Most Likely

by Sarah Watson

“Friends,” she said. Their hands lingered for a moment before they both pulled away.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  THE NEXT three weeks that led up to college application deadlines were some of the tensest that CJ could remember. Excluding, of course, the beginning days of Ava’s depression, Martha’s parents’ divorce, and the time when Jordan’s foot got stuck in the mall escalator, which doesn’t sound like that big of a deal but was actually really scary. CJ tried to remind herself that getting into college wasn’t life or death. So far it wasn’t working very well.

  On the day that her Stanford application was due, the girls ate lunch together in the cafeteria like they did every day. Jordan was casually scrolling through Instagram when she sat up suddenly. “Senior Superlative ballots are out.” She held up her phone to show them the e-mail from the yearbook committee. CJ couldn’t believe the timing. As if she wasn’t already stressed enough thinking about her future, now she had to worry about her legacy as well. She grabbed Jordan’s phone and looked down the list, trying to find something that sounded like her. Best Hair, Best Eyes, Best Singer, Best Dressed, Best Body. She crossed her arms in front of her stomach. She wasn’t any of those things. She kept scanning. Most Likely to End Up on Broadway, Most Likely to Be on a Reality Show, Most Likely to Work on Wall Street. She wanted her classmates to remember her as someone special. Her eyes finally fell on the perfect category. Most Likely to Be President. That was the one. She wondered aloud if it would be tacky to vote for herself.

  “Yes. It’s tacky,” Martha said.

  Jordan took her phone back. “It’s not tacky if it’s true.” She typed her own name in for Best Dressed.

  “It’s still tacky,” Martha said.

  “Why?” CJ asked. “If I was actually running for president, I’d vote for myself. I’d run a whole campaign. Why can’t I do that for the Superlatives? Actually, don’t answer that. Because I know the answer. It’s because as women we’re constantly taught not to advocate for ourselves. We’re taught not to ask for what we deserve. Well, guess what. I deserve this. I deserve it and I’m asking for it.”

  CJ was cracking. She knew it. She was totally and completely cracking. It was the Stanford application. She still hadn’t written a single word of her transformational experience essay, which was due tonight, and it was making her doubt everything about herself. Ava looked over at her. “If you don’t calm down, I’m crushing up one of my Ativans and slipping it in your Diet Coke. Swear to god,” she said. “I’ll do it.”

  “Can I get one?” Martha asked. CJ was pretty sure she was only half joking. Martha had finished her applications, which was the easy part for her. If she didn’t get a full ride, or close to it, it didn’t matter where she got in. She wouldn’t be able to go. CJ got angry just thinking about it.

  When lunch ended, Ava grabbed CJ. “I need to talk to you for a second.” She pulled CJ into a quiet corner.

  “You don’t have to drug me,” CJ said. “I promise you. I’m fine.”

  “It’s not that.” Ava looked at her toes. “I decided to apply to Stanford. I was on the fence until literally last night.”

  CJ felt herself getting emotional.

  “Are you okay with this?” Ava asked. “I feel like Stanford is your thing.”

  CJ shook her head. “Oh, Aves. I can picture you there.”

  Ava looked at her toes again. “I don’t know. I think RISD is still my number one. But there was something about walking across the campus… even with everything else that was going on…”

  CJ nodded. She knew exactly what Ava meant. Stanford was like Hogwarts with sunshine. It was everything she’d ever wanted.

  After school, CJ went straight home and sat in front of her computer. She had eight hours left. Eight hours to write something that would convince Stanford to take a shot on a girl with an average score.

  Average. The word fit her. She realized that now. It wasn’t just because of her score. It’s who she was. Her dream had always been to change the world. To make it a better and kinder place. But how could an average girl possibly accomplish that? She thought about all her hours volunteering. Over the years, she’d jumped at every opportunity she could find. She’d built houses and she’d handed out meals and she’d sorted recycling and she’d stuffed envelopes. But the world was still the same. She was still the same.

  Her phone buzzed with a text from Martha. Jordan’s birthday was tomorrow, and they’d been working on a surprise for her. CJ responded to the text and then turned back to her computer. She read the prompt again.

  Describe a transformational experience and how it has shaped you into the person you are today.

  She thought about Wyatt. Then she opened Instagram to stop herself from thinking about him. Then she opened Snapchat, which she hadn’t even looked at in months. Then she looked back at her screen and tried to focus. She couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d said to her. Because he was right. He was her transformational experience. Just not in the way he had assumed. All her life, she’d kept her true self hidden behind a perfect facade. A perfect girl with a shiny list of accomplishments and awards. He’d broken through that and found all her flaws, all her shortcomings, all the imperfections that she was so good at masking. He’d made her confront them, and he’d helped her laugh at them. He made her feel proud of who she was. Wyatt had uncovered the real CJ. And it turned out that it was the CJ she wanted to be. She was average. This time it made her smile.

  She decided to call him. She got as far as lowering her thumb to his name before she stopped herself. She set her phone down. Picked it back up. Set it down again. She turned to her computer. Typed a few words. Deleted them. Typed a few words. Deleted them. Then she picked up her phone and dialed. The phone rang only once.

  “Hi,” said the voice on the other side of the call.

  “Hey,” she said. “Do you feel like going for a run?”

  “God, yes,” said Logan Diffenderfer.

  Jordan was wearing a flirty skater dress in her signature shade of purple that looked just the right amount of sexy paired with her knee-high black faux-suede boots. She felt nervous as she gave her name to the hostess. “I’m Jordan. But I think the reservation is probably under Scott.”

  He’d originally made a reservation for the following night (the night of her actual birthday), but she’d overheard enough whispers to realize that her friends were also planning a surprise for her. Telling him now was almost more poetic anyway. If the date went well, they could watch the clock tick forward together. She would be eighteen at midnight. She was so excited to finally and officially be an adult. She already felt like one whenever she was around him. It’s why she loved their conversations. He took her seriously. He treated her like an equal, not a child.

  “Ah, yes,” said the hostess. “Your date is already here.” She leaned in with a conspiratorial smile and whispered, “He asked for our best table.”

  Jordan followed the hostess through the candlelit restaurant. Most of the tables were set for two. This was not a place for business dinners. This was a place for romance.

  Scott stood and greeted her with a kiss on the cheek. “You look incredible.”

  “Thank you.” She was nervous. God, was she nervous. She was sure the entire restaurant could hear her heart beating underneath the purple fabric of her dress.

  Scott pulled her chair out for her, and Jordan saw that there was already a bottle of champagne on the table. “Oh, uh. This is really nice.”

  “I wanted to do something special. Since we’re celebrating.”

  “What are we celebrating?”

  “I have some news about the park.”

  She hadn’t been expecting that. “What?”

  “I think you’re going to be very happy when I tell you.”

  He tried to pour her a glass of champagne, but she shook her head. “I… uh… I’m not much of a drinker.” He set the bottle down. “What’s going on with the park?”

  “A lot, actually,”
he said. “The mayor’s questions ended up having a pretty direct impact.”

  Jordan crossed her legs casually, trying not to look as eager as she felt. “Oh?”

  “Yeah,” he said with a smile. “In fact, you’re getting your wish. The neighborhood won’t be losing a park.”

  “Are you shitting me?” It exploded out of her mouth loud enough that a few heads in the quiet restaurant turned.

  “No,” he said, laughing. “I’m not shitting you. The developer was freaked out enough by the mayor’s pressure that she was worried the whole deal might fall through. So she came forward with an incredible offer. It’s going to get announced officially tomorrow.”

  Jordan was giddy with excitement. She thought about pouring herself some champagne. She wanted to clink her glass with his and toast the good news.

  “Anyway,” he said, “she’s putting up a substantial amount of money for a new park.”

  Jordan blinked. “I’m sorry. What? A new park?”

  “There’s a parcel of unused land about half a mile from the old park. A big vacant lot.”

  Jordan knew the spot he was talking about. It was overgrown with weeds and scattered with litter and abandoned couches. They used to cut through it all the time until Ava scraped her leg on the rusty springs of an old mattress and had to get a tetanus shot. “It’s a dump,” Jordan said.

  “It won’t be after she drops money into it. The neighborhood gets a park and an office building. Everyone wins.”

  “Not everyone,” Jordan said.

  Scott leaned back and stared at her. “I’m confused. The neighborhood is getting a park. I thought you’d be excited.”

  It was getting a park. Just not her park. “What about the jungle gym?” she said. “What about the seniors who’ve been waiting to carve their names?”

  He shrugged dismissively. “Who cares?”

  Jordan cared.

  “Scott. There’s something I need to tell you.”

  He apparently wasn’t too concerned about what it was, because he picked up his menu. “Sure. What?”

  She took a deep breath. “Tomorrow is my birthday. Well, tonight, actually. At midnight.”

  He looked up from the menu. “Happy birthday. I guess we really are celebrating.”

  She exhaled. “Let me back up. I have a personal investment in the park. That’s why I wanted to interview the councilman. But you would never have even called me back if you knew who I was. So I lied. My name isn’t Jordan James. It’s Jordan Schafer.”

  He set his menu down.

  “I lied so you wouldn’t know my real age.”

  “How old are you?”

  “I just wanted you to take me seriously. And then you did. And I got to know you. And you got to know me.”

  “Jordan.” His voice was nervous. “How old are you?”

  “I’ll be eighteen at midnight.”

  Scott pushed back from the table so fast that he knocked his champagne glass over. It splashed all over him and all over the table. “Shit!” He stood. Jordan did too. She grabbed her napkin and tried to dab his shirt. “No.” He turned away from her. “No. Don’t touch me.”

  The hostess came rushing over with a clean towel and tried to mop up the spill.

  “It’s fine,” Scott said. “I’ve got it. Please. It’s fine.”

  “Scott.” Jordan’s voice caught.

  The hostess backed away with the skill and grace of someone who had interrupted more than one awkward moment between couples in her time.

  “Scott. I know you’re surprised. But I’m still the same person.”

  “No.” His voice was only a whisper, but it was filled with panic. “You’re not.”

  Jordan tried to offer him her napkin, but he wouldn’t take it.

  “Do you have any idea what you could have done to me?” he said, dabbing his shirt more and more furiously. “My political career would have ended before it even started.”

  “We didn’t do anything wrong. I’m an adult now. Or I will be in a few hours.”

  Scott looked at her with hurt and confusion. “An adult? Jordan, you’re just a kid.”

  He took enough cash out of his wallet to pay for the champagne and set it on the table. Then he grabbed his jacket and started walking away.

  “Scott. Scott, I’m sorry.”

  Her voice quavered and it made him stop. He turned back and looked at her, softening when their eyes met. “Happy birthday, Jordan.”

  “Thanks,” she whispered softly.

  Then he was gone.

  CJ and Logan kept a slow pace for the first lap while their legs warmed up. The night was cold, and their breath stretched out in front of them in thick white puffs that fluttered and disappeared. Fluttered and disappeared.

  “Did you finish your essay?” Logan asked.

  “No.” CJ didn’t want to think about her essay. She just wanted to run.

  “Are you close?”

  “No.”

  CJ quickened her pace. Logan matched her speed.

  “Did you finish yours?” CJ asked.

  “Yeah. It’s… done. That’s all I can say. It’s not great. It’s not terrible. It’s done.”

  She felt him pick up the tempo, and she moved her legs in time with his.

  “I’m scared,” CJ said as they settled into their new rhythm.

  “Me too. What if I’m making all the wrong choices?”

  CJ was more worried about not having any choices to make. She’d applied to eight schools. Seven of them were top tier. What if they didn’t want her?

  She ran faster. He matched her new pace. Then he ran faster and she matched his. This went on for several laps. Raise and match. Raise and match. It was unspoken that they were in a race. CJ wanted to win. She needed to win. She ran harder and harder. Faster and faster. Next to her, Logan stumbled. It was the advantage she needed to break out ahead. As she raced across the imaginary finish line, the relief exploded out of her. She could still win something. If she worked hard enough and ran fast enough, she could still win. She stopped running and turned around. Logan was right there.

  “Oh,” she said between deep breaths. “I thought you were farther back.”

  “No.” He was breathless too. “I’m right here.”

  It was impossible to say who leaned in first. CJ only knew that one minute they were racing and the next minute they were kissing. Their lips moved together in a way that was desperate and searching, as if they both needed this more than they’d ever needed anything in their entire lives. CJ’s mind went blissfully blank. She wasn’t anywhere except on that track, in that exact moment, kissing Logan Diffenderfer. It took away all of her pain, all of her self-doubt, and all of her fear.

  Which is why she pulled away.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”

  CJ ran all the way home, sat down at her computer, and wrote her essay.

  Dear Stanford Admissions Committee,

  I have not had the kind of experience you’ve asked me to write about.

  I have never woken up in a hospital bed to a doctor telling me that my life had just changed forever.

  I have never had to process the news that the future I worked so hard for was no longer available to me because of money.

  I have never stood across the street from the mother who gave me up because I thought that just a small glimpse of her might help my world make sense.

  I have never had my whole world feel like it was ending in the middle of a game of volleyball.

  I have seen these experiences happen to people I love, but at most, I have only ever been a witness. I have never had a transformational experience.

  I know it’s only a matter of time. I know that someday the phone will ring, or there will be a knock on the door, or something will happen that will make my life forever different. I know how it will impact me, because I know how it has impacted the people I love. It will make me stronger in some ways. It will make me more vulnerable in others. It will l
eave a residue. But also a shine. It will be a thing that happened to me, but not the thing that defines me. It will change me in some ways. Perhaps it will change me in many ways. But it will not change who I am.

  That’s why I feel confident saying that the fact that I haven’t had this type of experience yet does not make me any less worthy of attending your institution. I know that one single experience, one single score, or one single anything does not define me. I know exactly who I am. I am someone who deserves to attend Stanford in the fall. But I am also someone who will not be defined by the rejection if you don’t agree.

  Sincerely,

  Clarke Josephine Jacobson

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  AVA STOOD over CJ and paced while CJ proofread her essay. It was close to midnight.

  “Almost done,” CJ said.

  “No rush,” Ava said calmly. Even though they were in a huge rush. “You missed a comma,” she said and pointed.

  CJ added the comma and hit the button that officially uploaded her application. She’d made the deadline with twenty minutes to spare. Now they had another deadline. Ava got her car keys out, CJ grabbed her coat, and they sprinted out the door into Ava’s car. She floored it through a yellow light, and they both winced at the screeching sound her tires made when she took the corner way too fast.

  Martha was waiting at the curb when they pulled up.

  “Sorry we’re late,” Ava said as Martha opened the back door.

  “It’s my fault,” said CJ.

  “Just drive!” Martha slammed the door shut and Ava peeled off.

  They pulled into Jordan’s driveway with only a few minutes left. The front door was unlocked just as Jordan’s parents had promised, and Martha opened it as quietly as possible given the hurry they were in. Ava unzipped the duffel bag she’d brought with her and distributed the contents between the three of them. Then they gathered outside Jordan’s door and waited.

  Jordan sat in her window seat looking up at the moon and wondering how everything had turned out so wrong. She was about to turn eighteen. A few hours ago, she’d felt so mature and so ready; now she felt like a foolish little girl. She looked like one too, with her legs tucked up to her chest and her sleeves pulled down around her wrists. She glanced at the clock on her phone. She had thirty seconds left. It was a strange feeling to watch time tick forward and know that absolutely nothing in her life would change. She would still be the same Jordan. There would be no great moment of clarity. No discernible shift. Nothing dramatic would happen. The seconds ticked forward. Three… two… one… she was eighteen now and everything was the same.