Most Likely (Most Likely #1) - Sarah Watson Page 0,29
is.” Martha snatched the pillow back. “She told me to give myself more options too.”
“Me three,” said Jordan. “Sorry, CJ. You’re not special.”
Ava didn’t add anything to the conversation. She was the only one who hadn’t had her meeting yet.
Jordan dumped the contents of the grocery bag onto the floor. Designer clothes scattered everywhere.
CJ grabbed another pillow from the head of the bed. This one had fringe at the edges, and she ran her fingers through it. “She told me that BU would be a good option.”
“Really? Me too.” Jordan sounded excited. “Maybe we will end up at college together. How fun would that be?” Jordan sifted through the pile of clothes and pulled out a little black suit dress. “This is cute.” She held it up to herself. “She said it’s a perfect safety school.”
Ms. Fischer had not called it a safety school when she brought it up to CJ. They spent the rest of the meeting focusing on CJ’s SAT score. Ms. Fischer came at her with a stern warning about making the time to study even if it meant sacrificing her social life for a few weeks. CJ hated how meek her voice had sounded when she asked if there were other things to focus on to make up for her SAT score.
Ms. Fischer had acknowledged that CJ’s GPA was outstanding and that her long list of extracurriculars would mean something. Maybe if you nail the essay. And I mean, really nail it. You don’t want to have to rely on that, though. Then she gave CJ practical tips about SAT study guides and free computer programs. CJ was too embarrassed to say that she’d done all those things already.
Jordan unbuttoned her pants and kicked them off. She stood there in her Wonder Woman undies eyeing the dress. CJ wished she could be that relaxed in her underwear. Even around her friends, she was always doing the thing where she crossed her arms in front of her stomach to hide it. She stood up. “I have to go.”
Jordan was just stepping into the dress. “Wait. No. You can’t.”
“I have to.”
“What about the park?” Jordan asked.
“I’m sorry,” CJ said. She couldn’t focus on the park right now. She would focus after the SATs were over. She needed to get home; she needed her SAT flash cards in her hands to feel like she was doing something. “I’m sorry,” she repeated. Then she left.
CHAPTER EIGHT
MARTHA ONCE saw a documentary about veal production. She learned that the calves were housed in restrictive pens because the lack of movement made their meat more tender. That’s how she felt whenever she worked in the tiny movie theater ticket booth. Like a constricted, doomed calf.
It was Saturday morning, and she was perched on the stool in the little booth, painting her nails with Wite-Out and thinking about next year. College applications had everyone in knots. Martha included. Though her knots weren’t so much about getting in as they were about how she would pay for it when she did. Everyone told her to apply for financial aid like it was no big deal. Like they didn’t understand that the money had to be paid back. Her top choice, MIT, was more than fifty grand a year. Once you added room and board, Martha calculated that she’d be graduating $280,000 in debt. At least. It made her feel sick. If she went to Cleveland State, she could probably get enough scholarship money to cover tuition. She could live at home and save even more money that way. She could keep working at the movie theater. Thinking about it made her feel more relaxed. It also made her feel like veal.
“I’m bored.” The voice came from behind her. “I’m so borrrrrred.”
Martha turned to find Victoria in the doorway. She was dressed in a pair of tiny tattered cutoffs (the kind that were tattered by Abercrombie & Fitch, not by life) and a scoopy little top that showed her delicate collarbones.
“Weird,” said Martha, carefully painting her pinkie nail. “I’m having the time of my life.”
“Is that a joke? American humor is sometimes hard for me to get.”
Martha put the cap back on the Wite-Out and shook her hands to dry them. “Definitely a joke.”
There wasn’t a lot of space in the ticket booth and only one stool, so Victoria leaned against the counter. She was so close to Martha that their knees were practically touching. “What do you do to pass the time?” Victoria asked.