Most Likely

by Sarah Watson

  “Oh god. I hope she doesn’t. I was enjoying talking to you. Well, go run. And if you’re still alive later, maybe give me a call.”

  Jordan hung up. Her heart was thudding in her chest for about a million different reasons. She quickly dialed Ava and it went straight to voice mail. Jordan left a frantic message. “I am so sorry. I’m on my way now. Be there in fifteen minutes. Actually, ten. I’ll speed. Because I am so, so, so sorry. Love you. Bye. On my way.”

  She paused for one second to catch her breath. She needed to steady herself. Scott wanted her to maybe call him later. And she maybe wanted to.

  Ava felt awkward and stiff in front of Logan’s camera. At least he didn’t tell her to pose or say cheese or anything like that. He told her to just act natural. As if that were possible.

  “Who are your favorite artists?” he asked while taking a couple of test shots.

  “Frida Kahlo, David Hockney, Cabrera, Reyes, Léger, Sorolla.”

  Logan took a couple more shots. “Better,” he said. “You’re relaxing.”

  “Ah. The question was just a ploy.”

  “Of course,” he said. “People are more natural when they’re talking about something they like.”

  “I could list a million more if it helps me get this over with faster.”

  He laughed and took a shot. His camera made a click, click sound with each picture. “You’re like me with directors.”

  “Directors?”

  “Movie directors. Stanley Kubrick, Max Ophüls, Orson Welles. Those are probably my top three. Kathryn Bigelow and Kimberly Peirce if we’re talking modern day.”

  “Is that what you’re going to study? Film?”

  “That’s what I would love to study. But no. Prelaw.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugged. “So I can be a lawyer?”

  “That’s what you want to do?”

  He shrugged again. “Not really. But my parents are both lawyers. They have their own firm and want me to join it. It’s the family name. It’s like my destiny, basically. I’ve been groomed for this since birth.”

  “Yeah,” Ava said. “But if it’s not what you want… if it’s not your dream…” She paused. “I don’t know why I said that. I still haven’t told my mom I want to apply to art school.”

  Click, click. Logan took another shot and checked it. “This one’s great. I got you in a really interesting moment.” He raised his camera back up. “So you’re going to do it, though? You’re going to apply?”

  “I really want to. Really, really want to.” Click, click. “But I don’t know. I probably won’t even get in, so it won’t even matter. RISD is so competitive.”

  “Ava. You’re going to get in. There’s no way you’re not getting in. You’re the best artist in the whole school.”

  The compliment made her feel weird. “That’s not really saying much. I love Mrs. Simon, but it’s a public school art program. I’d be going up against art magnet students and kids who have studied with actual artistic masters. It’s a different level of competition.”

  “Is the postcard painting for your portfolio?” Logan asked.

  If he was trying to get her to relax, this topic was not going to do it. “No.”

  Click, click. He checked the photo he’d just taken. His expression changed and he looked up at her. “Did I say something wrong? You seem… tense.”

  Ava shifted. He was right. “That painting is just for me,” she said. “The postcard was from Mom. My birth mom.” He lowered his camera. “It’s the only thing I have from her.”

  He didn’t say anything, but his expression did. A combination of compassion and Holy shit.

  “I do think about finding her,” Ava said. “It’s complicated. I can’t do anything until I’m eighteen, though. And maybe I won’t even then.”

  Logan raised his camera, then lowered it again. Raised and lowered. He wasn’t uncomfortable exactly. He was thinking about something.

  “What?” she asked.

  “I don’t know if I should say anything. This is so not my business. But I think I know a way you could find her,” he said. “Even before you turn eighteen. If you ever wanted to.”

  Ava looked away. Was he seriously about to mansplain how to find a birth parent to someone who had lived with this question her entire life?

  “I’m being serious,” Logan said.

  “Logan. You don’t know anything about my adoption.”

  “I help out at my parents’ firm when they get busy. Just doing filing or whatever. They have this private investigator who works there. We’ve actually gotten pretty tight. He’s a cool guy. He does stuff like this. He usually charges a lot, but I bet I could get him to do me a solid. If you’re interested…”

  “Nope,” Ava said. “I’m not interested.” It was a lie. She wanted to find her birth mother almost more than anything in the world. Freshman year, when she’d been at her lowest, she’d been so desperate for that connection that it felt like a giant gaping wound that wouldn’t close until she at least got to see her, to touch her, and to ask her why. She’d brought it up with her mom, and they’d talked it over with Dr. Clifford at one of their family sessions. Dr. Clifford and her mom decided that it was not in Ava’s best interest. Everyone was always deciding what was best for her. Everyone except for Ava. “Definitely not interested,” she said.

  She wondered if he would be able to see that she was lying when he took her picture. She stood there and waited until he lifted his camera. Just as he did, she heard a slapping sound from the side of the house. Like an octopus beating a tentacle against a window.

  “What the hell is that?” Logan asked.

  “That,” Ava said with relief, “is Jordan.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  EVEN THOUGH it was technically fall now, it didn’t feel like it. It was mid-October, yet neither Martha nor her dad wore coats as they walked across the long mall parking lot. By now, the air should have been crisp and filled with the scent of wood-burning fireplaces. Martha’s dad still called it an Indian summer, because no matter how many times she tried to explain it to him, he didn’t get why that was problematic. He held the door open for her and followed her inside. He’d been called in for an interview with a company that built motorcycle parts. If he got the job, it would mean driving two hours each way. It would also mean health insurance, a good paycheck, and retirement benefits. Martha was going to help him pick out a button-down shirt for the interview.

  They had to walk past the Army Recruitment Center to get to JCPenney, and Martha peeked inside. The female recruitment officer, Major Malone, was at her desk. Martha was fascinated by her. She didn’t fit Martha’s image of a soldier. Martha knew it was a weird thing to do, but after the first time she’d seen her, she’d googled her. She hadn’t found much, just one picture of her holding her pilot’s helmet and standing in front of an Apache helicopter. Martha couldn’t imagine what it must feel like to pilot a helicopter. She’d never even been on a plane before.

  Whatever. Why was she even thinking about this? It’s not like the military was known for their friendly relationship with the lesbian and bi community. At least she knew it used to be like that. She honestly wasn’t sure what it was like now. Maybe she should ask. Of course maybe she should figure out if she even fit into one of those categories first. Martha’s mind drifted to Victoria. It had been doing that a lot lately.

  “What’s going on with the park?” her dad asked.

  “Huh?” Martha’s cheeks felt hot. She blamed the weather before remembering that they were inside, where it was air-conditioned. “Oh. The park.”

  Ever since they’d realized that there was no massive political conspiracy, they’d basically stopped thinking about it. Around school, their classmates were still talking about the park, but they were talking about other things too. College applications and midterms. The football team and the upcoming rivalry game against Walsh Jesuit. Jordan had found out from the legislative deputy guy that the city was w
aiting for the results of something called an environmental impact report that could, in theory, kill the whole project.

  “Nothing really. There’s this environmental thing we’re waiting for. It doesn’t look like it’ll help us, though.”

  “Oh well,” he said. “I suppose that’s the price of progress.”

  He’d said the same thing to Martha’s mom after the plant closed. Martha could still remember sitting under the table in the dining room, unnoticed as her parents argued in the kitchen. Her mom was spinning out and demanding that her dad do something. “What do you want me to do?” he’d said. “Production moves overseas and plants close. The world is changing and there’s nothing I can do about that. That’s the price of progress.” She’d never heard her mom yell before that time. After the plant closed, there was nothing but yelling. That was the price of progress as far as Martha knew.

  They took the escalator to the menswear section and found a rack of button-down shirts that were on sale. Martha picked out a blue one and held it up to her dad. It was a beautiful shirt. She hoped it would be good enough.

  Ava was literally the last senior to have her meeting with the college counselor. She’d put it off over and over again, hoping that the counselor would eventually give up. The counselor did. Her mom, however, did not. She came to Ava frustrated and impatient, and stood over her while she sent an e-mail to Ms. Fischer to reschedule the appointment. Ava’s mom put it into her own calendar. There would be no missing this one.

  The first thing Ava noticed about the college counselor was her flowy turquoise infinity scarf. It was the only pop of color on her otherwise all-black outfit. She wore round tortoiseshell glasses that gave her an air of intellectualism mixed with hipster elitism. Ava was immediately intimidated. She felt the anxiety spread across her entire body, and it made her think about her mother. Not Lynn. She was thinking about the one whose face was a smeared blur in the background of her painting. She wondered if her birth mom’s heart raced and her palms got sweaty before big meetings too.

  “Ava?” said Ms. Fischer, extending a hand. “Come on in.”

  Ava limply shook the offered hand. “Hi,” she said, in a voice as weak as her handshake.

  “Have a seat.”

  Ms. Fischer angled a chair for Ava and another one for herself. After the counselor sat down, she leaned forward—a gesture that was supposed to be welcoming but that Ava found off-putting—and said, “So, are we waiting for your mom?”

  “My mom?” Ava was still thinking about her biological mom, so it took her a minute to realize what Ms. Fischer was asking. “Oh. My mom. No. Are parents supposed to be here? I thought it was just me.”

  “Generally, yes. But if a parent wants to be involved, I’m not opposed. And your mom has e-mailed a few times.”

  Ava cringed as something that had happened that morning suddenly made sense. She remembered her mom asking about this meeting. She wanted to make sure Ava hadn’t forgotten, and maybe she did say something about planning on being there. Ava had been in a rush and was only half listening, since CJ kept honking at her from the driveway. They were trying to carpool more because of climate change and CJ was always early on her days.

  Right then, there was a quick knock on the door. Before Ms. Fischer even finished saying, “Come in,” it opened.

  “Hi, hi,” said Lynn. “Sorry I’m late. I didn’t miss anything, did I?”

  “Not at all.” Ms. Fischer rose and Ava’s mom shook her hand firmly. It was the kind of impressive grip that Ava could never manage.

  “Sorry for being late. I was coming from downtown and traffic was murder.”

  Ms. Fischer grabbed a third chair and arranged them into a triangle. Like they were about to have a séance. Maybe they were. Ava wouldn’t put it past her mom to employ a medium to get her into college. Ms. Fischer kicked off the meeting by talking a little bit about herself. She went over her credentials as if they couldn’t see the diploma framed on the wall behind her. She also had a master’s in education from Penn. At the mention of that, Ava’s mom practically wet herself.

  “I was there for law school.”

  Then there was a back-and-forth about their Penn glory days, and Ava wondered if they would even notice if she left the room. Before she could test that theory, her mom got a moony look on her face, and said, “It would be such a dream for Ava to go there. I know it might be a bit unrealistic.” Ava crammed her toes into her shoes. “Ava is such a special girl. Incredible, really. I know everyone says that about their kid, but it’s true. She’s worked so hard, and…” Her mom was getting emotional. Ava turned to look at her. Her mom never got emotional. “You have, Ava. And you deserve to go anywhere you dream.”

  The compliments were so unexpected and felt so wonderful that Ava almost whispered the truth. My dream is RISD. The words were there on her tongue, but she couldn’t get them out of her mouth.

  Ms. Fischer removed her glasses and wiped them clean with her infinity scarf. “I’ve been looking at Ava’s grades, her test scores, and extracurriculars, and here’s the thing: Ava is an ideal candidate to shoot high.”

  Ava’s mom turned to her. “I knew it. Didn’t I tell you not to limit yourself?” She turned back to Ms. Fischer, waiting expectantly.

  “Ava, you’ve got one tricky semester on your report card, but you did exactly what universities want to see. You pulled yourself up and you kept your grades high. You should be incredibly proud of yourself.”

  Ava smiled sheepishly. “Thanks.”

  “What’s going to tip you over the net, one way or the other, are the personal essays.”

  “Of course,” said her mom. “One of the other partners at my firm gave me the number of a college-essay advisor. I’m told she’s phenomenal.”

  “That’ll be helpful,” said Ms. Fischer. Then she turned back to Ava. “I also spoke to your art teacher, Mrs. Simon.” Ava felt her mouth go dry. “She told me that you’re one of the most talented students she’s ever had.”

  Ava shrugged. “I guess.”

  Her mom gave her a small nudge and whispered to her, “Ava, take the compliment.”

  “Thank you,” said Ava.

  Ms. Fischer smiled. “She was very effusive. She also mentioned that you’ve been working on a portfolio for the Rhode Island School of Design.”

  “Uh…” Ava said. “Um.”

  Her heart thumped deep in her chest, and she could feel her mom staring at her. At that exact moment, an unexpected image popped into Ava’s head. It was Logan Diffenderfer. She thought about him with his camera and his list of favorite directors. He had a dream and he was ignoring it. She didn’t want to be like that.

  “That’s my top choice,” Ava said. “I want to go to RISD.”

  Ava’s mom smiled thinly. Ava couldn’t even make eye contact with her.

  “Oh?” said her mom.

  The mood shifted in the room. They talked for another thirty minutes, but Ava couldn’t hear much over the blood rushing through her ears. Her mom sat with her legs tightly crossed and her hands rigidly folded. It was unsettling not to know what she was thinking.

  As soon as they got to the car, Ava found out. “It’s not that I don’t support your art,” her mom said, hands tight on the steering wheel. “It’s just that you are capable of so much more. Do you even understand how incredible you are? It takes guts and strength to do what you did freshman year. You rebounded from something horrible and are now one of the best students in that school. Just think of what you can do with your life. Your choices are limitless.”

  “I want this, Mom. It’s what I love doing.”

  Her mom pulled into traffic without really looking. A horn honked and a car swerved. “I have the right-of-way, jerk!” she shouted, even though she didn’t. “You can still take art as an elective. But be practical. What are you going to do with an art degree?”

  Ava released her toes. She didn’t even remember when she’d started clenching them. “I would be an artist.”
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  Her mom sighed and threw her hands up for a second until she remembered they should be on the steering wheel. “That’s not a realistic career.”

  There were brake lights ahead, and her mom slowed down as the traffic piled up.

  “I know it’s hard to understand when you’re still in high school and everything is taken care of for you, but as you get a little older, you are going to see the value in being financially secure. You don’t ever want to be in a position where you have to rely on anyone else. That’s when choices get taken away from you. I worked hard to get you on a good track so you won’t ever have to rely on a man. Or woman,” she quickly added. At least she was giving Ava some choice in her life.

  “I’m not going to rely on a man, Mom. I promise. Why don’t you want me to follow my dream?”

  Her mom gripped the steering wheel hard. “Oh, Ava. Why do you think they’re called dreams? Because they’re not realistic. You are too smart—”

  “What if I’m not?” Ava said it quietly and calmly.

  Her mom whipped her head over. “Of course you’re smart. Your GPA—”

  “Is only high because you’ve hired a million tutors. What if I only do well because of all the extra help? What if I’m actually dumb?”

  It was Ava’s greatest fear. It was the thing she overheard Logan Diffenderfer say when they were freshmen. He’d called her dumb, and every day since, she’d wondered if he was right.

  “Ava, come on.” Her mom was trying to balance her attention between the road and her daughter. “You are smart.”

  “I’m not. I know it. The school knows it. I know that they wanted to drop me out of the advanced track freshman year.”

  Ava could see the panic in her mom’s face. She hadn’t known that Ava knew.

  “I know what you did, Mom. You’re the only reason they didn’t dump me like they should’ve. I’ve known this whole time.”

  This was back before Ava had a diagnosis, before she had a name for what was going on with her. She just knew that it was getting harder and harder to get out of bed. Some days it was so hard that she couldn’t go to school, and most days it was impossible to go to the fancy tutors who made sure that she excelled in her classes. She wasn’t the least bit surprised when the letter came to her house saying that she would be dropped down. She didn’t care. But her mom cared. Oh my god, did she care. It was like if Ava wasn’t in advanced English and history, then what was the point of living? So her mom went to the principal and shifted into scary lawyer mode and demanded that they keep her daughter in the advanced track even though she didn’t deserve it.