Ransom(13)

There are no other Ransom posters, thank God, and as long as I avoid looking above Karen’s bed I don’t have to see Daltrey’s piercing blue eyes. Instead, I check out the myriad of photos of Paige and Karen, both together and with other groups of people, lining the wall by the door. Paige has a series of what appears to be hand-drawn pictures around her desk, and I remember her telling me that she likes to draw.

They both have bright and cheery-looking bedspreads, Paige’s is a vivid purple with geometric shapes, while Karen’s is multicolored and flowered. A fuzzy hot-pink throw is balled up on the futon amid several yellow pillows. Candles are scattered all over Paige’s side of the room, and Christmas lights are strung along the ceiling. Shoes and clothes overflow from the closet. The place is messy and cozy—basically the exact opposite of my apartment. I’m surprised by how much I like that.

“We’re T-minus ten minutes,” Paige says, looking at her phone. “Just FYI.”

“Oh, good,” Karen says. “I almost forgot in my foodgasm.”

“Gross.” Paige kicks at her. “Don’t say foodgasm. We have company. And Daisy isn’t used to your dirty gutter mouth.”

Karen rolls her eyes. “If Daisy is offended by my potty mouth, I apologize.”

“I’m not,” I say. “The food is pretty orgasmic.”

Karen cackles. “That’s my girl. I knew you weren’t a prude.”

Her praise fills me with warmth, which I know is ridiculous, but I can’t help it. I didn’t have a lot of experience hanging out with girls even before everything got so messed up. My best friend was a boy ever since I was in preschool. And that particular boy’s good looks and ridiculous talent didn’t do much to endear me to the female population once I got to junior high. I learned at a very young age that girls can be awfully jealous. I should have remembered that lesson.

“Are you a fan, Daisy?” Paige asks.

I look at her blankly, thinking she’s talking about Ransom again. But she points at the TV, and I realize she means whatever it is they’re counting down to. “Uh, I’m not sure. What’s going to be on?”

They both gape at me.

“Eight o’clock on Thursday?” Paige says. “Do you honestly not know what’s about to happen?”

I rack my brains and come up with nothing. “Sorry.”

Paige shakes her head. “It’s the finale of Engaged. We’ve only been waiting for this for, like, months.”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” Karen says, leaning over me to grab the gang gai carton.

I immediately tense at her proximity, and spend the next thirty seconds trying to relax and barely listening while Paige explains the premise of Engaged. From what I manage to take in, it’s a dating show where the male finalists compete for the affections of the female lead. If they decide to get married in the finale, they’ll win a grand prize of a hundred grand each.

“Uh, with that much money at stake, what’s to stop them from getting married and just divorcing later?” I ask.

Karen snickers. “Exactly.”

Paige makes a face. “You guys just aren’t romantic enough. I bet she picks Aiden in the end, and they don’t take the money.”

“Why the hell wouldn’t they take the money?” Karen asks.

“Because they’re really in love.” Paige’s face is lit up with a dreamy little smile.

It’s kind of funny—if I just look at her without talking to her, I would probably think she was a certain way, with her piercings and leather clothes and wild hair. But so far, she strikes me as really sweet, almost innocent. Karen, on the other hand, looks like the epitome of the corn-fed, girl-next-door, Midwest beauty. Yet her personality has a much sharper edge.

“You’re fucking naive, Paige,” Karen says, pointing her chopstick at her friend.

“Whatever. Just you wait and see. I’m totally right.” Paige catches me watching her, and her face falls a little. “Of course, we don’t have to watch it if you don’t want to, Daisy. When I invited you, I just assumed you’d be a fan because, like, everyone I know is. But we can do something else if—”

I hold up my hand. “No, it’s fine. We can watch.” I usually avoid reality television. The cattiness and downright nastiness of many of the contestants reminds me too much of my senior year. But I figure it’s a night for trying new things.

Watching a show with Paige and Karen turns out to be nothing like I expect. From the way Paige was so excited, I figured she’d watch in rapt attention. But she doesn’t. Instead, they talk constantly. Every word said by the contestants must be discussed, every action analyzed, to the point that I’m surprised they can follow what’s happening at all. Karen keeps up a running commentary of how stupid all the men are, making fun of them with glee, and Paige laughs along with her.