Ransom(3)

I spend the rest of the class trying to be invisible. Resisting the urge to slide the magazine back into view, I pull my sweatshirt sleeves down over my palms and sink farther into my seat, determined to do nothing else that will get me noticed for the rest of the class.

We’re dismissed twenty excruciating minutes later. I sigh in relief as I start to gather my things. I know taking the magazine back to my apartment is a mistake, but I can’t help myself. I need to read that article.

“Oh my God,” an unfamiliar voice says to my left. “Is that Daltrey Ransome?”

I turn slightly, instinctively lowering my gaze to her desk so that we don’t make eye contact. “Uh, yeah,” I mumble.

She sighs. “I love him. Don’t you just love him? He’s so hot.”

Don’t you just love him? I could laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation. This girl has no clue. I shrug noncommittally and return to my things, sticking the magazine between the books in my bag before I sling it up over my shoulder.

To my dismay, the girl is waiting for me at the end of the row. She falls into step next to me as I make my way to the door.

“That was pretty brutal in there,” she says. “I would have freaked out if it was me.”

I shrug again, wishing she would head in the other direction once we reach the hall. No such luck.

“He’s such an ass,” she goes on, her voice lower. “I mean, why can’t he just call on the people who volunteer? If someone’s hand isn’t up, they clearly don’t feel like sharing, you know? And who the hell gives a shit about Keyes, or whatever the dude’s name is?”

I smile in spite of myself. “I sure don’t.”

She stops and holds out her hand. “I’m Paige.”

I look at her for the first time. She’s taller than I am, which isn’t saying much, and decked out in tight, hot-pink skinny jeans and a black leather jacket. Her hair is a mess of ebony curls that brush against the multiple piercings in her eyebrows, ears, and nose.

“Daisy.” I shake her hand, feeling shy. Will she be able to tell that she’s the first person I’ve introduced myself to the entire semester?

“Nice to meet you, Daisy. Hey, you going to lunch now?”

A shot of panic rushes through me. She seems nice enough, but I don’t think I can handle eating with her. Before I can come up with an excuse, her purse starts ringing.

She pulls out her phone and answers it. “Hey. Yeah, I just got out. Meet you at Subway? Come on, Karen, I can’t eat that crap. No. No. Fine. I’m bringing a friend.” She winks at me. “Yeah. Okay. See you.” She slips her phone back into her bag. “That was my friend Karen. She’ll meet us outside the food court.”

I shift my backpack to my other shoulder. I hadn’t agreed to join her, but what could I say? Paige was already off on a tangent, something about the offerings at the food court and how hard it is to find decent, nontoxic food anywhere on campus.

“At least it’s better than the dorms, I’ll give them that,” she says, brushing her hair behind her ear.

I’m starting to get a headache. Paige talks fast, throwing her hands around as she does so, and this is the first time I’ve tried to hold an actual conversation with a peer in months. Had talking to strangers always been this exhausting?

“We live in Hale,” she says. “What about you?”

“Uh, I’m not in the dorms.”

Her face clouds a little. “Really? Are you in a sorority?”

I nearly choke, the laughter hits me so hard. “No,” I say as she thumps me on the back. The very thought is absurd. How would I get into a sorority? “I have an apartment off campus.”

“Wow!” Her eyes flick across my face. “Are you an upperclassman?”

Shit. I should have just lied. Eastern Tennessee University has a strict policy about freshman living in dorms. I do not want to have to explain my situation to her. I realize I’m playing with the straps of my bag and lower my hands. “No, I’m a freshman. I… uh, got permission to be off campus. It’s a long story.” I mentally cross my fingers that she doesn’t ask to hear it. There’s no way I’m getting into that with a stranger. She watches me for a moment, and I feel the heat start to inch its way up my neck again.

“You’re lucky,” she finally says, looking away. “The dorms are hella lame.”

We continue toward the food court, and I feel increasingly awkward. I should have made up an excuse, any excuse, to get out of this.

“So what’s your major?” Paige asks.

I feel a fresh wave of embarrassment. She must feel the awkwardness as well, to resort to such lame small talk.