Page 17 of A Thousand Second Chances

“Dress to impress, right?” I manage with a weary smile.

“Exactly!” She waggles her eyebrows suggestively. “And who knows? Maybe you’ll bag a hot island boy for your trouble.”

Her words linger with me as I lie on my bed and wait for her to get ready. When I envision grinding up against a hot guy, it’s not some local’s face that appears in my mind’s eye. No, it’s something far more tantalizing—and far more destructive.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, breaking my reverie. When I glance at the screen and see the number, I groan.Great.Just the thing to make this sucky day even suckier.I consider letting it go to voicemail, but I know from personal experience they’ll keep calling if I do. And if I missthosecalls, there will be hell to pay when I get back.

Resigned, I pick up. “Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad.” If one of them is calling, it’s a fair bet the other’s around, too.

“Christopher!” My mom’s shrill voice comes through so loud it might’ve been deafening had I not already been holding the receiver away from my ear in preparation. “I am glad we caught you. Are you safe? You know I do not like the idea of you in the wilderness.”

I roll my eyes even though I know she can’t see. “Yes, Mom. And it’s not like Mackinac Island is in the boonies. It’s only a couple of hours from campus, and—”

My grip on my phone tightens when she barrels right over me. “It is the Upper Peninsula.” She says it as though that ends the discussion. Maybe to her mind, it does. “People in the UP are not like in the cities. It is not safe, especially for someone who lives their life like you.”

It takes everything I have in me to ignore that last jab, but I manage to keep my voice calm. Relatively. “I’m fine, Mom. Like I said, it’s a school trip. There’s a teacher here and everything,along with a dozen other students.” I’m not sure what prompts my next bit of idiocy—I blame temporary insanity. “Plus, one of them is Percy, so…”

A beat of silence. “Percy?” my mom questions, clearly racking her brain. Her tone brightens. “Ah,Percy!That nice boy from high school. You two used to make quite the pair.”

“Yep,” I say, swallowing. “Used to.”

She goes on, either not noticing or opting to ignore the sudden hitch in my voice. “He always seemed like such a nice young man. And from a good family, too. You could certainly do worse when it comes to your friends.”

Interpretation—his family is loaded. To my mom, that’s about the best qualification for friendship there is. Anything to help you get a leg up in the world and ensure success.

I clear my throat. “Well, we’re not exactly friends anymore, Mom. I know I’ve mentioned how we drifted apart.”

My mom clucks her tongue. “Such a shame. Perhaps this trip will not be a total waste of your time after all. This could be your chance to reconnect. What is the phrase? Ah, to mend bridges!” Her voice grows brisk, almost business-like, as she shifts into the problem-solving mode she so often adopts when it comes to me. “I worry about you, Christopher, what with the questionable decisions you have made lately. It pains me to see you wasting your potential.”

I realize I’m pacing around my small room, too restless to sit still. “What isthatsupposed to mean?”

“You know what I am talking about. Do you not think this rebellious phase of yours has gone on long enough? Your father and I humored you when you decided to switch your Business major, but it has been almost two years. If you do not wish to do Business, fine. But you need to settle on a viable alternative.”

“I already have, Mom. I’m happy with my new major.”

“Thatwritingdegree of yours does not count. You need a major that will lend itself to more than a hobby. No matter what your less responsible friends might tell you.”

My mom had met Quinn when I took her to one of Quinn’s art shows during a campus visit. Needless to say, they didnotsee eye to eye on life…or aesthetic…or pretty much anything. She’s blamed Quinn for “corrupting” me ever since.

I try to be patient. Now isnotthe time to get into another screaming match with my mom. Not when I’m already feeling so emotionally raw. “I told you, writing’s not just a hobby to me, Mom. I don’twantanother major. I want to be an author.”

Too much of my frustration must leak into my voice because she huffs likeI’mthe one being unreasonable. “Do not take that tone with me, Christopher. You know I only meant that I am concerned for your well-being. As your mother, it is my duty to look out for you. I will not apologize for taking an active interest in my child’s life.”

I want to scream for all the good it’ll do. Instead, I grit my teeth and force out what she wants to hear. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you for apologizing, Christopher. I will not keep you—I am sure you have very important things to do on this trip of yours.” Her condescending tone makes it clear she doesn’t believe that for a second. “Just remember what I said, and make sure you do not allow yourotherlife choices to get in the way of your studies or your future.”

Though she doesn’t say it, we both know whichlife choiceis front and center in her mind. She’s never been more disappointed in me than the night I told her I was gay. And the worst part? I honestly don’t think it had anything to do with religion, or homophobia, or concern for my well-being, or any of the other usual suspects I’d worried might influence my parents’ reactions. No, whatshecouldn’t forgive was how it had derailedher carefully constructed vision of my future. As if the only reason I’d come out was to spite her.

I struggle to come up with a response I won’t seriously regret ten minutes from now.

Thankfully, my mom doesn’t seem to notice. “Talk to you later, Christopher. Have a productive rest of your trip. Here is your father.”

There’s a rustling as she hands the phone off, and a moment later, my dad’s gruff voice sounds over my phone’s speaker. “Hey, there,” he says awkwardly. “How’s the trip?”

“Good.” I slump onto my bed, suddenly wishing I had time for a nap before dinner. What would Oshkoff do if I crawled under my covers and didn’t come out again until tomorrow morning? If it was only her wrath I had to face, I might’ve gone ahead and found out. But no way would Quinn let me off the hook that easily. She’d probably break the door down and drag me there through the manure-strewn streets.

“Great!” my dad replies with strained cheer. “And school?”