The-Lucky-List-Rachael-Lippincott

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 sunstreaked
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.
e 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 o, 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
1. Tell Blake how I feel.
2. Go to a St. Vincent concert.
3. Take a trip to NYC.