The Tale of the ILnfamous Savannah Rapier
Last week, a bookcase was the mission. My little stream oI woke up this morning knowing I had the perfect outfit to go with what would be the best day of my young life. Jessica was awesome enough to take me shopping the day before because she knew what Blair would approve of. My life revolved around Blair, the most popular girl in the tenth grade. I have spent months dressing like her, talking like her, and doing things to get her attention, and it had finally paid off. Jessica, Blair’s third best friend, found me before fourth period to tell me that Blair told Becca who told Jessica to tell me that I had been invited to hang out with their clique at the mall the next day after school. I spent the rest of the day freaking out! I told Paige and Amy that they would always be my two best friends, but if this worked out, we would be seeing a lot less of each other. I had to do this. This was more than friendship and fun times; this was about popularity. It was about strangers knowing your name and talking about you even though you have never spoken to them. It’s about being admired, envied. My sixteen year old spirit would move heaven and earth to have it. Popularity was as close to fame as a normal person would get, and I am determined to meet my goal.
I got up an extra hour early for school that morning feeling alive with excitement. My body actually shook and tingled with delight when I pictured the table in the mall food court where they always sat. It is just like any of the other tables. In fact, it’s identical to the one that my friends and I normally sit at, but this was their table. I could picture it across the walkway from the Sbarro at the front of the sea of tables that littered the court. Everyone walking by was sure to see them. They all sat in the same seats every day. Blair sits at the head of the table with Becca at her right side, as she is her number one best friend. Kayce sits at her left, her second best friend, and Jessica sits next to Kayce. Scott, Blair’s gorgeous twin brother, sits next to Becca, and Ryan sits next to him. I’m guessing that Jessica is my assigned trainer as she’s been giving me advice, so my seat will probably be next to her. They can be found every day after school sitting as this table, and many do stop by to gawk at them from a few tables away. In a couple of long, agonizing hours, I would be a member of that table.
After I carefully showering and spending much more time brushing my teeth than I normally do, I began the beautification process. I put on my eye makeup three different times, my trembling hands creating so many imperfections that I had to start over again and again. I had done it a thousand times before; three different shades of eye shadow combined to make a shimmery bronze color. Then eyeliner on the top and bottom of the eyes with winged ends. Just like Blair’s eye makeup. It took exactly twenty-nine school days for Blair to notice my flawless imitation, but she finally did one Tuesday afternoon in our American history class. Never before had my heart pounded so hard at two little words: “nice eyes.”
Next, I put three different products in my hair and burned it until my already straight hair was a sleek curtain of auburn with blond highlights. This feat had taken weeks of trial and error to get right. Then I put on the brand new, dark-washed $70 pair of jeans I had purchased the day before. They went perfectly with the black sequined top Jessica told me to buy. Blair owned one just like it, but she had already worn it, so there was no chance of us showing up in the same outfit. The only thing worse than outfit repeating is matching outfits. “So fifth grade” as Jessica had put it.
While I had given myself two hours to get ready that day, I was now late. But that didn’t matter, not to a popular kid. Caring too much about school had been a hard habit to break, but I was getting better. A popular person doesn’t care too much about anything, at least not out in the open where others can see. “Chill,” “relaxed,” “whatever,” were the words to live by when you are trying to achieve “cool.”
As I began my short drive to school, I thought about what I had achieved. It had taken months of planning and scheming to get on Blair’s radar, and everyone thought I was crazy. All of my friends told me there was no way they would notice me no matter how hard I worked at it. They said that the popular clique had been popular since kindergarten, and that group would always include the same people. But I knew if I worked at it and put everything I had into it, I would succeed. I am a winner; it’s what I do. I have done it all: soccer star, academic award winner, starring roles in school plays. I have decided that my next goal is being popular, and now I’m winning at this game too. The validation I have gained from their invitation was unlike any high I had ever felt.
As I daydreamed about my new life, I barely noticed what was going on around me. It was my usual route; kids going to school,
all the same cars parked in the same places. As I rounded the corner of Billy Ward’s house, something out of place caught my eye. If I hadn’t taken this path a million times before, I probably would have missed it. But the yellowed, beaten up old van stood out in this gated, suburban neighborhood. The back of the van was just a door that swung open to the side, and the few windows it had were tinted. It had once been white, but time and the sun had faded its color, and it also had patches of gray all over it. I always wondered how some cars got that way. Almost like someone had tried to rub off the top color and now the ugly undercoat was showing through. So disgusting. Why would anyone let their car look like that?
As I let my thoughts about the van wonder off, I noticed the little girl strawberry blonde hair, blue eyes, four maybe five years old. She looked just as dressed up as I did. Someone had taken the time to French braid her hair, tying it off with little pink and white bows with terriers on them, which perfectly matched the dress she was wearing. Her light pink socks and bright white sandals topped off her adorable ensemble. She shyly poked her head out of the open front door of
her house, which seemed odd. No one else was around. I slowed my car down until it was even with the sidewalk that led up to her front door, but not so far up that the van blocked my view of her. All of
my friends were in school, so no one would see me caring. The little girl seemed confused by the open door, as well. She took a few small steps onto the front porch looking left to right until she spotted her doll. Without questioning why the doll was outside on the otherwise empty lawn, she made a beeline and spirited to it with an exuberant smile on her face.
Her apparent happiness reminded me of why I was in such a good mood, and I began to drive on, thinking I should mind my own business. As fast as lightening, a man jumped out of the back door of the van and snatched up the little girl and the doll. They were in the van, and the door was shut before my mind even had time to process what I had just witnessed. I just sat there for a split second, but the squealing of their tires brought me back to life as they whipped around and started in the other direction. As the van passed my car, I couldn’t see the driver, but I could feel him staring at me. Without hesitation or even a second of fear, I turned the car around and followed the van. While I should have been thinking Call for help! Scream until someone notices! Ram the back of the nasty van! all I could think was What am I doing? My life is back the other way. Where am I going? But my foot knew better as it smashed the gas pedal onto the floor of the car. I begged for my Honda to keep up with the little girl in pink.
Our cars screeched as we sped around a few turns, and soon we were out of the neighborhood. My mind was racing so quickly that I wasn’t even paying attention to where we were going. My thoughts just kept screaming to follow. We were on the main road that leads into town before I knew it. The van suddenly jerked around a corner, and I mindlessly followed it. It abruptly came to a stop, so I did, too. Two scruffy men wearing beige jumpsuits were at either side of my car before I even knew what was happening. They had been waiting in the alleyway. The guy at my side threw the door open and pulled me out by my hair. I screamed and struggled against his grip, but I knew it was no use. He was so much bigger than me; I looked like a helpless flailing spider that had been snatched up by a cat. Mom was right again, I should always lock my doors and buckle my seatbelt.
He threw me into the back of the van when his partner opened the door for him. The driver had moved to the back, and he waited with ropes to tie me up. He was clearly the weakest of the group. Sweat dripped down his face and off the ends of his flaming red hair. He kept apologizing for everything he was doing. He fumbled with the rope a lot having no idea how to actually restrain someone.
It was obvious that the man in charge was the one that pulled
me from the car. He kept telling the driver to shut up, and the poor red-headed fool just kept apologizing to everyone for doing a bad job. I didn’t even really fight him as he clumsily tied the rope around my wrists. I felt so sorry for him. When he decided he was done, he jumped out of the van. He was almost crying as he professed, “I’m so sorry Charlie. I saw her following us, and I panicked. I didn’t mean to bring her back to the hideout.” The ringleader, Charlie, didn’t even correct him for disclosing all of the information in this confession. He just smacked him so hard that the driver collapsed on the ground.
Charlie shut the van door in my face. He quickly opened it again and, with a finger pointed at me, said, “Don’t move.” Then he shut the door again.
Maybe it was just because I had just spent so many months learning to be “cool” about everything, but my first reaction was to roll my eyes and murmur, “Amateurs.” The little girl was kneeling behind the driver’s seat, smiling and playing with her doll, completely naïve to all that was going on around her. She brightly smiled and waved at me. I just smiled back. I figured there was no need to alarm her now. Suddenly, a glimmer of sunlight reflected off of something and hit me square in the eye. The keys. Those dumbasses had left the keys in the ignition. I started tugging at the ropes that were keeping my hands behind my back. They easily slipped from the binds. The red head had simply wound the rope around my wrists several times and then knotted it off with a little bow. How adorable.
I sat there for a few seconds and watched the little girl play innocently with her doll. All of the adrenalin was leaving my body now that I realized how little actual danger we were in. It left me feeling tired and agitated. I listened to Charlie and the other men argue outside. They were swapping ideas of how to reconcile the situation. Although I was frightened again when one suggested shooting me and leaving me here with my car, my fears were quickly soothed when Charlie reminded him that they don’t have guns
or anything else to kill with. I sighed as I looked around the van. Nothing was in it but the rope. There was a brick wall in front of the car, and my car was parked behind us, so we wouldn’t be driving away. After a brief vision of me heroically grabbing the girl, fighting off the men, and jumping in my car and riding off into the sunset, I shrugged as I wondered how long they would continue to argue out there.
I struggled to pull my cell phone out of my jeans that were too tight, which seemed worth it at the time I bought them. Now I was having second thoughts. I dialed 911 and explained the situation with a big smile on my face, so the little girl wouldn’t catch on or get scared. She just continued to play and eventually asked, “Can
I go home now? I’m bored.” I crawled over to her, and we played patty cake and laughed and laughed until the police came. I don’t remember the last time I laughed so much.
The hours spent at the police station and the interviewing were more traumatizing than the kidnapping itself. When we were finally all allowed to leave, the little girl, Cara, was screaming from frustration and from the lack of her afternoon nap. My parents had finally stopped crying. I have no idea who got them so worked up about the situation, but I’m considering suing. They will never let me out of the house alone again. As the front doors to police station opened for us to leave, we were all blinded by the flashes of the cameras, and people swarmed us as they shouted question after question. Apparently, Kara’s daddy was a newly elected senator, and she had been taken because the men needed the ransom money, which apparently was kind of a big deal. One of news reporters outside speaking to their camera referred to Charlie and his gang
as the “evil masterminds behind this diabolical kidnapping plot,” a phrase which I find completely hilarious. Those imbeciles wouldn’t have been able to pull this off even if I hadn’t intervened.
While they were being painted as Cruella de Vil characters, I was the hero. I realized that soon my name would be in all of the papers and on every channel. Strangers across the nation will know who I am and will be talking about me. I did it. I would be famous; I would be popular. And it had nothing to do with the makeup that had now faded from my face or with my “cool” new attitude.
As we fought to climb into our car, I couldn’t help but smile. I had achieved my latest goal, and now that I had it, I realized how stupid I had been. All I wanted to do now was go hang out with my real friends, eat at our table in the mall, and tell them everything that had happened to me that day. As we pulled out of the parking lot, I received a text from none other than Queen Blair herself: “Where the hell are you?!!” I just rolled my eyes. Bitch.