Page 86 of A Thousand Second Chances

She nods solemnly. “I don’t know what happened between the two of you, but it’s pretty clear he blames himself.” She hesitates. “And he misses you.”

My heart thunders in my chest.He misses me, too?When I saw him earlier, he seemed nothing but furious with me. As for the rest…

“That’s ridiculous,” I say. “This is all my fault, not his. If anyone’s to blame, it’s me.”

She shrugs. “Maybe you should try tellinghimthat.” She eyes me more closely. “Assuming, that is, he’s not the only onedrowning in regret right now. Later.” With a cheerful wave, she bounces past me and up the stairs.

I stand there, rooted in place, until I hear the distant slam of her bedroom door. The sound shatters whatever spell grips me, and I slowly follow in her wake, heading to my own room.

Is she right? Does Chris blame himself? But…that doesn’t make any sense! He flat-outtoldme how I’d fucked everything up, and he’d been right.

My skin feels too hot, my brain a muddled mess, so I do what I always do when I’m stressed—I game. RuneWorld Online has been one of my few solaces since our big fight—the only way I know to fill the void left by Chris’ absence each night. But today, with Quinn’s comments bouncing around my skull, not even my favorite RPG can compete with Chris for my attention.

Around noon, I give up and go to scrounge up some food. Owen’s behind the counter in the cafe, looking as grouchy as ever. He might be the only person on this island in a worse mood than Chris or me right now.

Carol’s words from the other night come back to me—how Owen’s been going through a rough time lately and how she’s worried about him. Worried enough to sit up late, waiting for him to come home.

They say it’s insanity to keep doing the same thing and expect different results, yet I can’t help myself from once again extending an olive branch to my former friend.

“Hey, Owen,” I say hesitantly.

No response except for a tightening of his jaw as he sets about making my drink. I’ve watched him do this so many times by now that I’m pretty sure I could replicate the process move for move.

My finger taps a nervous staccato against the glass display counter. “Your mom said things have been rough lately. I want you to know I’m here if you need to talk about…”

I trail off as Owen slams my drink down with far more force than necessary and fixes me with a death glare. “And why the hell would I want to talk toyou?”

Thus does my olive branch burst into metaphorical flames. As much as I feel for Carol, I don’t have it in me right now to force help on someone who so clearly doesn’t want it. “If you won’t talk to me about whatever’s going on with you, fine,” I snap, snatching my order. “But your mom’s worried about you. At least, consider opening up toher.”

For the first time in all the Saturdays I’ve repeated, Owen appears taken aback. His façade of indignant rage slips to reveal the scared face of a confused, lonely boy. Then, he grimaces and turns away from me, shoulders tight.

“Whatever,” he grumbles, which from Owen is downright polite.

And who knows? Maybe he’ll actually listen. Not that it will matter unless he follows through today. Otherwise, any progress I might’ve made breaking past his stubbornness will evaporate as soon as the clock strikes 1:15 AM.

A slightly hysteric laugh threatens to bubble out of me as I retreat toward my usual table. What’s the point of helping Owen when it won’t do any good? What’s the point ofanything? Nothing I do here matters, and the one thing that did is gone, thanks to me. Or maybe that never mattered, either.

For a moment, I consider giving in to the nihilism threatening to drown me. It might be a relief to see how much of my life and the lives of those around me I can set ablaze in a single day for no other reason than to watch it burn. It would be no different from a video game, right? Anything terrible I did would be erased with the dawning of a new day, no one else the wiser.

The instinct passes as quickly as it came, but it leaves me standing in the cafe, shivering with a thin sheen of sweat. Am I really that terrible a person? What the fuck is wrong withme that I’d even consider doing something like that? My hand shakes as I take a steadying sip of my latte.

Maybe Chris was right when he said I take too much onto myself—that sooner or later, I’d crack under the pressure I put myself under. Because this sure as hell feels like the cracks are spreading.

I brush past my usual seat in the cafe, wanting to put as much distance between myself and Owen as possible. Besides, after all the mornings Chris and I have spent at that same table, it feels too quiet and empty now without him there. Instead, I eat in the formal dining room where we’d had pizza Friday night. The Royal Lilac is quiet except for the low buzz of conversation drifting in from the cafe next door and the drone of a vacuum from somewhere upstairs. Carol must be doing some cleaning while most of the guests are out.

I lose myself in my thoughts until I hear footsteps echo off the tile behind me. I jerk my head up, heart in my throat as I imagine Chris there, sweaty from his run. But it’s only Carol, wearing one of her usual floral-printed sun dresses, a vacuum gripped in one hand.

I force a smile. “Hi, Carol.”

“Now, don’t soundtooexcited to see me,” she chuckles.

“Sorry.” I rub my eyes beneath my glasses. “It’s been a rough day.”

She studies my face for a moment, her expression kind, and I glance away, twisting my empty cup between my palms. I track her footsteps as she crosses the room and slides into the chair across from me.

“Is that why you didn’t go with the rest of your classmates this morning?”

I nod mutely. Her fingers tap lightly against the tabletop, and I note the many nicks across its worn surface. When I chance alook up at her, she’s staring off into the distance, a thoughtful frown on her face.