The-Lucky-List-Rachael-Lippincott

“Well, my best friend goes to this sleepaway camp in the middle of absolute nowhere for half the
summer,” I say, throwing a pair of gloves before picking up an Eagles hat my dad bought for my mom
during treatment. I cringe and chuck it to Blake, eager to be rid of the painful memories it brings up.
I don’t add the fact that, besides Kiera, none of my friends wants to hang out with me right now. If
Blake finds out the whole story, I doubt she’s going to be making impromptu visits to Nina’s. “So, aside
from a phone call every Sunday and the occasional letter in the mail, I don’t really have anything
planned until she gets back.”
I grab a rolled-up fleece blanket, stopping short when I come face-to-face with a cardboard box
shoved into the very corner of the closet. Printed in dark Sharpie on the side of the box is HIGH SCHOOL
MEMORIES, a small heart drawn next to the words.
I’ve never seen this box before.
I don’t know how. I used to spend nearly every morning in here with her, helping her pick the
perfect outfit for the day. But really, more than outfit picking, it was the time it was just the two of us,
talking about the latest gossip at school, or getting advice about whatever drama was bubbling up in
my friend group.
I’ve been in this closet hundreds of times since, my eyes looking over every inch of the space for
pieces of her.
But I never found this one.
I can feel my heart pounding as I reach up, stretching as much as I possibly can, my fingertips
clawing at the edges of the cardboard. No matter how hard I stretch though, I’m not even close to
getting it down. Even with the small stool, which starts wobbling dangerously underneath me.
“Here,” Blake says as she puts the donation box down. I step o the stool and she slides past me, a
wave of that warm-sunshine, blue-ocean smell mixing with Mom’s lilac.
I rub my arm, watching as she reaches up and smoothly pulls the box down like I didn’t just
dislocate my elbow trying to get it.
She doesn’t tease me though, just turns and carefully holds it out to me, like she can sense the
importance.
I walk out of the closet in a daze, the worn cardboard corners slowly wilting open from age as I
place the box on the ground. I slide onto my knees as I begin to pull out the contents hidden inside.
Blake sits down on the opposite side of the box, her hands crossed in her lap, her honey-brown eyes
wide as my mom’s high school years pool on the ground in front of us.
e first few things are what I expect them to be. Royal-blue varsity letters for cheerleading and
soccer. Medals from her statewide competitions, earned her sophomore and junior years. A soccer T-
shirt with HUCKABEE HIGH stamped across the front. A picture of her with a group of her soccer besties
in their matching, brightly colored late-nineties tracksuits.
I stare at the picture for a long moment, recognizing Nina and Donna Taylor’s sister, Samantha.
I put it down and move on to the rest of the box, my hands eagerly wrapping around a manila
envelope.
“Can I?” Blake asks as she reaches out for the soccer-team photo I put down.
“Sure.” She picks it up, her eyes widening as she looks at it. “Wow. You do look just like your mom.”
“Yeah,” I say, prickling slightly.