Most Likely Read online

  Copyright

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2020 by Sarah Watson

  Cover art copyright © 2020 by Carolina Melis. Cover design by Karina Granda.

  Cover copyright © 2020 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.

  Hachette Book Group supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  Poppy

  Hachette Book Group

  1290 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10104

  Visit us at LBYR.com

  First Edition: March 2020

  Poppy is an imprint of Little, Brown and Company.

  The Poppy name and logo are trademarks of Hachette Book Group, Inc.

  The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Watson, Sarah (Television writer), author.

  Title: Most likely / Sarah Watson.

  Description: First edition. | New York : Poppy/Little, Brown and Company, 2020. | Audience: Ages 12+ | Summary: In 2049, as the president of the United States waits to be sworn in, she reflects on senior year in high school, when she and her three dear friends vied for the attention of the future First Gentleman.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2019031221 | ISBN 9780316454834 (hardcover) | ISBN 9780316454759 (ebook) | ISBN 9780316454803

  Subjects: CYAC: Best friends—Fiction. | Friendship—Fiction. | High schools—Fiction. | Schools—Fiction. | Presidents—Fiction.

  Classification: LCC PZ7.1.W417766 Mos 2020 | DDC [Fic]—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019031221

  ISBNs: 978-0-316-45483-4 (hardcover), 978-0-316-45475-9 (ebook)

  E3-20200204-JV-NF-ORI

  Contents

  COVER

  TITLE PAGE

  COPYRIGHT

  DEDICATION

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  EPILOGUE

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  DISCOVER MORE

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  To Mom and Dad,

  for believing I could be anything.

  Even the president.

  But for being totally cool when I said I wanted to be a writer.

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  PROLOGUE

  Washington, DC

  January 20, 2049

  THE MORNING sky is a deep shade of blue, and for a moment, I wish I’d gone with the crimson coat. The contrast of red wool against blue sky would have been powerful. But it’s too late to change now. This is what I’m wearing. Cream-colored coat over a crisp white suit jacket and matching pants that the designer made personally for me. We’d originally talked about doing a skirt, but the January air is cold and I’m glad for the last-minute change.

  “Diffenderfer.”

  My husband and I both turn at the sound of our last name, but the Diffenderfer they’re looking for is me, of course. The professional young woman whose job it is to tell me where I need to be and when says, “We’re five minutes to go time.”

  Five minutes. The moment is so close and yet it still doesn’t feel completely real. My friends will tell you that they always knew. That out of all of us, I was always the most likely to end up here. Respectfully, and with love, I think they’re full of crap. The truth is, if someone had told me back in high school that this is where my life would lead, I never would have believed it. In some ways, I still can’t believe it’s about to happen. And I really can’t believe it’s about to happen to someone with the last name Diffenderfer.

  Diffenderfer. Ugh. I wonder for the millionth time why I took his name. It was a choice, of course. But I was heavily advised to choose it. Even in this day and age, people felt that it would make me seem more relatable. More approachable. More…“traditional” is the word that one brave soul used before I kicked him out of my office. The reason it pissed me off so much is because I knew he was right. As much as I hate to admit it, it’s important to put on a bit of an appearance. So as much as I hate my husband’s last name, I made the traditional choice and took the damn thing.

  I look over at the man who gave me the gift of being a Diffenderfer and smile. He winks back. “Big day,” he says.

  “Is it?” I tease, and take his hand. I’m surprised to find it shaking slightly. He’s nervous, and this fills me with such a sudden sense of tenderness that I’m momentarily overwhelmed. I give his hand a squeeze. He squeezes back. Twice. To tell me that he loves me. “Don’t be nervous,” I whisper.

  “Aren’t I supposed to be saying that to you?”

  “But I’m not nervous.”

  “Of course you’re not.”

  I lean in and kiss him. My makeup artist, Margot, will have to refresh my lip gloss, but I don’t care. I may not love his name, but I do love this man. I have ever since high school. I’ve told the story of senior year and that first kiss close to a thousand times now. People apparently like that my love story is uncomplicated. Uncomplicated. It always makes us laugh. It’s only uncomplicated because they don’t know about the complicated parts—which are actually my favorite parts. Those definitely wouldn’t have helped my image, though. So we’ve kept it our little secret. Thinking about this makes me smile. I like that, in spite of everything that’s happened, there are still a few things that belong only to us.

  The young woman with the headset walks up to tell me that it’s time. My husband gives me a look. “You ready?”

  “Yes,” I whisper back, even though the answer is no. How can I ever truly be ready for something like this? I take comfort remembering that the most important moments of my life have been the ones that terrified me. Like that first kiss. Not the story we’ve told a thousand times. The real one. The one that was messy and excruciating and painful and exhilarating. The one that broke my heart and healed it all at the same time.

  I take a deep breath and give my husband’s hand one more squeeze. I suppose it doesn’t really matter that I share my last name with him. Because the title they’re about to put in front of it will belong only to me.

  I, and I alone, will be president of the United States of America.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Cleveland, Ohio

  Fall 2019

  LOGAN DIFFENDERFER kept a strong pace as he rounded the track.
His sweat-soaked shirt clung to his body, and his brown hair bounced as if to the beat of some tragically hip but perfectly rhythmic song.

  It was completely annoying.

  The space underneath the bleachers was usually the best place at William McKinley High School to have a private conversation. CJ couldn’t believe she’d forgotten about cross-country practice when she suggested that she and her three best friends meet there after school. “Maybe we should go somewhere else,” she said. Up until this year, CJ had been on the team too. She’d never been a particularly strong runner, and she reminded herself that quitting made sense. She needed the time in her schedule to study for her SATs. (Another thing she wasn’t particularly strong at.) Still, it was weird and maybe even a little sad to watch her old team practice without her. “We could try the library. Or that spot behind the cafeteria dumpsters.”

  Martha looked at the time on her phone. “I have to be in the car in five minutes. Not walking toward it. In it.” CJ didn’t hold it against her for being in a hurry. Martha was the only one with an after-school job. She was also the only one without a car, so she looked desperately to Ava, who had agreed to give her a ride. “Please tell CJ it’s safe to talk here.”

  Ava shrugged. “It’s totally fine. Literally nobody can hear us.”

  This prompted Jordan to look up from her phone. “That is literally not even remotely how you use the word ‘literally.’” She closed out of Snapchat and opened Instagram. Earlier that day she’d posted a photo of herself in her new ’50s-style midi dress with the “J” for Jordan embroidered on the pocket in a shade of purple that perfectly matched the stripes of color running through her hair. CJ was more of a “jeans and T-shirt” kind of girl and didn’t totally get Jordan’s look, but she’d clicked on the little heart next to the post and left a comment. Because that’s what you do when one of your best friends is trying to boost her social media following. “Ava has a point, though. Literally. Nobody.”

  Martha looked at the time. “Four minutes. I have four minutes.”

  Jordan put her phone away. “So, tonight, who’s going to drive and who’s going to bring… wait. What do we even need to bring?”

  They all traded looks and shrugs. None of them had ever done anything like this before.

  “Something sharp, I guess,” CJ finally said.

  “I’ll handle that,” said Ava. “But how sharp are we talking?”

  As they debated just how sharp of a sharp object Ava should bring, a loud whoop came from the track behind them. They all turned to see that Logan Diffenderfer had just crossed the finish line. As he slowed to a walk, catching his breath in big heaping gulps, he pumped his fist triumphantly into the air and let out another whoop. CJ felt a pang of jealousy. She missed that feeling of crossing the finish line in a flurry of relief and excitement. She watched as her old cross-country coach handed Logan a bottle of water and gave him a pat on the back.

  CJ felt another pang. Everything always came so easily to Logan. Not that he didn’t work hard. Back when she was on the team, they were the only two who consistently logged extra miles and didn’t roll their eyes when their coach shouted inspiring things at them in the middle of practice. For Logan, this extra work resulted in first-place medals and broken records. For CJ, it barely put her in the middle of the pack.

  Sometimes CJ couldn’t understand how Jordan had ever dated him. (Sure, it was only for about five minutes during freshman year, but still.) He was too perfect. It made him boring. Right then, Logan peeled off his shirt and used it to dab the sweat off his chest. Well, that certainly wasn’t boring. It was intimidating, though. With his shirt off, his tan skin and carved shoulders, which he’d earned teaching summer swim lessons at the rec center pool, were on full display. CJ folded her arms over the pooch of her stomach self-consciously. She’d spent all summer swimming too, and all it had given her was a face full of freckles.

  “Maybe I am into dudes.”

  This was Martha talking. Instead of drinking the bottle of water he’d been given, Logan touched it to the back of his neck. Ohio summers had a way of lingering, and the air was heavy with humidity. Sweat and water dripped down his shoulders.

  “You can be into dudes,” Ava said. “But please not that one.” Logan started running the bottle of water up and down the line of his neck. Up and down. Up and down. “Oh, come on,” Ava huffed. “He’s doing that on purpose. He wants people to stare.”

  “It’s working,” Martha said.

  CJ laughed. Martha’s sexuality had been a question ever since they all watched the second-to-last Harry Potter movie. After it was over, CJ announced that she wished she could be Hermione Granger, and Martha announced that she wished she could make out with Hermione Granger. Whether her feelings were specifically directed toward Gryffindor’s most notorious female or toward females in general was yet to be determined. Martha was waiting to actually kiss a girl before she officially declared her sexuality.

  “Come on, ladies,” Jordan said. “Martha’s gotta get to work. So what’s the deal?”

  “I’ll drive,” CJ said. “Ava’s got the sharp thing covered—”

  “Right. But seriously. Like how sharp?”

  “Your choice,” Martha said. “I’m working until eight. Pick me up then?”

  This would make them late. They’d be some of the last to arrive. But it’s not like they could ask Martha to blow off work. She was already a total stress ball about how she was going to pay for college next year.

  So they agreed on eight PM, and then they discussed and settled on an appropriate level of sharpness, and that was that. They’d been talking and dreaming about this night for so long that it almost seemed surreal that it was finally happening.

  As they walked away from the bleachers, CJ looked back for a second. She’d meant to catch her old cross-country coach’s eye. She wanted to give her a nod, a wordless way to let her know that even though she’d quit, she was still thankful for three years of coaching. CJ accidentally caught Logan’s eye instead. He quickly glanced away, but not before she realized that he’d been staring at one of them. What was impossible to tell, what she did not know, was which one of the four of them it was.

  CHAPTER TWO

  AVA, CJ, Jordan, and Martha (they always listed themselves in alphabetical order out of fairness) were a loyal and inseparable foursome. But their remarkable friendship had a fairly unremarkable origin story. There was no great moment of triumph, no great moment of tragedy. No magic pants. They simply met in a park one day when they were five. It was late summer and the line for the slide was long and they started talking while waiting for their turn. They were still a few weeks away from starting kindergarten, and each girl was nervous about it for her own reasons. There was a profound relief when they realized that all four of them had been placed in the same teacher’s class. One of them declared that it was fate, and all of them nodded even though two of them didn’t know what that word meant. By the end of that first day, they decided that they should all be best friends. It was as easy and natural as that.

  Twelve years later, they still liked to say that it was fate that brought them to that particular park on that particular day. Though it’s hard to credit divine providence when every kid in the area practically lived in Memorial Park that summer. It’s not just that it had the best slide and the tallest set of monkey bars, but there was a certain curiosity and fascination with the names that were carved into the soft wood of the old jungle gym. At the time, Ava, CJ, Jordan, and Martha didn’t know why the names were there. They could barely even read. But that didn’t stop them from tracing their fingers over the letters and trying to sound out the words as the afternoon sun burned overhead and the sweet smells of summer seemed to stretch on forever.

  That day felt like a million years ago and it felt like yesterday. That’s what Jordan was thinking as they drove to Memorial Park that night. They were running late, which was annoying even though it was basically her fault. She’d changed outf
its about a million times before going back to the one she’d tried on first.

  CJ pulled her car to the curb even though they were still around the corner and several blocks away from the park. “What are you doing?” Martha asked from the back seat.

  “In case the cops show up,” CJ said. She turned off the ignition. “I don’t want my car placed at the scene of the crime.”

  “Clarke Josephine Jacobson,” Jordan said. “You’re being ridiculous.”

  CJ wasn’t listening. Or if she was listening, she was doing an excellent job of ignoring Jordan. She climbed out of the car and the others followed. Then she put her keys into her backpack and pulled a black sweatshirt out of it. She zipped the hoodie all the way up despite the fact that the night was warm and muggy. Jordan watched with curiosity as CJ pulled the sweatshirt hood around her face and tugged the strings so tightly that only her green eyes remained visible in the darkness. As she tied the strings into a crisp little bow, the others traded a look.

  Long ago, the four girls had promised never to talk trash about any member of the group behind her back. They took their promises seriously, so when CJ looked over at them and uttered a muffled “What?” from behind the cotton/polyester blend of her hoodie, they didn’t make fun of her behind her back. They made fun of her to her face.

  “You cannot be serious,” said Martha.

  Ava looked her up and down, and tilted her head to the side. “Aren’t you a little hot in that?”

  “I think she looks adorable,” said Jordan. She turned to CJ. “Smile.”

  “Huh?” Right as CJ turned, Jordan snapped a picture.

  “So cute,” she said, looking at the photo.

  “Ha ha. You guys are hilarious. I don’t want to get caught.”

  It’s not like what they were about to do was a felony or anything—they’d looked it up just to make sure—but it’s not like it was completely legal either. (It was a misdemeanor.) Jordan tried out different filter options on the picture.