Page 2 of A Thousand Second Chances

Resigned, I follow Quinn out of the car and snag my overnight bag from the backseat. A chill wind buffets us. I shiver, tugging my jacket tighter around me. Though I can’t see Lake Huron past the crumbling buildings ringing the lot, I know it must be close.

“Shuttle or walk?” Quinn asks.

I shrug. “Either works for me. Whichever you’d…”

I trail off as I spy another gaggle of people our age piling out of a pickup truck a few rows down—three guys and a girl, all of them laughing. I don’t recognize most of them, but Devon’s dark-skinned face is impossible to forget. The last time I’d seen it, he’d been giving me the same disgusted look as the rest of the team after I stumbled out of Coach’s office, what was left of my world crashing down around me.

His gaze finds me across the parking lot, and his easy laughter vanishes. I remain frozen to the spot. I can’t tell what my expression is doing—probably something between wide-eyed panic and an answering scowl.

Quinn glances between us. “Do you know that guy?”

I don’t reply.

Devon breaks eye contact first, lips curling in a sneer as he loops an arm over the girl’s shoulder and steers his group toward the sign indicating the shuttle stop. He says something, and while I can’t make out the words, their laughter carries on the breeze.

I clench my jaw and turn away.

“Hello? Earth to Chris, come in, Chris.” Fingers waggle in front of my face, and I blink back to reality to find Quinn giving me a concerned look. “Are you all right?”

I swallow down the tight ball of anger, hurt, and betrayal seeing Devon again had conjured. “I’m fine. Just…caught off guard.”

She studies Devon, her eyes narrowing. “I take it you’re not exactly great friends, huh?”

“Something like that.” I stare at my feet and kick at broken bits of asphalt. “That’s Devon. He was on the track team with me…before.”

I’ve told Quinn enough about my past that she understands, her expression softening as she turns back to me. “Ah. Well, it’s a beautiful day out, so forget the shuttle. We might as well enjoy a nice walk.”

“It’s like fifty degrees out here!”

“Then it’ll be refreshing.”

I let Quinn loop her arm through mine and tug me along the sidewalk leading to the docks. As usual, she fills my withdrawn silence with inane chatter on everything from the dilapidated warehouses we pass to the dream she had last night, inspiring her next great art project. By the time we reach the ferry landing, most of my tension has leaked away. So what if Devon signed up for this school trip, too? I can survive a couple of days with the asshole, for Quinn’s sake.

“How patriotic,” I say, eyeing the ferry that’ll take us across the lake to Mackinac Island. Painted white and red with blueaccents, it rises two levels. The first is covered while the second, accessible via a narrow staircase, remains open. Narrow plastic seats that don’t look remotely comfortable line both levels.

Quinn beams at the ferry like she wants to adopt it and take it home with her. “It’s adorable!”

I just shake my head.

As we approach the metal ramp leading onto the ship, a frazzled-looking woman wielding a clipboard like a cudgel stalks over. Dressed in slacks and a cotton blouse, she peers at us from beneath thick black glasses with a look that suggests she knows we’re up to no good and is determined to catch us. “Are you two here for the university trip?”

“No,” I deadpan. “We’re hooligans here to steal this ferry and declare ourselves lake pirates.”

The woman narrows her eyes. “I’m afraid that’s rather less funny than you intended, young man, when you consider the exceedingly real pirates like Calico Jack and Roaring Dan Seavey who once terrorized the Great Lakes.”

I open my mouth, but Quinn interjects before I can dig my hole deeper. “You’re right, ma’am. Sorry about my ignorant friend. I, for one, amthrilledfor this opportunity to experience the beauty—and history—of Mackinac Island.”

Quinn’s honest enthusiasm bleeds through her words, and the woman harrumphs, appearing at least partially mollified. “Well, of course you are. Mackinac Island has a rich history, from its time as a fur trading post, to Fort Mackinac’s defense against Canada during the War of 1812, to the island’s eclectic mix of cultures and architectural styles. While our designated itinerary doesn’t leave enough time to fully appreciate everything the island has to offer, I’d be happy to provide you with a list of my personal recommendations.”

“That’d be great!” Quinn says.

I stifle a groan. Knowing Quinn, she probably means it, and if any of the places catch her interest, you can bet she’ll drag me along.

The woman brandishes her clipboard, and I take a hasty step back to avoid a wooden corner to the eye. “I am Professor Oshkoff, the school’s representative for this trip. While I know you are technically adults, this is still a university-sanctioned excursion.” Her gaze lingers on me, laden with thinly veiled disapproval. “As a result, I expect you to obey my instructions and adhere to our designated itinerary at all times. Failure to do so will result in an official conduct report to the school and may lead to other disciplinary action. Is that understood?”

We chorus our agreement, Quinn with considerably more gusto than me. I sneak a glance past Oshkoff to the ferry, where I spot Devon squeezed into a seat practically on top of that girl that had been with him. How much time would the school force us to spend together? Hopefully, no more than absolutely necessary.

“Good,” Oshkoff says. “Names?” She scribbles our responses onto her clipboard before offering us each a printed schedule. I reluctantly take mine. “Sit wherever you’d like. We should be underway shortly.”