Demanding Ransom by Megan Squires

above
the surface. The smell of both sweat and soap. Dirty and clean.
    I don’t notice how tightly I’m clutching onto
the pillow—smothering my nose in its feathery fabric that smells like
Ran—until the vibration of my phone shakes me out of my tense slumber.

 
    Ran: I’m sorry.

 
    I don’t respond.

 
    Ran:
Maggie, I know I’ve asked too many questions already, but can I please see you
again?

 
    I re-read his text three times before I come up
with a reply, and even then I don’t write it.

 
    Ran: No more questions. Promise.

 
    I punch my fingers on the keys.

 
    Me: And no more games. Period.

 
    Ran: I’m
not playing games with you. That’s not what I’m trying to do here. I just
really need to see you again.

 
    Even though I want to shut off the power to my
phone and ignore him completely, I fire off another text.

 
    Me: I’m
turning in my essay tomorrow during Prof. Long’s office hours. I’ll need a ride
back home.

 
    Ran: Are you headed home for good?

 
    Me: No. Just a few days. Pick me up at noon at
the south parking lot.

 
    Ran: Okay.

 
    Me: If
you show up on your bike, I’m not getting on it. Find some other mode of
transportation.

 
    Ran: Got it. No bike.

 
    Me: And let’s agree to not go out to eat
tomorrow. Us + eating out = bad situations.

 
    Ran: Then we’ll eat in. My place. I’ll cook.

 
    Me: You’ll cook? That might even be worse.

 
    Ran: Why
do you assume I can’t cook? You’d be amazed by the amount of things I’m very
good at, Maggie.

 
    Me: You’re not very good at succeeding in
getting me to like you.

 
    Ran: Working on it. Gimme time.

 
    Me: Tomorrow. 12:00.

 
    Ran: See you then.
    ***
    “I must say, Margaret, I am very impressed with
your diligence and ability to perform under pressure. I don’t like to admit it,
but I had my doubts that you’d be able to complete this essay in time.”
Professor Long takes my paper from my hands and sets it down on the mahogany
desk behind him. There are picture frames holding perfect looking families,
similar to the ones that come in them when you purchase the frames from the
store. But I recognize Professor Long’s face in the photographs, so the images
must be of his actual family.
    He strokes his charcoal-colored mustache with
his fingers. “I wish the rest of the faculty had given you the same opportunity
to prove yourself academically.” He offers an apologetic smile.
    “It’s alright. Most people don’t give second
chances.” And I don’t think college professors are known for their flexible,
accommodating ways.
    I shrug my shoulders and have my hand on the
handle to his office door when he replies, “I think you would be surprised,
Margaret. Most people are very willing to give second chances. It’s those that
are willing to give themselves another chance that are harder to come by.”
    ***
    The walk back to the dorm is enjoyable. The
December air holds just enough chill without being unbearably cold. And my
steps feel lighter. Probably because I just turned in the one assignment that
offers any proof that I was even here; something that gives this quarter a
little purpose. That’s a huge weight off my shoulders and I physically feel it.
My stride adopts that same, weightless buoyancy.
    That is, until I see the red and white
ambulance parked in the south lot.
    When the passenger door pops open and
Ran—outfitted in full paramedic attire—slips out, all of that light
feeling disappears. My feet are like two-ton bricks mortared firmly on the
pavement below me. Even if I wanted to take a step toward it, they wouldn’t let
me.
    “Maggie!” Ran calls out and waves, as if I
can’t see him. As if I don’t notice the massive, colorful ambulance taking up
space in our dorm parking lot. “You ready to go?”
    I clamp my jaw shut because it had popped open
the second Ran and the vehicle came into view. “Are you serious?” I hiss as
soon as he’s within