Most Likely

by Sarah Watson

  “I don’t want to stay in Cleveland, Logan.” She wanted to go somewhere different and try new things. She wanted something bigger. Bigger than the tiny ticket booth and the tiny apartment and the tiny life that would be hers if she stayed. “What about you?” she asked.

  “I got into Stanford.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “Thanks. I guess. I got in a couple of other places too. But my parents are expecting me to say yes to Stanford. That’s what they want.”

  “What do you want, Diffenderfer?”

  “Not that.”

  Logan’s eyes went back to the screen. The sad song continued. It was the perfect soundtrack for what they were both feeling. Martha felt their hands touch on the armrest. It was an accidental brush, but neither of them moved their hands away. Martha thought that the only thing that felt strange about sitting in the dark with Logan Diffenderfer and talking about their futures and their fears was that absolutely nothing felt strange about it.

  When the movie ended, Martha didn’t get up. She knew that Logan would want to sit through the credits like he always did. She didn’t mind. She was thinking about the movie and how you never really know where life is going to take you. She decided that this was okay. The mystery of it was half the fun.

  Martha turned to Logan. “Hey,” she said. “Did you get voted anything for the Senior Superlatives?”

  “Yeah. But it’s stupid.”

  “Mine too. I hate it.” She’d lied when she told her friends that she didn’t get anything. She was too angry and humiliated by how her classmates saw her. “I got Most Likely to Never Leave Ohio.”

  Logan laughed slightly. “Maybe they got ours backward.”

  “Why? What did you get?”

  Martha felt Logan’s elbow brush against hers on the armrest as he told her. “Most Likely to Be President.”

  Jordan wrapped her hands tightly around the steering wheel. She was worried she was going to crash if she didn’t totally focus. She was still thinking about what the letter from Northwestern said. Wait-listed.

  She turned off the main road and pulled into the parking lot of Councilman Lonner’s district office. She knew there was a chance that Scott would already be gone for the night, but she didn’t think so. He’d told her that he couldn’t leave on Fridays until he’d logged all the constituent concerns he had heard during the week and sent them to the councilman. The list was often so long that it kept him there until midnight.

  The nice woman who worked at the front desk was already gone, and most of the offices were dark. Jordan peered around the front desk and called out softly, “Hello? Anyone here?”

  When nobody answered, she walked around to the back. There was a light coming from an office. It was Scott’s. She walked up and said the only thing she could think to say. “Hi.”

  “Jordan.”

  She’d startled him.

  “Hi,” she said again.

  He glanced around as if they might get caught. “You have to go. I can’t see you.”

  “Actually,” she said, “you have to see me.”

  “Jordan…”

  “I’m registered to vote in the district. I’m a constituent and I have a concern. I want to tell you why I think Memorial Park deserves a second chance.”

  CJ sat in her bedroom with the door closed, staring at the obscene vase that Wyatt’s mom had given her. She decided that she would take it to college with her next year. It was the perfect size to hold pens.

  She logged into Skidmore’s admissions portal first. She had decided to save Stanford for last. The Skidmore form letter popped up immediately. We’re sorry… She didn’t need to read anything after that. She logged into the next school. And the next. The rejections came quickly. She only saw the word “congratulations” once. She barely registered it. She still had Stanford left, and she said a silent prayer before she logged in. Please, she thought. Please.

  CJ was seated at the desk her father had originally built for her oldest sister. It was the only hand-me-down that ever fit. She’d spent so many hours sitting there, studying, writing papers, and staying home from parties to prepare for the SATs. She’d logged so many hours of hard work at this desk that it almost didn’t seem fair to be sitting at it when Stanford informed her that I am very sorry to let you know that we are unable to offer you admission to Stanford University.

  CJ snapped her laptop shut.

  She was lacing up her running shoes when her phone buzzed. She didn’t even look at it. It would be Ava or Jordan or maybe even Martha calling to find out where she got in. She couldn’t tell them. Not yet. She went into the kitchen, where her dad was watching the game and her mom was starting dinner.

  “I’m going to Ohio State next year,” she said. They both looked slightly stunned. “It’s the only place I got in.” Her dad muted the television, but CJ was already halfway out the door. “I’m going jogging.”

  When CJ arrived at the track, it was during that weird period of time after the sun had set but before the automatic field lights turned on. She would have twenty minutes of pitch-blackness to run through. Perfect, she thought. All she wanted to do was run and let the darkness swallow her up. She’d only taken a few steps when she saw the silhouette of a person approach. CJ couldn’t see the person’s face in the dark; she could only make out the absolutely unmistakable shape.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” CJ said.

  Jordan sat across from Scott while he took out his yellow legal pad and grabbed a pen. She took a deep breath and told him what the park meant to her. She told him about the day she’d met her three best friends there. She told him how they used to dream about growing up and adding their names to the jungle gym. That they would go there every fall a week or two after senior night and run their fingers along the new names. That they would plot and plan and look forward to the time when it was finally their turn. She told him how she was scared that she might drift away from her friends next year when they weren’t all together anymore. And how leaving their names carved into that wood was the only way she could be sure that a piece of them would always be together.

  When she was done, Scott put the cap back on his pen. “I’ll type this up,” he said. “And I’ll pass it on to the councilman. But”—Scott set his pen down—“none of this is going to make a difference. I’m sorry. The park is getting torn down.”

  “I know,” she said, standing. “I just wanted a chance to be heard.” Jordan put her hand out professionally. “Thank you for your time.”

  Scott took her hand and shook it.

  “Bye, Scott,” she said.

  Just as she was stepping into the hallway, she heard him say her name.

  She turned.

  “Where are you going to college next year?”

  Jordan paused. “George Washington University.”

  The moment it was out of her mouth, she knew it was the right decision. Even if she got off the Northwestern wait-list, she would still choose George Washington. It felt like a million years ago when Ms. Fischer had handed her the brochure and suggested that she apply. Now Jordan knew that it was the right place for her. She wanted to be in Washington, DC.

  “You’re going to make one hell of a journalist someday, Jordan.”

  “Maybe,” she said. “Or maybe I’ll be something else. I still haven’t decided for sure. I’m only eighteen, after all.”

  Ava squinted at CJ in the darkness. “How could you tell it was me?”

  “Nobody else is as short as you.”

  They were mismatched as friends in so many ways. Height was just one of them. But they aligned in all the ways that really mattered.

  “I stopped by your house when you weren’t answering your phone,” Ava said. “Your parents are worried.”

  “Then I guess they told you I got into only Ohio State?”

  Ava nodded.

  “It’s a good school,” said CJ.

  “I don’t think they’re worried about you going to Ohio S
tate.”

  “I know. They’re worried I’m going to crack. But I’m not. I’m okay. It’s the right place for me, I think.”

  “Really?”

  “I’m working on being at peace with my failures. I think I’m getting better at it. What about you?”

  “Oh, I’m a master at failing.” But Ava knew that’s not what CJ was asking. “You want to know where I got in.”

  CJ nodded.

  “I got rejected from Georgetown and Wellesley.”

  “Idiots,” CJ said. “I’m pretty sure you’re just trying to make me feel better. But still, they’re idiots. And what about Stanford?”

  “I got in.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “You can be pissed at me.”

  “I’m pissed I didn’t get in. I’m not pissed that you did. I’m really proud of you.”

  “Thanks.”

  “And RISD?”

  Ava nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Damn, Ava.”

  “I know. I don’t know what I’m going to do. My mom said she’ll support me in whatever decision I make.”

  “Do you think she’s telling the truth?”

  “Yeah. I do, actually.”

  Ava thought about the moment that she’d found out. Her mom had been sitting next to her when the letter from Stanford popped up on the screen.

  Congratulations! On behalf of the Office of Undergraduate Admissions, it is my pleasure to offer you admission to Stanford’s class of 2024.

  Ava had actually screamed. Next to her, her mom had kept her cool. She kept the same poker face when the good news came from RISD. “Looks like you have a tough choice ahead of you” was all she’d said.

  “It is a tough decision,” CJ agreed. “I guess that’s the advantage of getting into only one place. Bet you’re super jealous of me.”

  “So jealous.”

  Ava laughed and CJ gave her the biggest hug ever. “Hey,” CJ said, pulling away. “Do you mind if I ask—just because I’m incredibly curious about what a successful Stanford essay sounds like—what did you write about? For your transformational-experience essay?”

  Ava knew everyone assumed she’d written about the moment she met her birth mother or about being diagnosed with depression. And while those things were both certainly transformational, they were far from the most significant thing that had happened to her in her life so far. “I wrote about that day at the park. The summer before kindergarten. When I met you and Jordan and Martha.”

  “What?” CJ said. She couldn’t have been more surprised.

  “Yeah. It basically changed my whole life. I wouldn’t be who I am if I didn’t have the three of you as best friends.”

  CJ laughed. “That is such a good answer.”

  “Then why are you laughing?”

  “It’s so simple. And so perfect. And something I could have written too.” But then she shook her head. “No, it’s not, actually. I wouldn’t have written about it in the same way. I love you, Aves. I’m super proud of you.”

  “I’m proud of you too.”

  CJ smiled. “You know, I’m kinda proud of me too. Wanna go for a jog?”

  “Hard no,” said Ava.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  MARTHA WALKED past Old Navy and Chico’s and turned into the Army Recruitment Center. The young sergeant stood as she entered, and she walked right past him too. Major Malone was at her desk doing some paperwork when Martha appeared in front of her, jumpy and tense. “Hi,” Martha said. “Do you have a minute?”

  “I would invite you to sit, but you seem…” The sentence did not need to be finished. Martha was in no position to be still. “How about we take a walk?”

  “Sure, yeah.” Martha shoved her hands in her pockets. “A walk would be good.”

  It was a nice spring day, and they stepped outside, where the air was fresh and everything was blooming. “So,” Major Malone said. “Why don’t you tell me what you’re looking for?”

  Martha was too nervous to be anything other than honest. “Well,” she said, “I’m basically looking for someone to pay for college. But also… maybe more.”

  “Okay,” Malone said. “We can work with that. There are a couple of options. One, you enlist. Give the army five years, then you go to college on the GI Bill. Everything is paid for.”

  “I don’t think MIT would let me defer for five years.”

  Malone stopped walking and looked over at her.

  “What?” Martha asked.

  “You got into MIT. That’s really impressive. What are you planning on studying?”

  “Mechanical engineering. At least I think so.”

  Malone smiled in a kind way. “Good for you. And good for the army. Those are skills we need. I have no doubt that after five years doing engineering in the army, MIT would happily readmit you. But that doesn’t seem like what you want.”

  Martha shook her head. “I want to go to college. I want that experience.”

  “Then let’s talk about an ROTC program. We pay your tuition and you owe us four years after you graduate. A little more if you also want us to pay for graduate school or flight school.”

  Martha stopped walking. Flight school. She felt goose bumps dot her arms. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Of course.”

  “What’s it like to fly a helicopter?”

  A wistful look spread across Malone’s face. “I won’t be able to explain it. There are some things you can’t possibly understand until you try them. Is that what you want to do?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know what I want to do.” The uncertainty scared her almost as much as anything else. Not in a bad way, though.

  As they walked more and talked more, Martha thought about all the profiles of military women she’d read in the last few days as she worked up the courage to walk through that recruitment office door. She’d wanted all her preconceived notions about the military to be proven true. Instead, she’d found women marching in Pride parades and using their high ranks to make changes. She’d found women who came from money and women who came from nothing. She thought she’d find one type of woman and instead she’d found everything. Everything except an excuse not to at least have a conversation with Major Malone.

  Martha hadn’t had a lot of choices in her life, and now that this one was in front of her, she was scared. This made her think about the person she was named for. When people thought of Martha Washington, they always pictured the white-haired wife of the first American president. But before she was Martha Washington, she was Martha Custis. Before she was Martha Custis, she was Martha Dandridge. And before that, she was Patsy. Just a little girl from a large family who learned how to read and write at a time when women didn’t usually do that. She was a girl who wanted more out of life than what was being offered. That’s what Martha had in common with her great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandmother.

  She was brave enough to want more and she was brave enough to go after it.

  CJ was so used to getting bad news that she almost didn’t know how to process it when she got the mail that afternoon. She stood in her front yard reading and rereading the letter until she was finally convinced that it was real. Then she went straight to her car.

  Wyatt was the first person she wanted to tell. She drove to his house, knocked on his door, and a minute later, his mom answered. “CJ. It’s so good to see you.”

  “You too. Is Wyatt here?”

  Katherine shook her head. “He’s on campus with his dad.”

  “Campus?”

  “OSU.” She was smiling now. “He decided to go back in the fall. They’re taking care of some paperwork today and meeting with someone from the Office of Disability Services. The school has been great so far. Fingers crossed.”

  CJ knew it wasn’t her place to be proud of him, but she couldn’t help it. She was. “Is it okay if I leave something for him?”

  “Of course. I’ll make sure he gets it.”

  “Give me on
e second.”

  CJ took the letter out of the envelope and wrote a note at the bottom of it. She felt weird writing the words that she was writing while standing so close to Wyatt’s mom, but Katherine did a good job of not staring. CJ finished and stuffed the letter back in the envelope before she could second-guess herself.

  “By the way,” CJ said, “I love the vase you gave me. I love it so much. This is going to sound hokey, but it reminds me that life can change in an instant, and it’s up to us how we deal with it when it does.”

  “I appreciate that. I know my pottery is far from perfect.”

  “That’s why I love it so much. Even with its flaws, it’s still one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.”

  Wyatt’s mom smiled. “Thank you, CJ. That’s incredibly kind. Everyone else tells me they look like dicks.”

  CJ laughed. “Not at all.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  THE DAYS grew longer and the humidity settled in. Summer was impossibly close and everyone knew what that meant. Their time as seniors was almost over. Jordan’s stomach was in knots when it came time to be photographed for the Senior Superlatives. It’s not that she was nervous about what she was going to wear. She knew that whatever she picked would be amazing now and totally out of style when she looked back on it in ten, twenty, thirty years. No, she wasn’t nervous about the outfit. The reason she was on edge was because Logan Diffenderfer was going to be the one taking the picture, and she knew it was the perfect time to finally be honest with him.

  She met him inside the auditorium. He was setting up a makeshift photography studio, and she watched for a moment while he hung a blue sheet for the background and set up a few light stands. He looked like a real photographer.

  “Hey,” he said as she walked up. “I didn’t hear you come in. Perfect outfit.”

  “Thanks.”

  She was wearing a corset top that her grandmother had helped her embellish with straps and a frilly skirt in red, white, and blue that her younger brother said made her look like she was running for president.