The Invincible Summer of Juniper Jones (Wattpad Books Edition)

Two

Ellison was silent at eight o'clock in the morning. Not even the wind could rouse itself to combat the thick summer air. Ethan trailed his uncle down the lane toward downtown. The wide dusty path curved through the trees, jutting off every now and then to reveal a driveway to another little house. Far off in the forest, bugs kept up a constant buzz. Ethan squirmed away from the bulbous flies, feeling like little insect legs were crawling up and down his body. Uncle Robert was unfazed.

It took about fifteen minutes to reach downtown—if the area could really be called that. Back in Arcadia, downtown meant six city blocks, twelve streets, two movie theaters, twenty restaurants, a hotel, and countless stores. In Ellison it was a single intersection, though the road was paved here, at least. There was a general store, a gas station, a mechanic's shop, a post office, two small restaurants that both claimed to have the best burgers in town, and Uncle Robert's malt shop. A little way down the road was the town hall, but according to Uncle Robert, the mayor had so little to do that the building sat empty most of the year. And that was all. Other amenities had to be brought in from the next town over, about a twenty-minute drive away.

Ethan was horrified.

He kept his head down and watched his sneakers scuff the pavement as he followed Uncle Robert. It wasn't until they reached a small grassy area next to the post office that he finally looked up—and jarred to a halt.

In this clearing, two benches faced each other across a bubbling fountain. Next to one of them was a flagpole, its three flags hanging limp in the absence of wind. On the top, the American flag, its forty-eight stars lost in the folds. Below it, the simple, diagonal red cross of Alabama's state flag. And at the bottom—its edges lifting in a sudden light breeze— was a pattern Ethan had seen only in history books: a red background with a dark blue X across the center that was filled with bright white stars.

Uncle Robert, a few paces ahead, noticed that Ethan was no longer following and glanced over his shoulder in annoyance. "Come on," he snapped, but he paused when he saw the path of Ethan's eyes.

"Uncle Robert," Ethan said, swallowing hard. "Why is that here?"

His uncle straightened, a defensive look coming across his features. "Well, it's an important part of our history. It'd do you well not to disrespect a cultural symbol. Now, come on."

Ethan ducked his head, feeling his cheeks burn. He forced his gaze away from the flagpole and trailed after his uncle, the sweat on his arms feeling suddenly like crawling ants. The realization was forming in the pit of his stomach that this was where his father had grown up—that he had walked these dusty streets, passed beneath that flag probably thousands of times. And still, he had sent him here.

That hot rush of anger, which had subsided overnight, boiled up again in Ethan's chest. He clenched his fists as Uncle Robert stopped in front of a pale-green storefront and pulled a ring of keys out of his pocket.

"Here we are," he said, pushing open the door. Ethan ducked in after him, taking a long, shaky breath. The malt shop, at least, looked like the one he and his friends frequented back home. Ethan saw the black and white checkered floors, the cold metal counter with the red spinning chairs, the jukebox against the wall. A wave of familiarity washed over him, and with it, a tide of homesickness. One day into his summer exile, and he was already nauseated with dread.

Uncle Robert went behind the counter of the small shop and flicked a switch, flooding the place with light. "So, this is it," he said, sweeping a hand to cover the five tables complete with sweetheart chairs, a soda fountain, and the counter. "The Malt. The life of the town."

Ethan scoffed—then realized a moment too late that his uncle was serious. "Cool," he amended, shoving his hands into the pockets of his chinos. Uncle Robert eyed him carefully.