Page 18 of A Thousand Second Chances

“School is fine.”

“Glad to hear it.”

God, kill me now.

My dad and I exchange a few more stilted lines, and by the time he reminds me to keep my grades up and ends the call, I feel even more drained than before. At least my mom cares about me in her own overbearing, utterly unfair and impossible way. But my dad’s always given the impression he doesn’t quite know what to do with me. Talking to him is like two terrible actors reading off the lines of a script—we know the parts we need to play, but there’s no real feeling behind the words.

I lie back and stare at the old house’s crenelated ceiling. So much of my life these past couple years has felt like that—like I’m going through the motions, pretending to move on even though I feel trapped in place. I close my eyes, and a familiar pairof bright blue eyes stares back at me. Eyes I’ll be seeing again in person soon at this stupid shared dinner.

Sighing, I rise to go find Quinn. All I have to do is survive one last night on Mackinac Island. Then, I can forget all about this damn trip and go back to pretending like Percy doesn’t exist.

ten

Percy

Famous Mackinac Island fudge—check!

Tour of a haunted theater that isn’t actually haunted—check!

A quick jaunt past the Main Street shops—check!

The afternoon passes in a blur as I work through the items on my dad’s list. We keep up a running commentary via text. He doesn’t call, and while I feel like a coward, I’m grateful. He’s probably as raw today as I am, the distance of text helping to keep the emotions at bay and giving him time to process so he doesn’t break down.

Like I’ve wanted to for the past couple hours.

I haven’t bawled my eyes out, at least—not like I did at Friendship’s Altar. But I can’t remember the last time I relaxed, and my eyes feel permanently strained from the effort to rein in my emotions. I used to love running around downtown as a kid. The car-free streets and picturesque storefronts seemed torn straight out of a storybook, and a little part of me was always surprised when a stranger walked past tapping away on a cellphone instead of lugging a lantern or a rifle or whatever people would’ve carried back then.

Now, however, all I can think about is what my dad and I have lost. This stupid trip was supposed to be cathartic—a way for us to honor my mom in one of her favorite places so we could finally move on. Yet so far, I feel trapped more than ever in the past. How can I let go when every familiar sight or sound or smell conjures a fresh memory that hits me anew with crippling grief?

My brief run-in with Chris outside the fudge shop hadn’t done my fragile emotional state any favors either. I get it—he hates me, as well he should. But I could still do without the walking reminder of what a disappointment I’ve been to the people I care about.

I’d intended to stop by the Royal Lilac before dinner, but by the time I’d squeezed in the last of my dad’s mandated stops, night had fallen, and I was running late. The dinner—like this entire trip—had been my dad’s idea, and he’d chosen my mom’s favorite restaurant. Casa Nostra was where they’d had their wedding rehearsal dinner, and we’d eaten there together at least once every trip we’d taken to Mackinac Island since. Personally, I think the food’s only okay, but the touristy decor grew on me, and it’s the site of many happy memories.

Tonight, however, happiness is the furthest thing from my mind. Even moving at an almost-jog, it takes me over thirty minutes to navigate Main Street past the sea of tourists trying to shove their way onto the ferries departing for the mainland. I barely have time to admire the restaurant’s gaudy interior as I rush past, scanning for Oshkoff and the others.

I spy them at a large table in back and, giving the hostess a strained smile, hurry over. Judging by the lack of free seats, I’m the last to arrive. It takes me a moment to find the one open spot…and of course, it’s right next to Chris. My feet drag as Iapproach.No big deal, I tell myself as my heartbeat quickens.He’ll ignore me, and I’ll ignore him. Piece of cake.

Chris must hear my footsteps—or maybe sense the object of his greatest loathing—because he looks up, eyes widening a fraction. From the way he glances at the seat beside him and tenses, he must realize the same thing I had. So much for our mutual effort to stay as far away from each other as possible.

Chris turns to the girl, Quinn, on his other side. As I slide into my seat, I catch a bit of their whispered discussion.

“—switch with me!” Chris hisses.

Quinn shakes her head, looking vaguely amused. “Nah. After how you’ve been moping all day, I think this’ll be good for you.”

“I havenotbeen—” He cuts off, shooting me a glare.

Behind his rigid back, Quinn rolls her eyes at him and smiles at me. “Good to see you again, Percy. Enjoying your fudge?”

“Oh, um…” I stammer. With Chris less than a foot away, it’s difficult to concentrate. I rip my eyes from the faint birthmark marring the otherwise smooth skin on his neck and focus on his friend. “I haven’t actually tasted it yet. It’s mostly for my dad. He wanted me to bring him back some.”

“Cool.” Her eyes narrow on Chris. “We were about to get our own before we ran into you, butsomeonechanged his mind.”

Chris flushes, and I try not to stare at the way the color spreads over his faintly stubbled cheeks. He mutters something unintelligible.

Quinn ignores him, her attention still on me. “Did you get a chance to check out any of the art galleries? There was thisawesomeone over on Market Street where all the sculptures were made from limestone found on the island. Did you know that—”

She prattles on, and I can’t help but be impressed by how much she seems to know about Mackinac Island, especially when she admits it’s her first time here. I recognize most of thefacts, but a few are news even to me, and I try to respond with more than grunts or one-word responses.