Second Chances

I race up the staircase, shedding clothes as I go. Ballet slippers discarded by the front door, my hoodie dropped onto the wooden stairs themselves. I burst through the door to my bedroom and yank at the bun that my hair has been slicked back into since early thisthat morning. The headache that has been growing steadily begins to fade immediately as my long, wavy blond hair spills down across my shoulders. I hear the material groan as I pull mercilessly at the leotard and tights that have squeezed at my flesh for the last four hours.   It is the first Saturday after my high school graduation and I spent the entire morning inside the dance studio that my mom has been sending me to for the past ten years. I never cared much for dancing but it has always been important to my mom. And over the years she has grown more and more attached to my dancing.

I feel so relieved to get out of those awful clothes and shoes. Instead I slide on my bikini and board shorts since Mom isn't home. I lean my hands against my dresser and take a deep breath of the fresh air pouring in through my open bedroom window in an attempt to calm myself after the ruthless morning I'd had at the studio. I glance at the photo of my dad and I on the side of my mirror and smile sadly. He had been killed in a car accident when he had fallen asleep at the wheel one night three years ago. Not a day went by that I didn't think about him, didn't miss him. In the photo, I'm about ten and we are standing proudly in the bow of the boat that he had just bought for us. In the picture just above it, me and three of my very best friends are grinning like maniacs, wearing bulky life jackets, arms slung around each others' shoulders as dad snaps the photo of us in the back of our boat. It had been one of the best days of my life. We skied and wakeboarded behind our boat out there on the lake for the entire day while Dad coached each of us. I let the pad of my finger graze over the shiny photo and over the faces of those kids. I really miss those days sometimes. Ok, all the time.

I turn away from the memories frozen there and dig into the back of my closet to pull out my backpack which I keep hidden and ready for the lake at all times. I slide into a pair of flip flops, sling the backpack over my shoulder, and bound back down the stairs, retrieving my crumpled hoodie as I go. I step outside and hurry down the winding driveway, eager to get to my happy place. It's turning out to be a perfect late May day, which I had agonizingly watched while trapped inside the dance studio. It's easily in the 80's and the sun is shining brightly through the tall trees surrounding our house. I've always loved it here in Wake Forest, North Carolina and growing up with a house literally across the street from the lake has been like a dream for me. Better yet is having friends who live across said street and right on the water.

I glance quickly in either direction of the lake road and quickly stroll across. The trees are already thicker and the land slopes downward toward the lake as my flip flops crunch across the gravel drive of the beautiful lake house of my now closest friend from childhood and my home away from home. I bypass the house that I know inside and out and hurry across the immaculate lawn where the trees have been cleared away for a gorgeous view of the lake. Between the house and the boathouse farther down the property is a huge pole barn painted in a light taupe color so as to blend into the landscape. The main entry sliding doors are open as usual and I step inside. The musty smells of hay and animals hit my nose immediately and make me feel right at home. 

“Griff!” I holler and glance around the horse stables. 

“In here, Haylee!” I hear my dear friend, Griffin Michaels, call back. I stop to say hello to each of the three horses and rub their noses while they chuff at me as I walk past. At the end of the barn to the left is an office of sorts and I know that's where I'll find Griff. Sure enough he's sitting at the desk with his bare feet propped on top of it, drumming a pencil against the aged wood to the tune of the small stereo playing Awol Nation. I lean a shoulder against the doorframe and raise a brow at him. 

“Don't give me that look,” he chides, and then busts out in a huge grin while pounding his pencil even harder to the beat. Griff is about as laidback as they come. His light, wavy brown hair stands up in all different directions like he has just rolled out of bed, which is a distinct possibility. His dark brown eyes watch me as he jams to the song. “How was dance?” he asks with a smirk as he flashes his eyes at me. 

“Same shit, different day,” I shoot back at him. He knows how much I hate dancing and he loves to give me a hard time about it. 

“I'm guessing you wanna hit the water,” he replies as he slaps the 'off' button on his tunes and stands up. He's wearing a loose tank and board shorts so I know that he's up for it too. Not that it's ever really a question for either of us. As we walk through the barn, an orange cat with only three legs comes prancing over and dashes in a lazy figure eight between my legs, almost tripping me as I walk.

“Hey, Punkin,” I coo as I bend down to stroke her silky fur. Griff feeds the horses their oats while I pet and scratch the cat. I found Punkin in the parking lot of the local grocery store about two years ago. She was dirty and thin as a rail and dragging one of her hind legs as she cautiously approached me. From as far back as I can remember, I've loved animals of all kinds and have a special place in my heart for the injured and homeless ones. Punkin had no identification on so I scooped her up in my arms and drove her right over to the veterinarian's office. Lucky for me-and Punkin too-the vet was Griff's father and Punkin wasn't the first injured animal that I had brought to him. Dr. Michaels had had to amputate her mangled hind leg and she'd spent a week at his clinic. I was there when she was released, but my mom wouldn't let animals in our house. She has allergies and doesn't share my love for them. I knew that Punkin would have a hard time getting adopted with her missing leg, so I brought her to Griff's barn, as I'd done with so many rescue projects before, and she has lived here ever since. She adapted to the loss of her leg right away and now I get to see her every day.

“I'm assuming your mom is working?” Griff asks as he pours the horses some fresh water. I'm sitting down on the wood floor of the barn while Punkin rubs the sides of her face along my arms and back to claim me as hers again, as is her daily ritual.

“Of course,” I reply and Punkin meows at me for dropping my hand from her insistent pleas for attention. I love this cat. She gives me unconditional love no matter what I do each day, no matter what I say to anyone. Mistakes I've made are forgotten immediately and all she cares about is having my attention whenever she can. Most important of all is that she has free will. She lives in the barn but can come and go as she pleases and she always returns to me and Griff. Loving Punkin is easy and effortless. There are people that you can't say the same for. 

Griff assumes that my mom is working because she isn't aware that I still board . . . daily. When dad died she went on doing what needed to be done, but she'd never quite been the same mom that I'd known for my first sixteen years. She sold the boat and almost sold my gear along with Dad's. I had grabbed it all one night and ran it down to Griff's where it had been ever since. She no longer wanted anything to do with boats or watersports and didn't want me 'wasting my time' at it either. That had been Dad's passion and I think it was easier for her to try to forget. It was another reason why she wanted me to dance. That had always been 'her' thing with me, separate from the things I did with my dad.

I know there is a future for me in dance. At least that's what she wants or needs to believe. She has been such a shell of a person since his death that I don't want to do or say anything that will upset her. I don't really have to sneak to board because she hardly pays any real attention to what I'm doing unless it involves dance. I don't have the heart to tell her that I hate dance and live to wakeboard. I don't want what little of my mom is left to fracture into oblivion forever.

We walk out of the barn, Punkin at my heels, and head down to the boathouse. I can tell that Griff has already taken the boat out today. The cover is off and it's tied to the outside of the front dock instead of parked up on the winch inside one of the two bays. I wish that I could have gone with him instead of suffering in the stuffy, stiff dance studio. A loud bark rings out as we step onto the dock boards. Griff's large Shepherd, Samson, comes pounding down the length of the dock shaking it as his paws pound over the wooden slats. 

“Good boy,” Griff murmurs and scratches behind the dog's ear as he pants happily beside his master. Sam, as we call the dog, was brought to Dr. Michaels about three years ago because his owners at the time hadn't realized how large a dog he would be and couldn't keep him in their apartment any longer. They were going to surrender him to the shelter, but lucky for Sam, I was there that day with a raccoon that had been wandering around our property. I talked Dr. Michael's into surprising Griff with the Shepherd. Their eleven-year-old Chocolate Lab died the year before and I thought Sam would be perfect for Griff. 

Punkin flops down on her side in a sunny patch on the grass just beyond the dock and begins licking her paws. She's not interested in the water at all. Griff already has our gear loaded into the Master Craft so we climb in along with Sam and untie from the cleats on the dock. I push us away from the dock as Griff starts the engine, and I sit down in the bow of the boat, facing out into the water, and finally relax. My hair whips back away from my face as Griff opens the engine up. I close my eyes and break out in chills as the briny lake air speeds across my body and the sound of the engine ebbs as it leaps in and out of the water over the waves. 

There are a few people missing from this almost perfect moment and that thought is ever-present in the back of my mind. My dad, of course, would never join Griff and I on the lake again. My cousin, Brynn, had been like a sister to me when we were growing up. She'd been one of the four of us in the photo on my dresser. She never hung out with us anymore. Heck, we can barely stand talking to each other. She's a dancer at the studio too and she fits right in there. She's a stuck-up, mouthy slut now, and so are the other girls I dance with. I don't fit in there and Brynn no longer fits in with Griff and I. The fourth person in the photo was Chase Atwoood. He lived in the house next door to Griff's while we were growing up and the four of us had been inseparable. Griff and Chase were two years ahead of Brynn and I in school but that had never mattered. 

Thinking back to when Chase left town was like a knife to my heart. It was the summer before I started high school. I was fourteen and he'd been sixteen then. The four of us were meeting up at Griff's boathouse for an early morning boarding session as we often did. Chase and I were the first ones there that morning.

I arrived at the boathouse before anyone else. The crows were cawing off in the distance and there was still a thin layer of fog dancing across the surface of the nearly smooth lake. It was the absolute best time of day to be boarding, before the other boats and the breeze disturbed the stillness. It was still pretty cold out so I was wearing sweats over my bathing suit. I began unbuttoning the cover of the boat when I felt the dock swaying from the footsteps of someone approaching. I looked up over my shoulder and smiled as Chase made his way toward me. He was one hell of a beautiful boy and the girls at school did not like me much since we hung out all the time and he always chose spending time with me over them.

“Good, you can help me with this thing,” I said and pulled up another button.

He reached out and placed his big hand over mine, stopping me, and I looked back at him. My heart quit beating for a second as I took in the look on his face. He was always happy, always grinning, always joking around, but his expression was flat and serious this time. 

“I need to tell you something, Hayles,” he said somberly and a full-blown feeling of panic sank into my body. His light blue eyes looked clouded, almost like he'd been crying. I'd only seen Chase cry once when we were really young when his dog had to be put down. “We're moving to California.” 

My eyes had instantly filled with tears and I violently shook my head in denial. He had to be joking. He had to. . . 

“I just found out a few minutes ago.” He was still holding my hand in his and I could feel the warmth of his skin against mine or I would have thought for sure I was having a nightmare. He'd never talked about moving before. “We leave tomorrow morning.”

I dropped down onto my knees and buried my face in my hands as I cried. This couldn't be real. He was my best friend. Even as close as Brynn and Griff and I were, Chase was always the first one to congratulate me when I mastered a new boarding trick, the first one I ran to when something bad happened at school or when Brynn and I were crushing on the same guy. Chase was my rock. 

“Listen, Hayles,” he spoke softly as he knelt down in front of me and wrapped his arms around me. “I'll figure something out. I'll write to you and call you and I'll figure something out. I promise.”

His parents had very suddenly decided that they were tired of small town life in North Carolina and his dad had taken some big corporate job in Los Angeles, and dropped this bomb on Chase. When Chase left that morning, he took a piece of my heart with him. Brynn, Griff, and I were never the same after that. Brynn stopped hanging out with Griff and I. Maybe it was too painful to be around us without Chase. She started hanging out with the dance team girls all the time and she turned into a completely different person. It was like I had lost a sister as well. It was only about a year and a half later that my dad died and another piece of my heart was gone forever.