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

“Actually, is there a Goodwill or a Take It or Leave It in town? Or a flea market?”

Tyler’s eyes light up. “You want to go shopping?”

“Sort of,” I say.

“I’m game.”

I’m all ready to slip into some shoes and leave with Tyler when I remember I’m still in my pajamas. “Can I go get dressed?”

“Nope, it’s a requirement. We can only go shopping if you stay in your pajamas.”

I laugh. “I’ll be right back.”

I’m halfway down the stairs when Tyler shouts, “Does Mrs. Sadowski still have that cat she always talked about in class? Gandalf?”

“Dumbledore,” I shout back up the stairs. “But watch out, he can turn on you in a second.”

After changing into shorts and a tank top, I grab the two buffalo postcards I filled out for my parents and Austin. I’m pulling out the address for the rehab center when the piece of paper about the art competition falls out of my backpack. There aren’t that many rules for this one. All that’s included is the deadline, information about how to submit the art, size constraints, and this: “The principles of true art is not to portray, but to evoke.”

Beneath the quote is the name Jerzy Kosinski. I don’t know who that is. An artist? Some person who runs the contest?

“Ow! You vicious beast! You’re no Dumbledore. You’re Draco Malfoy. You’re Lord Voldemort himself. Hey, Em, this cat’s some kind of Dementor.”

“Don’t provoke him, then!” I shout back.

“I was just trying to pet him.”

Across the way, the door opens. Sadie stands in the frame, rubbing sleep out of her eyes. “Where are you headed this early in the morning?”

“To Goodwill. With Tyler.”

“Look at you, making friends already.” She nods like she’s impressed, then heads down the hall toward the bathroom.

I toss my wallet and buffalo book in my backpack, surprised by how my mouth keeps breaking into a smile. It feels good hearing that word. Could I really have a friend here already?

“Can we stop by the post office on the way?” I ask as I hop onto Sadie’s old bike outside. Tyler’s is looking a little rough—the front fender is banged up and he could use a bit more air in the tires, plus it looks too small for him.

“You got some mail to send your boyfriend?” Tyler teases.

I laugh. “No.” If some boy from back home teased me like that, I’d probably blush or feel all awkward, but I don’t with Tyler. He acts like we’ve known each other for years even though we’ve barely spent half an hour together. He’s not so closed off like people are back home. His heart feels a little more open.

Maybe it’s a Wyoming thing. Delia seems that way too.

“It’s for my brother,” I say, and then I wonder if that sounds weird. Like, wouldn’t it also be for my parents? Wouldn’t I just say my family?

But Tyler doesn’t ask that question. “Older or younger?”

“Older.”

“I always wanted an older brother,” Tyler says, almost wistfully. “What’s he like?”

“He’s…” The answer used to come so easily. Athletic. Popular. Ridiculous—well, if you spent enough time around him. But now I don’t even know where to start. I can’t tell him the truth. Tyler barely knows me. Plus, what do people think about family members of addicts, anyway? That they should’ve known? Should’ve been able to do something to stop it?

Sometimes I think that deep down, part of me was in denial. I couldn’t believe something that bad could be happening with my brother.

“I know. It’s pretty impossible to describe someone you know that well. Maybe someday I’ll get to meet him. Do you guys FaceTime?”

We would if he weren’t in rehab. But then again, if he weren’t in rehab, I wouldn’t be here in the first place. Just as I’m about to say something vague back, I notice an animal in the grassy field off to the side of the bike path. With the body of a deer and long, twisty horns, it looks like something out of a safari exhibit at the zoo. “What the heck is that?”

“The antelope? They’re basically like squirrels,” Tyler says.

“Like squirrels? Have you seen a squirrel? That thing’s huge and—”

“Not technically like a squirrel. Just as in how many there are around here. How have you not seen any antelope yet?”

I shrug, relieved that the antelope has gotten us off the topic of my brother.

At the post office, I hop off my bike, careful to keep my hand over the address on the postcard. I don’t want anyone—not Tyler, not even a stranger—to see where it’s going.

After I slide the postcard in the blue box, I can’t help but think about the other three in my bag. Becca has no idea I’m in Wyoming. Unless my mom decided to tell hers. What’s my mom even saying to people, anyway? Like when she runs into someone we know at the grocery store? When people back home ask how the kids are, can she answer like she used to, not skipping a beat, “Oh, they’re great”? Even though one of us is in Wyoming and the other in rehab?

As weird as it is for me here, it’s got to be weirder back home for Mom and Dad.

When we get to Goodwill, the cool air-conditioning hits me and it’s like diving into a pool on a hot summer day. “Ahhh,” I say, throwing my hands up in the air. I can’t help myself. I don’t know how Tyler wears pants in the summer here.

“So, what are you looking for?” Tyler asks.

“I don’t know.” It’s the truth. It’s also why most people back home hate to shop with me. I head to the back of the store, where I always start, to the shelves of odds and ends, housewares, et cetera, where you never know exactly what you’ll find. I pick up a tarnished spoon, holding it up to the light.

“Mrs. Sadowski’s silverware not good enough for you? Though, I’ll be honest, that one looks like it’s seen