes, you just want them to be bad, you know?”

  I laugh. “Fair enough.”

  “What about you?” Karen asks. “What’s the sexiest thing you can imagine one of them doing?” She has a wicked glint in her eyes, knowing this is uncomfortable for me.

  “I think it would be pretty sexy if Cash stopped being such a womanizing bastard and actually got serious with someone.”

  “Boo,” Karen says, and I laugh.

  We are all in agreement that the best zombie-apocalypse plan is to somehow steal a boat from the rowing team so we can navigate by river and avoid roads then make our way into the wilds of the mountains.

  Paige says we need to get to her friend Phil’s house. “He collects a bunch of weird stuff, like old gas masks and weird Japanese weaponry. We’d totally be able to find useful stuff there.”

  Karen shakes her head. “You know some weird-ass people, Paige.”

  Paige grins happily. “He has a lot of weed, too.” I burst out laughing and she shakes her head at me. “It would probably be valuable, you know, to sell.”

  “Yeah, I’m so sure that’s what you had in mind.”

  Once Karen has had the chance to wax nostalgic about the best meals in her life, we reach the end of the list. “Ooh, there’s one more I forgot to mention,” she says, her voice overly casual. “And it’s a specific one for just one person.”

  “What?” Paige asks. “That’s not in the rules of the talk list.”

  “Too bad. This question is for Daisy. What’s the deal between you and Daltrey?”

  I make a face at her in the rearview mirror. “Paige says it’s not in the rules to ask person-specific questions, so I’m not answering. The rules of the talk list must be obeyed.”

  “Uh, no, actually,” Paige says quickly. “You totally can ask person-specific questions. I just, uh, forgot. So, what is the deal between you and Daltrey?”

  I sigh. “What are you talking about?”

  “Just like, every time you mention him, you get this dreamy look on your face—”

  “I do not!”

  “And your ears get all red whenever we talk about him, particularly when the topic is his fine ass. So what’s the deal?”

  “He was my best friend since I was five years old.”

  “Karen’s been my best friend since I was ten, and you don’t see me blushing when I talk about her.
”

  “This is totally unfair,” I mutter.

  “Come on. We just want to know if you have a crush on him,” Paige pleads.

  “And whether you ever got a piece of his ass, and if so, how was it?” Karen adds.

  I snort. “Fine. He was my first kiss.”

  Paige falls back into her seat, her hand over her heart. “Holy shit! You get to say that. For the rest of your life. That your first kiss was Daltrey Ransome. Holy shit!”

  I laugh. “It wasn’t that special. We were eight, and we both wanted to know what it felt like. Afterward, we played freeze tag.”

  “Still. His lips were on your lips.”

  I don’t tell them about the other kiss we shared. It’s stupid, really, that a pity kiss at the age of thirteen, during Seven Minutes in Heaven no less, should feel sacred to me, but it does. I don’t want them giggling or sighing over that one.

  “You guys never dated? In all those years?”

  I shake my head. “We decided in our junior year that high school dating was stupid. Some girl had just broken Lennon’s heart, and he moped around the house like an invalid for about a month. We thought it was the dumbest thing—like they would have ended up together anyhow, you know? So we made a pact that we were done with stupid high school drama.” I don’t mention our prom plans. It still makes me too sad.

  “Bummer,” Karen says. “You could have said he was your first lay, too. Wouldn’t that be a story to tell?”

  That leads the girls into a discussion about their own less-than-toe-curling first times, and I’m relieved that the person-specific portion of the conversation is over.

  What does it matter how I feel about Daltrey? He never gave any indication that he felt the same way. Besides, I’ve probably screwed things over so much that he’s lost most of his platonic feelings as well. You’ll be lucky if he even wants to talk to you. No sense in worrying about anything more than that.