You follow Kim, running through the aisles toward the back of the room.
“West side, three minutes, one passenger,” Kim says into her phone, then hangs up. At the back of the storeroom, she pauses. She’s looking at a map of the mall on her phone. “The back door leads to the loading dock, right?”
You nod.
“They’ll have that blocked off by now. We’ll escape through the food court. Let’s go.”
“Wait,” you say, not moving. “What’s happening? Why are they shooting at us?”
“Because you told your boyfriend I’d be here.”
“I didn’t, though! I didn’t say anything about you! I said I made the phone myself. I swear I didn’t say one thing about you.”
Kim looks heartbroken. “Well, that’s worse. That means your boyfriend just really doesn’t trust you, like, at all. Come on, you’re coming with me now. Let’s go.”
“You’re kidnapping me?”
“What?” Kim looks at you like you’re completely insane. “I’m not kidnapping you. I’m saving you.”
“But my boyfriend . . .” you say, looking back in the direction of the store.
“Your boyfriend is complete garbage and he’s shooting at you, and I’m sorry, but you have to come with me now. Let’s GO!” Kim grabs your arm and pulls you along, leading you away from the loading dock.
“Stay right behind me,” she says, and you are too much in shock to do anything else. She shoves open the side exit door and leaps across the hallway, pulling you along behind her, through a door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY. You find yourself in the Taco Bell kitchen. Stainless-steel surfaces everywhere, hot ovens, a sweet, spicy smell filling the air almost oppressively, and some extremely confused-looking teenagers staring at you and Kim.
Kim has a pained look on her face as she continues walking. “Ohhh, I love Taco Bell! I wish we had time to grab something—I’m starving! Cool Ranch Doritos Locos Tacossss!” she exclaims sadly, reaching out toward a tray of empty taco shells as she passes, as though she’s being forcibly taken away from the love of her life.
Kim jumps over the front counter, and you follow right behind her, crossing the food court, rushing out through the doors, racing across the courtyard past the water fountain with the colored lights and around the corner, into an alley. There’s a jet-black Range Rover waiting there, and Kim opens the back door and pushes you inside and jumps in after you and yells “GO!” The truck immediately peels off, jumping down off the sidewalk, screeching out across the oncoming traffic, and away into the night.
YOU GET JOUNCED AROUND in the backseat as the SUV quickly screams across two lanes of traffic, brakes squealing and horns honking in its wake, and just barely makes an exit at the last minute. The car whips around the cloverleaf ramp, throwing you against the door. Once you’re on the highway, the driver floors it and the car takes off at top speed.
“Anyone following us?” Kim asks the driver.
“We lost them,” a voice, female, replies.
“Is the phone in here?” Kim asks, tugging at your bag.
“Oh, yeah, here.” You start to remove the backpack from your shoulder and then realize that in your panic about your rapidly approaching death when the SUV had started moving, you had pulled the seat belt down and locked it while you were still wearing the bag. Which makes removing the bag impossible. Further panic sets in.
“Here, let me—” Kim starts.
“I got it! I can do it!” you say, your voice sounding more upset and worried than you intended. You stop trying to untangle yourself and calmly undo the safety belt and slide it back, freeing the straps of the bag, which you hand to Kim. You lock yourself back in. Your hands are shaking.
“Thanks,” Kim says, eyeing you carefully.
This is mortifying. You’re sitting in an SUV next to Kim Kardashian and acting like an idiot who’s never been in a car before. Kim searches around inside your bag, pulling out random, irrelevant things. Your laptop cord. Your wallet. A half-empty Dasani. A bag of gummy worms that you didn’t realize was still in there. A magazine featuring an article you’ve been meaning to read about “The Top 10 Things You’re Doing That Turn Him Off.”
“Hmm, should I dump this whole thing out or should I . . . ?” Kim wonders aloud.
“Here, I’ll help,” you say, reaching over into the bag where it sits on Kim’s lap. You find the inner mesh pocket where you’d stashed the phone, slide it out, and hand it to her.
“Thanks,” Kim says, taking it delicately from you. “I’m glad to have it back. It’s not as easy for me to get phones as it once was. I have to hang on to them.”
You don’t really have a response to that, or to anything, really. You are not sure what’s happening in your brain. It’s kind of a mess of feelings and emotions and things you don’t totally understand, and honestly you can’t even really breathe, like at all; it’s like someone very heavy is suddenly sitting on your chest.
Oh, you’re having a panic attack.
“Whoa, hey,” Kim says. She undoes her seat belt and slides across the seat to you. She places her hand gently but firmly on your back. “Just breathe slowly. Close your eyes. It’s okay. You’re not dying. I promise.” You close your eyes and breathe and focus on Kim’s touch, her voice. She feels real. It helps you feel like you’re not completely disconnected from reality.
“That was pretty intense back there,” she says. “I’m sorry. I’ve gotten used to it, but I’m sure that was, like, a lot.”
You nod and turn to look out the window. You’re being driven away from the city. It’s just a mass of yellow lights receding into the darkness.
“Where are we going?” you ask.
“Somewhere safe,” Kim says.
“Are you dropping me off somewhere? A train station or something? I don’t mind. I’m not sure I have enough money for a ticket, but I’ll figure it out. I’ll be okay. I promise.” You nod at Kim, trying to reassure her. What are you reassuring her about? Why are you crying? Why do you feel like the thing inside your heart is about to claw its way out of your chest?
Kim keeps rubbing your back. “So. Your boyfriend has figured out by now that you know me. Which means: (a) he’s not your boyfriend anymore, and (b) you can’t really go home. And, well, (c) upside, they are definitely not expecting you back at work tomorrow. You’re safer with us now.”
“But I need to go back,” you say. “I need to explain.”
“What do you need to explain? Your boyfriend’s task force was shooting at you. They’re the ones who need to explain. I’m really sorry that I got you involved in this, but like, honestly, you kind of already were, whether or not you realized it.”
You keep running over the events at the mall in your mind. Had your boyfriend known you were with Kim? He’d known you were working, but the rest was just coincidence, right? He wouldn’t blame you. It would be okay. He was your boyfriend. He was just trying to do the right thing. And what were you doing? How were you repaying him? By hanging out with criminals.
At some point after dusk, the Range Rover exits the highway and is driving through a town now. Sleepy blue TV lights glow out from the windows on houses set far back from the street, far from each other.
You all keep driving until the town falls away and everything becomes empty woodland and farmland. Then the car turns off onto a dirt road that you definitely would never have found on your own, even with Google Maps.
“We’re just switching cars,” Kim says. “Then we’ll get to the house.”
“We’re going to your house?” you ask.
Kim shakes her head. “Just a house. I can’t risk staying anywhere too long.”
The car pulls to a stop. Kim opens her door, and you slide out on your side. The driver is already out of the car, and as you exit, she goes around to the back, lifts the tailgate, and pulls out a red plastic gas container, which she proceeds to dump all over the car.
Watching her, you see that the driver is tall and thin. Her hair
is as dark as Kim’s, but her skin is paler, almost translucent in the moonlight. She’s wearing black boots, leather pants and jacket. There’s a gracefulness to every move she makes. Like a dancer. It’s hard to take your eyes off her.
Kim comes over and stands by you, holding your bag out to you. “Don’t forget this,” she says.
“Thanks,” you say, just as the driver flicks a match, and in the flame you see her face for the first time. “OH MY GOD,” you say as the driver throws the match and the SUV bursts into flames. “That’s Kendall Jenner,” you say to Kim.
Kim nods excitedly at you, like Good job figuring that out!
“That’s your sister!” you add stupidly.
Kim nods again politely, then says, “Come on,” pulling you along.
Kendall is already a good distance away from the burning SUV, her long legs taking her down a shallow ditch to what looks like just a weird brown shape in the night. She pulls a sheet back, revealing a small car underneath. A Honda Fit.
In the firelight you can see Kim’s upper lip curling. Kendall sees it too.