Ransom

by Rachel Schurig

  Ransom

  Rachel Schurig

  Copyright © 2014 Rachel Schurig

  All rights reserved.

  Kindle Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  To find out more about her books, visit Rachel at rachelschurig.com

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  Visit her author page on Facebook (https://www.facebook.com/RachelSchurigAuthor)

  Follow her on Twitter (https://twitter.com/rems330)

  To Andrea and Maddie, in honor of many hours of fun and ridiculousness as we “followed the band!”

  And to Jessy, for her beauty.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thank you to Lynn McNamee at Red Adept Editing for all of your help and advice. This book is much improved thanks to your hard work!

  Thank you, Najla Qamber, for yet another awesome cover!

  najlaqamberdesigns.com

  Chapter One

  Daltrey

  “What’s your name?”

  I look up from the stick I’ve been trailing through the dirt. The girl standing in front of me appears to be around my age. I decide I like her right away. Her hair is brown and twists around and around like tiny Slinkies. There’s a word for the way her hair looks, but I can’t remember. I like the way it seems so messy and different from mine. Curly, that’s the word. No one in my family has curly hair. And she’s wearing a Batman shirt. I love Batman.

  “I’m Daltrey,” I tell her.

  She sits on the edge of the broken sandbox. “Dal-trey,” she sounds out, nodding a little. “I’m Daisy.”

  “Like a flower?”

  She laughs. “Yup. My momma named me after her favorite flowers.”

  Momma. I duck my head, not wanting her to see me cry. My brothers always tell me boys shouldn’t cry.

  I must not have done it fast enough because she pats my hand and asks, “Whatcha crying for?”

  I turn away, looking at the sandbox. There’s not much sand in it. It’s mostly filled with sticks and rocks. I don’t think anyone has played here in a long time.

  Daisy follows my gaze. “The people who lived here before didn’t have kids. And my daddy wouldn’t ever let me play in here.”

  “My dad said there was a sandbox. Before we moved. He said there was a nice big yard, and we’d have fun playing here.”

  “I bet he could fix it up,” she says, picking up her own stick to twirl in the dirt. “Maybe there’s a place where you can buy sand.”

  I nod. I bet there is.

  “You got any sisters?” she asks.

  “Nope. Just three brothers. I’m the littlest.”

  Her face lights up, and I decide she’s very pretty. “Four brothers? Wow. I don’t have any brothers. Are they bigger than us? What’re their names?”

  “Yeah, they’re all bigger. Lennon is six, Cash is eight, and Reed is nine.”

  “How old are you?”

  “I’m five.”

  “Me too! You’re so lucky to have brothers. I just have my dad, and he’s not home very much.” She nods toward the house next door. “I have a new babysitter today. She’s been on the phone forever.”

  “You don’t got no mom?”

  She turns back to me, her face serious. “No. She’s in heaven.”

  I don’t know much about heaven, but Daisy looks pretty sad about it, so I’m not certain it’s a good place. I decide I can tell her about my mom. “My mom’s gone, too.”

  Daisy nods solemnly. “Did she die? My mom died when I was three.”

  “No. She’s just… gone.”

  Daisy wrinkles up her nose. “What do you mean? Where is she?”

  I shrug. “Dunno. She left a few months ago. Dad says she didn’t want to be a mom anymore, so she just left.”

  Daisy’s mouth drops open a little. “You can decide not to be a mom anymore? That sounds crazy.”

  I shrug again. It sounded pretty crazy when they told me about it, but Reed said I should shut up and stop asking so many questions.

  “She doesn’t want us anymore, dummy,” he told me, punching my arm.

  Then we had to move so my dad’s sister could help out. I wasn’t sure what we needed help with, but Dad said it was important.

  I miss my old room. I’m crying again, but this time I don’t try to hide it. I think Daisy knows how it feels to be so sad.

  “I’m sorry your momma is gone, Daltrey,” she says, her voice soft and close to my ear.

  “I’m sorry your momma is gone, too.”

  We sit like quietly for a few minutes. It’s a sunny day, and pretty soon, I don’t feel so sad anymore. “You wanna play something?”

  She sits up straight, giving me another of her pretty smiles. “Yeah. What should we play?”

  I think for a minute. Most of my toys are still packed. “You got a bike?”

  She juts out her chin and does something with her eyes that Cash is always doing when he thinks I’m being dumb. “Of course. Who doesn’t have a bike?”

  I jump up. “Last one to the stop sign is a rotten egg!” I take off, running to the garage.

  “Cheater,” she yells, but she’s laughing.

  When I get to the garage, I stop short. My dad is standing next to his car, keys in his hand.

  “Hey, little man,” he says. “Time for practice.”

  “Aw, Dad. Now?”

  He nods, shaking his keys a little. “Aren’t you excited to meet your new teacher?”

  I want to stamp my feet on the concrete. I don’t want a new piano teacher. I liked Miss Carol, my teacher back in our old town, just fine. In fact, I liked everything about our old town. Why’d we have to move to this stupid place anyhow? And now I can’t even play with Daisy.

  “Does Lennon have to come too?” I ask, frowning.

  “Yup, we’re all going. Hurry up now.”

  “I gotta go tell my friend first,” I say quickly, running out of the garage before he can stop me. My dad doesn’t like it when we’re late for our lessons.

  I find Daisy sitting atop a bright yellow bike at the stop sign.

  “Hey,” she calls when she sees me. “I beat you! Where’s your bike?”

  “I have to go to piano lessons,” I tell her, kicking the grass. I wish I could stay and play with her. Talking to Daisy was the first time I’ve had fun since we moved here.

  “You play piano?” she asks, her eyes wide.

  I nod. “Yeah. All my brothers do. I’m still learning.”

  She looks really excited. “I love music. Will you play me a song sometime?”

  I shrug. “Sure. I only know a couple.”

  “Wow. I’ve never met someone who could play piano before.”

  I look at her bike, wishing I could go ride with her. “Do you think we could ride bikes tomorrow instead?”

  “Sure. Just come knock on my door.”

  I hear a horn and look over to see my dad’s car approaching the corner. I sigh. “That’s my dad. I gotta go.”

  “Okay. See ya tomorrow, Daltrey.”

  “Bye.”

  The car pulls up next to us, and Lennon throws open the door. “Hurry up, dummy.”

  I climb in and buckle my seat belt. As we pull away. I turn to the window, looking back at Daisy. She stands at the stop sign and waves before climbing on her bike. I watch as she pedals down the street, her yellow bike glittering in the sun, until I can’t se
e her anymore.

  Chapter Two

  Fourteen Years Later

  Daisy

  It’s been more than a year since I’ve seen that face. Daltrey Ransome was my next door neighbor from the time I was five years old right up until the day he left town last year. It feels like there has never been a time when I didn’t know that face.

  So it comes as quite a surprise to see it splashed out over two pages in the glossy magazine someone from the last class left on my desk. My breath catches in my chest as I stare down at the photo of him. God, he looks exactly the same. A shock of golden hair sticks out from beneath a grey beanie. The photographer caught him just removing his black Ray Bans, and his icy-blue eyes are stark against his tan skin. He’s not wearing his eyebrow ring today, so the little scar I know so well is visible just above his eyelid. I rub my finger lightly over the blemish. I put that scar there with a mishap involving a hockey stick when we were fourteen and goofing off in his driveway.

  “All right, people. We’re continuing with our discussion on Keynesian theory today.”

  I blink and look up at Professor Bartlet. I almost forgot where I was. I slip the magazine under my notebook and pull out a pen, trying to focus on the professor’s monotone. Macroeconomics is boring enough, and Bartlet does little to breathe any interest into the topic.

  And it certainly doesn’t help my concentration to know that a picture of Daltrey is hanging out right under my notebook. There’s probably an article about him, too. My breathing quickens. It’s so tempting to just slide the notebook over a bit so I could—

  “Miss Harris?”

  The professor is staring at me, along with about half of the class. The other half are paying about as much attention as I had just been.

  “Yes?”

  A slight titter ripples through the class. Bartlet’s face tightens, and I feel heat flood my own. I have clearly missed something, and I’m sure I look like a total idiot.

  “I asked you to please name the effect that Keynes tells us will magnify small decreases in consumption.”

  I stare at him, feeling something akin to panic. I have no clue what he’s talking about. “Uh…”

  He turns away from me, clearly annoyed. “Would someone who has bothered to pay attention like to improve their participation grade today?”

  A hand across the room shoots up. I don’t bother to listen to the answer. I take deep breaths through my nose, focusing on the blank page of my notebook. My heart rate slows to normal, and I feel the heat fading from my face and ears. I make a conscious effort to unclench my fingers, feeling the sting where my nails cut into skin.

  I’m not upset about not knowing the answer. I couldn’t care less about macroeconomics. In fact, if my father sees my complete lack of aptitude in the subject, maybe he’ll allow me to stop taking so many business classes. A bad grade will only help my argument there.

  No, the thing that has me so worked up is the way everyone was looking at me. I shiver a little under my thick black hoodie. I hate when people look at me. I should have sat in the back, but I was late, and my normal row was full, so the only choice was the middle of the room.

  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.

  “I haven’t decided yet,” I say, fiddling with my bag strap again. “My dad is making me take a bunch of business classes. He wants me to be a business major.”

  Paige makes a face. “That sounds painfully boring.
”

  “What about you?”

  “I’m into drawing, so I might try graphic design. Or advertising. Definitely something creative.”

  I rack my brain for possible follow-up questions. I know the polite thing, the normal thing, is to ask her about her classes, or why she’s interested in graphic design, or… something. But my tongue seems to stumble over the words. I can feel another flush coming to my face, and shame wells inside me. I’m completely hopeless. Pathetic.

  I thank my lucky stars when we reach the Student Center. Paige’s friend will be here, and I’ll be off the hook conversation-wise. Sure enough, Paige waves to a tall blonde waiting by the entrance.

  When we reach the girl, Paige gives her a quick, one-armed hug. “Hey, Karen.” She gestures at me. “This is Daisy. She suffers through the hell of Bartlet’s class with me.”

  Karen smiles. “Hey, Daisy, nice to meet you.”

  I give Karen a quick wave, hating the way her eyes flick up and down my figure. I had expected her to be a clone of Paige with her bold clothes and multiple piercings, so I’m surprised by her relatively unobtrusive flowery sundress. Her hair is straight and falls halfway down her back, and her teeth are so perfectly white and even that she could be in toothpaste commercials.

  “Let’s get in line,” she says, turning away to enter the building. “We decided on Panda Express, right?”

  “No, we did not,” Paige says firmly. “I said I wanted Subway. And it’s my turn to pick.”

  “I’m tired of Subway. It’s all you eat. I need some fucking grease, okay, Paige?”

  I wasn’t expecting Karen to have such a mouth. Do beauty queens talk that way?

  But Paige laughs, clearly used to this kind of language from her friend. “Let’s just get pizza.”

  “Score,” Karen says happily, leading the way to the pizza line. “I can get sausage and pepperoni, and you can get whatever green healthy shit you want.”