Page 11 of A Thousand Second Chances

I watch her go, feeling a little lighter, and then resume my path to the cafe. The familiar smell of coffee and chocolate wafts over me as I enter. I pass by a couple of tiny tables crammedalong the walls as I approach the counter. A variety of delicious baked goods tempt me from the glass display while a chalkboard menu on the wall advertises bagels, egg sandwiches, and a slew of coffee-adjacent beverages.

I give the young cashier a cursory glance before fixing my eyes on the pastries. “Hi. Can I have one of those,” I say, pointing to a lemon poppyseed muffin, “and a medium chai latte, please?”

The guy doesn’t answer. Silence stretches beyond the point of normal politeness, and I blink, looking up. My eyes widen. “Owen?Is that you?”

It’s only been two years since I last saw Carol’s son, but he looks nothing like the scrawny, freckled kid I remember. He’s still lean, though he’s clearly bulked up with some muscle and must’ve shot up at least six inches since he’s practically the same height as me now. He wears his hair, always long and curly before, buzzed close to his scalp. His eyes appear dark and partially sunken, though that might be the black eyeliner he wears. Matching chipped paint coats his nails. Paired with his bright orange hair, the effect looks vaguely Halloween-y.

He still doesn’t say anything, and I realize he’s scowling at me. “I-is something wrong?” I stammer.

Owen whirls, heading to a row of silver drink machines in the back. Cupboards slam as he gathers up the ingredients for my latte. “Nope,” he says, finally breaking the tense silence. “I’ll have that drink for you in just a sec.”

That isnotthe response I expected at our reunion. I mean, I know I’ve only ever seen him for a couple of weeks a year at most, but I’d always considered him a friend despite the four-year age gap between us. What is he now…sixteen, seventeen? Something like that. Maybe he doesn’t recognize me? It seems like a stretch, but I can’t think of any other reason for him to treat me like this.

“I’m, uh, not sure if you remember me. It’s Percy. Percy Went—”

“I know who you are.” He slams the fridge door hard enough to rattle the cupboards, sloshing milk as he pours some out. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen fury so perfectly encapsulated by a milk splatter.

When he doesn’t elaborate, I tap my fingers anxiously on the glass countertop. “Um…cool.” It definitely doesn’t seem cool. “I’m, uh, going to be on the island through tomorrow morning. We’ve got this bike trip booked this morning, but I’m free all afternoon if you want to hang out. I’d love to catch up—hear all the juicy island gossip.”

Owen returns the milk to the fridge with even more rage than he’d retrieved it. He keeps his stiff back to me, staring at my drink-in-progress as if he’s contemplating tossing it at my head. “No.”

The harsh word hangs between us as I struggle for a response.What the hell is going on here?I feel like I’ve stumbled into some sort of alternate reality. Even if I don’t like it, I understand Chris’ reaction to seeing me again—he has every right to hate me. But I have no clue what I possibly could’ve done to earn the same treatment from Owen. Is he pissed I haven’t been to visit for the last couple of years? After everything with my mom, I’d think he’d understand.

Before I can gather my thoughts, Owen activates the drink machine. Its loudwhirdrowns out any hope of conversation. When it finishes, he slaps a lid on my drink and sets it on the counter in front of me without a word before moving to grab my muffin.

I grit my teeth. This whole thing feels absurd, almost surreal. Surely, this is all a giant misunderstanding. “I know it’s been a while, but I’d still like to reconnect,” I try. “Maybe we can grab asnack or something later and go chill on the beach like we used to.”

For the first time since I walked in, Owen meets my gaze. His expression bleeds open hostility, and I instinctively shrink back. “We’renotfriends,” he says, his eyes hard. “We barely even know each other anymore. So don’t pretend like any of this matters. Go do your own thing and leave me the hell alone!”

He practically throws the muffin at me. I fumble for the bag to stop it from falling to the floor, and by the time I’ve retrieved it and my chai latte, Owen has stalked to the opposite end of the counter. He sits on a stool, pointedly not looking at me.

So much for my newfound optimism.I briefly consider confronting him and demanding an explanation, but my stomach chooses that moment to grumble, so instead, I retreat with my breakfast to the table nearest the door. I sip at my drink—pretty good despite the anger that had gone into its brewing—and nibble the muffin. As I eat, I try to shake off my conversation with Owen. His rejection doesn’t sting as much as Chris’ had yesterday, but it still seems a bad omen.

I mean, he’s right—wedon’treally know each other that well anymore. Maybe we never did—a couple of weeks a year together isn’t much. Still, reconnecting with him had been one of the things I’d looked forward to the most about returning to Mackinac Island. Guess I can cross that off my list.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I check it and find a text message from my dad containing a bulleted list of a dozen places scattered around the island.

Dad: These were some of your mom’s favorites. Thought you might want to make a point to visit them today.

And just like that, my mood hits rock bottom. I sigh and bury my face in my hands. I’m probably smudging my glasses and getting crumbs all over myself, but who cares? Everything’s shit anyway. I can already see today stretching out ahead of me like a funeral procession—a long and grueling pilgrimage to all the places my mom would never visit again.

By the time I’ve pulled myself together enough to be fairly sure I’m not about to start bawling, more of the group has trickled down from upstairs. I spy Chris and Quinn chatting as they walk past. He looks as good as ever, his long bangs brushing his eyes and a form-fitting leather jacket pulled snugly over his muscled chest.

I duck my head, quickly averting my gaze. Another condescending sneer might break what’s left of my resolve. I type out a quick reply to my dad, toss my trash in the bin, and follow the other students outside. The morning air is nippy, though not too bad for October this far north. At least there’s not much of a breeze. I filter over to the opposite edge of the group from Chris and wait for Professor Oshkoff.

Once she’s checked us all off on her clipboard, she announces, “As you know, this morning we’ll be renting bicycles to ride around the perimeter of the island. It’s an eight-mile trail that lasts around an hour without any stops, but we’ll be taking our time, so expect frequent delays for pictures and visits to some of Mackinac Island’s most interesting landmarks.” A few groans fill the air at that. I guess I’m not the only one with ulterior motives for coming on this trip. I only wish my reasons were as casual as a free vacation. “Now, if you’ll follow me,” Oshkoff continues, ignoring the grumbling, “we’ll head to pick up our bicycles.”

She sets a brisk pace away from the Royal Lilac with the rest of us trailing after her. I wait so I’m walking at the rear and glance back at the Royal Lilac to find Carol Lindman watching us from a bay window. When she spots me, she smiles and waves. Iwave back, more subdued. Hopefully, she didn’t have too high of hopes that Owen and I would get along. After his reaction in the cafe, that seems about as likely as Chris and I managing a civil conversation.

The walk is nice enough, following the coast for a mile or so until the road curves into downtown. I’d forgotten how much I appreciate the silence here. With no cars allowed on Mackinac Island other than emergency vehicles, the only sounds are the wind, the waves, and the murmurs of my classmates.

A familiar cackle echoes nearby, and my eyes latch onto Chris. He’s grinning at something Quinn said. She bumps his shoulder, and a fresh wave of wistfulness washes over me. That might still be me walking there beside him had I not given up the right two years ago. Instead, here I am, surrounded by people yet feeling utterly alone.

Main Street isn’t too crowded this early in the day, though groups of tourists have already begun to pour off ferries from the mainland. There are far fewer visitors now in mid-October than there will be come spring or summer, but still enough to fill the sidewalks. I try to dodge a gaggle of kids and trip over the edge of the pavement.

A hand snags my arm, yanking me back right before I tumble in front of a horse-drawn carriage. “Thanks,” I say, turning to grin at my savior only to find Chris already stepping away. He drops his hand from my arm like I’m infected and shoves through the crowd without a word toward a row of bikes waiting for us along the sidewalk.

I fight a faint blush as I watch him go. He might refuse to talk to me, but at least he still cares enough to stop me from falling in front of a horse. With how quickly he’d reacted, he must’ve been keeping as close an eye on me as I have been him. That must count for something…right?