Most Likely
Page 5
Ava followed her inside. “And yet that’s what happened. Why did he drop physics, anyway?”
Martha shrugged. She’d been wondering that herself.
“Art is the one place—the only place—where I don’t always feel completely self-conscious.”
“First of all, that’s ridiculous,” Martha said. “You should feel like a badass at all times. Second of all, show him how good you are at art and make him feel insecure. That seems like a fun way to spend first period every day.” Ava didn’t respond, and Martha seized on the four seconds of silence to change the subject. “So… I’ve been thinking about what Jordan wants to do. And also about what the developer said at the meeting.”
But that was as far as she got because that was the exact moment she noticed someone standing in the middle of the lobby. “Hi,” said the intruder.
Martha jumped. The door had been locked. Which meant that for this girl to be standing here…“Is this a robbery?”
The girl laughed. She looked to be about Martha’s age. “OMG. Hilarious. Uncle Benny told me you were funny.”
Ava leaned over. “Who’s Uncle Benny?”
Martha had absolutely no idea. “I’m sorry,” she said to the girl. “Who are you?”
“I’m Victoria.” She had an accent, though it was difficult to pinpoint where it was from. England maybe. “My uncle is your boss. Anyway, nice to meet you.”
Victoria gave a little wave. Her nails were painted a light shade of pink, and her impossibly tiny wrist was wrapped in a Tiffany charm bracelet that Martha guessed was real. That still didn’t explain why in the hell Uncle Benny’s vaguely British niece was standing in the lobby. “This is Ava. I’m Martha.”
Ava gave a slightly awkward nod. She was always awkward with new people.
“I know. Uncle Benny, Boss Ben, whatever we want to call him, told me. He said you’re named after Martha Washington. That you’re related to her. Great-great-grandmother or something.”
It was a few more years back than that. But Martha nodded. “Yeah.”
“That’s so funny that you’re related to George Washington.”
Martha didn’t know why it would be funny. Not that it really mattered since she actually wasn’t related to George Washington. Only to Martha. George never had biological children. Most people didn’t seem to know or care that the father of the country wasn’t actually a father.
“I’m named after Queen Victoria. But not really. I mean, she’s not a relation. My mum just liked the name. But how funny is it that I’m named after English royalty and you’re named after American, well, not royalty, but you get what I’m saying. So, do we have uniforms?”
Martha looked at Ava, who merely shrugged. “Huh?” Martha said.
“Uniforms? Like anything that identifies us as theater employees?”
And that was how the great-great-great-great-great-great-great-granddaughter of Martha Washington learned that she had a new coworker.
“Um, no. No uniforms.”
“Too bad. I thought it would be fun to have a uniform. Oh well. I’m ready to start training whenever you are.”
Ava took that as her cue to leave. “It seems like you might be busy today after all. Talk later?”
Martha nodded. “Definitely. I’ll call you tonight.”
“Nice meeting you, Eva,” said the girl who was named after Queen Victoria but wasn’t actually related to Queen Victoria.
“You too,” Ava said politely, not bothering to correct her. She gave Martha a hug and whispered into her ear. “Don’t worry about the park. We’ll figure out how to save it. Also, that girl is weird. Text me if it gets creepy.”
Then Ava was gone and Martha was alone with the strange new girl.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE NEXT morning Ava pulled herself out of bed, poured a big bowl of Cocoa Puffs, and flopped down on the couch. The house was quiet since her mom was already out for her Saturday morning run. Not too long ago, her mom had tried to get Ava to go running with her. After several attempts, she’d finally accepted that it was never going to happen. Ava looked at her phone and saw their group thread already showed texts back and forth between CJ and Jordan about the councilman. Ava took a bite of cereal. It felt a little weird that she was the only one without a specific role in this plan. Not that she really wanted to create a fake LinkedIn profile or research the councilman. It’s just that she thought it would be nice if sometimes people pointed at her when they needed a job done. Ava was about to put her phone down when she saw the e-mail.
“Holy shit!” Ava shouted at the exact same time her mom opened the front door.
Her mom yanked both earbuds out of her ears. “What? What? What’s wrong?”
Ava read through the e-mail again just to make sure she hadn’t misunderstood. “Oh my god. Oh my god.”
“Ava, what is it?” Her mom’s earbuds dangled around her neck, and Ava could hear the faint sounds of Vivaldi’s Fifth coming out of them. Seriously. Vivaldi. The woman’s power jam was a classical concerto. “Ava, you’re scaring me.”
“Sorry, Mom. It’s not bad. It’s good. It’s so good. The Coventry Art Gallery. My painting was selected.”
Ava beamed. That made her mom beam back although she was still confused. “Wait. What are you talking about? Selected for what?”
It’s not like her mom had forgotten that Ava had submitted a painting to a major art gallery or wasn’t a present parent or anything. It’s just that Ava had never bothered to tell her since she thought she’d never get selected. She was so mad at CJ for pushing her to submit in the first place. She’d been ready to call CJ and yell at her for constantly believing in her and making her do things she had no business doing. But they’d picked her. The e-mail said that there’d been more than two hundred submissions and they had picked hers.
“That’s incredible,” her mom said when Ava finally caught her breath enough to read the entire e-mail out loud. “What a fun thing to be a part of.”
Fun? It was actually quite a bit more than fun. “The Coventry Art Gallery is a real showroom.” It wasn’t some bullshit teen competition either. “Submissions were open to everyone. I beat out professional artists.”
“That’s amazing. You should be so proud of yourself,” her mom said. “And”—her voice was bubbling with enthusiasm now—“this will look great on your college applications.”
This would have been a perfect time for Ava to tell her mom that she wanted to apply to art school. There would probably never be a more perfect time. She tried to psych herself up. Come on, Ava. You can do it. You can do it. She opened her mouth. “Yeah. Totally,” she said.
Her mom eyed the cereal bowl that was resting precariously on the couch. Her mom didn’t like Cocoa Puffs and she particularly didn’t like Cocoa Puffs on her nice linen sectional, but she’d long ago given up nagging her only daughter about what she put into her body and what she put on top of the furniture. So she just kept eyeing the Cocoa Puffs like she could psychically keep them from spilling. Ava picked up the bowl and her mom finally relaxed.
“I’m telling you, Aves, the smaller liberal arts universities aren’t going to care about your one bad semester. This gallery thing will show them you’re a well-rounded applicant.”
“Sure, Mom.” Ava didn’t want to talk about the one bad semester. She didn’t like thinking back to that time. “I’m gonna text the girls.”
“Okay,” her mom said. “I’ll leave you alone, then.” She walked toward her bedroom and paused just before going inside. “Oh. While I’m thinking of it… Did you remember to take your pill this morning?” Her voice was breezy, as if the thought had only just occurred to her. It had not just occurred to her. Her mom had a reminder on her phone that went off every morning at seven thirty on the weekdays and ten on the weekends. Not that she needed it. Her mom never forgot.
Ava never forgot either. “Yup. I remembered.”
“Ava.” Ava looked up. “I’m really proud of you.”
Her mom nodded and left her to it. As soon as her mom closed her bedroom door, Ava checked her message. The text was from a number she didn’t recognize.
Congratulations on the Coventry Art Gallery!
It must be from the gallery people. The curator or the director maybe.
Another message popped up.
I’m seriously in awe. Like majorly.
That didn’t sound like an art professional.
I read the announcement on the gallery’s Instagram and about shit myself when I saw your name. So seriously. Congrats.
This was definitely not somebody from the gallery. Ava typed out a response.
Who is this?
She watched the blue dots form as her mystery fan revealed himself.
Oh. Sorry. Should have started with that. I got your number from the class directory. It’s Logan.
Ava never responded.
Which made it completely awkward on Monday when she saw him in class. She got there early, and Logan was already at his easel, staring in bewilderment at his hot mess of a self-portrait. It turned out that his talent with a camera did not translate onto the canvas.
Mrs. Simon lit up when Ava entered. “Ava! Get your professional artist butt over here.”
“I guess you saw the gallery announcement?” Ava was very aware of Logan on the other side of the room. “Pretty cool, right?”
“It’s amazing. And further proof that you have got to apply to art school. It doesn’t have to be RISD. The Art Institute would be lucky to get you if you want to stay in Ohio.”
Ava shot a look in Logan’s direction. “I’ll keep thinking about it,” Ava promised quietly.
The bell rang and Ava went to her easel.
“Hey,” Logan said.
“Hey,” she said, eyes forward.
“You never texted me back.”
“I, uh, got busy.”
“You seemed to get conveniently busy once you knew it was me texting.”
“Nope. Just busy.”
“All weekend?”
“Yep.”
“You must be pretty excited. About the art show.”
Ava kept her eyes forward. How was he so bad at picking up on social cues?
“I guess,” she said curtly.
“Why are you being weird?”
“I’m not being weird.”
Ava was totally being weird. She couldn’t help it. When it came to Logan Diffenderfer, she didn’t know any other way to be.
“God, Ava.”
“What?”
“I’m seriously so confused. I thought sending a congratulatory text was generally a nice thing. I don’t understand why you’re being such a—”
She turned to look at him, daring him to finish that sentence. He did not. “Never mind. So… you’re applying to art school?”
Shit. Ava crammed her toes into her shoes harder than she ever had in her life.
“Undecided. It’s… complicated.”
“Why’s it complicated?”
Ava shot her hand in the air. She would ask to switch easels. She would say she preferred a spot in the back row. “Mrs. Simon?”
Mrs. Simon saw her hand but motioned for her to put it down. “One second, Ava. I want to get everyone started on something new.” She paced the rows as she addressed the class. “I’ve been really happy with the progress on your self-portraits even though some of you still need to keep working.” She paused behind Logan, then continued walking again. “But overall, I’m seeing excellent work. Now it’s time to switch gears. What you’re going to discover is that it’s one thing to paint a face that you already know intimately. It’s quite another to have to figure out the features of somebody who isn’t as familiar to you. I think you’ll find it an interesting challenge. So put away your mirrors and turn to the person next to you.”
This could not be happening. This seriously could not be happening. Ava turned to her right and found Logan Diffenderfer staring at her. “Well,” he said, “this should be real fun.”
“What the hell is Ava’s problem?”
Jordan closed her locker door to find Logan Diffenderfer on the other side of it.
“Seriously, why is she always such a—” Jordan’s eyes widened and then narrowed in a way that made Logan’s mouth snap shut.
“Such a what, Logan?”
“I’m always nice to her and she always treats me like… like I killed her puppy.”
“She doesn’t have a puppy.”
“You know what I mean.” Jordan pulled her backpack over her shoulder and started walking. He followed. “Come on. Why is she like that?”
Jordan wished she could just tell him what Ava had overheard. He wouldn’t take delight in knowing that he’d hurt her. He’d feel awful. This is the part she wished Ava could understand. He was a guy who said a bad thing. He wasn’t a bad guy. But as much as she wanted to tell him, Jordan couldn’t violate Ava’s trust. “I have no idea why she doesn’t like you,” Jordan said.
Logan sighed. “You’re lying.”
Jordan’s phone buzzed with an incoming call. She glanced at the number. “Oh my god!”
“What. Who is—”
“Quiet!” She cleared her throat. Then cleared it again. Then she took a deep breath and answered. “This is Jordan James,” she said as calmly and professionally as possible.
“Jordan James?” Logan repeated. “Who are you talking—”
Jordan put her hand over Logan’s mouth. He looked surprised. Far too surprised to try to move it.
“Good afternoon, Ms. James,” said a male voice.
It was the councilman. Oh my god. Her heart was pounding. She’d only submitted the press request this morning. She hadn’t expected to hear back so quickly.
“Jordan is fine.”
“Hi, Jordan. My name is Scott Mercer.”
Jordan deflated slightly but recovered. “Oh. Hello… Mr. Mercer.”
“Scott’s fine. I’m the legislative deputy to Councilman Kenneth Lonner. The councilman is buried in committee meetings about the billboard ban, so I’m afraid he won’t have time to speak with you about the park.”
“Oh, okay.” Jordan cringed. Not only at the way her voice sounded, young and kid-like, but at the words. A real journalist wouldn’t take no for an answer. A real journalist would press. “Well, what I mean is, if that’s the case, I’ll have to run the article without a comment from him. And given the nature of what I’m running, I would expect that he’d like a chance to respond.”
Logan tilted his head curiously to the side. Jordan’s hand moved along with his face.
“I see,” said Scott Mercer. There was some movement on Scott Mercer’s side of the call. Some typing. “Uh… can I put you on hold for just a second?”
“That would be fine.”
Jordan heard the line click. She took her hand away from Logan’s mouth and did a little excited dance right there in the hall. “Oh my god. Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod.”
Logan wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “What the hell is—?”
Jordan slammed her hand back onto Logan’s mouth as the line clicked on.
“Jordan? Are you still there?” said Scott Mercer.
“I’m here.”
“Here’s what I can do. As the councilman’s legislative deputy, I’m well versed on the development issue and have been authorized to speak for him.”
“Oh,” Jordan said. “That would be an, uh, amenable solution for me.”
“Does Thursday at eleven AM work for you?”
“Absolutely,” she said quickly, before remembering that she would be in school at eleven AM. “Oh wait. Sorry. I just consulted my calendar, and I have a prior, um, engagement.” He didn’t need to know that her prior engagement was AP English.
“What about three PM?”
Jordan considered. It
was perfect. The newspaper office would be empty and quiet after school. She could do the call from there.
“Three PM will work fine.”
“Fantastic. Is this number a cell phone?”
“Yes. So you’ll call me here? Or should I call you or…”
“I’ll text you the address of the field office. We can meet there.”
An in-person meeting? That would never work. The whole idea was that she didn’t want him to see how young she was. “Actually, um—”
Brrrrrring!
“What is that?” asked Scott. “It sounds like a school bell.”
It was a school bell. It was ringing right over Jordan’s head. “Thursday will be great see you then thanks bye!”
She hung up as fast as she possibly could. Logan removed her hand from his mouth. “What just happened?” he asked.
Her heart was pounding. It would be fine. She could make it work. She could make herself look older. She could cut her last class of the day. That would give her more than enough time to drive across town. It was US History and she could always get the notes from Ava. Actually, CJ took better notes. This would all be totally and completely fine.
“Um, Jordan,” Logan said. “Did you just imply to that person on the phone that you had damaging information about the development?”
Oh, right. She’d done that too.
“Shit,” Jordan said.
That afternoon, CJ studied for her SATs at the desk she’d inherited when her oldest sister left for Brown. Jordan had begged all of her friends to go shopping with her that day. She needed to buy an outfit that would make her look old enough to interview someone called a legislative deputy. Ordinarily, CJ would have let herself be dragged around the mall, but the SATs were only a few weeks away. She had to say no. Ava was busy too, and that left poor Martha to take one for the team.
CJ flipped through her giant stack of vocabulary flash cards and stared at one of the words. “Arboreal.” She felt like an idiot for not remembering what it meant. She flipped the card over and read the definition: Of or relating to trees. CJ tried a trick she’d learned in her prep class and visualized the meaning of the word. She imagined the old maple tree in Memorial Park, the one they’d picnic under in the summer and that turned brilliant shades of orange and red in the fall. CJ wondered if they would have to cut it down to make room for the office building. Probably.