Most Likely (Most Likely #1) - Sarah Watson Page 0,3
scene of the crime.”
“Clarke Josephine Jacobson,” Jordan said. “You’re being ridiculous.”
CJ wasn’t listening. Or if she was listening, she was doing an excellent job of ignoring Jordan. She climbed out of the car and the others followed. Then she put her keys into her backpack and pulled a black sweatshirt out of it. She zipped the hoodie all the way up despite the fact that the night was warm and muggy. Jordan watched with curiosity as CJ pulled the sweatshirt hood around her face and tugged the strings so tightly that only her green eyes remained visible in the darkness. As she tied the strings into a crisp little bow, the others traded a look.
Long ago, the four girls had promised never to talk trash about any member of the group behind her back. They took their promises seriously, so when CJ looked over at them and uttered a muffled “What?” from behind the cotton/polyester blend of her hoodie, they didn’t make fun of her behind her back. They made fun of her to her face.
“You cannot be serious,” said Martha.
Ava looked her up and down, and tilted her head to the side. “Aren’t you a little hot in that?”
“I think she looks adorable,” said Jordan. She turned to CJ. “Smile.”
“Huh?” Right as CJ turned, Jordan snapped a picture.
“So cute,” she said, looking at the photo.
“Ha ha. You guys are hilarious. I don’t want to get caught.”
It’s not like what they were about to do was a felony or anything—they’d looked it up just to make sure—but it’s not like it was completely legal either. (It was a misdemeanor.) Jordan tried out different filter options on the picture.
“Don’t you dare post that,” CJ said in a slight panic.
“Why not? Look how cute you are.” Jordan held her phone out.
CJ took the phone and her eyes widened in horror. “I am not even remotely cute.”
The picture wasn’t exactly flattering. CJ’s face was all squished up by the hoodie, which made her freckled button nose—arguably her best feature—look a little too buttony. Wisps of blonde hair clung sadly to the sides of her face, and she looked tall. She was tall—the tallest girl in the class—but if she’d known the picture was coming, she probably would have done that weird thing she always did where she jutted her hip out to the side and shifted her shoulders down in a way that she claimed made her look normal heighted. Jordan watched as CJ deleted the photo.
“Hey!” said Jordan.
“I am not getting arrested because you posted this on social media. That one picture could destroy my whole future.”
Jordan took her phone back. “Don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic?”
“I might want to go into politics. What if this is the thing that keeps me from getting elected president? Wouldn’t you feel terrible?”
“Don’t worry,” Jordan said. “They’ll still let you be president of the Justin Bieber fan club.”
“Ha ha,” said CJ.
“Relax, CJ,” said Ava. “We’re minors. Nothing you do as a minor counts.” Ava’s mom was a lawyer.
“Then let’s commit all the crimes while we still can,” Martha said.
“Agreed,” said Jordan. “Come on. I have the least amount of time left.” She enthusiastically linked arms with Martha and they broke into a skip.
“Assholes,” CJ said as she caught up to them.
Jordan stopped skipping when she noticed the broken window on the corner house. The area had changed so much since they were kids, shifting from “quaint” into “kinda scary” practically overnight. Martha lived only a few blocks away, and even though she pretended like it didn’t bother her, Jordan knew that she was sensitive when the other kids at school referred to the area as a shithole. Jordan didn’t have to imagine how much that must hurt, because whenever people saw them together, it wasn’t Martha who they assumed lived here. Being half black meant that people looked at Jordan and decided that she was the one who belonged in the neighborhood with the broken windows and the high crime.
Jordan’s phone made the ding sound that meant she had a new text. It was from Logan Diffenderfer. It wasn’t totally unusual for him to text her. She was the editor of the school paper and he was the photographer. So they had a lot of professional business to sort out. His messages would usually start with “Hey, boss,” and say things like “Sent you the photos so check your e-mail.” Her replies were equally professional: “Got it, thanks,” “Final layout approved,” or “If