The wind chilled his cheeks, his bare arms. The trees along the street groaned. He rubbed his hands over his face. He didn’t want to live on a boat, and he definitely didn’t want to live with Dad. Not after that day at Alki Beach, the way Dad had made him feel. It’s time to give up those stories anyway. None of it’s real. You know that, right? You’re not a hero rescuing some girl queen.
Dylan shut out Dad’s voice. He could go to the lake, maybe. He and Hunter had always said they’d go live there someday. That they’d sleep right in the sand, on the man-made beach. Some people do that, his brother had once told him, sleep wherever they get tired at the end of the day, in places where it’s really warm. Just like in fantasy novels, where there always seemed be a pile of hay or some springy grass and a sky full of stars overhead.
He still had the boot money in his pocket. Forget the boots, he’d have to spend it on a bus ticket now. Dylan could go to the lake, try to get his head straightened out for a little while.
He could even get a job at the sandwich place they always ate at.
He realized he was heading for the pawnshop, to where he knew Chess would be tonight. He let his feet take him there.
Through the glass front he saw her inside, rummaging through a cardboard box that had left a wide trail through the dust on the floor. His heart went brittle at the sight of her. He reached for the door handle.
“Forget the cash?” Chess said without looking up. “That bagel place should keep a tab for you. You probably account for about half their business.”
She thought he was Hunter again.
“Hey, don’t forget my mom’s stopping by later,” she said. “Best behavior, okay?”
She walked over to him, and Dylan didn’t know if she realized her mistake or not. He didn’t want her to. “I don’t have bagels,” he said weakly.
“Don’t sound so sad about it.” She wrapped an arm around his waist.
Dylan’s heart sped up.
“Hey, you brought one of the books I asked about,” Chess said.
She’d asked about it? “Yeah,” Dylan said absently, setting the Narnia book on the counter. He could think of little else than her hand on his hip. He prayed she wouldn’t realize her mistake.
Chess gestured at the cardboard box. “I picked this up at a garage sale. Serious bargain. It’s all stuff you could make a profit on, I swear.”
She held out a battered fedora. “For your brother.”
“My brother?”
“Trust me, it’s perfect for Dylan. Straight out of Indiana Jones.” She stuck it on her head, tilted it over one eye. “He’s got to be into that.”
Dylan felt weak all over. All he could manage to say was “Not the Crystal Skull one.”
“That one’s crap compared to Temple of Doom.”
Dylan got a sudden flash of Hunter sprawled next to him on the corduroy couch in their living room, humming along to the theme that would stick in Dylan’s head for the rest of the day. Back when Hunter would still watch movies like that with him.
“Shit, what a title.” Dylan let out a strangled laugh. Chess laughed with him.
“Don’t start,” she said. “You have no taste in movies.”
Dylan spotted Hunter coming up the sidewalk with a paper bag in hand. The bus at the curb flashed Greyhound Station. Dylan reached for the money in his pocket, his saved-up earnings. He could give it to Hunter, use his vorpal to convince him to go to the lake, just for a little while.
He imagined going to philosophy every morning in Hunter’s place, blowing off basketball practice to hang out with Chess. Just for a few days, a week. His vorpal could handle it if he tried a little harder.
Outside on the sidewalk, Hunter paused and gave the bus a wistful look.
Dylan’s mouth went dry. Had he made Hunter do that?
He backed off, backed right into a shelf, scuttled along the length of it until he was hidden from the window.
“Hunter?” Chess called from the front of the shop.
The door whooshed shut. Hunter clutched the bag of bagels. Dylan used his vorpal to make Hunter forget them, to make Chess not see them so she wouldn’t get confused.
“You didn’t pay money for that, did you?” Hunter asked, grimacing at the hat on the counter. “I don’t think anyone will buy it.”
“It’s not to sell,” Chess said. “And yes, some people would buy it.”
Hunter shrugged. “I’ll pretend you’re making sense.”
“Is your brother coming by today?” Chess asked as Hunter moved to put the hat on a stand.
“Probably not. I heard my mom saying something about making him go live with my dad.” He walked back over to her. “Don’t look so shocked. I told you he’s been cutting school like every day.”
Hunter slid his hand over her arm. Chess stepped back, her mouth twisting.
“Were you wearing a different shirt earlier?” she asked.
Hunter looked down, as though he needed to check. “No.”
Dylan glanced down at his own shirt, the one Chess must have been remembering.
Chess chewed her fingernails. Her eyes were cobwebbed with confusion.
“What’s wrong?” Hunter asked.