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

to Austin, she did it a lot when I was little. Supposedly I used to be afraid of the dark, but I’ll be honest, I don’t remember that and maybe he was making it up to mess with me.

“Sure,” I said.

“Do you want me to grab your duffel out of the car, E?” Dad asked.

“I don’t need it right now,” I replied. And then we started up the stairs, just me and Mom.

My bed was only a twin, but Mom was tall and thin, and, like Lucy, she was good at squeezing into small spaces. I kicked off my shoes and lay down on the bed, facing the door. Mom climbed on behind me, slowly settling into place, her breath warm on the back of my neck. She reached out to undo my ponytail and stroke my hair, combing it with her fingers.

My hair still smelled like smoke from the campfire last night. When I closed my eyes, I could almost see Becca across the way, sitting all by herself. Meow.

They were so awful to her. I was so awful.

My pillowcase grew wet with tears, my nose so thick with snot I had to breathe through my mouth.

“I know, honey. I know,” Mom whispered.

But she didn’t. She didn’t know at all. She only thought she knew.

It wasn’t just those girls in the cabin that knew now. And I guess I should have realized that the second we started playing that stupid, stupid game with Grace Collins and Haven Mulligan. The whole sixth grade knew. And starting tomorrow, when we returned to school with everyone else, it would only get worse.

“Oh, my girl,” Mom said. “I always thought I was so lucky. I had these two kids and they were so, so good. Such good kids. Not that you and Austin never gave me something to worry about. But it was never anything big. Never anything like…” She sniffled. “At least I don’t have to worry about you.”

Her saying that only made me cry harder.

I couldn’t tell her the truth: that I was about as far from a good kid as you could get. I’d covered for Austin that night when he sneaked out, when he was grounded back in late March. Had he gone out to buy drugs then? I should have said something to Mom and Dad, even if it made Austin mad at me. Never mind what happened with Becca. For three straight days, they’d humiliated her. All because of me and my big mouth.

No, telling Mom any of this would only make things worse. I needed to let her believe this about me. That I was a good kid.

Even if it was a lie.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

When I finally woke up a few hours later, it was dark outside and the space beside me on the bed was empty. Downstairs, I heard voices in the kitchen. Mom’s, Dad’s, Austin’s.

So he was back now.

From my desk I grabbed my iPhone and crawled back into bed, this time under the covers. I wasn’t ready to go downstairs yet—not ready to see Austin. I still had so many questions.

But when I woke my phone up, I saw messages covering the whole screen.

From Kennedy, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it to come out like that. Can we just talk?

And Lucy. Emma, please write back. There’s something I think could help.

None from Becca, though I opened my text thread with her and swiped down, down, down. All those times this spring when she wanted to hang out but I was busy with Kennedy and Lucy stared back at me. She was the one I needed to text. I’m so sorry, Becs. I’m the worst. I don’t even know why I said anything.

But I couldn’t bring myself to text half of that. Anything, really. What if she didn’t forgive me? I couldn’t take that on top of everything with Austin.

I opened up the web browser. What was that word my parents had used to describe the kind of painkillers Austin had taken after the surgery? The kind he’d somehow found for himself. Opie-something? When I typed it into the search bar, the word “opioid” popped up. That was it.

My eyes still puffy, I scrolled through article after article. The smell of chicken tikka masala wafted up through the floor vents, and I could hear the clanging of pots and pans from downstairs in the kitchen as I flipped back to the search page and saw a headline that made my stomach drop.

OPIOIDS COULD KILL NEARLY 500,000 IN THE US IN THE NEXT DECADE

Could Austin die?

My pointer finger trembled as I clicked on the article. I’d read only the first few paragraphs when there was a knock on my door. Out of surprise I dropped my phone on my lap. “Mom sent me to check on you. It’s almost dinnertime.”

That was all he had to say to me?

I leaped up from my bed, surprised by the energy that suddenly filled my body as I whipped open the door and pummeled my brother. “How could you be so stupid? Drugs? Austin, what’s wrong with you?”

“Em,” he said, his voice breaking.

“Where did you go that night? I covered for you.”

“Emma, it’s not your—”

“Where did you go? Where?”

From downstairs, Dad this time. “Dinner!”

I stared my brother down. “You have to tell me.”

Austin raised his voice. “No, E. I don’t.” He slammed his fist against the wall, so hard I was surprised he didn’t break through it. He cursed—not at me, though. At himself. His whole face crumpled like a used paper lunch bag. I’d never seen my brother like this. Not ever. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, okay? What else do you want me to say?”

“That you’re not going to die.” The words came out of my mouth before I had time to consider what saying them out loud to Austin right then would do.

The quiet in the hallway was overwhelming as Austin held his head in his hands. A million seconds