The Lucky List

by Rachael Lippincott

He slides down next to me, putting the box in between us. I nod to it, raising my eyebrows. “What’s that?”

  He motions for me to open it, and I crack the lid to see a pile of odds and ends. Sort of like a junk drawer.

  But when I look closer, I realize what it all means. A baseball he caught for my mom at a Phillies game, the necklace he bought for their first anniversary, an ultrasound of me as an amorphous blob.

  And for the first time in three years, he talks about her, telling me stories as he tours me around the box, the both of us smiling and laughing, tears stinging at our eyes.

  Things I don’t even know about, like a receipt from the French restaurant all the way in the city where my dad proposed to her and a piece of notebook paper with a ton of tick marks that they’d used to count the weeks she was pregnant.

  It’s such a random and wonderful assortment of stuff. Stuff that holds so many memories of her that I didn’t have before, just like the list did. Memories of my mom and pieces of her that aren’t gone, even beyond the list. That I still have yet to find.

  And he kept them.

  “It’s nice to talk about her,” I say quietly as I look down at the baseball.

  “I’m sorry,” my dad says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry for how much I’ve failed you these past few years. Not talking about her. Keeping all this in a box. I mean, we’ve never been… great… at the whole talking thing. That was always you and your mom’s thing. It was hard for me, but… it still wasn’t right.”

  “From now on, we’ll do a better job of that,” I say, smiling up at him.

  He pulls out an envelope from the box, and I watch as he wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand, smiling as he takes a piece of paper from inside. “Your mom knew I was going to be in over my head,” he says, chuckling as he unfolds it. “So she made this little cheat sheet for me.”

  He holds it out to me, and I see it’s covered in my mom’s handwriting, his very own list, filled with advice and reminders. All of them about me.

  *What to do if she gets sick: Get the chicken noodle soup from Hank’s, black tea (tbsp of honey, 2 sugars), ask Nina for her biscuit recipe. You can figure it out.

  *What to do if she gets her heart broken: Ice cream, Joe. Ice cream is always the answer.

  And at the very bottom, a little note.

  *What to do if she comes to you with something I didn’t mention: Tell her you love her. No matter what. And that I love her too. Always.

  My tears begin to fall on the paper, fat and heavy, my dad reaching out to grab it before wrapping his arm around me. “Hey! I still need that.” He laughs, pulling me close as I dissolve into a blubbering mess as I think about stepping off the Misty Oasis bus and seeing her there, swallowing the words I never got to say to her.

  I think about the clothes and all the donated items, things I thought were pieces of her. Things I thought were what made Julie Miller, Julie Miller.

  But it’s us. Me. My dad. Nina. The people who would always tell me stories about her. The things she did and the places she went and the lives she touched. It’s talking about her instead of hiding in a literal closet, shutting out the world. It’s learning new things about her and finding ways to honor her without living exactly the life she wanted me to live three whole years ago.

  If I can learn new things about her after she’s gone, maybe she wouldn’t be disappointed there were things she never knew about her daughter.

  Which is why I pull away, knowing it’s time to tell Dad.

  I reach into my pocket and pull out the list that I’ve taken with me everywhere for the past month and a half. I don’t need a pile of clothes, or a closet, or a whole house to feel close to her, when I can have moments like this.

  Moments like I had all summer.

  Carefully, I unfold it and hold it out to my dad.

  “I spent the summer doing the list I showed you,” I say.

  “ ‘Julie Miller’s Senior Year Summer,’ ” he reads, a smirk appearing on his face. “That explains the sunflower tattoo.”

  The what? How—

  My mouth drops open. “You knew about that?”

  “Em, you’re terrible at hiding things,” he says with a laugh. “That, and you have a habit of rolling up your sleeves.”

  I look down to see my forearm skin on full display, the cardigan sleeves pushed up to my elbows. I laugh, sniffing as I wipe my tears away with the back of my hand. “No more, though,” he says, in full Dad mode, a stern look plastered on his face. “You get another one, and we’re gonna have problems.”

  I think of that glittering silver needle and swear my life on it.

  “You going to tell me about it?” he asks as he hands the list back to me.

  I let out a long sigh, everything blurring together in my head, a montage of feelings and emotions, of Blake’s eyes and sparkling water and the summer sun.

  He opened up to me tonight, so… I open up to him. I tell him about the book, and cliff jumping, and the beach, all the times I felt my mom right there beside me, guiding my footsteps. How much this list has changed me. How much it has made me the person I was too afraid to be again.

  He listens. Really listens. Smiling and laughing and nodding as I recount my whirlwind summer to him, everything leading up to item number twelve.

  “So, I kissed him. And…”

  I look at the list in my hand, the lucky list that was my mom’s.

  But now I need to make it mine.

  Because there’s something I have to do if I’m going to really be the person that this list helped me to see I am. I have to tell him the truth about Matt and Blake and… me.

  My heart skips into double time. Maybe even triple time.

  “And it was all wrong. Just like it’s always been,” I admit. “It’s… not like what you and Mom had. It just isn’t, even though I know she wanted that for me.”

  “But with Blake…,” I start to say, stopping to collect myself. “But with Blake, things have always felt right.”

  I look down at the leather bracelet on my wrist, those seagulls flying free.

  “I thought that I could change who I was. That I could fix what was wrong with me and Matt, and that things could finally fit into place like they did for you and Mom. But I couldn’t do it. I can’t change who I am, Dad. I can’t change the fact that I…” I take a long, deep breath, all the air disappearing from the room. “That I’m gay.”

  Holy shit. I—I said it. Even though I told Kiera and Nina and Matt, this is the first time I let myself say the word. My ears start to ring as I wait for him to say something. Anything. I can’t even look at him.

  Am I going to throw up?

  Am I going to—

  I hear him rifling around in the box, worried he’s just going to pack it up and leave. Glancing over, I see him pull out a Polaroid picture. He holds it out to me, and there, in all their faded glory, are my mom, Johnny Carter, and my dad, arms slung over one another’s shoulders, goofy grins on all their faces.

  I read the handwritten caption, in my mom’s neat cursive: Julie, J. C., and Joe.

  Wait a second—I grab the photo from him, looking between it and the list, my mind exploding.

  J. C.

  Johnny Carter? Not Joe Clark?

  I think of the cassette tape from the box, the note on it: “Let me know if you change your mind.”

  Nina’s words a week ago: “Who said your mom got it right the first time?”

  I look up to meet his gaze, understanding. Twenty years ago that kiss had meant exactly the same thing to my mom as it meant to me.

  It wasn’t about kissing the person who we were supposed to be with. It was realizing who we wanted to be with.

  My dad reaches out, his rough hand cupping my cheek. “I love you, Em,” he says, his brown eyes getting a little teary, and making my brown eyes a little teary. “No matter what, okay?”

  I nod, the tears spilling out of my eyes and down my cheeks as he pulls me into a hug
. “And I’m not just saying that because your mom’s little instruction list told me to,” he says, the both of us laughing. “I would have said it anyway.”

  I stare at the painting on the wall, just over his shoulder, thinking of how happy I’d been this summer. How, even after getting my luck back, I’d still been too afraid to take a chance on Blake. All because I was scared.

  I was scared because… to be with Blake meant that there couldn’t be any more hiding.

  But I don’t want to be scared anymore. I’m not scared anymore. I don’t want to change who I am.

  I need to be willing to play the game. I need to be willing to put myself out there, and be vulnerable, and take chances, even though I might lose.

  And if my mom taught me anything this summer, it’s that maybe, just maybe, that’s exactly what I need to do to fix this.

  And I know just who to call.

  32

  “You ready?” Kiera asks when I slide into the car.

  “As ready as I’ll ever be,” I say, clicking into my seat belt. “Did Olivia give her mom the bask—”

  “Yes,” Kiera says.

  “And does she have th—”

  “Em,” she says, reaching out to grab my arm. “Olivia gave her mom the basket and the numbers. Jake is making sure Blake will be there. And… Matt got us the seat in the back corner in case things go south and we gotta get the hell out of there.”

  I look up in surprise.

  Matt.

  She smiles at me. “Like he’d miss out on a good scheme.”

  I feel tears sting at my eyes, one thing a little less broken.

  I try to fight the queasiness in my stomach the whole ride to the elementary school for the “Back-2-School Bingo Fundraiser,” the feeling so strong that not even Kiera playing some Billie Eilish can completely quash it.

  Three years ago this was the absolute worst day of my entire life. August 20. The day my mom died.

  And now, just maybe, with the help of my friends, with the help of my mom and her list, this anniversary doesn’t have to be all bad memories.

  The parking lot is already packed by the time we get there, and Kiera circles a few times to find a spot while I peer at everyone walking inside, searching for Blake’s face.

  After we park, we join the throngs of people heading into the cafetorium, all the regulars already there.

  Tyler Poland with his collection of lucky rocks, Jim Donovan ready to fight to the death, Principal Nelson perched at the main table selling cards.

  I crane my neck, trying to get a better look at the people coming inside, my eyes jumping from person to person, but she’s nowhere to be found. I catch sight of Olivia’s mom, Donna Taylor, and she gives me a curt nod, the basket cradled tightly in her arms.

  When we get to the front of the line, Principal Nelson hands me my mom’s card with a smile, and I pause, reaching out to pick up another card, number twelve. For the list. “I’ll take this one too,” I say.

  A new chance, just like the one I hope I have tonight.

  We buy a few more cards for the table before heading toward the back corner, the seats already filled with my friends, Matt, and Olivia, and Ryan, and… Blake. She’s sitting down next to Jake, her sun-streaked hair pulled back into a bun, just like it was that day in the kitchen, a charcoal, vintage band T-shirt hanging loosely on her torso.

  My heart starts pounding in my ears, louder than all the voices in the room.

  “Come on,” Kiera whispers. She grabs my hand, pulling me forward.

  “Hey!” Matt says when we get there. “Look who’s here!”

  Blake glances up in surprise, a slight furrow forming in her brow when she sees me. I forget how to breathe, her brown eyes knocking every single thought from my head.

  She looks between me and Matt, then quickly away, shooting Jake a look that screams, “Really?”

  “We’ve got the cards,” Kiera says, nudging me into action. She hands out her half while I hand out mine, keeping card number twelve for myself, and holding that fruit-punch-stained card number 505 out to Blake.

  She reaches out to take it, mumbling a thank-you.

  We sit as the microphone crackles to life, Donna Taylor’s voice announcing the start of the night.

  The ball cage begins to rattle, and I look behind me to meet Donna’s gaze as she plucks one of the yellow balls out. She takes a deep breath before calling into the microphone.

  “I-twenty-three!”

  It takes everything in me to not look at Blake as the familiar numbers begin to pile up, her hand reaching out to take red chips from the center of the table. I look down at Kiera’s leg, bouncing nervously up and down next to me, Olivia staring up at her mom, her eyes wide as she waits for the next number.

  Ryan is too distracted to even pay attention to his own card, but that’s nothing new.

  Soon there’s only one left. One more number to be called.

  I reach into my pocket, my fingers wrapping around the lucky quarter, my eyes flicking up to see Matt swallow nervously as Donna calls out, “B-nine!”

  And without skipping a beat, Blake calls out, “Bingo!”

  I stop breathing as she reads her card off, all of us watching as she heads up to the front of the room to claim her basket. I watch as she walks down the row, stopping short in front of the basket I spent hours putting together.

  Two Bingo Boogie cards. Lay’s chips, a package of Skittles, sour gummy worms, and a Hershey’s chocolate bar, the snacks she bought at the gas station on the way to our beach trip. A dishwashing glove. Her lifeguard sweatshirt, perfectly folded at the bottom. A tin of Spam. And, in the exact center, a list that reads:

  EMILY CLARK’S SENIOR YEAR BUCKET LIST

  Tell Blake how I feel.

  Go to a St. Vincent concert.

  Take a trip to NYC.

  Go on a college road trip.

  Make kulolo.

  Go to prom.

  Make a plan for life after high school.

  Eat meat loaf at Hank’s.

  Go to all of Blake’s soccer games.

  Spend a week at Aunt Lisa’s beach house.

  Plan a Senior Skip Day adventure.

  Kiss B. C.

  Things we talked about doing on the way to the beach. That we talked about all summer. That I want to do with her, and no one else, by my side.

  And then, right there, in front of all of Huckabee, I get up from the table and walk right up to her. I reach out and grab her hand, and she turns around to face me, the entire room disappearing around us. Her eyes are wide, her mouth falling slightly open.

  “I’m sorry, Blake,” I say softly. Then, like I’m launching myself off the biggest cliff in the entire world, I tell her what I’ve wanted to say since that night at the beach. Since she told me how she felt the night of the bonfire. “For not being brave enough to admit that I like you.”

  She swallows, giving me a look that sends butterflies scattering across my chest, everything about her, and this, and us, feeling right. The list leading me to this moment.

  To her.

  “Blake. I really like you,” I say. “I like you a lot. I like your eyes, and how you smell like a day at the beach, and how you make me feel like I can do just about anything. I like that you paint these insane pictures, and that you make the world seem so much bigger than here, than Huckabee. I like that you give me butterflies, butterflies that I never even knew were possible, just by looking at me the way you are right now. The way you have this entire summer. You make me want to go on a million adventures, like… like…” I lean past her to pull the piece of paper out of the basket. “Like all of these things. And so many more, Blake. That I want to do. With you.”

  She looks down at the list, and then back up at me, and then… she smiles. That smile that knocked me off my feet at the very first bingo night. That smile that is in every one of my memories from this summer.

  She takes a step forward, her hand reaching out to touch my waist, sending a shock
of electricity through my whole body.

  “Can I ki—”

  The words aren’t even out of her mouth before I pull her closer. And… it’s everything I never knew a kiss could be. Her lips are soft and warm and absolute magic, all the voices and the other people fading away, like there’s nothing else in this world but us. And I don’t count down to anything at all.

  We pull apart and I hear a “Whoop!” from across the room, both of us turning to see Kiera at the back table, grinning like it’s Christmas morning, Jake letting out a wolf whistle, Olivia and Ryan clapping just behind them. I meet Matt’s gaze and he gives me a smile and a small nod, the best ex-boyfriend a girl could ask for.

  Then Jim Donovan’s voice rings out from just behind us on the stage. He must’ve crept onto it while everyone else was distracted. I brace myself for the worst.

  “They rigged the game!” he screams into the microphone, picking up a tiny piece of paper with the numbers I’d told Olivia to give to her mom. He waves it madly around in the air, all hell breaking loose in the cafetorium.

  Tyler Poland launches his lucky rocks at us as Jim catapults himself off the stage in our direction.

  I grab Blake’s hand, our fingers lacing together. “Run!”

  We bolt for the back doors, Matt holding them open for us, all of us laughing as we fly through the parking lot, running in between the parked cars, the wind tugging at our hair as our shoes slap against the pavement.

  Blake looks back at me with that mischievous smile that completely upended my world for the better. She looks ahead and so do I, as she pulls me forward along with her, everything clicking perfectly into place in exactly the way that my mom always talked about. A way that makes me feel…

  Well.

  Lucky.

  Acknowledgments

  My solo debut! I have a mountain of thanks to give to all of the people who helped this book land in your hands today.

  First, I am eternally grateful to my amazing editor, Alexa Pastor, who is undoubtedly the absolute best there is. This book was crafted, start to finish, during a GLOBAL PANDEMIC, and it would definitely still be an amorphous blob stuck in draft #1 if it weren’t for Alexa. That can probably be said for all my books, past and future.