Most Likely (Most Likely #1) - Sarah Watson Page 0,55
said. “I don’t think we’re off to a great start. Looks like the first hole isn’t wheelchair accessible.”
CJ didn’t want to sound ignorant, but she thought everything in America had to be wheelchair accessible. “Aren’t there laws about that?”
Wyatt laughed like she’d just said the most adorably quaint thing in the world.
“Okay,” CJ said. “I know there are historical places that don’t have proper access. But anything as modern as mini golf has to be accessible, right?”
“There was a law passed in 2010,” said Wyatt, “that all new mini golf facilities have to have at least 50 percent of their holes accessible.”
“Only 50 percent?”
“And only since 2010. The Great Lakes Mini Golf and Family Fun Center is older than shit. So who knows what we’re going to get.”
They approached the second hole, and CJ saw right away that it would be nearly impossible for Wyatt to navigate. The dragon that guarded the putting green was completely cheesy. It was also so wide that Wyatt couldn’t get his chair around it. The third hole was no better. There was an impenetrable castle-and-moat situation. It turned out that only one hole in the entire facility was completely accessible. By the time they got to it, Wyatt was so frustrated that CJ didn’t even enjoy it when she beat him by three strokes.
“Come on,” CJ said, after Wyatt made an exaggeratedly big deal out of adding up their scores. “You know what is accessible to everyone? Pizza.”
The snack bar was a series of picnic tables with benches permanently welded in place. “Like prison,” Wyatt said in a way that was meant to be a joke but didn’t come out that way. The only way Wyatt could pull his chair up to the table was to sit awkwardly at the end. CJ sat down at the corner next to him.
“Sorry,” Wyatt said.
“For what?”
“That this night has been such a drag.”
“It’s exactly what I needed.”
He shot her a look.
“I’m being serious. This is a nice distraction.”
“What am I inadvertently distracting you from?”
“I got my SAT scores yesterday.” She picked at a glob of cheese on her cold pizza. “I tanked ’em. Again. I think my dream of going to Stanford is basically over.”
“Clarke, can I say something that might sound offensive?”
She shrugged. “Sure.”
“You need better dreams.”
“It’s just so embarrassing. I work so much harder than everyone I know. Why can’t I be one of those people who things come easily to?”
“Because those people are usually assholes.” She looked up. “You have so much empathy, Clarke. I think that’s why you can’t stand seeing Dakota on the sideline.” Their eyes met, and she felt that same indescribable something that she’d felt earlier in the car. “You have a big heart. That’s better than a big score.”
Ordinarily, CJ hated it when people described any part of her as “big.” This time, though, it made her want to cry. She wished she could see herself the way Wyatt saw her. She couldn’t help it. Scores mattered. Winning mattered.
“Anyway,” he said, “I know Stanford is your dream. But dreams change.”
CJ felt her leg accidentally brush against his. She quickly pulled it back. “Hey, Wyatt. Can I ask you something?”
“You can ask me anything you want.”
“What did your mom mean? About talking you into going back to Ohio State?”
“Like I said, Clarke, dreams change.” Wyatt wadded up his napkin and dropped it onto a plate covered in pizza crusts. “Hey, do you like video games? Looks like they have a pretty sweet arcade.”
Wyatt pushed himself back from the table before CJ could even answer.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
AVA NEEDED one more piece for her RISD portfolio. She’d read online that it was a good idea to paint something that showcased her personality, so she stared at the blank canvas and thought about the different qualities that made her who she was. As much as she wanted to, it would be a lie not to include her depression. She wasn’t quite sure how to show that with paint and decided to try her hand at an abstract piece.
She was the only one in the art room that morning when she started. Ava mixed colors together until she’d made a shade of brown the color of her skin. She dipped her brush and swiped it across the canvas in quick, sharp strokes. She didn’t have a plan. She painted quickly in order to stop herself from overthinking her choices.
“Hey,” said a voice from behind her.
Ava jumped, and the brush flew across the canvas, leaving a