The Bucket List

F o u r

"Okay, I know I said this as a joke, but I think we should seriously reconsider the 'different kinds of potato lamps' idea," Jarred tells me as we turn off Great Road and onto Hillside Avenue. Wednesday has arrived, and it's time for Jarred to visit my home for the first time.

"We're not doing the potato lamps idea," I declare. "It's dumb and stupid. Middle grade, as you said."

"Yeah, I know, but–"

"No buts," I cut in, as if I'm talking to a five-year-old. Then again, there isn't much difference between a five-year-old and Jarred Colton. "We're tenth graders – we can do better than that."

Jarred huffs. "It's not like this project is that important!"

"Um, were you even listening to Mr. Garcia? It's fifty percent of our grade!"

"You're stubborn."

"I care about my grades."

"More than you should. No one's ever gonna look at your tenth grade report cards."

I can feel my face redden as he says this, and I know it's probably true. Even so, I regain my composure and say, "My mom will. And she's not no one."

"If you say so," he mumbles back, but I can tell he still disagrees.

As we approach my house, 42 Hillside Avenue, I can feel my body growing tense. I'd only really met this person two days ago, and I was already letting him into the most private area of my life. What's wrong with me?

When mom heard he'd be coming, her eyes lit up in the same way they do whenever I have a boy over for a school project, and it's never good. I know whenever I see that look on her face that the study session will be a disaster, and it'll all be thanks to her. Though, knowing Jarred, it'll probably be both their faults.

I realize as we walk up the steps to my house that I forgot to organize my room yesterday after school like I'd planned. I'd been so preoccupied with my thoughts of annoyance at Jarred that I hadn't thought about what he'd probably say entering my messy room.

But when we step inside, Jarred looks impressed. "You're good at keeping things neat, I'll give you that."

I try to see what he sees, but as I scan the room, all I notice is that my throw pillows are out of their usual places and that a framed photo on the wall above my desk is slightly crooked, and that my laundry hamper is full of clothes. But as I survey the place again, my eyes rest on something completely and utterly mortifying.

My bucket list is still lying on my desk.

My moment of realization is noticed, and Jarred's gaze glides over to where I'm staring at the piece of paper. He lunges for it and I tackle him, but he's taller than me, and he holds it over his head where I can't reach it.

"What's this?" he asks, observing my desperate behavior.

"Nothing," I grit my teeth, grasping for the list as he glances up at it. Then he bursts out laughing, a moment of weakness in which I steal the paper back and shove into the pocket of my sweater.

"You? A bucket list?" He's staring at me as if I'm the most fascinating thing alive. "You've got to be the most intriguing person I've ever met."

"What's wrong with having a bucket list?" I argue.

"I don't know, you just didn't seem like that kind of person, I guess."

I want to be mad, but he's not wrong. I probably don't seem like that kind of person, whatever that means. The daring and crazy items on the list are pretty much the opposite of my personality, so I'm not surprised he finds it amusing.

But even so, he never should have touched it without asking, and I'm beginning to detest Jarred more and more by the moment. "Can we just get to work?"

"Well, I'm not quite so sure I want to change subject just yet," he begins, then spots the glare I shoot his way. "But since you're so incredibly stubborn, I guess I don't have much choice, do I?"

I roll my eyes at him and grab my computer. This was going to be a long study session.

I'm jerked away by my phone ringtone. Groaning and rolling onto my side, I grab for it, but miss and bang my hand against the side of the bed. It takes a few tries until I finally manage to find my phone, and then another few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the sudden light radiating from it. As soon as I recognize the caller ID, I want to throw it across the room and go right back to sleep.

I pick it up anyway, knowing it's not like he's really gonna leave me alone. "What do you want, Jarred?" I ask groggily, my voice sounding croaky.

"Hey, so I'm on ten cups of coffee and it's three in the morning and I know you're probably wondering why I called you," he's speaking so fast I can barely understand a word. "But I've figured it out and you have to come over to my house tomorrow after class. Oh, and bring some money with you. I know what we're doing for our project. Okay, bye."

With that he hangs up, leaving me to wonder what the heck he has planned. I don't manage to fall asleep again after that, so I decide to flip open the last book I have left over from my winter break reading list and try to focus on the words. My thoughts are elsewhere.

Reluctantly, I slip out of bed and grab my wallet, then insert it into the smallest pocket of my backpack so it's ready for the morning.

I really hope I won't regret this.