Page 3 of A Thousand Second Chances

Oshkoff shuffles off, glaring toward the nearby drop-off zone and muttering under her breath about tardy students. I scan the itinerary as I follow Quinn onto the ferry. To my relief, she heads straight for the stairs leading to the upper level. I have zero interest in being anywhere near Devon, and I don’t recognize anyone else there. By the looks of it, our student group makes up most of the sparse passengers. This late in the day, the only people still heading to the island are those like us who are planning to spend the night.

“A bicycle tour of the island?” I say, plopping into a seat beside Quinn on the mostly deserted upper level. It’s chillier up heresince it’s exposed to the crisp evening air, and I snuggle into Quinn’s side with an exaggerated groan. “Anda group dinner? God, kill me now.”

Quinn prods me hard enough in the ribs that I yelp. “You promised you’d try to enjoy yourself! Besides, it’s not like this was some big secret. The university emailed us the itinerary weeks ago.”

“As if I bothered to read that,” I protest with mock outrage.

“Well, then, you have only yourself to blame. Besides, you used to be a runner, right? Biking’s practically the same thing.”

“It’s really not. And that’s not the—”

“If it’s that jerk, Devon, you’re worried about, ignore him. I’ll rip him a new one if he tries to start anything.” She smirks. “Assuming that Oshkoff doesn’t do it first.”

I snort at the mental image of the stern woman chewing Devon out. The thought gives me more pleasure than it probably should. Settling back into the stiff plastic seat—every bit as uncomfortable as I’d assumed—I listen to Quinn with half an ear and stare at the watery expanse surrounding us.

Even in the gathering darkness, I have to admit the view possesses a certain stark beauty. A bridge glows in the distance, cutting across the water in a bright twinkling line, while directly across from us sits Mackinac Island. The people there might not believe in cars, but that mistrust clearly doesn’t extend to electricity—though most of the island is shrouded in shadow, plenty of lights blaze along the southern coast facing us.

Oshkoff’s harsh voice slices through the night from somewhere below. “Can’t you delay a little longer? I’m still waiting on one more student.”

I peer over the side to see her talking to a uniformed man I assume is the ferry’s captain. “I’m sorry, but other passengers rely on our schedule,” he says. “We can’t delay for a single person. They can grab the next ferry across in thirty minutes.”

“I can’t leave a student behind,” Oshkoff replies. “Especially notthisone. I’m sure he’ll be here. Please, five more minutes.”

The captain sighs. “Fine. But if they’re not here in five, I’m leaving with or without you.”

I sit back and turn to Quinn, who has clearly been eavesdropping herself. “I wonder who they’re waiting on?” she asks.

“Someone who doesn’t give a shit about other people’s time,” I complain, shivering beneath my coat. Seeing Devon again has me feeling antsy and off-balance. I can’t wait to retreat to my room and spew my jumbled thoughts onto the page so I can make some semblance of sense out of them.

The five minutes have almost expired when a sleek silver car roars into the ferry drop-off zone. Two coated figures stumble out, one wrapping the other in a tight embrace. I squint, studying the car and the figures. Something about the tableau seems strangely familiar. When one of the figures turns their head so an overhead light catches their face, my vague curiosity turns to sinking dread.

Oh, I recognize the guy all right. Floppy brown hair he still keeps longer on top and trimmed on the sides; a thin pair of glasses that accentuate his angular face and chiseled jaw; pale blue eyes perfectly matching his serious expression—Percy Wentworth is incredibly handsome and wicked smart.

Unfortunately, he’s also the boy who ruined my life.

two

Percy

Ofcourse,I’m running late today of all days. I usually make it a point to be on time even when I don’t think it matters because you never know who else might rely on your punctuality. That’s why I’m always the first student seated up front for a lecture—the first to submit a homework assignment. Hell, I’ve never even been late to a doctor’s or dentist’s appointment, even though I know they’ll probably leave me sitting in the waiting room forever.

Not that I have anyone but myself to blame for my current tardiness. I’d put off packing again and again this week, promising myself I’d do it later until I got home from class today and realized I had ten minutes until my dad was supposed to pick me up. Despite my token protests, he’d insisted on driving me in a show of solidarity. I’d frantically crammed things into my bag as fast as I could, but there’s only so quickly you can stuff a suitcase when you have to stop and compose yourself everycouple minutes so that you don’t break down sobbing over a pile of clean underwear.

Part of me had looked forward to revisiting my old haunts on Mackinac Island after two years away and discovering how much had changed and how much had stayed the same. But another part had dreaded this trip in equal measure. It was that dread that had stayed my hand every time I went to pack. That had kept me lying awake at night until I logged back into RuneWorld Online to grind dungeons until exhaustion claimed me. That had weighed down the car ride here with a heavy, impenetrable silence.

I should’ve said something to break it. Whatever I felt had to be a hundred times worse for my dad. I owed it to him to pick up some of the slack—to be the strong, supportive son he needed. But the words won’t come, and before I know it, we’re pulling into the drop-off zone beside the ferry. I take in the familiar boat as I exit the car, an ache lodging in my chest I’m not sure will ever fully leave.

“You got everything?” my dad asks. He steps around the car to join me, keeping his eyes determinedly fixed away from the lake and the island shimmering across the water like a beacon in the night.

I heft my bag and force a wavering smile. “Yep. Everything’s in here, and I left plenty of room for souvenirs. I’ll make sure to grab some of that peanut butter fudge you love.”

My dad flinches and reaches up to scrub his face. “Sounds good, son. Say hi to the Lindmans for me. Carol and I don’t keep in touch as much as we should.”

“Will do.” I hesitate, unsure what to do next. I’d already messed up by mentioning the fudge, but I feel like I need to saysomethingto comfort him before I go, no matter how late I am.

My dad takes the choice away by wrapping me in a tight embrace. “I’m sorry I can’t go with you. I’d like to, you know that, but…”

His voice wavers, and I tighten my grip around him. “It’s all right, Dad. I understand.”