The Invincible Summer of Juniper Jones

Chapter Two

        Ellison was silent at eight A.M. Not even the wind could rouse itself to combat the still summer air as Ethan trailed his uncle through the empty streets of downtown—if it 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. There was a general store, a gas station, a clothing store, a cafe, and Uncle Robert's malt shop. A little ways down the road was Town Hall, but according to Uncle Robert, the mayor had so little to do that the building was left empty most of the year. And that was all. Other amenities had to be brought in from the next town over, about a ten minute drive away.

        Ethan was horrified.

        He kept his head down and watched his sneakers scuff the pavement as he followed Uncle Robert into town. It wasn't until they reached a small grassy area between two buildings that he finally looked up—and found himself jarred to a halt.

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

        Uncle Robert, a few paces ahead, noticed that Ethan was no longer on his tail and whirled around in annoyance. "Hurry up," he snapped, but paused when he saw the path of Ethan's eyes.

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

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

        Ethan ducked his head, feeling his cheeks burn. "Yes, sir."

        The malt shop, at least, looked like the one he and his friends frequented back home. As Uncle Robert unlocked the glass doors, Ethan saw the black and white checkered floors, the cold marble counter with the red spinning chairs, the jukebox against the wall. A sudden wave of familiarity washed over him—and with it, a tide of homesickness. One day into his summer exile, and he was already nauseous with dread.

        Uncle Robert went behind the counter of the small shop and flicked on 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.

        "It's all pretty simple, nothing fancy," he went on. "Menu's only got a few items, and since you have the morning shift, you don't need to worry about closing down. You can handle this, right?"

        "Yes, sir." Ethan nodded. It seemed that conversation with his uncle shrunk his vocabulary down to these two words. He didn't have the voice to mention that back home, he had worked at the local McDonald's for nearly two years. He also wasn't completely sure if anyone in this town had ever even seen a McDonald's.

        "All right, well." Uncle Robert cleared his throat, ran a hand over his stiff hair. "Let me show you around, give you a tour of the place."