Where We Used to Roam by Jenn Bishop (sites to read books for free .TXT) 📕

to come up with the right thing to say. But there wasn’t anything to say that would make him feel better. It sucked, plain and simple. If someone took art away from me, I’d throw a full-on tantrum too.

“That sucks,” I said.

Mom eyeballed me. “Emma. Language.”

“Oh, come on. She said ‘sucks,’ all right? It’s not like we never hear you or Dad swear.”

I sat next to him on the sofa. “Will you get to miss school?”

Austin glanced up at Mom.

“The recovery from surgery should allow you to be back in school after New Year’s. But how about this: you can have tomorrow off. Let’s call it a mental health day.”

“Can I have one too?” I asked.

“Do you have a torn labrum?” Mom asked.

“No,” I said meekly.

“As it is, this temporary disability is going to throw a wrench in your studies, A. I know Savannah means well, but I don’t want to take advantage of her. You know, I’ll call the front office tomorrow and see if there’s anyone else who can help.”

“Great. So some rando can shadow me all day and take notes for me?”

“Can I help?” I said. “With homework and stuff?”

“I’ll learn to write with my left hand before I’m letting a sixth grader do my assignments for me. No offense, Em.”

The thought of asking if Becca could help flitted across my mind. Though if Austin didn’t want my help, he probably wouldn’t want Becca’s either.

Mom made sure Austin was okay and told us she needed to run over to the store for a few hours. Once she’d left, Austin turned on the TV, flipping through the channels for a while before settling on a Saturday Night Live rerun.

I should’ve gotten started on my homework, but instead I stayed on the couch with Austin. The episode was a good one, too, with Melissa McCarthy. With each skit, Austin calmed down more. First laughing just a little, then laughing so hard he grimaced because the laughter shook his shoulder.

I was nervous about his surgery—none of us had needed surgery before, not even Mom or Dad—but relieved he didn’t seem annoyed at me anymore.

We watched Austin’s and my favorite skit twice, the one where Melissa dresses up as Barb Kellner and tries to start a business for eating old pizzas. BARB KELLNER, PIZZA EATER, it would say on the side of her van. It reminded me of Kennedy and her obsession with our middle school’s cafeteria rolls, so I searched for it on YouTube and texted it to her.

Life goals, she wrote back.

It was only the next morning as I headed out the door that I realized I’d forgotten to text Becca about Austin.

CHAPTER SIX

A complete labrum tear. That’s what the specialists said. Basically, Austin’s tendon wasn’t attached to the bone anymore and the only way they could reattach it was with surgery. They needed to wait a few weeks for the inflammation to calm down, plus there were the holidays, so the earliest they could get him in was December 27.

But the truth is, as nervous as I was about the surgery, it went fine. The weird part was how Austin acted when they brought him home from the hospital. He was like one of those zombies from The Walking Dead—not that I’ve actually seen the show. Too scary. Still, the zombie version of Austin talked all funny, slurring his words. And even weirder were his delayed reactions. How it took him longer to laugh at something funny. And how he couldn’t follow a conversation—he was always two steps behind.

Dad said it was because he was on some strong painkillers and that he’d be like that for only a few days, which was true, but still, it freaked me out. It was unsettling, seeing someone you know well act so out of character.

But by the time we returned to school after break, Austin mostly seemed like his old self. Sure, he couldn’t play with the basketball team, but he was still going to practice and games to cheer on his teammates. And Savannah was over all the time, helping him with assignments.

Maybe, if I could go back and find the first sign that something had changed, it was that first Tuesday in February. I don’t know what it is about February, but even though it has the fewest days of any month, somehow it always feels the longest.

Every day was cold and gray. Icy snow that refused to melt crusted the edges of the sidewalks in town. The sun was setting well before five, so by the time art club was over, it was too dark to walk back home alone. Dad had been covering for Shannon Malone, the early-morning meteorologist who was out on maternity leave, so he was home in the afternoon to pick me up from school.

That Tuesday as I hopped into his Audi, he asked if I wanted to go out for ice cream. “Do you have bad news or something?” I asked.

Dad chuckled.

“I’m serious. We’re not a random ‘going out for ice cream after school’ kind of family.”

Dad pouted. “Didn’t realize I needed a reason to grab a milkshake with my favorite girl. My mistake. Should we just head home, then?” he asked with a smile.

“No.” I laughed. “Now I’m hungry for a milkshake.”

“That’s my girl.”

After savoring our milkshakes—coffee for Dad, vanilla for me—we grabbed a chocolate one for Austin.

When we got home, Savannah’s car wasn’t parked in front of our house as usual, so I offered to bring up Austin’s milkshake. I wanted to tell him about the band showcase Kennedy invited me to, which was happening at her old school over February break, and how Lucy had a crush on one of the boys in this band called Strawberry Jammin’. Kennedy thought it was the dorkiest band name ever, but I thought it was kind of cute. I liked to picture a little strawberry behind a drum kit, and another with a bass guitar.

The only concert