Chapter 34
thirty-four
Percy
I watch Chris bolt out the back door into the Royal Lilac’s gardens, my every instinct screaming at me to follow.
But he’s made it clear he wants nothing more to do with me.
Not that I blame him after how completely I’ve let him down.
Besides, even if he’d waited to hear me out, what could I have possibly said at this point to set things right?
Nothing has changed. I’m still the same indecisive coward I was that night at Huron Blue.
No, as much as it kills me to have lost him again, it’s better for both of us that I stay away. This thing between us had been temporary from the start—we’d both known that. No amount of do-overs can erase our past. Pretending otherwise would only hurt us both more than it already has.
I’d intended to repeat the bike tour today with Oshkoff on the off-chance I noticed something we’d missed.
Throwing myself into my investigation of the time loop is about the only thing that’s kept me going these past few iterations.
Staring after the source of my heartache, however, my motivation withers.
Turns out that delving into the mystery of a time loop is much less fun when you don’t have a partner along for the ride.
I force myself to trudge out front anyway.
Moping alone in my room won’t do either of us any good.
Oshkoff is talking to Quinn when I arrive.
I’d considered recruiting Quinn since Chris seems to ignore her almost as much as me these days, but that had felt like a betrayal.
She was his friend first, after all, and even if she wouldn’t remember helping me, I didn’t want to make her choose sides.
“—won’t be able to join us today,” Quinn is saying as I approach them.
Oshkoff frowns and makes a note on her clipboard. “Very well. Please inform Mr. Rawley that I hope for his swift recovery. It would be a shame if food poisoning kept him from enjoying today’s activities.”
Good thing Oshkoff hadn’t spied Chris sneaking out the back. I wonder if he’d asked Quinn to cover for him. Knowing her, she’d have done it for him even if he’d blown her off.
“Of course,” Quinn replies.
They both seem to notice me at the same time, and I fidget beneath their gazes, Quinn’s curious and Oshkoff’s impatient.
“Ah, Mr. Wentworth. There you are.” Oshkoff makes another mark on her clipboard. “I assume you’re ready to depart? I understand how important this outing was to your father.”
I know she doesn’t mean anything by it, but her comment still sets me on edge. Chris had urged me to stop living my life for others—to enjoy this trip for me and no one else. Maybe he’d had a point.
Before I can reconsider, I clutch my stomach and moan, “Actually, I don’t feel so good. I think I might have the same bug as Chris.”
Oshkoff frowns. “Are you certain? Your father invested considerable effort—not to mention money—in order to book this weekend’s excursion.”
I take a deep breath, tamping down the wild urge to shout Screw my father! “I’m sure. Maybe I’ll feel well enough to join you by dinner.”
“Don’t worry, professor,” Quinn chimes in. “I’ll keep an eye on both of them. Make sure they stay properly hydrated and get plenty of rest.”
Oshkoff hesitates before giving a stiff nod. “Thank you, Ms. Pearson. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must see to the other students. Feel better, Mr. Wentworth.”
With that, she departs, barking orders at the group gathered nearby. I turn to leave as well and realize Quinn is still standing there, studying me with narrowed eyes like I’m a particularly obtuse puzzle. A sudden flush rises in my cheeks. Did Chris tell her about us this morning?
The thought of what he might’ve said unsettles me, and I hurry past her into the Royal Lilac. My attention catches again on the back door Chris had vanished through, and an image of him smiling at me is juxtaposed with the most recent time I’d seen him, jaw clenched tight.
I had done that. I’d been too afraid to show him how much I cared, so I’d pushed him away instead. And unlike winter break our freshman year, I hadn’t even needed to flee to do it.
If this whole damn time loop is about getting us back together, then the universe made a serious miscalculation because no matter how many second chances we get, we obviously aren’t meant to work out. Our relationship is doomed to crash and burn for eternity.
I’m lost to my musings and don’t realize I have company until a throat clears behind me. I spin to find Quinn studying me again. “You okay?” she asks. “I assumed that story you told Oshkoff was bullshit, but you actually do look a little green.”
“I’m fine. Thanks for covering for me out there.”
She shrugs. “I didn’t do it for you.”
Right. In this cycle, she doesn’t even know me other than as the guy Chris shut down on the ferry.
I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to that particular oddity—of feeling intimately connected to someone who has zero memory of the time you’ve spent together.
Does any of it trickle through? I wonder.
Some lingering hint of a truth long forgotten?
Or is it a blank slate for them every time?
An interesting philosophical question…but one I’ll probably never have an answer to. Not unless I stay trapped in this time loop for far, far longer than I want to consider.
Quinn is still watching me. Seeming to come to a decision, she says, “He’s pretty torn up about you, you know.”
Well, I guess that answers that question.
My first instinct is to deny it, but the words catch on my tongue.
This is Quinn. If I can’t come out to her at this point, I truly am hopeless.
Besides, the more I think about it, the more I realize I don’t want to deny it.
To treat Chris like some dirty secret when every fiber of my being yearns for his familiar presence.
“Really?” I say instead, my throat hoarse.
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 telling him that.” She eyes me more closely. “Assuming, that is, he’s not the only one drowning 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-out told me 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 to you?”
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 to her. ”
For the first time in all the Saturdays I’ve repeated, Owen appears taken aback. His facade 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 of anything? 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.