The Lucky List

by Rachael Lippincott

  “That’s what Matt said!”

  Kiera lets out a long, exaggerated breath, filled with relief. “I am so relieved. I’m going to be honest—I was really worried.”

  A wave of guilt washes over me for putting my best friend in the middle of this. But also… a wave of frustration that she’s more excited about this than about seeing me again.

  “I’ll be back the day before the Huckabee Lake trip,” she says, talking fast, her voice filled with excitement. “I feel like the trip is going to be the perfect place to officially get you guys back together.”

  Not only was it the first time we’d all be back together in one place, but the Huckabee Lake trip definitely had a bit of mythos around it. It was more than a little famous for people coupling up over the course of the weekend.

  Including my parents.

  “We can fix everything then, and it will all be back to normal by the time senior year starts.”

  Normal.

  That’s what I want… isn’t it?

  I think of Matt standing by my locker between classes, and eating breakfast sandwiches in his car on the way to school, and scrolling through the new movies at the historic theater in town on Friday afternoons. But I also think about the countdown clock in my head every time we kiss, and all our little fights, and him talking about taking things to the next level when I’m barely comfortable on the level we’re on.

  My stomach flip-flops though because normal also means more than just us. It means Kiera, and Olivia, and Jake, and Ryan, all of us hanging out in Olivia’s enormous basement, and hot chocolate and cookies in the winter at Kiera’s house, and going to Hank’s for milkshakes when it’s someone’s birthday.

  I miss all of that. I want all of that. I don’t want it to be ruined.

  And, I remind myself, this time will be better. This time I’ll say yes to weekends away, the small adventures, the pranks. I’ll give it a real chance and won’t hold back. Like Mom.

  I nod, determined, and give Kiera a reassuring smile. “Yeah,” I say. “Normal.”

  We talk about Misty Oasis for the rest of the call. She tells me about how a camper got stuck in a tree, detailing the rescue mission that required Todd, a queen-size mattress, and a climbing rope.

  I laugh along and try my best to listen. But deep in my stomach, a tiny whisper of queasiness lingers, familiar and unwelcome. At the thought of Kiera not wanting to come back until I said I could fix things.

  When we hang up, I lie down on my floor, watching the sunlight trickle through my bedroom window. I hold up a tiny jar of sand from my mom’s box and stretch out my arm, my gaze following the tiny granules running along the side as I flip it upside down, over and over again. The feeling slowly grows with every turn of the jar as I begin to think about Blake, and the list, and the eight days left to complete it.

  And a way to figure all of this out so maybe Kiera will actually want to come back.

  An idea begins to take shape. With time running out, I was thinking I’d just count the lake trip as my “get out of Huckabee” escape, but… maybe now is the perfect time to do it. Maybe I need to get out of Huckabee too.

  I roll over and grab my phone, hitting the call button. It rings a few times before she picks up.

  “Hey, Em,” Blake says, her voice crackling noisily through the microphone. The middle-of-the-woods Huckabee phone service is almost as bad as whatever Misty Oasis is working with. “What’s up?”

  “Hey,” I say, sitting up. “I know I said I was going to pack today, but… I changed my mind. You want to get out of here?”

  Blake laughs, and I can picture her mischievous grin on the other end of the phone, her fingers reaching up to tuck a strand of her sun-streaked hair behind her ear. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  An hour later on the dot, Blake’s faded blue pickup truck slides to a stop outside my house, two surfboards sticking out of the truck bed, that grin I’d pictured on the phone plastered on her face. She was more than game for a four-hour drive to the beach, just like I was equally game for spending the night when she mentioned her aunt had a beach house nearby so we didn’t have to run right back.

  If we’re getting out of Huckabee, I want to do it right.

  I glance behind me to see my dad leaning on the doorframe, his phone still pressed to his ear as the real estate agent drones on. I can’t help but hesitate at the top of the porch steps.

  What if they convince him to take a bad offer? Where are we going to move to? I feel like he’s keeping me in the dark with all of this.

  He puts his hand over the mouthpiece. “Text me when you get there, okay?”

  He was so happy to hear that I had somewhere to go and something to do. His eyes have lit up every time I’ve asked for his permission these past couple of weeks. Probably because my absence means he can throw out even more stuff.

  I watch him give Blake a big wave.

  “Will do,” I say curtly as I jog down the steps, my feet slowing and then stopping completely as I land on the bottom one.

  This is the farthest trip I’ll have gone on since my mom died, and I can’t help but have all the worst-case scenarios circling around and around in my head.

  What if he gets hurt at work, or doesn’t put his seat belt on, or forgets to turn off the stove after making dinner?

  What if I get back and something terrible has happened?

  I spin around to face him, but I fight back the nervousness. Everything I’ve done so far has turned out fine. I have to trust this will too. “Love you.”

  His eyes crinkle at the corners. “Love you too,” he mouths.

  I jog the rest of the way to Blake’s truck, yanking open the passenger door to chuck my backpack on the floor, already talking. “Surfboards, Blake? Two of them?” I say as I climb inside, moving to buckle my seat belt.

  “It’ll be fun! Not much harder than riding a bike,” she says, which is like someone saying that a middle school play is the same as a Broadway performance.

  I feel a surprise wave of excitement at the thought, the effects of jumping off a cliff and skinny-dipping, alongside Blake’s calm and assured confidence, muting the risks and the fear, leaving only the thrill of the adventure.

  “And to prepare, my grandma made enough breakfast burritos to feed everyone in Huckabee,” Blake says as we pull off down the road. She tosses me a foil-wrapped log, hitting me square in the chest. “Never too late for a breakfast burrito.”

  My stomach growls as I carefully unwrap it, the smell of pico de gallo and cheese radiating off the lumpy tortilla brick.

  I take a bite, and holy shit is it good. Even after the trek to my house, it’s still warm and cheesy and delicious.

  “This is incredible,” I say, and Blake nods in agreement.

  “She makes them almost every morning, and I still haven’t gotten sick of them.”

  I devour it as we drive through the winding Huckabee roads, slowing to pull into an old gas station just before the highway entrance.

  “My mom and I used to get scratch-offs here,” I say. It startles me how naturally it comes out. That I’m actually wanting to talk about her, about moments beyond just the list. I lean out the open car window to toss the crumpled aluminum foil into the trash can while Blake tries to get the ancient pump to accept her credit card.

  “I once won big on the Bingo Boogie card. I think I was in fifth grade.”

  “Oh yeah?” Blake asks, distracted as the card is declined yet again. Finally, she gives up and leans back against the truck, frustrated.

  I poke her shoulder, nodding toward the store. “You’re gonna have to go in and pay. These gas pumps are older than dirt.”

  “No surprise there,” Blake mutters as she heads inside, her flip-flops clacking noisily as she walks.

  I watch her go, wondering if this move has been harder for her than she lets on. Gas station pumps that hardly work. Bad phone service practically everywhere. A town so different from where she came from.

 
It can’t be easy.

  I pull out my phone while I wait, posting an Instagram story of the surfboards and writing “Blake is trying to kill me” just underneath it. My first of the summer.

  I can’t help but wonder if Matt will see it. Will he purposefully avoid watching it? I know Olivia will.

  I glance up to see Blake pushing through the exit, a white plastic bag around her wrist. She fills up the truck and hops back into the driver’s seat.

  “What’d you get?” I ask.

  She pulls out some Lay’s chips, a package of Skittles, sour gummy worms, and a Hershey’s chocolate bar. “Aaand,” she says, reaching into the back pocket of her jean shorts to whip out two brightly colored scratch-off lottery tickets.

  Bingo Boogie. I’d recognize that orange and pink anywhere.

  It feels bittersweet to see it after all this time, the hand holding it out to me someone other than my mom.

  “Pick one,” she says. I reach out, hesitating over the right one before moving slowly over to the left, something about this card calling out to me. “You feeling lucky, Emily Clark?” she asks, stopping me in my tracks.

  Lucky. I realize now that’s what’s drawing me to the card. It looks lucky.

  I think about the past few weeks. The list. Blake. Matt. All of it.

  When I think about it… I feel luckier than I have in three years.

  I grab the card on the left and pull the quarter with a nick on it out of my pocket.

  “Maybe a little.”

  18

  The wind tugs at my hair, whipping wildly around my face as we drive. Blake glances over at me and my Cousin Itt impression, then pulls a hair tie off her wrist and holds it out to me with her free hand. I reach out, noticing just how tan her arm is compared to mine, a thin white line wrapping around her wrist where the hair tie sat. I wonder just how many days she’s spent outside in her life, the sun absorbing into her skin, filling her hair with its rays. We don’t get that kind of sun in Huckabee.

  I smile gratefully before pulling my brown hair into a messy bun, my fingertips struggling to find and tame all the strays.

  I look past her at Pennsylvania whizzing by, a sea of trees and farmland, Huckabee getting farther and farther away. It feels… good. Better than I could have expected, and with each mile that passes, the weight of the move and the town and everything that happened feels lighter and lighter.

  I take a deep breath in, the warm air filling my lungs.

  Soon the sun-filled summer will give way to a blistering winter, the trees surrounding us stripped of all their leaves, naked branches sitting against snow-filled skies. I try to picture Blake in the middle of it all, but I can’t see it. Her tan shoulders covered up in a forest-green jacket, a knit hat pulled down over her sun-streaked hair. I try changing the jacket color in my mind, exchanging the knit hat for a thick wool scarf, but the image is still hazy.

  She seems like she only exists in the summer. Only made to swim in the waters of the ocean, the smell of sunshine and salt clinging to her clothes.

  She catches me staring at her, but it doesn’t feel awkward. “What?”

  I shake my head, turning my attention to the road in front of us. “Nothing.” I think asking her what she smells like in winter would definitely cross into awkward territory.

  I reach out to turn the music up, St. Vincent pouring out of the speakers. We’ve been taking turns picking songs, one after the other. I’ve liked all of Blake’s suggestions. “Radio” by Sylvan Esso, “Bury a Friend” by Billie Eilish, “Ribs” by Lorde.

  I throw in a couple of tracks by St. Vincent: “Fear the Future” and “Cruel.”

  “We should go to one of her concerts if she tours nearby,” I say, and Blake nods eagerly.

  “I hear she’s incredible live.”

  Most of the trip has been like this. So far, aside from the concert, we’ve made plans to visit Jay and Claire in Kauai over spring break, using Johnny’s extra air miles from work, and to actually go to Hank’s for their meat loaf special, and to make kulolo, a traditional Hawaiian dessert.

  It’s exciting. Planning for the future. For adventures beyond this list.

  “Do you think you’d like going to college in the city?” Blake asks.

  I lean back, twisting my ponytail around my finger. “I’ve only been to New York City once. I went with my mom pretty close to Christmas when I was a kid.” I think about the crowds, the energy, the towering buildings, all of it so different from Huckabee.

  In a good way.

  “But maybe? I think I might?” I shrug. “I haven’t been there in years, so I can’t really say.”

  “We should take a trip there sometime! Hang out, see a musical, maybe visit a couple of colleges.”

  Maybe visit a couple of colleges.

  I nod, actually… excited by the idea. “We could do like a college road trip, maybe?” The truck engine growls loudly underneath us, struggling to accelerate past fifty-five.

  Blake smirks and reaches out to pat the dash. “Totally game. But we may have to borrow someone’s car for that.”

  Pennsylvania turns into New Jersey, and the air starts to smell like salt water the closer and closer we get to the beach. The sun slowly nears the horizon as we park, and my swimsuit digs into my skin after the long drive.

  I run my fingers along the strap as Blake unhooks the surfboards, handing me the smaller of the two, littered in stickers.

  “That one’s mine,” she says.

  “Yeah, Blake. I figured. Something tells me Johnny wouldn’t have a sticker that says ‘National Parks are for lovers.’ ”

  She laughs and nudges me, the point where her skin meets mine buzzing as we lug the surfboards up to the beach. Everything about her relaxes as the water comes into view. The second we set foot on the sand, it’s like a barrier breaks. Her shoulders drop, completely free from tension. I watch her take in a deep breath, her chest rising and falling.

  “I missed this,” she says.

  I study her face, realizing how hard these past few weeks must have been for her. How well she’s been hiding how much she’s missing home and her friends and her life there.

  “You wish you were back there?” I ask, looking out at the dark tan sand, a piece of trash sticking out every thirty feet or so. “I mean, not that Hawaii could ever compare to this.”

  She squints out at the water, slowly letting out a long sigh. “I definitely miss it. I think it was hard to leave the place that had so much of my mom in it, you know? The place my parents fell in love, and the beaches they hung out on, and the place I grew up. Especially when I feel so far away from her already.”

  I nod. I can definitely understand that.

  “And, to be honest, I miss my friends. I miss my grandparents. I miss all the familiar places and things and people.” She glances over at me for a fraction of a second before looking back at the water, swallowing. “But if I were back there, I wouldn’t have become friends with you.”

  A warm feeling swims into my chest. We’re silent for a moment, and I hold up the surfboard.

  “You going to teach me what exactly to do with this thing? I mean, if I wanted to drown at the beach, I probably could’ve found a way to do it without the prop.”

  “Nope,” she says, smirking as we walk down to the surf. “I figured I’d let you wing it.”

  She shows me how to paddle out, from finding the “sweet spot” on the board to how to work with the wave instead of against it. Luckily, the water is pretty calm at low tide, and I manage to get out to the smoother water on my fourth try without getting absolutely wrecked, the swell of the current not strong enough to pull me completely under.

  But I’m not as familiar with the ocean as Blake is, so it’s a bit scary feeling the pull of the waves, dipping and fighting the board underneath me. I like the ocean, but I’ve only been here a handful of times, mostly when I was younger, with my parents, and once with my friends back in eighth grade.

  And as I paddle, I
realize I… don’t exactly love being out here, surrounded by so much water, my trust dependent solely on a giant kickboard.

  But Blake’s confidence steadies me, her voice telling me to move with the pull instead of against it, and slowly I’m able to work with the board, with my fear and uncertainty, instead of against it.

  I can’t help but think of my conversation with Blake at the picnic. About Matt. About me and what being me means. Because I see now it isn’t just about being daring, and skinny-dipping, and jumping off cliffs.

  It’s also about being afraid and sad and uncertain, and all the parts of myself, even if they’re the parts my friends don’t want to see. It’s about being real and honest, like I am at this exact moment, everything else fading away until there’s this moment of calm and clarity, just me, and Blake, and the water around us.

  Soon we’re sitting on the surfboards just as the sun begins to set on the horizon, my legs dangling over either side as the sky begins to turn orange and purple and deep blue, the water mirroring it, filling itself with the same colors.

  I let out a breath I feel like I’ve been holding for a million years, Huckabee and Matt and the move releasing their grip on me, just for a little while. For the first time in years, so far away from all of it, I feel free. Free of expectations and pressure, fears and worst-case-scenarios, broken friend groups, and senior year, and an entire town that thinks they know exactly who you are.

  Free to just be… myself. To think about who that actually is.

  What was my mom feeling that made her put this on the list?

  Did she feel boxed in too? The straight-A student who had bombed the SATs, searching for something more? Something outside of Huckabee?

  But then… I think of my mom as I knew her and how she never really did get out of Huckabee. How she said Huckabee had everything. Was that really true, though? What made her change her mind?

  Because, being here, I can’t help but think she was wrong. I can’t help but wonder what my life could be like if I left.

  I look up to see seagulls flying overhead, free and happy as they coast through the air.

  “Just like your bracelet,” I say, and Blake cranes her neck to look up at them, nodding in agreement.