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

Great one coming up on the right,” Mom said. A Peter Pan bus had broken down on the shoulder.

Becca and I locked eyes. “Tag team!” We took turns concocting an elaborate story about how the bus driver had spent his whole life searching the streets of Boston for his long-lost love, only to find her today. Unfortunately for both of them, she was now trapped in the bus bathroom and it was about to explode.

Lucy and Kennedy were waiting for us at the stadium’s main gate. Kennedy had dyed her streak bright green for the occasion—our high school’s colors were green and yellow. She and Lucy had already written GHS on their cheeks with green and yellow face crayons.

“Luce! Ken! You’re here!” I squealed.

“Are. You. Ready. For. Some. Football?” Lucy deadpanned before breaking into a smile. “Just kidding,” she said. “It’s like a rite of passage. At least, that’s what my dad said. Everyone should go to one high school football game in their life, right?”

“One.” Kennedy held up her pointer finger. “One.”

Becca coughed.

“Oh, right! Sorry. I’m bad at this. So, Kennedy, Lucy, this is my friend Becca. Becca, this is Kennedy. And this is Lucy.” For some reason I was gesturing wildly with my hands like I was on an infomercial, trying to sell Becca on all the features of my exciting new product.

“Cool,” Becca said. “Should we go find some seats?”

“Right! Right, right, right. Wouldn’t want to miss one moment of the football! Do they do cheers?” Kennedy asked. “I love me a good cheer.”

“We can teach you the cheers,” I said.

We ended up sitting a few rows back from my parents, who were sitting with all the other players’ parents. I let Kennedy and Lucy head down our row first, so I’d be right in the middle in between them and Becca.

Kennedy pulled some face crayons out of her coat pocket. “Want me to do yours?” she asked me and Becca.

“Sure,” I said right away, pointing to my left cheek. “Can you write number twenty-two here? That’s Austin’s number.” When she finished, Lucy took a picture on her phone so I could see.

“Becca?” Kennedy asked.

Becca shook her head. “No thanks. I have sensitive skin.”

Sensitive skin? Since when? We’d been getting our faces painted since we were little kids. At town festivals, ball games, the zoo. I couldn’t remember a time when Becca had ever said no to face paint. But before I had a chance to ask, the loudspeakers began playing music and we were all on our feet, bouncing in the stands.

Right out of the gate, our high school’s team, the Tigers, scored a touchdown. My arms were doing their confetti rocket thing, but instead of basking in all of the confetti that had miraculously shot out of my arms, Becca was just standing there, clapping politely. Eventually I had to stop doing it. It didn’t work the same without Becca playing along. I just looked like a weirdo.

“What were you doing there?” Lucy asked once the crowds quieted down. “With your arms.”

I gave her some of the backstory. “It doesn’t really work with just one person, I guess.”

“Well, now that we know what’s going on, we can do it. Next time!” She turned to Kennedy and filled her in. Becca had her phone out, taking some pictures of the action down on the field where Austin was.

I cupped my hands around my mouth. “Let’s go, Tigers! Let’s do this!”

Ten minutes later, when GHS scored their next touchdown, we were on our feet again. I launched my confetti rockets in the direction of Kennedy and Lucy. They basked in the make-believe shower of confetti.

Kennedy took it to the next level, catching imaginary confetti in her mouth like it was snowflakes. Chomp. Chomp. Chomp!

“That was our thing,” Becca said, so quietly I wasn’t sure I heard her right.

“What?” I asked, turning toward her.

“Nothing.” She took her seat.

I wanted to say something else, but there really wasn’t time at a football game to have a whole conversation. Especially at the state finals.

“Let’s go, Tigers, let’s go!” Kennedy shouted.

“Yeah, Tigers!” I strained, trying to find my brother down on the field.

Austin was winding up to throw when a defender from the other team slammed into him from behind. That fast, my brother went down.

Lucy grabbed my shoulder. “Is he okay?”

“Yeah, sure. He gets hit all the time.” I glanced over at Becca for confirmation that this was a normal part of a football game, but Becca’s jaw had tightened. Her gaze was fixed on the field. On my brother.

“No, Em. I’m serious,” Lucy said. “He’s not getting up.”

Down below, a ref blew a whistle. One of the trainers rushed onto the field, and another jogged out after him. The whole stadium hushed, everyone frozen in place. Except for the two people who stood up at the same time, pushing their way out of the row and down to field level. My parents.

“I’d better go with them.” I got up, my legs suddenly wobbly. My brother was still down on the ground with trainers hovering over him.

“I’m coming with you,” Becca said.

“Us too,” Lucy added.

I waved them all off, but Becca followed anyway. I scooted down our row, making my way to the aisle, and ran down the steps, nearly tripping on the metal bleachers. My hands balled into fists inside the sleeves of Austin’s old football sweatshirt, the one I wore for all his games. The one I always thought brought good luck.

So much for that.

All I could think about was what Dad said in the car. Three hundred pounds. Three hundred pounds of solid muscle, slamming into my brother. Austin was big and strong, but he wasn’t that big, not that strong. I wanted to be on the field, right there next to him, holding his hand. Even if he didn’t want me to.

By the time Becca and I were a few yards away from my parents, down at the sidelines, Austin was finally sitting up, but