Where We Used to Roam by Jenn Bishop (best novels to read in english .TXT) 📗

she’s really up for having all three of you goons. But assuming she’s game, yeah, why not? Speaking of goons, what’s Becca got lined up for the summer?”

“Probably going to that camp at Harvard,” I replied, staring out the window. I hadn’t asked her about it, actually. But given that nothing else about Becca seemed to be changing this year, why would that?

“I know your mom might feel differently, but I get it, E. I remember drifting apart from some of my friends at your age. Remember how close Austin was with Ryan Abreu before he transferred to BB&N? I’m sure if you ever wanted to talk about it with him—”

“Because he’s so accessible…”

“Emma.”

“You didn’t even give him a hard time for what happened yesterday.”

“That’s not true. Mom and I had a good long chat with your brother last night. He’s grounded for the next month.”

A whole month? I turned back to Dad. He wasn’t serious, was he? His mouth formed a firm line as he stared out at the sea of red taillights in front of us.

He cleared his throat. “This winter hasn’t been easy for any of us. But spring’s right around the corner, and I’m hoping a change in the weather will make a difference for Austin. Everyone faces adversity at some point in their life, but it’s what you do with it that shows your true character.”

Since when had my dad turned into a motivational speaker? I pulled out my phone to text Kennedy and Lucy. Dad said yes. He wants to talk with Lucy’s grandma. ART CAMP, HERE WE COME! I followed it up with every art-related emoji I could find.

Later that week, on Wednesday, I was all caught up on my homework, snuggled under my comforter with the iPad to watch this scary Netflix show Lucy had told me about, when I heard Austin’s door open.

After dinner Mom had run over to the store to help Betsy process a huge shipment of sneakers that had come in ahead of the Boston Marathon, and Dad was playing basketball in his pickup league.

I thought maybe Austin was coming over to hear more about art camp, since Mom registered me today, but as he walked past my room, it sounded like he had sneakers on. What did he think he was doing, sneaking out? He was grounded. Super grounded.

“Austin?”

He stuck his head in my room. “Yeah?”

“You going somewhere?”

“Just heading out for a sec.”

Did he think I was born yesterday? “Aren’t you grounded?”

He cocked his head, eyeballing me. “What? You on my case now too?”

It was only then that I noticed the dark circles under his eyes. How his skin didn’t look as pink and healthy as it used to, but like he was coming down with something.

“No,” I said quietly.

I wanted to say something more. Mom and Dad weren’t around. It was just us. I should have asked him what was really going on.

“At least someone’s still on my team.” He wasn’t wrong, exactly. I was always on his team. But I hated the way he said it: like Mom and Dad weren’t when of course they were.

“Don’t say anything to Mom and Dad, okay? I’ll be back in ten minutes, tops. And then I’ll work on my damn history project, all right?” He thumped his palm on my door before disappearing down the hallway.

I heard the front door open and slam shut, and then the engine of Austin’s car—well, Mom’s old car—motor up.

I unpaused my show, but I couldn’t focus on it. That bad feeling I’d had about my brother on and off ever since February was back, stronger than ever. Except this time he wasn’t in his bedroom all by himself with the door closed, saying he was busy when he clearly wasn’t.

But maybe this was worse. He was leaving, and I didn’t know where he was going. He hadn’t even bothered to come up with a lie. No, worse: I hadn’t even asked him.

I just let him go.

Was it because I’d gotten used to it? This new version of my brother that had evolved over the past few months? If I stopped and thought about it too much, the truth was, I didn’t recognize him anymore. My brother, the one who was always busy before. Who always had a girlfriend. Who always had sports and so many friends but who now spent way too much time in his room, holed up by himself doing who knows what.

I paused my show again to check the time. Only five minutes had passed. I pressed play and watched a scene. Checked again. Ten minutes.

Come on, Austin.

Mom and Dad wouldn’t be out all night. They both said they’d be back before I went to bed.

Another ten minutes passed, and I was about to text Austin when I heard a car pull into the driveway. That better not be Mom or Dad, or you’re in for it, A.

But when the door opened, I heard only one set of footsteps and no “hello.” A minute later Austin passed by my room. He didn’t pop his head in to say thank you or anything, just went right into his room, closed the door, and turned his music up until I reached for my headphones to plug into the iPad.

You’re welcome.

Part of me wanted to go in there and just say that to his face. Spit it right out at him. But then part of me was chicken. Part of me would always want my big brother to love me.

There were a million parts of me that night. But all of them stayed in the bed, deep under the comforter with the iPad. The truth was: I had no idea what happened in the show. All I could think about was Austin.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Maybe it was knowing I’d spend part of July at the RISD art camp or maybe it was needing something to distract me from whatever was going on with my brother, but that