Page 12 of A Thousand Second Chances

It only takes a couple of minutes to square away our rentals since Professor Oshkoff reserved them ahead of time. She insists we each take an offered helmet—something about the university not being liable for us cracking our heads open. A few kids protest or roll their eyes, but I snap mine in place without a word. I know how easily death can sneak up on you.

This section of Main Street’s too crowded to ride, so we walk our bikes until we’re past the ferry docks, where people are a bit sparser. It feels weird to pedal right in the middle of the street, but on Mackinac, the sidewalks are reserved for pedestrians while bicycles and carriages occupy the roads.

Oshkoff leads us around several carriages waiting for passengers, charting a counterclockwise course away from the Royal Lilac. We quickly leave the village behind, fiery-colored trees flashing past on the left while rocky coast interspersed with sparse vegetation spans the right. I’ve ridden this trail at least a dozen times over the years, and I try to lose myself in the comforting sights and sounds. It truly is beautiful out here. That’s part of why I fell in love with this place when I was little. Probably why my parents did, too.

Thinking of my mom and dad biking this same path as love-struck teens squeezes my chest until I can barely breathe. For an instant, I’m back in that hospital room, clutching my mom’s frail hand while machines tick down the final days and hours and minutes of her life. Then, I blink, and the road stretches ahead of me once more.

I miss you, Mom.

I keep pedaling, ignoring the wetness streaking my cheeks while the familiar pain washes over me. Whatever else happens, I swear I’ll keep my promise and make her proud. I have to.

seven

Chris

As much as Ihate to admit it, the bike ride doesn’t suck. I mean, biking’s never really been my thing—I’ll take a pair of running shoes over a pair of wheels any day. But there’s no denying that Mackinac Island’s got a pretty sweet view once you escape the crowds and the stench of horse shit. Forests fill the interior—a national park, according to Quinn’s running commentary—and it’s the perfect time of year, not too cold yet and with the leaves just starting to change into bursts of yellows, oranges, and reds. Even the broken shore we pass, while not exactly prime beach real estate, has a certain rough charm.

Of course, it’s not the landscape that keeps drawing my traitorous eyes. I had to pick up my pace early on to get ahead of Percy so I’d stop staring. Even if I have no intention of ever speaking to him again, there’s something about his unique blend of nerdiness and athleticism I still find irresistible. Only he can make a Star Trek sweatshirt lookthatsexy.

If Quinn notices my obsession, she doesn’t comment, matching my increased speed without complaint. Not that I can go particularly fast anyway. True to her word, Oshkoff constrains us to a light, relaxed pace that makes it easy to chat while we ride. She points out different varieties of plants as we go, along with some of the more noteworthy rock formations. I assume they have some deep-seated historical significance, but I don’t pay enough attention to tell. We’ve only been traveling a few minutes when Oshkoff calls a halt at the first stop on our tour.

Dwightwood Springs doesn’t look like much to me—little more than a dilapidated wooden trellis surrounding a hole in the wall. The way Oshkoff describes it, though, it’s the eighth wonder of the world.

“Dwightwood Springs is a natural spring,” she explains, gesturing to the half-circle opening. “That thin trickle of water you see flows out of layers of compressed limestone within the island’s bedrock. I wouldn’t recommend drinking it, though, since it fails to meet current water safety standards.”

Quinn waits until Oshkoff’s back is turned to cup her hand under the water and bring it to her lips. I roll my eyes at her. “You only did that because she told you not to.”

“What better reason is there to do anything?” She holds out another handful of water. “Want to try?”

“Not a chance.”

“Oh, come on.” She waves her cupped hand in front of my face. “It’s refreshing! Besides, it’s not like our regular tap water isn’t chock full of chemicals.”

I shove her arm away. Water sloshes over her fingers. “Yeah, well, I’ll take my chances with the devil I know, thanks.”

Her face brightens. “Ooo, speaking of devils, there’s this neat spot not far from the Royal Lilac called Devil’s Kitchen. It’s supposed to look like a screaming face. They say the black sootcaking its walls comes from cannibal spirits making cooking fires to roast their victims.”

All right, thatdoessound more interesting, but I’m not about to give Quinn the satisfaction of admitting it. “Greeeat. I’m sure I’ll hear all about it from Oshkoff when we get there. Maybe we can offer a few of our fellow students as tribute.”

Quinn only grins in response, seeing right through my act. Sometimes, it sucks having a best friend who’s immune to your bullshit. Then she hesitates, glancing at something behind me. I follow her gaze and see Percy. He stayed on his bike so he’d be ready to leave as soon as Oshkoff gives the word. And he’s staring right at us.

As soon as he meets my eyes, he blushes and turns away. I clench my jaw and do the same. Quinn opens her mouth like she’s going to say something, then closes it, reconsidering. Thank God. I don’t know if I could explain the coiled tension racing through me if I tried.

Apparently, Percy’s not the only one watching us because someone clears their throat right beside me. I turn and find Devon standing there. The girl from the ferry clings to his arm, and a few other guys trail behind them. The girl smiles hesitantly at me, and the guys bob their heads. Devon, however, fixes me with a death glare.

“Move, Rawley. The rest of us want to see the spring up close, too.”

I’d been about to leave anyway, but his tone sets me on edge, anger pulsing through me. I plant my feet and raise an eyebrow at him as I slowly cross my arms. “Well, then you can get in line. We’re not finished yet.”

“Really?” Devon sneers. “Because as I remember it, you’re pretty good at quitting in the middle of things. Or is that only when others are counting on you?”

Bullshit! As if he and the rest of the team hadn’t all but helped Coach shove me out the door. I flush and clench my fists, taking a step toward him even though I have no idea what I’m going to do next. I’m not much of a fighter, and Devon’s got at least twenty pounds of muscle on me—not to mention backup. The rest of his group’s friendliness has vanished, replaced by a mix of matching glares and cracking knuckles.

Before I can do anything rash, Quinn inserts herself between us. “Now, now, boys, there’s plenty of poisonous water to go around.” She tugs lightly on my arm, and after a brief hesitation, I let her pull me away. Behind us, Devon and his friends laugh.

I hunch my back. “I had it under control.”

“You mean, youweren’tabout to get your ass kicked over a stupid spring you don’t even care about?” She gives me a flat look. “My mistake.”