I’ve been avoiding finishing up her closet because I don’t want to know what he’ll force me to throw out.
Kiera’s phone alarm pings loudly through the speaker, her hand reaching quickly up to swipe it away. “Oh, shoot. Ten minutes until my phone goes back in The Locker. I gotta go! I told Paul I’d call him with an update.” She gives me a big grin, leaning forward. “Gotta tell him the big news!”
I smile back at her, knowing how big this is for her. “Your first boyfriend, Kiera! This is so exciting.”
“I know, I know!” she sings. “Todd. Who’d have thought.” She freezes suddenly, her face going from an expression of absolute bliss to deathly serious in a fraction of a second. “I’m sorry, again. About what I said.”
I nod, waving my hand like it’s nothing. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t even worry about it.” She doesn’t look convinced, so I double down with the most blindingly enormous smile I can muster. “I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”
“Okay! Bye, Em!” I barely have time to wave before the call ends, her face disappearing and my phone screen going dark, my reflection staring back at me as I let out a big sigh.
Did Mom and Nina ever fight? Ever struggle to see eye to eye?
I lean back against the couch, my hand sliding into my jeans pocket to pull out the list. I wish I had told her. But her “yeah, sure” keeps ringing in my head.
Carefully, I unfold the list, my finger tracing the small green check next to “10. Steal an apple from the First Tree at Snyder’s Orchard.”
I’ll prove it to her. She’s not the only one who’s going to come back different.
Two down, ten to go.
In fourteen days they’ll all be checked off. And Kiera and Matt will have the old me back.
13
I sit on the steps of my house, shifting my legs back and forth as the warm concrete makes my skin prickle. I know absolutely nothing about cliff jumping, but I would assume today is the perfect day for it, just because today is the perfect day for just about anything. There isn’t a single cloud in the sky. The sun is hot, but not unbearable, and the trees rustle gently from a cool, relieving breeze that blows through just as you get a little too warm.
At exactly two o’clock Blake’s truck chugs to a stop in front of my house, her tan arm slung casually out of the rolled-down window. I push myself up off the steps, grabbing my backpack, and walk down the path to her truck.
“You ready?” she calls to me as I get closer.
I swallow hard on my nerves.
“Uh, I think so?” I say, wrapping my fingers around the lucky quarter, tucked once more into the pocket of my jean shorts.
“That’s the kind of confidence I was going for,” she says, laughing as I pull open the door, the hinges squeaking noisily.
I buckle my seat belt as she plugs the state park into her phone’s GPS, the automated voice telling her to drive down the street and turn right.
We talk about Huckabee High for the entire drive, and I give her a crash course on the ins and outs of the school. I cover all the different social groups, how the cool people are basically her coworkers at the pool, how our rivals are the Seymour Squids, how only one girl on the school cheerleading squad can do something other than a cartwheel.
“Our football team is trash,” I say, serving up some brutal honesty, in case she, like the rest of our town, really cares about stuff like that. “In fact, two of the guys who chased us at Snyder’s Orchard were starting varsity last year, if that’s any indication. But the stands are still packed every Friday.”
“That sounds cool actually,” Blake says when I tell her about the actual parade our town threw after we won our first game in five years. “My school was pretty small, so we didn’t even have a football team.”
“I don’t know if that’s better or worse than having a crappy one.”
Blake laughs, reaching up to push some of her sun-streaked hair behind her ear. “Where do you fit into all of that? What’s your deal at Huckabee High?”
I want to ask: Before or after junior prom?
But what slips out is more honest than I intend it to be. “Before or after my mom died?”
Blake glances over at me, her fingers opening and closing around the steering wheel. “I guess both,” she says, not like I’ve made her feel uncomfortable or awkward, like she actually wants to know.
And I actually want to tell her. Someone separate and outside of it all.
“I don’t know. I guess… My friends and I were always up to something. Always trying to pull off some wild scheme or plotting some fun adventure. I spearheaded the eighth-grade prank of filling the halls with Ping-Pong balls. I set three of Jake’s family’s chickens loose onto the field during a Huckabee High football game. I helped plan the best eighth-grade formal Huckabee Middle School has ever had. If something happened at school, people used to assume I was involved somehow and… they were probably right. But now…,” I say, turning my head to look out the window at the rolling fields. “It’s just different. I don’t like the risks anymore, I guess. It stopped feeling… worth it.”
Blake glances over at me but doesn’t say anything, so I shrug. “I try to keep a low profile now. But that’s pretty hard to do when everybody knows everybody else, and you go from the girl who was always ‘fun’ or ‘up to something,’ the person everyone wanted to be around, to that ‘poor girl whose mom died.’ ”
And, yeah, I mean, it’s also pretty hard to do when you kiss someone other than your boyfriend at junior prom.
“What about you?” I ask, reminding myself we still barely know each other. Why do I keep telling her so many things? “What’s your plan for senior year?”
Blake lets out a long huff of air. “I don’t know! I’m more of a doer than a planner. Probably just make a few friends. Try to pass my classes. Join the soccer team.” The corner of her mouth ticks up as she gives me a teasing look. “Keep a low profile.”
I swat at her shoulder. “My friend Olivia plays on the soccer team,” I say, before I realize what I’m saying. I think back to her icy glare at Snyder’s Orchard. Former friend? “Jake can probably introduce you,” I add, quieter now.
“That would be cool.”
“Make a right turn into the parking lot in half a mile,” the automated GPS voice says. I swallow hard, trying to ignore the destination dot getting closer and closer.
I feel the truck slow as Blake puts her turn signal on and pulls into the parking lot, the sun reflecting off the pool of sparkling water as she parks.
“Are you nervous at all? For school to start?” I ask.
“Why would I be nervous?” she replies. The most Blake answer of them all. Completely free from overthinking.
We both fall silent, peering up at the cliff, sitting atop the lush, green tree line. It is… enormous. Just looking at it, I can feel my vertigo taking over, Blake’s words from a moment ago echoing around my head.
Why would I be nervous?
“All right!” Blake says as she turns the car off, her keys jingling as she pulls them out of the ignition. “That isn’t too bad!”
My eyes widen, and I give her a “you have to be kidding me” look. “That’s not too bad?” I say, aghast.
She ignores this and hops merrily out of the truck, completely barefoot, while I crawl out, wondering what the statistics are on people passing out from fear and falling to their deaths.
I kick my flip-flops off as Blake pulls off her T-shirt to reveal a white-and-orange-and-navy-striped bikini, the colors standing out against her tan skin.
I feel my gaze lingering on the toned lines of her stomach, the curve of her…
I swallow hard on whatever that was and preoccupy myself with ripping off my own clothes, tossing them onto the passenger seat of her truck. I look down at my black bikini, a stark contrast to Blake’s brightly colored one.
Crossing my arms tightly over my stomach, I look up to see she’s giving me one of her big, enthusiastic smiles.
“Let’s do t
his?”
“Let’s do… this,” I echo, with markedly less pep.
We start walking through the tree-covered trail that will lead us up to the top of the cliff, the path carefully labeled with light blue arrows etched into small wooden signs. Blake leads the way, her steps smooth and even, despite the small twigs and rocks along the path.
Meanwhile, I’m in my own personal game of hopscotch, the soles of my feet getting stabbed every time I put my foot down.
I watch as the sunlight trickles softly through the branches overhead, casting shadows on Blake’s shoulders and legs. We make a sharp turn, then begin the climb to the top. The path suddenly becomes steeper as we near the water, crystal blue eating hungrily away at the shoreline.
“Did you know your mom had a fear of heights?” Blake asks as we walk.
“I actually had no idea,” I say between breaths. “I was pretty surprised when I saw it on the list.”
We went on a family vacation when I was younger to Puerto Rico, where she did this crazy zip line in Toro Verde. I was too young to go on it, which had really bummed me out at the time. My dad stayed behind with me, the two of us peering up at the tree line, watching in awe as people rocketed past above us. I remember watching her pass by, high above the trees, completely unafraid of the space between her and the ground below.
“That was my mom, though. Never afraid of anything.” I think back to months before her diagnosis, when she first started getting bad headaches, writing it off as nothing, even when the pain relievers stopped really working. “Even when she should’ve been.”
I try not to get woozy the farther we go, focusing on the steady rhythm of Blake’s feet, falling right, left, right, left, one after the other, slower now as we near the top, the bright blue sky coming into view.
Blake stops short in front of a sign with an arrow pointing directly toward the sky, a shoulder-high ledge separating us from the jumping point.
“Oh, good,” I say, pointing at the arrow on the sign. “This is the part where we ascend straight to heaven.”
Blake rolls her eyes, but they crinkle with a secret smile. She takes a deep breath and effortlessly pushes herself up onto the cliff ledge like some kind of parkour expert, turning around once she’s at the top to offer me a hand. I reach out, our fingers interlacing in the spot where the shadows turn to light, hers soft and cool against my warm skin. She helps pull me up, and suddenly the entire world is far below us.
I instantly feel like I’m going to vomit.
I know, instinctually, that it’s beautiful. The blue of the lake, the sun high in the sky, the trees going for miles. Despite all of that, though, I feel super dizzy. I’m nowhere near the edge, but I feel like I’m teetering on it. It has to be a good twenty feet to the water below.
“Oh my God,” I groan, clutching Blake’s arm to steady myself, any attempt at remaining cool and collected in front of her suddenly being tossed out the window. “This was a terrible, terrible idea. Like… so stupid.”
“It’ll be fine,” she assures me, her voice confident but not dismissive. “What’s the worst thing that can happen?”
“Death,” I say without even a second thought. “Either from impact, or from some stick down there we can’t see stabbing through my chest, or from having a heart attack before I even jump or, or… whatever! Blake, my dad only knows how to cook pasta! And eggs! He’s done for without me!”
Blake grabs ahold of both my shoulders and leans forward, her face inches from mine. “Emily. You can do this.” She looks deep into my eyes, and I’ve never been this close to her before. Close enough to see the tiny freckle on her chin, the almost golden rays encircling her pupils, the cupid’s bow of her top lip. For a moment the fear completely disappears, replaced with a heart-hammering feeling, and I have to look away to escape from it. “You can’t obsess over the risks and the what-ifs, or else you won’t do anything. You’ll spend your life five spaces short of a bingo.”
I freeze, frowning, my head swinging back around to look at her. “You had me until that last bit. Five spaces short of a bingo? What does that even mean?”
“I don’t know,” Blake says. “I was going for something like ‘if you don’t even play the game, you can never win.’ You know?”
I bite my lip, processing. I do know. A bit too well.
She nods toward the edge of the cliff. “Do you want me to go first? Double-check for stray sticks?”
I give her a weak smile, nodding, but then I instantly want to take it back. I don’t want to be alone up here. “Well, that would be—”
But without even thinking twice or hearing the rest of my sentence, she lets go of my shoulders, turns, and launches herself off the cliff at a full sprint like an actual maniac.
I take a step back, clinging to the rock behind me as I watch her soar through the air, her arms pulling together in perfect dive form, her body falling for one, two, three—too many seconds. Until finally, her whole body disappears into the water.
I watch, holding my breath, waiting for her to reappear, but every second feels like an eternity, my worst fears swimming around my head.
No, no, no.
Did her neck break on impact? Did she crack her skull on something? How many bones did she break?
… And then she surfaces, her head finally popping up in between the white foam that formed as she made impact, the both of us taking a deep breath. “No sticks! I didn’t even touch the bottom.”
“Oh! Great!” I peer down at her, and the world tilts again. The distance seems even more enormous now that she’s on the other end of it.
“Come on, Em!” Blake calls up to me, her head bobbing up and down as she treads water. “Don’t look! It makes everything worse! Just step back and take a running start.”
“I don’t think I can!” I call back down to her.
“Don’t think! At all!” she calls back. “Remember the apple orchard? Trust me, if you just go, everything will be fine. The overthinking is what will hurt you.”
“Oh, sure!” I call back to her. “Everything will be fine,” I mumble to myself, mimicking her voice as I step back from the ledge, swaying unsteadily as I go.
I take a deep, shaky breath and put my hands on my hips, fixing my eyes on the horizon as I steady myself.
And then I remember why I’m here. Who brought me here.
Mom. But I don’t see her as seventeen, not like I thought I would. What comes to me is those last few weeks, holding her hand while she lay down, her eyes closed after hours of testing, doctors poking and prodding at her body.
I thought she had been asleep, but her voice startled me when she began to speak. “I think the regretting is the worst part, Em,” she whispered, her weak fingers squeezing mine. “Wishing you could’ve done more. Wishing you could’ve done all the things you wanted to do.”
I feel tears sting at my eyes, the same way they did that day.
I take a deep breath, the words she said that day settling on my chest.
If I turn back now, I know I’ll regret it. If I don’t face my fear the same way she did, if I give up on the list, I know I’ll regret it.
“On the count of five,” I whisper, Mom’s lucky number, our lucky number.
“One.” I fix my eyes on the horizon, locking my jaw. “Two, three, four—”
Before I can even process what I’m doing, I run toward the edge of the cliff, launching myself off as I scream out, “Five!”
The open air makes my stomach lurch, and for a glittering moment, time slows. Or maybe even completely stops existing. I feel completely free. Weightless.
I can feel her all around me, hear her laugh, her words and her list pushing me forward.
Then… I realize I’m still falling. Still hurtling through the air.
WHAT AM I DOING?!
I begin to flail my arms wildly, desperate for my feet to meet the water, for the free fall to be over.
I hit the water hard, my legs splayed, my shins and thighs burnin
g from the impact, an instant wedgie shooting so far up my butt, I don’t think it will ever come out. And I can’t stop to try to pull it out, because somehow I’m still going down, my body slicing through the water with twenty feet worth of momentum.
Finally, I come to a stop, completely suspended. I look up to see the sunlight trickling through the water, a sea of bubbles between me and the outside world, a steady stream of them pouring out of my mouth and nose. I paddle my burning legs to the top, and eventually I break through the surface of the water, grateful to be alive and all in one piece. I let out a gasp of air, coughing, the grimy taste of lake water hitting hard in the back of my throat.
“You good?” Blake asks, swimming over to me, her fingers reaching out to lightly touch my side.
“I think I lost a boob on impact,” I say, double-checking that my black bathing-suit top is still in place and that both my boobs are still there. “Oh, thank God,” I add, breathing a sigh of relief. “They made it.”
We both burst out laughing, giggling as we swim toward the shore, the water slowly getting shallow enough for us to stand on the slippery, mossy rocks at the bottom. I stumble, and Blake reaches out quickly, grabbing on to my arm to steady me. The two of us tiptoe carefully around the jagged stones and twigs covering the shore and make our way to the trail leading back up to the cliff.
I gaze up in awe, slightly impressed I fell all that way and lived to tell the tale. It was nowhere near as neat as Blake’s graceful little dive, but a cliff jump is a cliff jump. I did it.
Blake turns to look at me, her brown eyes glowing almost amber in the sunlight.
“You up for a round two?”
My heart beats loudly in my chest, my shins tingling from the smack of the water, the burn suddenly more intense at the thought of a second jump.
I feel… exhilarated, though. Like my body’s been asleep and I just woke it the hell up. Like I haven’t ever used it properly and it wants me to, long-dormant adrenaline coursing through my veins, making me feel like I can conquer just about anything.
Making me feel the tiniest bit… invincible.
My adrenaline rush forces a nod out of me, which provokes a smile so big and genuine out of Blake, I can see every tooth, and the gap between the first two. It’s adorable and my heart rate spikes again, because I know that smile’s there because of me.
The Lucky List Page 11
