The-Lucky-List-Rachael-Lippincott

10
The drive to Blake’s house sends us into the winding back roads of Huckabee, the fading sunlight
carefully cutting through the trees as we drive. Remnants of the earlier rainstorm cling to the branches
and the road, making them sparkle.
I shi in my seat, my jeans finally dry aer our milkshakes at Hank’s. We pass the development
Matt lives in, and I crane my neck, my eyes searching for and finding his black Honda Civic in the
driveway.
Fridays were always our day. Just for us. No Kiera, or Jake, or Ryan, or Olivia. We used to go out to
the historic movie theater in the center of town, or just stay in, watching Netflix on his basement
couch and making peanut butter cookies using the recipe we perfected together. Matt was always really
into filmmaking, and my favorite part of the night was listening to him talk about every little behindthe-scenes
detail, from how they did certain special eects to the accolades of the director. It always
made the movies we watched more fun.
I wonder how he’s spending his Fridays without me. If he misses hanging out with me, like I miss
hanging out with him.
Or if this radio silence means he doesn’t anymore.
An unsteady feeling swims through me, and I look down at the road underneath us, watching as the
unbroken yellow line turns into a dotted one.
How can I possibly fix this when I don’t even know why I can’t get it right?
I feel like things were so easy for my parents. at all the romantic stu just… happened naturally.
They didn’t break up once. Why can’t things be as easy for us?
We keep driving, heading onward toward the big houses on the edge of Huckabee, just on the
border of Cherryfield, the next town over. Each of the houses in this neck of the woods is surrounded
by acres of trees, its nearest neighbor nowhere to be seen.
I know some people think that would be peaceful, all that space, but there are times late at night
when there is nothing but darkness. A scary, overwhelming darkness, everything past the headlights
disappearing into nothingness. I always hated it when Matt would drive us through here.
I see lights peeking out from between the trees as Blake slows at a mailbox and then carefully turns
onto a long driveway, turn signal flashing.