[ WP ] Write a story about a train ride .

A cold, bare foot nudges mine. I ignore it, focusing more intently on my book. 
 
 There's a quiet whisper, a hiss. *'' Jane. `` * Then a few moments later, a little louder, *'' Jaaaane. `` * 
 
 `` Kathy,'' I return in a monotone. 
 
 `` Jane. Look up.'' 
 
 `` Not gon na happen.'' 
 
 `` Just for a second.'' 
 
 `` Nope.'' 
 
 Her toes touch my ankle. They're freezing. I jerk back, wishing I'd worn boots. Damn this heat. I do n't care if we take our next train ride right in the sweltering ass-crack of summer -- I'm wearing Uggs. 
 
 `` I'm *serious* this time,'' she insists. 
 
 `` No, you're not.'' 
 
 `` I totally am. Cross my heart.'' 
 
 `` No, you're not. You're just saying that because you think it'll be funnier when I *do* look up. But the joke's on you, Bobby Drake, because I'm not looking up this time.'' 
 
 `` If you're going to subject me to more obscure Marvel references, you owe to me to at least look up.'' 
 
 I furrow my eyebrows, resisting the urge to look at her. `` How did you know that was Marvel?'' 
 
 She snorts. `` What, like it was gon na be DC?'' 
 
 `` I've taught you well,'' I say, unable to help a smile. 
 
 `` Look *up, * nerd.'' 
 
 I sigh, knowing I'll regret this. I push my glasses up on the bridge of my nose and look up at her. Kathy grins brightly, waggling her eyebrows. She jerks her head to a spot behind me, passably subtle. 
 
 I slide a bookmark between the pages, casually glancing around the car until my eyes land on a middle-aged woman in conversation with a younger man. She bobs her head when she talks, somewhat reminiscent of a pigeon. I slowly turn my head back, raising an eyebrow at Kathy. 
 
 `` The pigeon?'' I ask in the most dignified way possible ( i.e., not very ). 
 
 She pulls a face. `` What?'' 
 
 I shrug. `` She kind of looks like a pigeon.'' 
 
 `` Oh, my God.'' Kathy cranes her neck, and her eyes go wide. `` She *does*.'' 
 
 `` Thank you. What about her is worth noting, exactly?'' 
 
 A serious expression settles on Kathy's face. `` She's a murderer.'' 
 
 `` Mmm. You know, I see why you would say that, except that I do n't, at all.'' 
 
 `` She is.'' Kathy nods emphatically. `` She's trying to talk that guy into joining the plot to murder the baby-killer three rows back. She already convinced that chick with the dreads. She's got a tomahawk in her purse.'' 
 
 I purse my lips together, taking a moment to parse through that statement. `` Okay.'' I lift my pointer finger. `` First of all, you're combining two different cultures there, and I'm like 90 % sure that's offensive. Secondly -- and I want you to listen to me very closely, here, Kathy -- this is not the fucking Orient Express.'' 
 
 `` Why not?'' she whines, throwing her hands out. `` All I want to is to be part of a murder plot on a train!'' She pauses to consider, tilting her head. `` And go to Yugoslavia.'' 
 
 `` You're ridiculous,'' I inform her, returning to my book. 
 
 She groans. `` Come on. We still have *two* hours left. You ca n't just *read* the entire time.'' 
 
 `` I can, and I will.'' 
 
 `` But Jane,'' she says, her voice syrupy sweet. I regard her with suspicion as she pulls a small box out of her bag. `` Would n't you rather play... *trivia*?'' 
 
 I roll my eyes, shutting the book again. `` Next time, lead with that.'' 
 
 `` Noted.''
