The-Lucky-List-Rachael-Lippincott

I reach out to pick it up, carefully unfolding it to see JULIE MILLER’S SENIOR YEAR SUMMER in thick,
bold letters. TWELVE ADVENTURES BEFORE TWELFTH GRADE is written just under it, slightly smaller.
e paper is crisp but thin underneath my fingertips, holding all the years between the last time my
mom touched it and right now.
e handwriting is the same loopy cursive I remember. More legible, perhaps, with the forced
neatness we all try for when something is important. Every line is written in a dierent color ink, still
vibrant after all this time.
1. Get a tattoo.
2. Get over my fear of heights.
3. Go on a picnic.
4. Try a new food.
5. Get out of Huckabee.
6. Sleep under the stars.
7. Go on the Huckabee Lake trip.
8. Skinny-dip in Huckabee Pool after hours.
9. Buy a book in another language.
10. Steal an apple from the First Tree at Snyder’s Orchard.
11. Find a four-leaf clover.
12. Kiss J. C.
“What is it?” Blake asks.
“It’s like… a bucket list,” I say, holding it up for her to read. “From the summer before their senior
year.”
I watch her eyes move down the paper, quietly taking it all in.
“How’s it going up there?” my dad’s voice calls up to us, the bottom step creaking under his weight
as Blake and I jump.
“Fine!” I call back, quickly folding the paper and shoving it into my pocket. I start to load the stu
back in the box, the yearbook, the stued moose, the varsity letters. “Just got done packing up the
shoes!”
I don’t look at Blake, but about halfway through my manic packing, she starts helping me, quickly
stuffing the last few things in the box and standing up.
“I’m taking a truckload of stu over to Goodwill,” my dad calls, which has been his catchphrase for
the past week and a half. “You guys want to bring your boxes down?”
“Yeah, definitely!” I call as I slide the Huckabee Lake room-number plate inside and fold the
cardboard corners of the box shut, over, under. “We’ll be right down!”
Blake stands and grabs the first box of shoes from the closet, heading toward the bedroom door.
But then I see the black cardigan peeking out through a small hole in the side.
“Wait!” I exclaim, jumping up. Before I can process what I’m doing, my emotions get the better of
me.