The Mosts (2 page)

And according to most of the general population of Freeport, Maine, as of two minutes earlier, Thom and I weren’t a couple anymore at all.

Chapter 2

I
was playing What’s Thom Doing Now? when the phone rang. For the past hour, I’d been looking at the clock and deciding where he must be and what he might be doing. Eight-fifteen a.m.: probably hitting the Portland city limits on I-295. Eight-twenty: arriving at the Portland jetport. Eight-forty-five: sitting in the waiting area, reading
Spin
magazine (Thom loved alternative music) or playing his Nintendo DS or looking at pictures of me on his cell phone.

I bolted up from my bed, where I’d spent that hour staring at the ceiling, and grabbed my cell from the bedside table. Thom. I couldn’t flip it open fast enough.

“Hey, we’re at the airport. I just wanted to tell you I already miss you.”

That was a good sign. But then again, he hadn’t even left the state.

“Me too. So, so much.”

“But you’ll come out for your dad’s wedding in a few weeks and it’ll be like we’re not apart.”

My father lived in California, just twenty minutes from Santa Anita, where Thom was moving. In three and a half weeks, I was going to his wedding—his third—and would get to see Thom again. Not that I’d even received an invitation yet—or heard from my dad about arranging airline tickets. I’d called him three times in the past two weeks to ask if he’d booked the flights for me and Sabrina. He’d said that he’d get on it, that of course he wanted his baby girls at his wedding.

But nothing.

Three and a half weeks. Felt like forever, but it wasn’t. “I can’t wait,” I whispered, fighting back more tears.

“Me too. Hey, I have to go, my mom’s waving me over. I’ll text you later, okay?”

Two minutes later, my phone rang again. But it wasn’t Thom. It was my best friend, Caro.

A creepy, scary, slightly nausea-producing feeling slunk inside my stomach. I wasn’t in the mood to talk to Caro, especially now. Things had been a little weird between us the past couple of weeks, ever since Thom had announced he was moving.

I took a deep breath and answered the phone.

“Are you okay? Did he leave yet? I’ll totally come over to the stinky, gross farm if you’re not okay. And not even because Sam might be there.”

“I’m not okay,” I admitted, surprised by Caro’s sacrifice. “And Sam’s not working today.”

“I’ll be over in ten minutes with everyone,” she said, and hung up.

I sat down at the window seat that overlooked the pasture and the rise of hills where the herd was grazing. Caro Alexander, the reigning queen of Freeport Academy, was complicated. She hated the smell of the farm and would never hang out at my house if the very hot Sam Fray didn’t intern twice a week and come on Saturdays for no credit. Caro had gone as far as to buy cute Burberry rubber boots to change into for crossing from the parking lot to the house. (The dirt driveway was a mudfest and used by people and chickens and turkeys and ducks, plus the usual variety of cats and dogs, so there was animal poop everywhere.) But she was so grossed out by the sight of livestock that she only came over twice. That was how much she hated the farm. Still, I was surprised Caro didn’t show up more often in one of her skintight outfits and pink plaid Wellies just to be with Sam. She had given the farm a second chance, thinking she could feed a calf from a bottle and hook Sam the way I’d hooked Thom, but the calf had nudged her arm with its wet nose and she was grossed out permanently.

That she was coming over this early on a Sunday, when Sam wasn’t even here to flirt with, said a lot about our friendship.

Caro
wanted
Sam. They’d kissed, sort of hooked up a little at parties, but he always pulled away from her before crossing some kind of “okay, we’re together now” line, and never asked her out. She didn’t get it, since every other guy at school lusted after her. Caro Alexander was girl perfection, neither too tall nor too short, slender yet curvy, and a C-cup chest. Then there was the angelic face, the long, swirly light blond hair, the round blue eyes—so slightly and expertly made up you weren’t even sure she wore makeup—the glossy pink bow lips. Even male teachers stared at her before they caught themselves. She was without question stare-at-her beautiful. Hence voted Most Beautiful in the class poll since seventh grade.

“We’re here!” I heard Fergie call from downstairs.

“And we have fat-free frozen yogurt!” Annie added. Yes,
that
Annie, the funny one.

“With fat-free hot fudge,” Selena called up the stairs. “And Sprite Zero.”

My friends were great. They were here when I needed them. And boy, did I need them right now.

I opened my door and there they were, four girls who, two years before, I never thought would ever talk to me, let alone turn into my best friends. They were the Mosts of Freeport Academy. Caro Alexander, Most Beautiful. Fergie Ferragamo, Most Stylish. Annie Haywood, Most Hilarious (though sometimes I wanted to slap her). And Selena McFarland, Most Hot. And somehow I, Madeline Echols, had come out of nowhere to be named Most Popular last May in the freshman class polls. I was one of the Mosts. Though it wasn’t official until last spring, I’d been in the clique from practically the first day of my freshman year. Thanks to Thom.

The creepy feeling returned. Lately I’d been wondering if these girls would be my friends at all if it hadn’t been for Thom.

“You look so sad,” Fergie said, fake pouting and running over in high-heeled sandals to hug me.

Fergie, whose nickname—everyone called her Fergie except her family—came from her very apt last name, Ferragamo (no relation to the couture designer, though), narrowly won back Most Stylish last year. She had lost it the year before to some artsy girl named Alanna, who had broken both legs and had very stylish shirt-coordinated cast covers made for each week. Fergie had been campaigning for this year’s top prize since the school year had begun. She didn’t think her real name—Mary Margaret—was appropriate for a stylin’ girl, so she had ditched it the summer before seventh grade.

Fergie took her brush out of her huge purse and hogged the mirror on the inside of my closet door to brush her chic auburn hair, which was secretly wildly curly-frizzy like Elinor Espinoza’s, but had been Japanese-straightened and flat-ironed to perfection. Fergie had a killer bob, just past her chin, slightly A-line, which meant it was shorter in the back, and model-like bangs. Unlike me and Caro, Fergie was short, but she had a hot body. I was the only one of us who was practically flat-chested, but a trip to Victoria’s Secret fixed that—as much as it could, anyway.

“Anyone would be sad with the stink of this place,” Caro said, wrinkling her nose as she pulled something out of her leather messenger bag. She wore the pink plaid Wellies with supertight jeans tucked inside. “Guess what I did for you last night,” she said, handing me something wrapped in bright pink paper with a bow on top.

“What’s this?” I asked.

She smiled at me, those supposedly angelic blue eyes cool, though. I hated how she could manage that expression. “Open it,” she said, sitting down on my bed and crossing her long legs. She took off her fitted ice-blue cardigan to reveal a microfiber tank top. She looked amazing, as always.

Fergie, Annie, and Selena crowded around me at the window seat, across from my bed. I unwrapped the glossy pink paper to find the Freeport Academy freshman class yearbook. Uh, I had one of these already.

“Open it to the pages with the little pink Post-its,” Caro added.

I flipped to the first one. A pink Post-it arrow was on the page of kids whose last name began with A. The black-and-white photo of Reid Archer had a big red heart in marker around it. The next Post-it pointed to the same around James McNeil. There were six photos with giant hearts in total.

“I don’t get it,” Selena said, looking from me to Caro. She raked her hands through her long, shiny hair and made a quick braid, which fell apart in two seconds. Selena McFarland wasn’t known for her brains, but she had a good heart and a killer body.

But to her credit, I didn’t get it either. What were the hearts about?

“They’re not in order,” Caro said, as if that explained anything. “Reid’s only first because he’s alphabetical. But honestly, I’d go for James. He’s hot and will likely be captain of the lacrosse team next year.”

We all stared at her.

“Huh?” I said. “I thought you liked Sam.”

“I didn’t mean
I’d
go for James. I meant you should.”

“Me? Why would I go for James or any guy? Thom and I didn’t break up. He just spent a half hour telling me we were
not
breaking up, that we could do this long-distance thing.”

“Oh my god, that is so sweet,” Annie said, applying a shimmery pink gloss in the mirror of a compact. She turned her attention from the mirror to me. “Do you think he really meant it?”

I really didn’t like Annie. At all. But she was part of the group, and she mostly hung out with Selena—well, worshipped at her feet, really. Caro and Fergie and I were our own mini-clique within the group. Occasionally Annie made me laugh—and sent Selena and Fergie into hysterics—but there was always something snide and snarky to her humor. And of course I’d never quite forgiven her for the dis before I joined the group. She, like the other girls, had claimed to not even know I existed before I became one of them.
Madeline Echols? That’s not even remotely familiar
, they’d all said.
And ours is a small school
.

“I’m sure he did,” Fergie said. “Thom is madly in love with Madeline. They’ve been a couple for
two years
.”

I smiled at her. “I’m sure he did too. I know he did. And we’re going to see each other in just three and a half weeks, when I fly out for my dad’s wedding. After that, he can fly in or I can fly out every couple of months or something.”

“Are you kidding? Airline tickets to California cost a
fortune.”
Annie giggled. “Oh, wait, Maddie will pay for her flight by selling eggs from her chicken coop and making her own stinky cheese.” Caro shot her a look that said,
Uncool of you
. So of course Annie stopped laughing instantly. “I just mean that flying costs a lot. My family didn’t even go to my uncle’s graduation from Stanford Law School because it was so expensive.”

Wait. This was making me feel better? This was cheering me up?

“Honey,” Caro said, looking at me. “What I’m trying to say by the gift I gave you”—she pointed at the yearbook open on my lap to James’s picture—“is that despite how much you like Thom, despite how much he likes you, you really do need to face cold, hard reality. He’s
three thousand
miles away. In California. Where
every
girl looks like we do. But in bikinis. I’m sure you two will keep it going as long as you can—maybe until your dad’s wedding. But honestly, you’re going to hook up with someone else and so is Thom. So I just circled the hottest guys to take his place.”

I let out a very deep sigh. No. Reality or not, Thom said we weren’t breaking up.
I
said we weren’t breaking up.
We
said we weren’t breaking up.

That
was what mattered.

“No one’s taking Thom’s place,” I said to Caro. “I’m not even remotely interested in other guys.”

“This
second
, of course,” she said. “I mean, your boyfriend of two years
just
left. But tomorrow morning at Freeport Academy, you’re going to be considered single, Madeline. Guys are going to be asking you out. I’ve just done your weeding and vetting for you. If Reid asks you out before James, I’d stall him for a few days and wait for James.”

Fergie nodded and took the yearbook off my lap. She flipped through the pink-marked pages. “They
are
the other hottest guys in school. Besides Sam and Tate.”

“And Sam and Tate are totally off-limits,” Selena said. “Because Sam is Caro’s. And Tate is Fergie’s.”

Caro smiled. “That’s very kind of you, Selena. But he’s not mine yet.”

Selena moved over to the mirror and began checking out her stomach to make sure it was flat enough. “Matter of time,” she told Caro. “And it’s understood no one can go for him while you want him.
I
drool over him,” she said, thrusting out her 32D chest in her tight pink T-shirt. “But I’d
never.”

“And I appreciate that,” Caro said coolly.

Caro liked Annie and Selena, even though she referred to them as fringe Mosts. Caro had once said, “I’m funny and hot
and
everything else. They’re just
one thing.”

“Sam isn’t like other guys,” Caro said, moving from my bed to the mirror and basically pushing Fergie and Selena out of the way. “He’s not going to be attracted to
just
looks. But you’re right. No one goes for Sam until I’ve figured out how to get him.”

She didn’t look at me while making that announcement. But she didn’t have to. Everyone had noticed Sam watching me, staring at me, talking to me the past couple of weeks. I’d noticed for the past few months. Sam, with his sandy-blond hair and pale brown eyes, was
very
good-looking, very everything. And he was nice on top of it, in a way none of the other guys were. But ever since Thom had told us he was moving, I’d noticed Sam staring at me at lunch and at Yum’s, where we all often hung out after school. And at the farm, three times a week.

Caro had noticed immediately—which accounted for the weirdness between us. Unspoken, unacknowledged weirdness. I’d tried to ignore it, because it was so far-fetched. I was into Thom and only Thom. And I’d long thought of Sam as Caro’s. He’d never registered on my radar
that
way, even though he was amazingly cute. And nice. And easy to talk to. And always around, with something interesting to say.

Wait a minute. I glanced at Caro, at her reflection in the mirror. She didn’t look at me, just adjusted her perfect jeans in her perfect boots.

Interesting. Caro had braved the stinky farm, no Sam and all, ostensibly to comfort me, but really to make sure I understood something: Sam was hers to hook.

As I said, Caro Alexander was complicated. Which meant she had her nice moments, her not-nice moments, and a confusing mix of the two, when you couldn’t be sure if she was being nice or a total beyotch.