Where We Used to Roam Jenn Bishop (red white royal blue TXT) 📖

Her suitcase was still open on the trunk by the window. Sweaters, shirts, and jeans neatly rolled, all ready for the trip.

She sat down on the other side, one leg tucked beneath her, the other dangling free. “I’m actually kind of nervous this time.”

“Nervous? Why?”

“You know… after last summer…”

There had been a terrorist attack in the summer, but it wasn’t in Paris; it was on the other side of France. “I’m sure you’ll be fine,” I said. “It’s Paris! The Eiffel Tower, the Louvre. It’ll be amazing. Oh!” I said, suddenly thinking of something else amazing. “I have to tell you about last night.”

“What happened last night?”

“I went to this band showcase over at Ken and Luce’s old school and there was this boy named Noah and…” I told her all of it. Or at least, I tried to. It was hard to put it into words, exactly, how it felt like this whole new chapter of my life started last night. I hopped off the bed and reenacted everything.

“But you barely talked to him,” she said. “Do you think you’ll ever see him again?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe? Maybe not. But that isn’t even the point.”

“What is the point, then?” she asked plainly.

“That something was finally happening. For once, in my life. It felt like anything could happen. You know?”

“He’s just a boy, though. We have those at our school too.”

Ugh, she was being so logical. Too logical. Too Becca.

“Maybe it was one of those things where you just had to be there,” I said.

“Guess so.” The way she said it stung. And for the first time it occurred to me that maybe it bothered her, me hanging out with Kennedy and Lucy so much on the weekends. Even though Becca and I still walked to school together every day and I still came over for second breakfast every Saturday.

“It was just exciting, you know? I want my life to be more exciting.”

Just then something caught my eye in Becca’s suitcase. Sticking out of the corner was the familiar pale blue and pink of her kitty blanket. That old thing used to be thick and filled with cotton back when we were little, but now it was thin and worn, soft as an old T-shirt. I knew she still slept with it sometimes in fifth grade, but come on. We were middle schoolers now. “You’re bringing this to Paris?”

Becca pulled it out of my hands and stuffed it back into her suitcase, but not before rubbing it between her thumb and forefinger. “So? You’re wearing your lucky sweatshirt.”

“That’s different.”

“How is it any different? When they’re on a winning streak, baseball players will go days without shaving or changing their socks or lucky underwear.”

“Becca, that’s totally different. They’re…”

“They’re what?”

Professional athletes, for one. Millionaires. Cooler than you or I will ever be. But I didn’t say any of that. “Becca, it’s a baby blanket.”

“It’s not like I’m going around wearing it as a cape or something. Now, that would be weird. So what? I pack it in my suitcase and bring it to Paris. It’s not hurting anyone. Who even knows?”

“Well, for one, if someone inspects your suitcase, they’re totally going to see it.”

“And? It’s not like we know the people working customs at Logan or Charles de Gaulle.”

She had a point. “I guess.”

There was a knock on Becca’s door, and her mom peeked her head in. Dr. Grossman always dressed like she was heading off to some special occasion: the prettiest blouses, heels, neatly pressed pants. Even though she was going to spend the rest of the day on an airplane, she still looked like she’d stepped out of a catalog. “We need to leave shortly for the airport, Rebecca. Oh, hi, Emma! How’s your brother doing? Is his shoulder healing all right?”

“I think,” I said. According to Mom, who was the one who drove Austin to all of his physical therapy appointments, his shoulder was healing just fine. It was the rest of Austin I was a little worried about. He’d seemed really bummed out and irritable lately.

Dr. Grossman’s cell phone rang. “Sorry, girls, guess vacation doesn’t start until I put this thing on airplane mode.” She ducked back into the hallway.

“I should probably go,” I said to Becca. “Take so many pictures!”

“I will,” she said.

“Maybe you’ll meet a cute boy there. A cute French boy. Ooh la la!”

“Maybe,” Becca said. But she didn’t sound nearly as excited as Ken or Luce would’ve been.

Snow began to lightly fall as I made my way down the street. For the short walk home, I couldn’t stop thinking about that blanket. I don’t know how it had taken me so long to notice, but that day, it felt like a sign. Proof that Becca wasn’t ready to grow up yet. And I was.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Becca’s flight got out before the snow worsened, dumping a good foot and a half over most of greater Boston. Snowstorms were pretty much what my dad lived for, but for the rest of us, it meant being stuck inside.

Kennedy and Luce lived on the other side of town, and hardly any of the side roads were plowed out, so it wasn’t until Tuesday that we could get together. Dad was at the station and Mom was at the store, but Austin was home.

When Kennedy invited me over, I was downstairs watching TV. Austin still had another month or so till he’d be allowed to drive again.

I knocked on his bedroom door to let him know where I was going. “A?” I asked.

A small thump came from inside his room.

Knocking again, I repeated his name.

“I’m busy,” he said. But the words didn’t sound right. They sounded slurred. Almost like how he’d sounded when he got back from his surgery. “On the phone.”

For someone supposedly on the phone, he didn’t seem to be doing much talking.

“I’m going over to Kennedy’s. Lucy’s stepdad’s giving me a ride there and back. Mom and