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

off to the west, dark clouds have gathered. The patch of sky below them is the darkest blue-gray. Before coming here, I’d never seen a rainstorm that way. How the rain filled the sky, from the clouds all the way down to the earth.

It’s not just an expression. You can literally see it coming from miles away.

The only way you could miss it is if you were looking the other way entirely.

And I was. I had been, back at home. I’d been so busy falling in with Kennedy and Lucy that I hadn’t realized what was going on with my own brother.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Before Tyler has a chance to reply, Delia’s car pulls into the driveway. Is she going to be mad we’re up on the roof? Mom and Dad would be, but Delia’s different.

Sadie steps out first, scrunching her nose as she stares up at us. “What the heck are you doing on the roof?”

Tyler answers first. “Watching the storm. You want to join us?”

“I think I’ll pass, but you two have fun up there.”

Delia squints at us. “Enjoying the change in perspective?”

“You bet, Mrs. Sadowski.”

When she follows Sadie inside, Tyler turns to me. “I’m sorry about your brother. Is that why you came here? To get away?”

I can’t tell him the truth: how it is and it isn’t. How getting away also makes things easier for me. How two weeks from now I was supposed to start that camp in Providence, with my two new best friends who now aren’t.

If I told him the whole truth, he wouldn’t want to hang out with me. And then I’d have no one again. So instead I say, “Yeah,” and leave it at that.

Eventually the storm draws so close that we have no choice but to come down off the roof and head inside. I’m still stuffed from the chips and salsa, but Tyler’s hungry, so we make PB&J sandwiches and take them down to the den.

There’s a huge table that Delia uses for quilting, but right now it’s empty, so we take it over, dumping out all the stuff from Goodwill. It’s just a start. But spreading it out helps me imagine things in new combinations. See what’s missing and what could be.

I flip open one of the magazines and skim through the pictures, cutting pages out now and then when something catches my eye. A sunset. A cool shot of a bird slicing over the water. The most vivid blue butterflies I’ve ever seen. None of them are quite right for my Becca box, but maybe they’ll work for another one. Maybe something will come together that’s perfect for the art contest.

Tyler thumps the table with a stack of books from his backpack and starts reading the first one. It’s thick—at least twice as long as my buffalo book. Hey, maybe that’s what another shadow box could be about. Bison! I pop over to my room for the buffalo book.

Soon I’m jotting down notes about bison in my sketchbook, not knowing where it’ll take me, but jazzed about the possibilities. Bison may look enormous, but it turns out those guys can run. Up to thirty-five miles per hour in short bursts. Way, way faster than my mom. Maybe even faster than Austin when he used to sprint.

Not only can they move fast, but they can turn quickly while running, like if they need to dodge something. They’ve got excellent hearing and a keen sense of smell, but they can’t see very well for a distance. Like Dumbledore, their body language gives off signs about their mood. A relaxed tail means they’re chill. A stiff horizontal tail means they’re excited. And a tail pointing straight up means watch out. That buffalo is angry and might charge you.

I write it all down, not just because it could help with a shadow box, but so I’ll remember in case we make it out to Yellowstone later this summer.

“I give up,” Tyler says, setting that thick book down on the table. “There are way too many characters to keep track.”

“What’s the book?” He holds it up to show me. Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy. “Isn’t that an adult book?”

“Yeah. And it’s Russian, so everyone’s name has a bajillion syllables. But I like how it starts.” He flips it open to read aloud. “ ‘All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.’ I know that Tolstoy guy is dead and lived in Russia like a hundred years ago or something, but he totally gets it.”

My mind flashes to a few hours ago on the roof—what I told Tyler about Austin. Does he think my family is unhappy?

Are we?

This feels like my chance to ask about why he doesn’t live with his parents. “Your mom and dad…” I start to say, but I don’t know how to finish. I can’t say, are they dead? “Do you… still see them?”

Tyler fiddles with the cover of the book like he’s trying to figure out how much to say.

“I don’t even know who my dad is,” he says. “And my mom… well, I could see her. I’m not going to, but I could.” His eyes flash up at me before returning to focus on his book. He clears his throat. “You’re probably going to find out anyway, so I might as well tell you.”

“You don’t have to,” I say, though I don’t know what he’s talking about. Something Delia would know? Sadie?

“Today was so nice. Too nice.” He stands up, gathering his stuff together. “I guess I should’ve known it would end.”

“Tyler, stop. What are you talking about?”

He zips his backpack up quickly and heads for the door.

“Tyler, wait!” The chair falls to the floor behind me as I jump up from where I’ve been sitting. He’s surprisingly fast, up the stairs and out the front door before I catch up with him.

“Don’t leave,” I say, breathless. You’re my only friend here. “I get it. I do.