Most Likely (Most Likely #1) - Sarah Watson Page 0,22

“Are you about to graduate?”

Staff Sergeant Broderick stood in front of the Army Recruitment Center, the one that was a staple of pretty much every mall in a blue-collar town. His name wasn’t on his uniform, but she knew it because he’d handed her his business card before. Several times, actually. He always tried to talk to her and yet somehow never remembered her face. After the second time it happened, Martha did some googling. She learned that he was expected to sign up a certain number of people each month, which explained his aggressiveness. She also learned that thirty-five was the oldest recruitment age.

“No,” Martha said. “I graduated a while ago. I’m thirty-six. Sorry.”

“Ha ha,” he said lightly. “Good one. So what’s the plan after graduation? You want to come in and talk about it?”

Martha did not want to come in and talk about it. Inside the recruitment office, a uniformed woman sat at one of the desks. Martha accidentally caught her eye as she was looking for an escape. The woman was older, forties probably, with a no-nonsense look that Martha liked. Martha also liked that she kept glancing up at the conversation and seemed to be rolling her eyes at Staff Sergeant Broderick.

“How much do you know about the army?” Broderick asked in a dude bro tone.

“Well,” Martha said, “I know that they haven’t hit their recruitment goal for women in several years.” She’d read this online too. “So I know you’re desperate for people like me.”

The woman at the back desk looked up again.

“That’s exactly right,” said Broderick. “Which is why we’re offering forty grand in bonuses on top of student-loan repayment.”

Martha’s jaw must have been on the floor, because he took this as his opening.

“Come on in and we can talk about it.”

Martha shook her head and backed away.

CHAPTER SIX

ON THURSDAY morning, Jordan stood in front of the bathroom mirror and tried to figure out the best way to hide the purple stripes in her hair. Her new outfit was packed carefully in her backpack for later, but she was still worried that the purple stripes in her hair would give away her real age. She’d been trying to follow a YouTube video about how to pull it into a sleek but effortless topknot. As she stood back and frowned at the results—which were neither sleek nor effortless—her little brother walked by the bathroom.

“What the hell is wrong with your hair?” Lucas was in eighth grade and all attitude.

“Nothing is wrong. Get out.”

“You look terrible.”

“Mom!” Jordan shouted. Her mother appeared in the doorway looking mismatched in a business suit and a pair of old clogs that she referred to as her comfies. She always waited until the last second to put on her heels. “Make Lucas leave me alone.”

“Lucas, leave,” said her mom.

He rolled his eyes and walked away while muttering something about women. Jordan pointed to her head and turned to her mom. “Help.”

“What’s the end goal here, because…” Her mom eyed the knot curiously. “What are you even trying to do?”

“I don’t know. I just want to hide… these.” She grabbed desperately at the purple stripes. “I need to look professional.” Jordan had already told her mom about her interview with the legislative deputy. She always told her mom everything.

“You don’t have to try to be something you’re not. He’s expecting a high school student. Not Barbara Walters.”

Okay, maybe she didn’t tell her everything. She’d conveniently left out the part where she told him she was older. “Please, Mom. I also have my meeting with the college counselor today. I’m afraid she won’t take me seriously.”

This part was absolutely true. Jordan had woken up feeling nervous. She knew her first-choice schools might be unrealistic, and she wasn’t sure what she’d do if the college counselor told her that. “I want her to look at me and see somebody who looks… I don’t know… collegiate.”

“Oh, honey. You already look way more collegiate than half the burnouts I went to school with. But okay. I get it. Sit.”

Jordan sat dutifully on the edge of the tub, her back to her mom. She shook out her hair, and her mom combed through it with her fingers. Jordan loved this feeling more than almost anything in the world. It calmed her down and kept her from worrying about the interview. There was nothing else she could do to prepare. She’d practiced and practiced all week, forcing her friends to play the role of the legislative deputy. Her