Most Likely (Most Likely #1) - Sarah Watson Page 0,45

to touch her, and to ask her why. She’d brought it up with her mom, and they’d talked it over with Dr. Clifford at one of their family sessions. Dr. Clifford and her mom decided that it was not in Ava’s best interest. Everyone was always deciding what was best for her. Everyone except for Ava. “Definitely not interested,” she said.

She wondered if he would be able to see that she was lying when he took her picture. She stood there and waited until he lifted his camera. Just as he did, she heard a slapping sound from the side of the house. Like an octopus beating a tentacle against a window.

“What the hell is that?” Logan asked.

“That,” Ava said with relief, “is Jordan.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

EVEN THOUGH it was technically fall now, it didn’t feel like it. It was mid-October, yet neither Martha nor her dad wore coats as they walked across the long mall parking lot. By now, the air should have been crisp and filled with the scent of wood-burning fireplaces. Martha’s dad still called it an Indian summer, because no matter how many times she tried to explain it to him, he didn’t get why that was problematic. He held the door open for her and followed her inside. He’d been called in for an interview with a company that built motorcycle parts. If he got the job, it would mean driving two hours each way. It would also mean health insurance, a good paycheck, and retirement benefits. Martha was going to help him pick out a button-down shirt for the interview.

They had to walk past the Army Recruitment Center to get to JCPenney, and Martha peeked inside. The female recruitment officer, Major Malone, was at her desk. Martha was fascinated by her. She didn’t fit Martha’s image of a soldier. Martha knew it was a weird thing to do, but after the first time she’d seen her, she’d googled her. She hadn’t found much, just one picture of her holding her pilot’s helmet and standing in front of an Apache helicopter. Martha couldn’t imagine what it must feel like to pilot a helicopter. She’d never even been on a plane before.

Whatever. Why was she even thinking about this? It’s not like the military was known for their friendly relationship with the lesbian and bi community. At least she knew it used to be like that. She honestly wasn’t sure what it was like now. Maybe she should ask. Of course maybe she should figure out if she even fit into one of those categories first. Martha’s mind drifted to Victoria. It had been doing that a lot lately.

“What’s going on with the park?” her dad asked.

“Huh?” Martha’s cheeks felt hot. She blamed the weather before remembering that they were inside, where it was air-conditioned. “Oh. The park.”

Ever since they’d realized that there was no massive political conspiracy, they’d basically stopped thinking about it. Around school, their classmates were still talking about the park, but they were talking about other things too. College applications and midterms. The football team and the upcoming rivalry game against Walsh Jesuit. Jordan had found out from the legislative deputy guy that the city was waiting for the results of something called an environmental impact report that could, in theory, kill the whole project.

“Nothing really. There’s this environmental thing we’re waiting for. It doesn’t look like it’ll help us, though.”

“Oh well,” he said. “I suppose that’s the price of progress.”

He’d said the same thing to Martha’s mom after the plant closed. Martha could still remember sitting under the table in the dining room, unnoticed as her parents argued in the kitchen. Her mom was spinning out and demanding that her dad do something. “What do you want me to do?” he’d said. “Production moves overseas and plants close. The world is changing and there’s nothing I can do about that. That’s the price of progress.” She’d never heard her mom yell before that time. After the plant closed, there was nothing but yelling. That was the price of progress as far as Martha knew.

They took the escalator to the menswear section and found a rack of button-down shirts that were on sale. Martha picked out a blue one and held it up to her dad. It was a beautiful shirt. She hoped it would be good enough.

Ava was literally the last senior to have her meeting with the college counselor. She’d put it off over and over again, hoping that the counselor would