The-Lucky-List-Rachael-Lippincott

9
Even though I’m semidry by the time we slide into a bright red booth, Judy gives us our milkshakes for
free, chattering away about how I look like a limp rag.
“We missed ya last Sunday,” she says as she slides two towering chocolate shakes onto the table, her
arm reaching up to lean casually against the booth.
“My dad had work,” I say, pulling the new book and my mom’s list out of my bag. “But we should be
in this weekend.”
She pops her pink bubble gum and gives me a warm smile, glancing back at the kitchen to make sure
her husband, Hal, isn’t listening. He’s got a thing about not telling people specials before the day or else
they aren’t “special” anymore. “We’ve got your dad’s favorite on the menu. Hal’s making his meat loaf,”
she whispers with a wink. She nods to Blake. “Bring your friend! I’ll make sure you get an extra-big
slice.”
“All right, Judy,” I say, even though I bet the last place Blake wants to be this Sunday is eating meat
loaf at Hank’s Diner with me. I’m honestly surprised she’s still here now.
But I glance across the table, shocked to see she’s nodding enthusiastically, totally game for the
heartburn-inducing meat loaf Hal puts out once or twice a month. I smile to myself as Judy trots away
to take another customer’s order.
I send a quick text to my dad to let him know Blake will be driving me over to the Carters’ before I
begin to scroll through the translator apps available on my phone. I tap on Quick Translate, an app
with 4.3 out of 5 stars, supposed to be able to take photos of words in real time and translate them. I
let out a groan as the page takes a century to load. “I forgot how bad the service is here. e second
you pull open those heavy glass doors, you lose about three bars.”
“What was your mom’s tattoo?” Blake asks, reaching out to take the book o the table. She flips
through the pages with her thumbs, leaning forward to take a quick sip of her milkshake.
“It was on her arm,” I say, swiping out of the app store to bring up the photo of my mom from the
Fourth of July. I turn it around to face her, zooming in on the words. “It says, ‘An invincible summer.’ ”
Blake studies the picture, nodding, before turning her attention back to the book, while I turn my
attention back to the small blue and white app taking a million years to download onto my phone. I let
out a long sigh. “This is going to take—”