The Invincible Summer of Juniper Jones (Wattpad Books Edition)

Three

It only took a week for the stillness of Aunt Cara's house— punctuated by the radio shows always playing softly in the background—to become oppressive. Ethan spent hours lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He played record after record, but soon even Ella Fitzgerald's gentle voice felt like sharp nails on the inside of his skull.

After breakfast on his first Sunday in Ellison, Ethan stood in the center of his room and dreaded the empty day to come. Aunt Cara knocked gently on the door and leaned in.

"Hey, Ethan," she said. "Your uncle and I are heading out to church."

Church, of course—however little Ethan knew about his dad's hometown, he knew how devoutly Christian it was. His dad complained about it occasionally, and now only took the family to Mass on Christmas and Easter. Ethan stared at Aunt Cara blankly, fearing an invitation and yet knowing, somehow, that it wouldn't come.

"You'll be okay here by yourself for an hour?"

Ethan nodded, resisting the urge to groan. As Aunt Cara smiled and edged out of his room, he flopped facedown onto his bed, arms spread wide. A few seconds later, he heard two sets of footsteps walking through the living room, then the front door slammed shut.

Ethan rolled onto his side, staring at the stack of comics on his desk. He'd already gone through all of them at least ten times, and even his favorites had begun to bore him. If this was how he felt after a week, he could hardly imagine the state he'd be in at the end of the summer. His dad would pull up in his Mercury on September 1 to find Ethan catatonic in his tiny twin bed, comic books and records strewn about the room. That would show him, Ethan thought, almost managing a laugh.

After half an hour spent knee deep in self-pity, Ethan finally pushed himself to his feet. "I gotta get out of here," he muttered. So far he'd only been between the malt shop and Aunt Cara's house, but there were other things to see in town—few enough that he could count them on one hand, but things nonetheless. And besides, the general store might even have a comic or two.

Ethan slipped on his shoes and hurried out the front door, making his way down the dusty road toward town. Trees towered on either side of him, branches swaying gently in a breeze Ethan couldn't feel. When he reached the edge of town, he found the main street empty—everyone, he guessed, was at the church service. He felt the tension that always gathered on his shoulders when he was in town dissipate, and he was almost relaxed by the time he pushed open the door of the general store.

The bell tinkled brokenly as he pushed into the shop. Ethan crammed his hands into the pockets of his jeans and tried to duck behind the ceiling-high shelves before he could be noticed, but he had hardly made it across the threshold before a voice called out, "I wondered when I would see you here."

Ethan looked up meekly, swallowing the sudden urge to bolt from the store. Around a shelf of various snacks, he met eyes with a bearded man standing behind the counter. His dark eyes were wide and close set, and his brown hair stuck out in thick waves from the yarmulke pinned to the back of his head. "Sir?" Ethan mumbled.

The man scratched his beard, smiled tightly, and stared at Ethan with a cool gaze. "I've heard all about you," he announced, setting his newspaper on the counter. "If people in this town are good at anything, it's running their mouths. I certainly consider it a privilege to meet the boy who has single-handedly sent them into an uproar."

Sarcasm dripped from his words like molasses. Ethan nodded and said awkwardly, "I'm Ethan."

"Oh, son—I know." The man laughed. "My name's Abrams, and I'm the only Jew around for miles. In case you were wondering. So we're not so different, you and I, in a place like this."