The-Lucky-List-Rachael-Lippincott

I look up to see a squishy, worm-ridden apple dangling on a branch in front of me, and like she
willed it into existence, an idea pops into my head. I start to unload my good apples into her basket
and add the grossest ones I can find into mine, a plan taking shape.
I swear I can hear a choir of angels as the aernoon sun hits the First Tree just right, the red apples
practically glittering in the light.
And directly underneath the tree are three guys, hand selected from Huckabee High’s football team.
Tom Mendoza, Aaron George, and T. J. Widner. They had all just graduated this past June.
If you ask me, bouncers for an apple tree is definitely more than a little overkill. But apparently
necessary, all things considered.
Luckily, the warm weather and the weekend has brought a decent crowd of people to the orchard,
and my wide-eyed staring at them goes unnoticed. I gulp as T. J. stretches, his biceps rippling
impressively.
I peer around the tree to see Blake stationed on the opposite side, hidden just outside the clearing,
two baskets of apples in front of her.
One filled with Nina’s Honeycrisps.
The other filled with the mushiest apples Snyder’s Orchard has to offer.
I reach into my pocket to feel the lucky quarter, my heart dancing in my chest as Blake waits for my
nod.
I think about checking my first item off. How great it felt, even though it was so easy. So unearned.
is, though? It’s next level. My mom did this. She felt the fear I’m feeling now, and she still stole
the damn apple. She pushed past her golden reputation, her stack of awards, her fear of what people
would think, and did it anyway.
So, before I can think too much about it, before I can let my nerves get the better of me, I look
Blake dead in the eyes and give her the nod.
Then, everything begins to move in slow motion.
Blake begins hurling the mushy apples at the football players, distracting them, while I make a break
for the lowest hanging branch. My eyes lock on a perfectly round, perfectly red apple, and I sprint over,
apple chunks splattering all around me, people watching on in horror at the scene unfolding.
e moment my fingers wrap around it, the moment I pull it free, I feel a hand wrap around my
other arm.
I turn my head to see Aaron George, our eyes locking.
And then a mushy apple pegs him square in the face, his mouth opening in surprise as I wrench my
arm free, running in Blake’s direction.
“Go, go, go!” I scream.
She throws the remaining rotten apple, grabs the basket of Honeycrisps, and we’re running, no,
flying through the orchard, branches scratching at our arms as we go. We break through the trees into
the parking lot, hauling ass up a small grassy hill to where her grandpa’s old truck is parked.
I dive into the passenger seat, fighting to close the door as the engine growls awake, and Blake rips
out of the spot. She pulls a hard turn, the truck skidding out of the parking lot, kicking up a cloud of