Blake steadies herself, the stand creaking underneath her, and Jake starts a chant.
“Bla-ake! Bla-ake! Bla-ake!”
There’s a collective intake of air as she soars off the top, doubling down on the dare by flipping backward into the water, everyone clapping and cheering as she surfaces. As fearless as she’d been when we went cliff jumping.
So totally unlike how she’d been just a few moments ago in the woods. Her confession was scarier to her than this… but she did it anyway.
Kiera’s fingers dig into my arm, and I swing my head to look over at her. She gives me a big, excited smile, knowing what’s coming.
My chest feels tight as I watch Blake swim back to the dock, the mischievous smile I expect to see missing from her face, her words ringing in my ears as she pushes herself out of the water.
Try your luck on something real.
She pulls her wet hair into a bun as everyone crowds around her in excitement, her social status at Huckabee High cemented after one dare.
Don’t ask me. Don’t ask me.
I silently will her to pick one of them. To pick Matt, or Olivia, or anyone other than me.
She doesn’t, though. She pulls her hands away from her hair and looks directly at me, through the crowd of people, her wet shirt clinging to her upper arms and her stomach.
“Emily,” she says, my skin prickling when she says my name, so different from back in the woods. Everyone falls silent, turning to look at me. “Truth or dare?”
And just like that, it’s not a game anymore. How I answer this is a choice.
I look down at the grass surrounding the log I’m sitting on, wishing it would swallow me up. Wishing for a way out and…
There. In the grass.
A four-leaf clover.
I reach out, plucking it, and just like that the choice is made for me. I say the word I know will change absolutely everything.
“Dare.”
I look up and I know, because I know Blake, that she’s going to do it. I know she follows through, whether it’s backflipping off a rusty lifeguard stand or enduring a night of sleep in the back of a pickup truck.
“I dare you to kiss someone,” she says.
There’s a chorus of “ooo”s and someone shouting, “Don’t see any underclassmen here!” but it’s all background noise as I hold Blake’s gaze, her eyes darker than I’ve ever seen them, not giving anything away.
I stand up, my hand clenching around the four-leaf clover like it’s my lucky quarter, my connection to Mom, what she must have felt here on this spot so many years ago. My grip tightens until I feel a wave of every single emotion from this past summer.
But they aren’t about her at all.
The free fall of the cliff jump. The feeling of Blake’s hand in mine in the back of her grandpa’s truck. The achingly beautiful ceiling of stars above us. Her face when I walked away from her.
I want to throw this stupid clover away and choose her, and that terrifies me. I want to close that space and kiss her.
But that’s not why I’m here. Not why I started this list in the first place. I can feel the weight of everyone’s eyes on me. The weight of their expectations.
The weight of my mom’s expectations, the person I trust more than I trust myself.
So I need to trust her now, just like I have all summer long.
My feet find their way without any instruction, two steps, five steps, my movements feeling almost robotic.
Soon I’m on the other side of the blazing fire, my heart pounding loudly as I take a deep breath and look down at Matt. For a moment I watch the firelight dance across his face, his eyes nervous and hopeful now that I’m an arm’s length away from him. He stands slowly, taking a small step closer to me.
And then, before I can think about it anymore, I lean forward and kiss him.
He smells like his favorite cologne, the one he only wears on dates, and on Valentine’s Day, and when he’s got something planned. His mouth tastes like whatever beer Jake sneaked onto the bus in a duffel bag. His hand feels soft but firm as he finds the small of my back. It’s familiar. The same person I’ve kissed the same way since freshman year.
But just like every single kiss since freshman year, there are no fireworks. No rush of dizzying love. No puzzle piece clicking perfectly into place.
My mind starts the countdown it always has.
But for the first time, I finally realize what I hope it’s counting down to.
I realize deep down, I’m waiting for it to fix me. Like I thought the list fixed me. To make everything right. To make this part of me, the part that my mom never knew, right.
But it doesn’t.
When I pull away, my eyes search for Blake just over Matt’s shoulder. She’s looking away, out at the dark lake, her jaw set, hurt painted onto every feature on her face.
Automatically, I take a step back, and Matt’s hand falls from my waist, his thick eyebrows jutting up in surprise at my reaction. Everyone around us is cheering their approval, but I think he can tell something is wrong. I think we both can.
Blake turns and pushes past our classmates, walking out of the clearing and into the woods, disappearing into the darkness of the tree line.
I watch her leave, my unlucky heart ripping like a sheet of paper, a list being torn apart.
28
I sit silently through the rest of the bonfire, Matt next to me, Kiera shooting me questioning looks from across the circle.
“Is something wrong?” Matt whispers in my ear. “Was it what Kevin said about the underclassmen?”
I shake my head. “I think I’m just tired.”
I look around me, and everything… should be fine. I mean, everything is fixed. My reputation. My friend group. The glares and the snide remarks completely silenced.
I mean, Jake is acting like nothing happened. Ryan and Olivia are even perfectly fine with hanging out with us.
But nothing feels fine. Not to me.
I slip away early, making up an excuse about going to the bathroom, but by the time I get back to our room, Blake is already asleep.
I want to wake her up. To say something. But I made a choice tonight that I can’t undo. Everything is ruined.
I don’t have a list to make this right.
My phone lights up with texts from Matt and Kiera, but I crawl into bed, squeezing my eyes shut. The look on her face as she walked away circles around inside my head, replaying over and over again beneath my eyelids, until inevitable stomach-aching sobs force their way out. I bury my face deep in my pillow in an attempt to muffle the noise.
Slowly, slowly, the sobs give way to sleep.
When I wake up the next morning to my alarm going off, Blake is already gone. Her bed empty, her things packed, the only sign she was ever here at all is the mess of white sheets, a lingering outline in the mattress.
It takes more effort than I could possibly imagine to get ready and packed, the bus rumbling noisily outside, waiting for all of us to board.
When Mr. Sanders’s voice rings through the halls, letting us know we have five minutes to get on, I take a deep breath, trying to keep it together. I check my phone and see all the unread messages, and it only pushes me closer to the brink, the air hiccuping as it passes through my lips.
I need to go home. I just need to go home.
The thought pushes me out of the room and down the stairs, the bus doors hissing open to let me on. The first person I see when I step inside is Kiera. Her eyes widen in alarm, knowing in an instant something isn’t right. I look away, searching the bus for…
Blake.
She’s sitting two seats up from Kiera, the hood of her sweatshirt pulled up over a baseball hat, a pair of earbuds in her ears.
I pause as I pass her, but she turns away to look out the window, ignoring me.
I stand there in the middle of the aisle, completely immobilized, until I feel Kiera’s hand wrapping around my wrist, pulling me into the seat next to her.
Home. Just make it home.
I shake my head, squeezing my eyes shut, forcing the tears down. “Nothing,” I say, but my voice betrays me, breaking on the last syllable.
“You wanna sit with me?” a voice asks, and I open my eyes to see Matt right in front of me, Jake peering around him to wiggle his eyebrows up and down.
There’s a long, awkward pause as I stare up at him.
“Nope, sorry, Matt!” Kiera jumps in, saving me, finding words when I can’t find any. “Playing the best-friend card here. I haven’t seen her all summer.” She waves him along, and I barely have time to register the confusion on his face, my head spinning.
“Em. What the hell is going on? Why are you being like this when we just fixed everything? I mean, why are you trying to wreck everything again when you want to be with Matt?” Kiera whispers once he’s out of view, but I shake my head.
“Do I?” I whisper back, angry. “Or do you want me to, just so you can have a perfect senior year? Bet it’s a real shame you can’t just spend the whole year at Misty Oasis, with Todd and all your drama-free friends.”
We stare at each other for a long moment, both of us stunned. Finally, she grabs her backpack, nodding. “Yeah. It’s a real shame. At least I know they’d actually talk to me instead of just shutting me out.”
My eyes fill with tears as she slides past me, moving to a free spot three spaces up.
I put my earbuds in as we pull out of the parking lot, alternating between staring out the window, trying not to cry, and glancing in the driver’s rearview mirror at Blake.
I need to talk to her.
The rest of the ride I try to come up with something to say, but just like last night, none of it feels like it’s enough. None of it feels like it can fix this.
I know, though, that I need to at least try. After all this, I can’t lose her from my life entirely.
When we arrive, she’s the first one off the bus. I grab my backpack and fly up the aisle, following just behind her, a few people sliding out of their seats in between us. She notices me when I step off and makes a sharp turn in the opposite direction, grabbing her duffel quickly from the underneath compartment and beelining for her truck.
“Blake,” I say, pushing through the throngs of students as I run across the parking lot after her.
She doesn’t stop when I call her name. She just keeps her head down, ignoring the sound of my voice.
“Blake!” I call again, reaching out, my fingertips barely meeting the skin of her arm before she pulls it away.
“Leave me alone, Emily,” she says, without even slowing down, her voice low.
“Blake, please. I just want to talk about—” I reach out, grabbing for her hand again, but her fingers slip through my grip.
“I don’t want to talk about it!” she says, whirling around to face me, her brown eyes angry as she rips out one of her earbuds in frustration. “Okay? I don’t want to talk about the list, or about Matt, or about the kiss. I don’t want to talk about how you were my friend all summer long because your friends ditched you, and then you dropped me and ignored me when it was no longer convenient for you. I get it, okay? You got what you wanted.”
“Blake, I’m sorry, I—”
“I don’t want to talk to you at all, Emily,” she says, finally making it abundantly clear. “I don’t want to talk to you,” she repeats, softer this time, her voice crackling slightly on the “you,” her words making me feel sick to my stomach.
We stare at each other for a long moment before she turns on her heel and walks away from me, throwing her bag into the back of her truck and slamming the car door loudly behind her.
I feel like my legs might give out from under me.
I watch her drive away, her truck fading into the distance. My head swims as I turn around, willing myself to walk back over to the bus, one foot in front of the other. Right, left. Right, left.
I fight through the sea of arms and legs for my bag, breaking out into the open air, my eyes landing on my dad’s truck in the parking lot.
I hear Matt saying my name, but I keep moving, keep walking.
Dad waves enthusiastically out the window at me, calling out to me as I get closer, still trying his best to patch things up after our fight.
“Well, how was it?” he asks as I close the truck door behind me, a huge smile on his face.
“Fine,” I say. I put my seat belt on, pulling my legs up and wrapping my arms around them as we drive away, hoping I can literally hold myself together until we get there. Until we get home.
“You okay, Em? Midnight bonfire got you a bit tired?” he asks, shooting me a concerned look. “Did something happen? Are you still upset about the house, or—”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.
I wait for him to ask another question, to say something, but like always, he doesn’t push.
For once, though, some part of me wishes he would.
But I shove that aside, focusing on the only certainty I have. The only thing that can get me through this drive, and through all of this, is my mom’s closet. Being completely surrounded by the one place I can feel her. The only safe place I still have in the entire world.
If I can make it to the closet one last time, I’ll be fine. I’ll be able to make sense of everything if I can just get there.
My dad pulls onto our street and into the driveway, and the second we’re parked, I unfurl and head inside.
I drop my bag in the entryway, my vision blurring as I run up the stairs and down the hall. My hands reach out for the handle to my parents’ bedroom, and pushing inside, I stumble to the closet, yanking the door open with a desperation that fills every single fiber of my body. I step through the doorframe and turn on the light to see…
Nothing.
The shelves are completely cleared. The wire hangers are empty, pushed into the far corner.
“Oh my God,” I say as I rip open the drawers, jerking them all the way out of the dresser as I try to find something. Anything. They clatter to the ground as I spin around and around, searching. “Oh my God. No, no, no.”
There’s nothing left.
This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening.
My dad appears in the doorway, a concerned look on his face. “Emily?”
“Where are her clothes?” I shout at him, frantic. I stoop down and pull out the last dresser drawer, the last empty dresser drawer, his voice stopping me dead in my tracks.
“I donated them. About two or three weeks ago… I guess you haven’t been in here for a bit, but I noticed there was still some stuff left after you were in here with Blake, and you kept pushing it off, so I thought I’d make it easier on you by—”
I whirl around to face him, my ears ringing. “You what?”
“I donated them,” he repeats.
“Everything?” I whisper.
“Yes, but, Emily, I—”
“No,” I say, shaking my head as the room begins to tip, my insides concaving. He reaches out, his hand gently wrapping around my arm. “Get off me!” I yell, pushing past him and out into the hallway.
I have to get them back. I have to get the clothes back.
I grab my bike from up against the porch, my dad calling out my name behind me, but I ignore him. Houses and cars whizz by, my tears blending everything together as I go.
They can’t be gone.
They can’t be gone.
I pedal as fast as I can, past cornfields and housing developments, my lungs heaving, my breathing forcing its way out in gasped sobs. I fly down Pearl Street, turning right onto Main, my eyes searching the horizon for the blue and white sign.
The Goodwill.
Skidding into the parking lot, I throw my bike down and run up the concrete steps. The automatic doors don’t op
en fast enough, so I force my way in through the gap, desperate to get inside.
The store blurs around me. Colors jump out at me underneath the fluorescent lights.
I push through the shirts, stripes and polka dots and solid colors, trying to find a part of her in the middle of it all. The old jeans she would always wear to do housework in and prune her garden. The maroon dress she wore one Christmas, with the tie around the middle.
Wait. Had it been green? Suddenly, I can’t even picture it.
I frantically attack another rack, the hangers clattering noisily against one another as I move down the row, pausing on a button-down, a floral maxi, a wool cardigan, none of them feeling right.
Was this hers? Did she wear this?
I can’t even tell. I can’t even remember. And just like that, my worst fears have come true. List or no list, I feel her slip away from me.
I squeeze my eyes shut, my chest heaving as a hopeless feeling settles into my bones, aching and staggering and disorienting.
Weakly, I stumble out the front door, a sob escaping my lips as I clutch at the metal railing, making my way down the stairs. Looking up, my eyes find my dad’s. He’s standing in the parking lot, confusion painted across his face.
The second I see him, the wave of anger resurfaces, the pressure of it making my head pound.
“Emily,” he says, stepping toward me.
“How could you?” I shout at him, pushing at his arms as they try to hold me, thrashing out of his grip. “How could you do that? Why are you so obsessed with some fresh start? How could you be fine with throwing out your old life and just forgetting her?”
“Em, they’re just things. I’m not—”
“They’re not just things!” I shout. I cough as I gasp for breath, tears streaming down my face. “They’re parts of her!”
He grabs ahold of me, and this time I collapse into his arms, my body giving way. He holds me tight as I cry, my tears staining his shirt, my stomach aching as I bawl.
“You’re a part of her, Emily. I’m a part of her. Not any of that stuff,” he whispers. “I could never forget her. Ever. I’m close to her every minute I’m with you. And I want a new start because I know your mom wanted that for you. For both of us.”
The Lucky List Page 20