The Lucky List Page 10

  I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that Mom had done this.

  But it’s there on the list. A check mark sitting right next to it.

  Was she as nervous as I am right now? I think about the envelope of certificates, the life she had led before her invincible summer.

  She must have been.

  “Banned? Over an apple? I mean, there are thousands of them here!”

  I can’t help but smile as she stops to stare in awe at the rows and rows of apple trees, her brown eyes wide as she takes it all in. Each pair of rows is a different variety, a wooden placard broadcasting the different kinds. She’d never been apple picking before and was beyond excited when I texted her to see if she wanted to tag along.

  I feel bad this will be her first—and last—apple-picking experience here at Snyder’s Orchard. Going every other weekend in the summers and fall had ruined it a bit for me, but I still remember how fun that first time with Kiera and Paul had been.

  “It’s not just any apple, Blake,” I say as I lead her over to the Honeycrisp section. Nina likes to use them for her tarts because they have just the right crunchy texture and sweetness. “It’s an apple from the first tree they planted here at Snyder’s Orchard. Half the people employed at this place just stand next to it all day, making sure no one picks an apple from it.”

  “They just stand there? Sounds like I picked the wrong summer job,” she says, the two of us laughing as we head deep into the orchard, the trees folding in around us, more and more apples clinging to the branches the farther back we get. Families with kids usually peter out by the halfway point.

  The closer we get to the tree, the more my heart hammers in my chest.

  I try to keep my cool, glancing back to watch Blake as she carefully inspects each branch, trying to find the perfect apples, the ones with the fewest blemishes, free from worms. I’m way less precious than she’s being about the apples that find their way into my basket. They’ll all taste the same in the tarts.

  We’re nearly to the clearing when the sound of laughter filters through the trees from the row next to ours. I peer through the leaves, and my hammering heart stops. Because the first thing I see is Jake’s messy blond hair, flying as he dodges out of the way of an ambush of rotten brown apples that Ryan is launching at him.

  Seriously? This can’t be happening right now.

  I duck down, trying to remain out of sight as I creep slowly backward, running smack into…

  “Matt!” I exclaim, almost dropping the basket I’m holding. I clear my throat and straighten up from my crouch, watching as his face shifts from eyebrows-raised surprise to a pained expression to a look of forced indifference, his jaw locking in the way I knew it would.

  I just start talking, the nerves from the upcoming apple theft and now this ripping off any barrier I might’ve attempted to put up.

  “Just, uh”—I hold up the basket, giving a weird little shrug—“getting apples for Nina. First batch of apple tarts this season.”

  “You don’t work on Sundays,” he says, his voice low, my schedule still memorized.

  “Yeah, well, I do today,” I say, the words still tumbling out of my mouth. “But not usually! So, you’re still good to go to Nina’s then, if you want to go but don’t, you know, want to see me. I know how much you like her blueberry scones.” I peer up at him and see his face soften at that, a look that I’ve seen after some of our worst fights.

  In that look I know there’s still a chance. Just like Blake said at bingo.

  So why can’t I open my mouth? Why does my stomach drop at the thought?

  There’s a loud crashing sound, and both of us jump as Jake comes tumbling through the trees from the other aisle, all arms and legs. Ryan comes flying around the aisle, rotten apple raised and ready to be launched, Olivia giggling right behind him. Everyone freezes when they see me.

  Slowly, Jake stands up, Ryan drops the squishy apple, and Olivia crosses her arms.

  All their eyes are on me as they flank either side of Matt defensively, and still I can’t form words.

  “Hey, guys!” Blake says. I turn my head to the side to see her, basket of shiny, perfect apples tucked under her arm, warm smile plastered on her face.

  Her appearance instantly deflates the tension. Everyone relaxes, and Jake slaps on a goofy grin with a pair of borderline-nauseating heart eyes.

  I don’t think I’ve ever been more grateful to see someone.

  The only one still glowering at me is Olivia, her icy blue eyes narrowed.

  Jake saunters over, peering at the basket Blake’s holding. “What’ve you got there? Honeycrisps?” He pokes at them. “I’m more of a Gala fan.”

  “Yeah, figured I’d pick them instead of wear them.” She points to Jake’s head, where a blob of brown mush clings to his hair.

  “Your loss,” he says, reaching up to flick it out. “It’s great for your hair. Right, Olivia?”

  Olivia is obsessed with hair and skin care. She takes, like, eighteen vitamins a day and is always trying new routines and masks and scrubs she sees on TikTok.

  I’m honestly not sure we’d be friends if it weren’t for Kiera. They’d become close during home ec class in seventh grade, but we’ve never exactly been BFFs.

  “Yeah, but not if they’re rotten,” she says, rolling her eyes.

  Ryan laughs at that, and Matt cracks a small smile, but then an awkward silence settles back over everyone.

  “Well, we better get these back to Nina’s,” Blake says, nodding to the apples. “I’ll see you guys at work tomorrow.”

  There’s a chorus of goodbyes, directed entirely at Blake, before we head in the exact opposite direction of the exit. I glance behind me at Matt as his broad shoulders disappear from view, the look he gave me still fresh in my mind.

  “So, clearly,” Blake says when we’re a safe distance away, “things are not at all awkward between the two of you.”

  Her tone is light and joking, and I breathe an internal sigh of relief. She doesn’t know anything new. “Yeah,” I say, looking up to see the sunlight filtering in through the trees, my arms getting tired from carrying the basket of apples. “We still haven’t spoken since the breakup. Honestly, none of them has spoken to me since the breakup. This one’s… definitely the worst.”

  “This one?” Blake asks.

  “We’re a bit like a faulty light switch,” I say. “Most times, we’re back on before you can tell it flickered. But this time’s different.”

  The other times it had always been small, stupid incidents. Moments I’d ended things because I felt like we weren’t clicking in the way I wanted to, the way my mom talked about with my dad. Moments I didn’t feel butterflies in my chest. Moments when I felt like he was being too clingy. Or too distant.

  That time he said I’d kept myself in a little box the past three years.

  I always hoped when we’d get back together that it would bring about a new result. Would make things feel less… off.

  Would they really this time?

  “I mean, it’s just my luck we would see them here today.” I groan and spin around to face her, turning my back on the tree, on my mom’s list. “Why did she do this? Why am I doing this? What if I trip? Or we get caught? What will people say? What—”

  “Don’t overthink it,” Blake says, her voice stopping me from spiraling. “Who cares what other people think? Maybe that’s why your mom did it. To get out of her head. To stop obsessing over what other people thought about her. To break the mold she was stuck in.”

  I think about my mom and her manila envelope of awards. All the years she had spent cementing her golden image in the eyes of Huckabee, this small act of rebellion a sharp turn away from that. A way to break her mold.

  A way to break my mold. Or at least put a crack in it.

  I think about how stuck I feel. Stuck in other people’s perceptions of me, in that moment at junior prom, in my mom dying, in my own friends’ opinions of me, all of it complete
ly weighing me down.

  “I’ll admit, blowing up Santa may have been my idea,” she says, a trace of that mischievous smile lingering on her lips. “But you’re the one who planned it.” She spins me back around to face the clearing. “So, what’s the plan this time?”

  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 afternoon 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.

  This, 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.

  The 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 dust behind us.

  I glance out the window to see Matt, Jake, Olivia, and Ryan standing stock-still in the parking lot by Jake’s car, their mouths agape as they watch us speed away.

  I lean back in the seat, my chest heaving as I look over at Blake, the two of us bursting out into laughter.

  I hold up the perfect apple triumphantly.

  “You’ve gotta try it!” Blake says.

  “Try it?” I say, raising my eyebrows in surprise.

  “Yeah! I mean, what else are you going to do? Let it rot away on a shelf?”

  I shrug. That’s definitely a fair point. I bring the apple to my lips and take an enormous bite, the chunk falling from my lips as the most bitter, disgusting, rotten taste fills my mouth.

  “Oh my God,” I say as Blake wheezes with laughter. “Oh my God, that is so bad. Like… raw-sewage bad.” I grab a Honeycrisp out of the basket, trying to get the taste out of my mouth. “No wonder they don’t want anyone picking apples from it.”

  I hold it out to Blake, and she shakes her head, wiping tears away from the corner of her eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me. This tastes like ass. Here, try it!”

  I roll down the window and chuck the apple out onto the side of the road, watching it disappear in the rearview mirror before I pull the list out of my pocket and press the paper up against the dashboard, grabbing a pen from Blake’s center console.

  Then I put a small green check next to “10. Steal an apple from the First Tree at Snyder’s Orchard,” that disgusting apple bringing me one step closer to completing the list, my friends’ expressions in the parking lot a moment ago making it more than worth it.

  “That reminds me!” Blake says as we pull up at Nina’s. “I talked to Jake yesterday at work about cliff jumping, and he said there was a cool spot we could go to at Huckabee State Park. Biggest in the county. You want to go on Wednesday?”

  Biggest in the county. My heart jumps at the thought, the bravado I had a moment ago slipping away. Fast.

  “I don’t know if I’d trust Jake’s judgment,” I say, hesitating. “I mean, the guy was just covered in rotten apples and happy about it.”

  She laughs at that, nodding. “I confirmed it with two other people just to be sure.”

  I think of me practically crouching in a tree to hide from my friends, the softness in Matt’s eyes for the tiniest moment when he looked at me, waiting for me to finally say something. I can’t keep running away from cliffs. From burly football guys covered in mushy apples.

  If Mom got over her fear, if the list made her face what she was most afraid of, maybe it can help me do that too. Maybe this list could be the reset button I’ve wanted for so long.

  The one that would actually make a difference, pushing me to steal sacred apples and tackle giant cliffs and to actually talk to unruly-haired ex-boyfriends instead of avoiding them.

  “Yeah,” I say, smiling at her. “Let’s do it.”

  12

  I’m barely through the front door after dropping off the apples at Nina’s when my phone buzzes noisily. Kiera. For the first time since she left, I totally forgot it was Sunday.

  I quickly swipe right to answer, and wow.

  “This quality!” I say, seeing the freckle over Kiera’s left eyebrow, her long, dark eyelashes. This is a first in Misty Oasis call history.

  “Todd has a hotspot!” Kiera exclaims, excited. “So we’ll never have to worry about a dropped call again.”

  “What an actual miracle,” I say, relieved that things aren’t weird after how we left them last week. “How’s… camp?”

  I wiggle my eyebrows to let her know I’m referring to Todd and not an update on that kid who took a poison ivy plant to the eyeball. If she’s calling, though, and from his hotspot, it means the news is definitely going to be good.

  She glances behind her, checking to make sure the coast is clear.

  “It’s going great. Like, I think we’re gonna make this a year-round thing great?”

  “Oh my gosh! That’s awesome.”

  This is huge. Kiera’s never dated anyone before. I feel a small stab in my chest, jealousy that I’m not right by her side at Misty Oasis for it. Her first boyfriend.

  “I know! I almost don’t want to come back,” she says, while I nod, pretending that doesn’t cause another small stab, straight through my mental countdown calendar.

  “I saw Matt today,” I offer as I plop down on my couch, and Kiera leans forward in interest. “We didn’t talk for long, but he gave me this… this look. I don’t know. I just felt like it was a sign.”

  “Was he alone? Or was the group with him?”

  I let out a long sigh. “They were with him. Things were super awkward, though. Thank God Blake was there t
o distract them.”

  Kiera nods. “Oh, cool. You two been hanging out a lot?”

  “Yeah, actually,” I say, smiling as I think of our Friday adventure at the bookstore, unpacking at her house afterward, sweat still lining my brow from our getaway this afternoon. “She can speak French! And her house is super cool. Honestly, she’s really cool. I thought with you away all summer, I’d pretty much just be hiding out in my house, but I’m not. I mean, we’re going cliff jumping this Wednesday. And I didn’t read a single statistic about it. And today we even—”

  I move to pull the list out of my pocket, to tell her about it.

  “Yeah,” she says, cutting me off and letting out a short laugh. “Yeah, sure you will.”

  I wince, her words stinging a little as they silence my excitement from my crazy afternoon at Snyder’s Orchard. My excitement about the list I was on the verge of telling her about.

  I thought she’d be excited too.

  “I just mean from chickening out on our tattoos, to refusing to even try a night of camping with me at Huckabee State Park, you’re not exactly Miss Adventure anymore. At least not with me.”

  Wow. I guess Matt isn’t the only one missing the old Emily.

  “Sorry,” she says, her dark brown eyes instantly crinkling with guilt. “That wasn’t cool.”

  “It’s okay,” I say, shrugging. Then the both of us fall silent.

  “How’s packing going?” Kiera asks, trying to change the subject.

  “Fine,” I say. It’s almost the truth, though I did have to hide my mom’s favorite mug in my dresser this morning before my dad could throw it into a donation box to drop off on his way to work.

  He’s still on a rampage. It’s like he’s trying to completely erase her from not only this house but also from wherever we’ll end up. Like he doesn’t even care that she used that polka-dot mug every single day, sipping coffee from it while she leaned against our kitchen counter and checked my homework. I wonder what other pieces of her life are gone that I haven’t noticed.

  It’s a miracle I found the list before he could incinerate it.