The-Lucky-List-Rachael-Lippincott

It’s a blur of people from around town until the clock lands on ten, and I couldn’t be happier. I’m so
busy moving at light speed, I don’t even have time to think about Matt or my friends or the move.
Instead, I focus on the people right in front of me: Annie from Hank’s, Mr. Schmidt, the principal at
Huckabee High. I do my best to put a name to every face, which always earns a warm smile and the
clattering of change in the tip jar.
Luckily, it’s pretty easy to do when you’ve lived in the same small town your whole life.
When there’s a lull, Paul slides a stool over and sits down next to me with a long exhale, his
shoulders slumping.
“Stop playing. You missed it,” I say, nudging him.
“Working with you? Absolutely not,” Paul says, grinning back at me.
e three of us, Paul, Kiera, and I, would work every weekend together during the school year
before he went to college. On Sundays we used to plot some new variety of pastry or some funky
cookie combination to cook up. If Nina taste-tested it and gave it the stamp of approval, she would
put whatever we made out and let us keep all the profits from it. It was harder to find time to do it
aer he le, especially when the rush at Nina’s became more and more hectic with each year that
passed.
e bells on the front door jingle, and we both look up, plastering artificial customer-service smiles
on our faces. But I’m surprised when I see Blake standing in the doorway, a white Ron Jon T-shirt
making her arms look even tanner than last night.
“Blake? What are you doing here?” I blurt out, my brain and my mouth working on two dierent
wavelengths. Luckily, she cracks a smile. Her golden-streaked hair is pulled back into a ponytail, full
and wavy and swinging gently as she moves.
“Nice to see you, too,” she says, closing the door carefully behind her. “I Yelped the best place to get
a donut in Huckabee, and this was the only place for, like, twenty-five miles.”
“at’s almost true,” I say with a nod toward the window. “ere’s a gas station about ten minutes
down the road with a whole display case of them. I think they put new ones out once a month, just to
keep them fresh.”
“Once a month? What am I doing here, then?” she asks, throwing her hands up with fake
exasperation.
I laugh, quickly fixing my hair and smoothing out my Nina’s Bakery shirt as her eyes dart down to
look at the cupcakes on the other side of the glass. I glance over and catch Paul looking at me, a faint
smirk on his face.
I roll my eyes. With Kiera gone, he knows Blake is my one chance at having a friend this summer.
There’s no need to rub it in.
“I think I’ll just take a glazed donut,” Blake says finally, both of our heads whipping back around to
look at her. “Is that lame?”
“Nah,” I say as Paul dramatically pulls a single sheet of waxed paper from the box. “ey’re the
cornerstone of Nina’s.”
“You’re in luck!” Paul says from behind me. “You got the last one.”
He puts it carefully in a bag and holds it out to her. “I’m Paul, by the way,” he says when she takes
the bag from his blue-gloved hand. “Brother of Emily’s best friend, the better-looking sibling, former