The-Lucky-List-Rachael-Lippincott

afternoons. But I also think about the countdown clock in my head every time we kiss, and all our little
fights, and him talking about taking things to the next level when I’m barely comfortable on the level
we’re on.
My stomach flip-flops though because normal also means more than just us. It means Kiera, and
Olivia, and Jake, and Ryan, all of us hanging out in Olivia’s enormous basement, and hot chocolate and
cookies in the winter at Kiera’s house, and going to Hank’s for milkshakes when it’s someone’s birthday.
I miss all of that. I want all of that. I don’t want it to be ruined.
And, I remind myself, this time will be better. is time I’ll say yes to weekends away, the small
adventures, the pranks. I’ll give it a real chance and won’t hold back. Like Mom.
I nod, determined, and give Kiera a reassuring smile. “Yeah,” I say. “Normal.”
We talk about Misty Oasis for the rest of the call. She tells me about how a camper got stuck in a
tree, detailing the rescue mission that required Todd, a queen-size mattress, and a climbing rope.
I laugh along and try my best to listen. But deep in my stomach, a tiny whisper of queasiness lingers,
familiar and unwelcome. At the thought of Kiera not wanting to come back until I said I could fix
things.
When we hang up, I lie down on my floor, watching the sunlight trickle through my bedroom
window. I hold up a tiny jar of sand from my mom’s box and stretch out my arm, my gaze following
the tiny granules running along the side as I flip it upside down, over and over again. e feeling slowly
grows with every turn of the jar as I begin to think about Blake, and the list, and the eight days le to
complete it.
And a way to figure all of this out so maybe Kiera will actually want to come back.
An idea begins to take shape. With time running out, I was thinking I’d just count the lake trip as
my “get out of Huckabee” escape, but… maybe now is the perfect time to do it. Maybe I need to get out
of Huckabee too.
I roll over and grab my phone, hitting the call button. It rings a few times before she picks up.
“Hey, Em,” Blake says, her voice crackling noisily through the microphone. The middle-of-the-woods
Huckabee phone service is almost as bad as whatever Misty Oasis is working with. “What’s up?”
“Hey,” I say, sitting up. “I know I said I was going to pack today, but… I changed my mind. You
want to get out of here?”
Blake laughs, and I can picture her mischievous grin on the other end of the phone, her fingers
reaching up to tuck a strand of her sun-streaked hair behind her ear. “I thought you’d never ask.”
An hour later on the dot, Blake’s faded blue pickup truck slides to a stop outside my house, two
suroards sticking out of the truck bed, that grin I’d pictured on the phone plastered on her face. She
was more than game for a four-hour drive to the beach, just like I was equally game for spending the
night when she mentioned her aunt had a beach house nearby so we didn’t have to run right back.
If we’re getting out of Huckabee, I want to do it right.
I glance behind me to see my dad leaning on the doorframe, his phone still pressed to his ear as the
real estate agent drones on. I can’t help but hesitate at the top of the porch steps.
What if they convince him to take a bad oer? Where are we going to move to? I feel like he’s
keeping me in the dark with all of this.
He puts his hand over the mouthpiece. “Text me when you get there, okay?”