Page 44 of A Thousand Second Chances

All I know is that, with Percy gone, I’m left with this hollow feeling in my gut that I somehow screwed things up even more than I usually do.

twenty

Percy

All right, so maybeI overreacted.

The thought occurs to me almost as soon as I start down the winding trail back to British Landing, shame tempering the edges of my anger.

Chris obviously doesn’t know about my mom. And why should he? I’ve avoided talking about her all weekend, even after we started collaborating on this absurd time loop. I’d thought it for the best after how hard he’d shut down my initial efforts to explain the past. Things between us seemed troubled enough without adding another variable to the equation, and the last thing either of us needs is another excuse to rehash our painful breakup.

But fair or not, as I listen to thecrunchof dead leaves underfoot, I realize it’s his lack of awareness about her death that set me off. It seems wrong that the guy who used to be more than my best friend has no idea about something so fundamental to my existence. Yeah, I’d messed up by shuttinghim out the way I had after winter break. Even if I’d needed some space given everything I was going through with my mom, I certainly could’ve handled it better.

Buthe’sthe one who’d been so ready to assume the worst of me that he hadn’t even given me a chance to explain or cared enough to check in on me once in the two years since. I’d been struggling just to keep my shit together back then, and he’d let me go with hardly any fight. Not to mention how every time I’ve tried to talk to him this weekend about us or my mom, he’s shut me down in like manner. We’re strangers to each other now—and that’s the wayhewants it.

My eyes are burning when I stalk out of the forest. I didn’t have much to eat earlier, but my stomach revolts at the prospect of cramming any more food into it, and my brain revolts at the idea of doing basically anything else, so I head straight for my bike. Ignoring the other students and Professor Oshkoff, I stand there, eyes downcast and back tensed, waiting to get on with the damn tour.

Chris and Quinn eventually return from the woods. A tiny part of me hopes he’ll stride right up to me and tell me to shove it. That he’ll fight for even the tiny shred of pseudo-friendship we’d started to build.

He doesn’t, so neither do I.

The rest of the bike ride passes in a blur. I keep my eyes peeled for anything suspicious like we’d discussed, but my brain barely processes the sights. Nothing stands out any more than it had this morning. This whole plan to retrace our steps seems stupider by the minute.

It’s not like Chris and I had stumbled into the middle of a laboratory or sipped a bubbling potion. Nor had we touched a cursed relic or pissed off a witch enough to hex us. That first Saturday may have sucked for numerous reasons, but it had stillbeen utterly mundane. There wasn’t a single damn thing that could explain our current predicament.

By the time we finish our circuit around the island and split up to filter through downtown for a few hours before dinner, I have a firm grip on my emotions once again, at least where Chris is concerned. I watch him depart with Quinn, the two chatting animatedly without so much as a glance in my direction.

It’s probably for the best. This way, we can each pursue our own leads, doubling the ground we cover. Twice as much a chance of us finding something, right? Plus, we didn’t spend much time together that first Saturday anyway, so this is more realistic. It has nothing at all to do with avoidance after our altercation earlier. Definitely not.

I spend the afternoon dutifully retracing my steps as best I can, fielding texts from my dad to keep him apprised of my walk down memory lane. The day passes much as it had that first Saturday, right down to my awkward run-in with Chris and Quinn outside the fudge shop. Either they’re as committed to today’s plan as I am, or the universe enjoys messing with us.

We eye each other awkwardly. Chris opens and closes his mouth like he wants to say something, then settles for a grunt and a dissatisfied frown. I avert my gaze, studying my shoes.

“Well,” Quinn says into the uncomfortable silence. “This isloadsof fun and totally productive for solving the mystery of the infinite Saturday. I’m so glad we’re all handling this temporal crisis like reasonable adults.”

“I’m not the one acting like a child,” Chris says.

Andouch, the condescension in his voice stings more than it probably should. “No,” I snap. “As usual,you’rethe one acting like an entitled asshole.”

“Oh, so nowI’mthe asshole? I didn’t bite your head off for a stupid joke! I didn’t throw a fucking tantrum because I didn’t get my way!I didn’t break my fucking word and torpedo the onlyrelationship that’s ever mattered to me with zero explanation or warning!”

He’s shouting by the end, drawing stares from the nearby tourists. A flush heats my face, though my emotions are too much of a jumbled mess to tell why. I open my mouth, intending to offer a rebuttal or maybe an explanation, but what comes out instead is, “Please, keep your voice down.”

His eyes narrow, andfuck, that was the wrong thing to say. “Of course,” he says, voice tight. “I forgot—you’re still too ashamed to accept who you are.” I flinch, and his expression instantly softens. He rakes a hand through his hair, grimacing. “Sorry. I guess you were right about us needing to stay the hell away from each other.”

He turns and retreats down the street, shoulders hunched. Quinn shoots me an apologetic look before hurrying after him. And just like that, I’m left standing by myself outside the fudge shop, feeling more alone than ever.

Chris’ words play on repeat in my head for the rest of the afternoon. It’s not the first time he’s accused me of running away or being too scared to face my problems. And, well…maybe he has a point. Hadn’t I done exactly that after winter break, no matter how I’d later tried to justify my decision to pull away as best for both of us? I can blame him all I want for not fighting for us, but that doesn’t change the fact that, regardless of what was happening with my mom, I didn’t fight for us either.

And now, here I am, refusing to tell him the truth about my mom because I’m afraid of how he’ll react. It was one thing to avoid discussing the past when I thought we’d never see each other again after the weekend. But who knows how long we’ll be trapped in this time loop, forced to work together. At this point, isn’t it best to get everything out in the open?

I’m not sure what to expect when I walk into Casa Nostra for dinner. After how the day had gone, part of me expects Chris tobe MIA or to have chosen a different seat, no matter what we’d said about repeating history. Yet, when I approach our massive group table in the back, I find him seated where he’d been before. I slide into the empty spot beside him, painfully aware of his proximity. He doesn’t look up from his menu, though I can tell he notices me by the way he tenses.

By some unspoken rule, I know he’s not going to break this imposed silence between us. Not unless I take the first step. I fiddle with my napkin until the server arrives for our orders. I tell her the same thing I did last time, barely able to hear her over my hammering heartbeat.

Am I actually going to do this?

I’m not entirely certain until the server leaves, and I find myself shoving my chair back with a loud scrape, tossing my cloth napkin onto the table. “Can we talk?” I ask Chris. My voice sounds hoarse and strange to my ears.