Most Likely (Most Likely #1) - Sarah Watson Page 0,35

She felt scared. “I’ll man the ticket booth,” Martha said. “We shouldn’t be so lazy about not being in there.” She took her envelope and walked away.

Jordan stared at her whiteboard, the one that her friends said made her look like a serial killer. She was convinced that if she just stared at it for long enough, everything would come into focus.

Her brother wandered in and plopped down on her purple beanbag chair. “Dad said we’re doing knickknacks for dinner again.”

Knickknacks meant that her parents were sick of cooking and everyone was on their own to eat whatever leftovers they could find in the fridge. “Okay,” she said.

“What are you doing?”

Jordan didn’t respond. She’d written down the date of the meeting with the neighbors and the date that the councilman introduced the ordinance. They were so close together, it was almost unbelievable that it could be a coincidence.

“What… arrrree… youuuu… doooinng?” her brother said again, this time imitating Dory from Finding Nemo when she was communicating with the whale.

“I’m trying to save your future. You want to carve your name into Memorial Park, right?”

“Sure.” He moved to her desk and picked through her stack of college brochures. “George Washington University?”

“It’s in DC.” The college counselor had told her it would be a good backup, along with BU, if she couldn’t get into Northwestern.

“I don’t want you to go to DC.”

“Relax. I don’t either.” It was not an area that interested her. At all.

“Why would neighbors complain about a park?” He stepped in front of the whiteboard, blocking her view.

“Lucas, get out. I’m trying to focus.”

“I thought you were doing this for me.”

“I am. The neighbors complained because people go into the park to deal drugs and do bad stuff.”

“That’s not the park’s fault.” Lucas picked up one of her whiteboard pens and drew a smiley face on the board. Then he put the cap back on the pen. “Dibs on the leftover spaghetti.” He walked out.

After he was gone, Jordan stepped closer to her whiteboard. It wasn’t the park’s fault. It also wasn’t fair to the kids who lived in the neighborhood. Martha’s neighborhood. They would be expected to play inside from now on. The only reason the councilman didn’t look like a villain was because he got to say he was doing it for the vocal neighbors. Jordan looked at the two dates she’d written down and then scanned her notes. Scott had given her a date and told her that’s when the meeting with the antipark neighbors had taken place. She didn’t even think to ask for verification. Now she was mad at herself. It was his eyes. Those bright-blue eyes that seemed incapable of lying. Jordan reached for her phone. She shut her bedroom door as she dialed. The phone rang only twice before she heard his voice. “Office of Councilman Kenneth Lonner. Scott Mercer speaking.”

“Scott. Hi. It’s Jordan. Jordan Scha—uh—I mean, James. Jordan James.”

“Jordan.” He seemed surprised to hear from her. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m still working on my article, and I realized that it would be helpful if I could read the complaints made by the constituents. The ones who spoke up about drug dealing in the park.”

There was a long silence.

“Hm,” he said. “I’m not sure that I have anything I can show you. The meeting between the councilman and the residents was private, so I don’t believe notes were kept.”

Interesting. Jordan didn’t know if that was unusual. She worried it would show her inexperience if she asked.

“Then how about a name and a phone number for any of the people who made the complaints?” she said. “I can get quotes directly from them.”

“I’m not allowed to give out our constituents’ personal information.”

That seemed legitimate. Though also incredibly convenient. As Jordan sat there, her Spidey sense on fire, she decided that she had to push. “You understand that I could file a records request under the Freedom of Information Act, right?”

Jordan had absolutely no idea what the Freedom of Information Act actually covered. She was taking a gamble that he didn’t either.

She thought she heard Scott sigh. It turned out that he was just clearing his voice so he could lower it. Almost to a whisper. “Look,” he said. “I can’t give you anything on the record. But I’ll show you something if you can keep it between us.”

“Sure.”

“Can you meet me tomorrow?”

“Absolutely. Should I meet you at the office?”

“Definitely not. How about the place where that young professionals’ mixer was? The