Most Likely (Most Likely #1) - Sarah Watson Page 0,66

roll over. She directed her words at the wall. I’m not getting out of bed. CJ was the one who responded. You don’t have to. But we’re coming in. And then they did. All three of them. They climbed in and surrounded her. One of them—there would forever be a disagreement about who it was—took Ava’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “This means I love you,” she said. Whichever one of the shes it was. “If you love me back, you don’t have to say it, just squeeze twice.” Ava’s hand was weak, but she did it. Two squeezes.

The snow fell in thick flakes as the three of them congregated outside Ava’s window for the first time in years. CJ balanced on the flowerpot and worked her fingers into the small opening at the base of the window. She pushed up and it opened easily. Ava never told her mom that her friends had broken the lock, so she never knew it needed replacing. The first thing Jordan noticed was the music as it flowed outside. Tinny and hollow. Like it was coming from a pair of earbuds that were cranked up way too loud. Which is exactly what it was.

Ava was at her easel, lost in music and lost in her work, but as soon as CJ thrust the curtains open, she screamed. She was so startled by the faces of her three best friends that she hurled her paintbrush at the intruders. She hit CJ square in the middle of the forehead.

“What the hell?!” shouted Ava.

CJ wiped brown paint off her face.

Ava tried to catch her breath. “What the actual hell?”

It was Martha who answered. “We have the name of your birth mother.”

Ava pulled the earbuds out of her ears.

A few minutes later, all four girls were sitting on the floor of Ava’s room, their muddy shoes in a pile by the window. Ava’s mom was away in Chicago for a conference, and Ava would always remember how empty and quiet the house felt that night.

“I can’t do this,” Ava said. She was holding Martha’s phone. The file was just waiting for her to open it. “I can’t. Someone else do it.”

She held the phone out and CJ took it from her. Ava shut her eyes as CJ clicked the attachment open. Then all three of the girls with their eyes still open uttered some version of “Whoa.”

“What?” Ava kept her eyes shut tight. “What’s happening?”

“Um… she’s…” The voice sounded like Martha’s. But it also sounded like it was tearing up. So it couldn’t be Martha. Martha didn’t cry. “She looks like you, Ava.”

Ava opened one eye slowly. Then the other. CJ handed her the phone, and Ava gasped when she saw the picture. “Oh my God. Is that… is that me? With my—” Her voice cracked before she could say the word.

The photograph showed her birth mother lying in a hospital bed looking wide-eyed and terrified but also overcome with love. There was a baby in her arms. Baby Ava.

“Wow,” Ava said to the picture. The image was clear and focused. This woman would never be a fuzzy image again.

“Isabel Castillo,” Martha said. “That’s her name.”

“Ava Castillo.” Ava said it like she was trying it on. The name felt clunky and awkward in her mouth. “But I guess I would have had a different first name too.”

Ava read through the rest of the information. Isabel Castillo lived in California. There was an address in East Palo Alto. There was even a phone number.

“It’s still early enough there,” CJ said. “They’re three hours behind in California if you want to call.”

Ava didn’t need to think about it for long. She shook her head. “No. I can’t.” Ava had never intended to get in touch with her biological mom. She only wanted to see her, to have some sort of image to put in that blank space. And now she had it. That was enough. It was more than enough. “Thanks for coming by,” Ava said. “But I kind of want to be alone.”

Her friends understood. They gave her long and lingering hugs, and said they’d keep their ringers turned on all night if she needed anything. Ava honestly didn’t know if she would or not.

After her friends left, Ava stared at the canvas she’d been working on. She’d decided to paint the park. Not abstract this time. She was painting from an old photograph taken when the girls were fourteen. It was one of the best summers