by Sarah Watson
“Nasty divorce,” Victoria said. Then she quickly corrected herself. “Not me. My parents.”
“Yeah. I figured.” She didn’t tell Victoria that her parents had divorced nastily too.
Victoria grabbed a box of assorted candy bars from the storage cabinet and started filling the display rack.
“You don’t have to do that,” Martha said. “Besides, the movie is about to start, and I don’t think anyone will show up for a three-hour documentary about urban farming.”
Victoria made a face. “Is that what we’re showing? I didn’t even know.”
“Then why are you here?” Martha realized that her question came across as a little blunt. “I mean, look, free country. You can hang out wherever you want. But why here?”
Victoria shrugged. “I needed to escape my house.”
“Oh, sorry. Everything okay?”
Victoria stacked the candy carefully. One bar on top of the next with the labels facing the same way. “It’s fine. It’s not like I’m running from anything dramatic. Just boredom, really. We only moved here about a month ago. Nobody at my new school talks to me.”
“Where do you go?”
“Hawthorne Academy,” Victoria said. “Do you know it?”
“Yeah.” It’s where Ava’s mom had tried to send her after everything that happened freshman year. The school was as famous for their rigorous academics as they were for their students’ large bank accounts. Rumor had it that everyone there drove a BMW and had an Adderall dealer on speed dial.
“It’s not exactly an easy place to be the new girl. And I’m like an expert at being the new girl. Here. I’ll do that.”
Victoria took two big stacks of napkins from Martha and got to work filling napkin holders.
“It’s fine. You’re not even getting paid right now.”
At least Martha hoped she wasn’t. She was still nervous about this cutting into her hours.
“I don’t mind.”
Victoria smiled, and Martha realized for the first time how pretty her new coworker was. She was definitely weird. But a quirky weird.
“So tell me, what’s cool to do in Cleveland? I’m still figuring out my way around.”
“Nothing’s cool to do in Cleveland.”
Martha’s phone buzzed. It was probably Jordan. She’d promised to text as soon as her interview was over. Martha was dying to know how it went. She grabbed for her phone so fast that it flew out of her hand. Victoria bent over to pick it up at the same time that Martha did, and it was frankly a miracle that they didn’t bonk heads. Their fingers did touch for a second, though.
“Sorry,” Martha said. “I’ve been waiting for an important text.”
She checked it and found a message from Jordan.
He’s running massively behind. I’m still waiting in the lobby. Now I have to pee, and I’m terrified that if I go to the bathroom, he might come out to get me and then he’ll think I left. WHAT DO I DO?
“Everything okay?” Victoria asked.
“Yeah,” Martha said, laughing. “Sometimes I think my friend has it all together, and other times, not so much.” Martha typed out her response.
Pee, you idiot.
“So,” said Martha, “which parent did you get? In the divorce?”
She correctly assumed that any child of divorce would know what the question meant.
“My mum. Dad’s still in London.”
“I got my dad. My parents are divorced too.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s fine. It gets easier. I don’t know how far into it you are. But it becomes normal. Weirdly normal.”
“I hope so. Things with them were never great. It was inevitable. Dad was always working, so not having him around doesn’t even seem that different. Cleveland’s been the biggest adjustment. It’s been lonely. I think that’s why Uncle Benny offered me the job. He told me how cool you were. I think this is like a setup.”
Martha swallowed. Hard. “Oh?”
“Since I need friends.”
“Oh,” Martha said again. Then her phone buzzed. “Hold that thought.” Martha read the text. “Uh-oh.”
“What’s wrong?”
Jordan had sent the message in all caps.
MAJOR DUCKING PROBLEM.
Victoria peered over her shoulder. “What’s a ducking problem? Is that like an American thing?”
Martha was absolutely sure that Jordan had not meant to type “ducking.”
Ava and Logan were staring deep into each other’s eyes when she heard her phone buzz. “I should get that,” she started to say.
Logan shook his head. He somehow did it without breaking eye contact. Which was frankly a little unnerving. “We’re not supposed to look away.”
“It’s probably Jordan,” she said, still keeping her eyes on his. “She might be done interviewing that city guy.”
“Do you want to start this over? Because I sure as hell don’t.” They went on with the staring. After a minute, Ava’s eyes started to drift. “Nope,” Logan said. “Right here.” He made his fingers into a V and pointed them at his eyes.
Ava hated this. She didn’t blame Mrs. Simon for making them both stay after school. She knew her portrait of Logan was subpar. She’d rushed through it, just wanting it to be done.
“This is weird,” Ava said.
“I know.”
Ava had expected Mrs. Simon to give them both extra instruction on how to properly shade a nose or paint the lines of a neck. She did not expect her to ask them to stare into each other’s eyes for an uninterrupted fifteen minutes.
Logan scratched an itch on his arm. “How long do you think it’s been?”
Ava had set a timer on her phone, but she couldn’t look at it without breaking eye contact. “No idea.”
“Oh, wait,” Logan said. “If you move your head slightly to the left, I think I can see the clock behind you.”
Ava tilted her head without moving her eyes, and Logan groaned. “What? What’s wrong?”
“Three minutes,” he said. “It’s been three minutes.”
Ava wanted to crawl out of her skin. Another minute or so passed. The silence was almost as awful as the staring. Logan must have felt it too because he said, “Let’s ask each other questions or something.”
“Okay. What’s your favorite color?”
“Gray.”
“Gray? Gray?”
“Yes. Gray. You have a problem with gray?”
“It’s not a color.”
Logan somehow managed to roll his eyes without looking away. “Fine. Will you accept blue?”
“Sure. Now ask me something.”
“Why do you hate me so much?”
She didn’t say anything.
“Come on,” he said. “That’s my question. You have to answer.”
“Fine. Because you’re annoying.”
It wasn’t a lie. It just wasn’t the whole truth.
“Whatever. Your turn.”
“Favorite food?” she asked.
“My dad’s baked ziti. Patented Diffenderfer family recipe. Your questions are terrible. Ask me something real.”
“It’s your turn,” Ava said.
Logan took a second to think. “Okay. I’ve got one. Who is the woman in the picture? The one in your painting?” He angled his head slightly toward her self-portrait.
“Well, it’s called a self-portrait because—”
“I know it’s you. I mean the woman in the background.”
Ava hesitated.
“Or we can just ask each other dumb questions all day,” Logan said. “Whatever.”
“It’s my mom. Not my adoptive mom. My birth mom.”
“Oh.”
“I don’t know what she looks like. I assume she has brown hair and brown eyes, and probably looks somewhat like me. But I don’t really know. That’s why I kept it fuzzy.”
“That’s… really cool,” he said. “Are you going to submit that one to RISD?”
“It�
�s my turn to ask a question.”
She thought for a second, and Logan sighed. “My favorite sport is running. My favorite book is Catcher in the Rye. My favorite band is Amen Dunes. My favorite—”
“Why did you drop AP Physics?”
Logan shut his mouth.
“Why?” she asked. “I want to know.”
His eyes were locked on hers when he answered. “Because I had a panic attack.”
She blinked. “Oh,” she said. “I didn’t—”
“It’s fine. I mean, it’s not fine that it happened. But it did. My mom was there and she freaked. She wanted me to see a shrink but… no way.”
It took all of Ava’s strength not to look down at her feet.
“So she said if I wouldn’t see a shrink, I had to lighten my schedule. Art was the only first-period elective left with room. I didn’t do it to torture you, even though you seem to think so.”
“Why didn’t you want to see a… shrink?”
Ava hated the word “shrink.” It made her feel tiny and broken. Like she wasn’t normal.
“You already got your question,” Logan said. “It’s my turn.”
She prepared herself for what was coming next. “Okay.”
“What’s your favorite color?” he asked.
She was mad at him for copping out. It felt like a letdown. Like all the air had left the room. They asked each other a few more questions after that. Mostly insignificant ones. And then they went back to silently staring. It felt less intense in some ways and more intense in others. As she looked into his eyes, she also noticed his other features. She could see all the things she’d gotten wrong in her painting. His ears did stick out, but not in a way that made him look ridiculous. They made him look boyish. Like he was still figuring out how to grow into himself. She could see that his smile was slightly crooked, and she could tell that it was because there was a hint of something else behind it. Not sadness. But not exactly happiness either. Her portrait had only revealed the first layer of Logan Diffenderfer. She’d missed all the layers underneath.
The alarm on her phone finally went off. They’d survived their fifteen minutes.
“Please don’t tell anyone,” Logan said. “About the panic attack. I don’t want people to think I’m…”
Logan didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to. Ava knew what he was going to say. Crazy.
Ava picked up her phone to silence the alarm. “Uh-oh,” she said.
“What?”
She showed him the text from Jordan.
MAJOR DUCKING PROBLEM.
CHAPTER SEVEN
JORDAN STOOD in the doorway of the legislative deputy’s office and prayed to the universe that he wouldn’t recognize her. Which hardly seemed possible. She had recognized him the second he’d looked up from his desk. This truly was a major ducking problem.
He’d been on the phone, which is how she’d been able to quickly text her friends. Now she was waiting for him to finish his call. The receptionist who had escorted Jordan from the lobby was still standing there waiting to introduce them. Maybe Jordan should tell her she needed the bathroom again. She could go and never come back.
Scott Mercer hung up the phone. “Sorry about that,” he said.
“This is Jordan James,” the receptionist said.
Jordan pushed her shoulders back and raised her head high. It was something that CJ swore made her feel more confident. Scott Mercer stood and did that politician thing where he buttoned his jacket and extended a hand in one swift move. Jordan didn’t know what else to do, so she shook it. When their hands touched, his blue eyes narrowed into a squint. “We’ve met before, haven’t we?”
“I don’t think so.”
But they had—the night of the community meeting. He was the young man who had been walking with the councilman when she’d asked for an interview.
“You sure? You look so familiar.”
“Definitely not,” Jordan said.
The receptionist turned to leave, and Jordan seriously thought about running after her. She might have gone through with it too were it not for the stilettos she’d borrowed from her mom’s closet without asking. She felt wobbly in them. Like a little girl in her mother’s shoes. Which is exactly what she was.
“Well, come on in, Jordan. I’m getting pulled into a meeting with the councilman, so unfortunately I can only give you twenty minutes.” He started to sit back down but then stopped. He looked at her like something had just occurred to him. “I know exactly where I recognize you from.”
Jordan’s shoulders slumped. She knew she owed him an explanation. She may as well tell him the truth. I just wanted to be taken seriously.
“I—”
“You were at the young professionals’ mixer.”
She blinked a couple of times. “Uh…”
“The one at the Hyatt Regency.”
All the adrenaline that had been coursing through Jordan’s body suddenly stopped at once. It made her feel heavy. “Oh yeah. The young professionals’ mixer. That must have been it.”
“See? I knew we’d met,” Scott said. “Do you need to deal with that?”
Jordan hadn’t even realized that her phone was dinging over and over and over.
“Shoot. Sorry. Guess I forgot to silence it.”
She glanced at her phone and saw that the texts pouring in were from Martha.
What’s the ducking problem?
(My “ducking” is intentional and for comedic purposes.)
But seriously? Are you okay?
Oh my god. ANSWER ME.
Hellloooooo?
“It’s my editor. Just give me one second.” Jordan quickly typed a bunch of letters so that he’d see her texting.
czopiuvawerawlu
She hit send and silenced her phone. “Okay, that’s done, so…” She took a deep breath. She had only twenty minutes. She needed to pull it together. She sat down and crossed her legs because she felt like it made her look more professional. “Is it okay if I record?”
“Of course,” Scott said as Jordan fumbled for the record button. “So you’re right out of college too?”
Jordan looked up. “Oh, uh…” She tried to remember how old Martha had made her on her LinkedIn profile. Did it even include an age?
“The young professionals’ thing. That was the one for recent grads, right?”
Jordan nodded. “Right. Yes. Recent grad.” She needed to calm down. She was flustered and scattered.
“I go to so many of those things, it’s hard to keep track. I’m working on building up my professional network.”
“Yeah,” Jordan said. “It’s all about who you know, right?” She smiled and took a quick breath to center herself. Then she set her iPhone down on the desk between them and saw that both Martha and CJ were responding to her string of gobbledygook.
MARTHA: Is this a cry for help?
CJ: Seriously? Are you okay?
MARTHA: Are you being kidnapped????
CJ: If you are being kidnapped, drop us a pin.
Jordan snatched her phone off the table. She turned it to airplane mode and set it back down. “Okay,” she said. “How about I dive right in?”
“Great.”
She took a breath and reminded herself of her strategy. Start off on a friendly tone. Get him to establish facts. Picture Hermione Granger if you get nervous. (That was CJ’s advice.) Then go for the kill.
“I want to start by getting a sense of the councilman’s attitude about parks in his district.”
“Of course,” he said. “Parks are an incredibly vital part of a community and something he prioritizes.”
Jordan made a note. “I see. Then talk me through the ordinance he introduced last year to limit hours in Memorial Park. I’m particularly interested in the timing—”
Scott’s desk phone rang, and he put up a finger. “Hold that thought.” He answered, “Office of Councilman Kenneth Lonner. Scott Mercer speaking.” He nodded as someone spoke. “I unders
tand. And what is the location of this pothole?”
Jordan’s eyes squinted. Pothole? He had cut off her question to take a call about a pothole? She watched him write down an address and a couple of other details. When he hung up, he turned to her. “Sorry about that. You were asking about timing?”
She felt like her rhythm was off now. “Actually, let’s back up. I noticed that the ordinance only impacted Memorial Park. None of the other six parks in the district had their hours cut.”
“That’s correct.”
“Why was that?”
“Well, I’m not sure how familiar you are with the location of Memorial Park.”
Jordan had been riding her bike there since she was five. “I’ve done my research.”
“Then you know it’s in an area with a lot of crime. A lot of drug deals were happening after dark. That’s why the hours were limited.”
This was perfect. This is the answer she expected him to give. It was the answer she wanted him to give. Now she could corner him.
“Yes. I do see that. But according to my research, crime was at an all-time high five years ago. And it’s actually been in a slight decline for the past several years.”
“Right. Only slightly, though.”
“Yes. That matches what I found. I’m curious”—Jordan kept her voice as even as possible—“about the timing. The councilman introduced the city ordinance two weeks after he first met with the developer hoping to build an office building on that property.”
She leaned back and waited for him to squirm. His phone rang again. “Sorry,” he said. “I have to get that.” Jordan felt robbed as he picked up the receiver. “Office of Councilman Kenneth Lonner. Scott Mercer speaking. Oh, hello, Mrs. Montgomery.” Scott hit mute on the phone. “This one might be a minute. She calls every single week about a sober-living facility that’s being built on her street. She’s not happy about it. And not brief.”
Jordan couldn’t believe this. Was he taking these calls on purpose? To break her rhythm? To eat up all her time? What would a real journalist do? She wouldn’t tolerate this, would she? “If I only have twenty minutes—”
Scott put his finger up as if to say, Hang on.
“I understand, Mrs. Montgomery. I assure you that I am passing your complaints on to the councilman. I understand your concerns but… Okay… Uh-huh.” He muted the phone again. “I really am sorry. But I can’t ignore these calls. During city business hours I have to be available for constituent complaints. Part of my job is to log them for the councilman.” He unmuted the call. Mrs. Montgomery’s voice was loud enough that Jordan could hear it. As she watched Scott get reamed out by an old lady, it occurred to her that maybe his title wasn’t as fancy as she’d thought it was. The woman finally exhausted herself, and Scott hung up.