The-Lucky-List-Rachael-Lippincott

to send goose bumps up and down the length of my arm.
“We must be getting close,” I say to Blake as the smell of manure comes wafting into the truck. As if on
cue, the both of us start frantically rolling up our windows to block out the scent.
She nods, glancing at the GPS on her phone. “Under half an hour.”
I press my forehead against the glass and watch the familiar farmlands roll by, my long sigh
condensing on the glass of the window.
I almost understand how Kiera must be feeling. I mean, aer yesterday, I don’t exactly want to go
back to Huckabee either.
It was hard to leave Aunt Lisa’s this morning, the beach and the sun and the possibilities. My return
to Huckabee feels like crash-landing into reality in a lot of ways, but even still, the closer and closer we
get, I feel… hopeful.
I tuck my leg underneath me as I scroll through my pictures from our trip. I keep scrolling back,
through the photos I’ve taken this summer, through every item I’ve ticked o the list, through junior
and sophomore year, farther and farther and farther until I find myself face-to-face again with Mom
and her tattoo.
In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer.
e words that I couldn’t make sense of then suddenly mean something to me now, the same way
they had meant something to her. Aer everything that had happened, I was so… stuck. So deep in
winter, it didn’t seem like I’d find a way out. All I saw was the ways I could break.
But when I’m riding around with Blake, or sitting in the bed of her pickup truck, or tackling a new
adventure, I feel it. I feel invincible.
Like she did.
at summer, and raising me, and even on that very last day, her hand in mine, the room filled with
absolute calm. The cancer couldn’t even touch her anymore.
And it’s that invincible feeling that nudges me to flip from my mom’s tattoo to the Sycamore Street
Tattoos Instagram account. Immediately, I see a cartoon pair of tighty-whities, complete with arms and
a face, holding up a sign reading: NATIONAL UNDERWEAR DAY TATTOO SPECIAL!
I mean, who would get a tattoo for National Underwear Day? Except, well…
“Blake,” I say, not wanting this adventure to end just yet. “Let’s do this.” I hold up my phone, and
she glances quickly at it.
“National Underwear Day? What even is that?”
“What, you’ve never celebrated?”
“Has anyone?”
I glance down at my phone, the tiny cartoon underwear eyes in the Sycamore Street picture staring
back at me. “e tattoo parlor in town always has these discount specials around random national
holidays.” I double-tap the photo, giving it a like. “You can get a tattoo for, like, fiy bucks. ey’ve
got a huge clearance binder and everything.”
“Wait. A clearance binder? A clearance binder of tattoos?” Blake asks. “That’s…”
“That’s Huckabee,” I say with a laugh.