Where Futures End by Parker Peevyhouse

bracelet onto his wrist. He did it so easily, it was clear he’d done it a million times before.
    You found that bracelet ages ago and hid it from me,
Dylan realized
. You thought it could get you back to the Other Place.
    But it would never work. Hunter’s vorpal wasn’t strong enough. It wasn’t anywhere near as strong as Dylan’s. Dylan could feel Hunter’s vorpal even now and it was weak as water.
    He’ll never get back there.
    How often had Hunter gone there when they were kids? Two, three times? Dylan’s stomach was a steel clamp. He couldn’t count the times he himself had gone.
    And every time, he’d come back with a million stories for Dad. Dad would eat it up, would tell him he had a special gift. Hunter could never compete with that, didn’t even try.
    It seemed so obvious now. All these years Hunter had been trying to make up for what he had missed out on. With basketball, with girls.
    With Chess.
    Dylan bumped against the tower of DVD players. Chess whirled at the sound, spotted him.
    Dylan wielded his vorpal, strong as a sword.
You don’t know me.
    â€œOh, I didn’t hear anyone come in,” Chess said. “What are you looking for?” Her gaze was bland, disinterested. She didn’t know him.
    Dylan opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Hunter had taken off the bracelet and was shoving it into the display. Dylan pointed to it. “How much is that?”
    Hunter’s gaze slid over Dylan. “I could negotiate. Someone else wanted me to hold it, but—” The smallest line of confusion appeared between his brows.
    Dylan’s gone,
Dylan thought at Chess.
He’s not coming back. You’ve got Hunter and he’s got you and Dylan’s long gone.
He thought it with his vorpal—
snick-snick-snick
.
    â€œHe left, didn’t he?” Chess said. “Went out on the bus. I don’t think he’s coming back.”
    â€œYou can buy it if you want,” Hunter said. “He’s not coming back for it.”
    Dylan reached for the money in his pocket. He should use it for a bus ticket. He should forget about the bracelet, forget the Other Place. He would go live with Dad, start over. No more fairy tales, no more screwing up.
    Hunter was frowning at him. Figuring out who he was? No, just waiting for an answer.
    I should tell him about the basketball game,
Dylan thought.
Tell him Dad was there.
But how could he?
Hunter thinks I’m a stranger right now
.
    He opened his mouth, trying to figure out what to say. But all that came out was “Yeah, I’ll buy it.” He put his cash on the counter.
    â€œYou want to look at it first?” Hunter said, holding out the bracelet.
    Dylan took it and turned toward the door. He wasn’t going to his dad’s. He couldn’t. The most he could do was take the bracelet away and help Hunter forget about the Other Place. Help him be happy in the real world like Dylan had never managed to be.
    â€œHey, wait!” Hunter called.
    Dylan held his breath as he walked out of the shop. The bell on the door tinkled.
    It went on tinkling, like water over rocks.
    And on and on—
    Dylan looked up. A stream cut across his path, trickling over mossy rocks. A canopy of sun-lit leaves shuffled overhead. His breath whooshed out.
    The lattice of branches all but hid a gold-roofed palace. Through a tunnel in the trees—some engineered walkway—Dylan glimpsed a distant city of glass like a gathering of soap bubbles. The cold air pricked his lungs, his eyes.
    The Other Place.
    â€œHello?” came a voice.
    Dylan spun. It was her. A bolt of electricity shot through him. She was taller and full of new angles, but with the same pale-water hair and glass-smooth skin. She’d come to meet him. She hadn’t forgotten.
    â€œYou came through yesterday, didn’t you?” she said. “And before that, of course—a long time ago. I remember