A few songs later, Juniper dropped her hands to her knees, panting. “I’m exhausted,” she announced, wiping sweat from her forehead. “Wanna go sit down?”
Ethan nodded, feeling his heart knocking heavily against his rib cage. He took a half step back, about to follow her off the dance floor, when his foot caught on something and he went sprawling onto the grass.
“Oof.” He blinked the air back into his lungs. Looking up, he saw Juniper’s concerned face—and next to it, Noah’s. Grinning.
“Sorry,” he sneered. “Guess my foot slipped.”
“You’re a jerk.” Juniper glared up at Noah as Ethan pushed himself to his feet. “Go away, Noah.”
“I was just trying to dance,” Noah said. “He got in my way.”
“Well, then, you’re a bad dancer,” Juniper retorted.
Ethan said nothing, still a bit stunned by the fall. Before Noah appeared, Ethan had been feeling like he was finally living up to the nickname Juniper had given him—Chameleon. Blending in, as much as he could. But now, as Noah loomed over him, Ethan felt that security slip away—he could feel everyone’s eyes on him.
“And you’re a freak,” Noah responded. “Maybe even a bigger freak than blackie over here.”
Ethan bristled. In front of his family, Noah had been cold but not rude—he’d kept up his manners. Away from them, all bets were off. Ethan knew he had to get out of here before the situation escalated.
Thankfully, a soft voice called out, “Come on, Noah, lay off,” and Ethan turned to see Courtney a few feet away, her arms crossed over her chest. “I just wanna dance. Let’s go.”
Noah glanced between Courtney and Ethan, seeming ready to hurl another insult before Courtney raised an eyebrow. He glowered, then spat onto the grass. “Fine,” he muttered, stomping toward his girlfriend. “See ya, freaks.”
The warmth and exhilaration of dancing had long left his body by the time Ethan watched Noah walk away—despite the summer sun bearing down on them, he felt a sudden chill.
“They’re stupid,” Juniper said. “Just ignore them.”
Easier said than done, Ethan thought, but followed Juniper off the dance floor. They made their way back to the picnic blanket and Juniper flopped down on her back, her hair trailing into the lapping water. He knelt beside her and squinted out over the lake, watching people in rowboats racing swimmers through the gentle waves. As he swatted absently at the bugs that hid among the reeds, he tried to forget about Noah for a second time that day.
“Hey, Chameleon,” Juniper said after a while, tugging the leg of Ethan’s pants. One freckled arm was draped across her eyes.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
She shook her head sleepily. “Okay. That’s not what I was going to say, though.”
He glanced down at her.
“I was just going to say, I really like the Fourth of July. It’s the only time of year when”—she yawned—“the whole town comes together like this. It feels like I’m part of something.”
Ethan wished he could agree. It was hard to feel patriotic in a place where he wasn’t welcome. It seemed impossible that this could be his country, too, when he so obviously did not belong. As if sensing his unease, Juniper felt around for his hand and, when she found it, squeezed it tightly and didn’t let go.
“Wake me up when the fireworks start,” she mumbled, then rolled onto her side and fell asleep.
Darkness crept in a few hours later, and Juniper was still fast asleep, snoring lightly. Ethan had brought along a novel and was sixty pages in when the sun sank too low for him to make out the words on the pages.
He tapped Juniper with his foot. “Wake up.” She groaned loudly and rolled away from him. “June,” he said, leaning over so that his lips were a few inches from her ear. Covering his mouth with one hand, he attempted to make a staticky sound, like a radio interference. “This is Chameleon delivering a secret message for Starfish. Come in, Starfish. Do you read me?”
After a pause, Juniper rolled over, smiling slightly, but didn’t open her eyes.
“Starfish, HQ has informed me that the entire country is at risk and will probably explode if you do not accept this message.”
Juniper lifted a hand to her mouth and opened her eyes. “This is Starfish reporting for duty,” she said. “What’s the message, Chameleon?”
Thinking quickly, he blurted, “The boatman is in the torpedo. I repeat, the boatman is in the torpedo. Detonation scheduled for T-minus ten minutes.”
“Well then, Chameleon”—Juniper grinned and sat up—“I guess it’s time to move out.” She turned and glanced over her shoulder at the lake, where Gus was standing on the deck of a sturdy wooden motorboat, steering it toward the center while holding a package of fireworks under his arm. Above him, the sky had gone dark.
“Come on,” Juniper urged, jumping to her feet and pulling Ethan with her. “We have just enough time to get up there before the show starts.”
Ethan raised an eyebrow as she tugged him through the crowd and toward the trees. “Get up where?”
She glanced back at him and smirked, a twinkle in her eyes. “The best seats in the house,” she said. “You’ll see.”
Ethan gave a silent thanks that he was a runner as she took off through the dim forest, dust flying up in her wake. He kept on her heels, marveling at the ease with which she navigated through the trees, when to him every trunk and branch looked exactly like the last. Somewhere behind them, he heard the dim sounds of the barbecue, but Juniper’s billowing flag skirt pulled him deeper into the woods.
When they emerged from the trees, panting, they were standing in a small meadow. He recognized it vaguely as the place where Juniper had found him after his phone call with his father—he could hardly remember how much time had passed since then. And there, perched majestically before them, was Alligator Hill, sloping gently skyward.
“Look at the moon,” Juniper marveled, pointing to the top of the hill. It loomed in the sky, low and huge and nearly full. Ethan thought that if he stood on the hill and reached up, he could pluck it from the sky and hold it in his hands.
Juniper seemed to have the same idea, because she cried, “I’ll race you up there!” and took off sprinting up the grassy slope.
“Oh, no, you don’t!” Ethan shouted, his arms pumping as he took long strides toward Juniper. He’d always been good at running uphill, and it wasn’t long before he was side by side with her, then passing her, sticking out his tongue as he reached the top and dove to the ground, his heart racing faster than his legs ever could.
Juniper surfaced a few moments later and dropped down beside him, panting heavily. “All right, Ethan Harper, you win,” she breathed. “This time.”
“Every time,” he retorted.
She slapped his arm. “Shut up and look over there.” He followed her arm as she pointed ahead of them. They were high enough above most of the trees that they could just make out the moonlight reflected on the lake and a few people milling around. Even here, so far from the crowd, Ethan could just barely make out the sound of the band.
“Shh,” Juniper whispered, though he hadn’t spoken. “It’s starting.”
Right on cue, a familiar drumbeat rose up from the trees, getting louder every moment. Juniper clambered to her feet and placed her right hand over her heart, facing the lake. After some hesitation, Ethan did the same. He wasn’t sure how, but when a girl’s powerful voice began to sing the lyrics to “The Star-Spangled Banner,” the words cleared the forest and floated right into his ears.
“That’s Courtney, Noah’s girlfriend,” Juniper whispered in his ear. “She’s been singing it every year since she was twelve. She may be friends with terrible people, but she has some voice.”
For all anyone could tell, the entire state of Alabama went silent as Courtney sang. Ethan wasn’t feeling particularly full of lo
ve and pride for his country, but he could imagine every person from Montgomery to Birmingham stepping out of their houses and turning toward Courtney’s voice. Beside him, Juniper had tears in her eyes.
It wasn’t until the very last note that Ethan heard the faint whine of fireworks, and as Courtney’s “brave” petered off into silence, the sky exploded in light. He couldn’t help but gasp as the fireworks flew up above the lake, seeming only inches away as they burst into colorful, glittering streamers. As one faded, another would take its place, and even Alligator Hill shook with the shattering booms.
As the show went on, Ethan and Juniper sank back into the grass. The night sky shimmered under the watchful eye of the moon and Juniper tilted her head skyward, drinking in the moonlight through the trees. Suddenly, as if inspired by some omnipotent force, she let out a triumphant howl. The sound of it brought chills rising on Ethan’s arms.
“Wow,” he said. “Maybe we should add wolf to your list of animal nicknames.”
She did not respond, but smiled, and the fireworks reflected in her eyes.
Juniper had told Ethan that Gus had an endless supply of firecrackers, and that seemed to be true. Whenever he thought it was over, that whining sound would pierce the air again, and sparks would fly above the trees. Time seemed to slow and then stop completely as they lay on top of Alligator Hill and watched the sky. Between explosions, Juniper would point out the stars.
“That’s Orion’s Belt, I think,” she said, tracing her index finger along a row of three twinkling pinpoints. “Remind me to add that to our list, okay? To learn the constellations?”
Ethan nodded sleepily. “Deal.”
Eventually, there was a suspenseful screeching louder than all the others. Juniper reached out and gripped Ethan’s hand. “This is the grand finale,” she whispered.
And was it ever. The entire sky seemed enveloped in this last display, an explosion of confetti rockets that reached out past the forest, the cities, and the oceans to touch every corner of the Earth in a dizzying swirl of color. Even after the fireworks had faded away, and the night air had found silence, Ethan’s ears still rang.
“By gosh,” he murmured, still looking up.
“Yeah,” Juniper agreed. “By gosh.”
Down below, they could hear the faintest sound of the band striking up a celebratory melody, but it was years away. The moon was right above their heads, seeming to offer them a smile. Juniper sighed. They closed their eyes and breathed as stardust fell from the black satin night sky and settled on their cheeks.
Eleven
That was the beginning of many good days. Something changed in the air—a shift in the wind or a settling of the dust—and it seemed that the entire town had taken a deep breath and let it out in a sunny stream. Ethan wasn’t sure if his eyes were playing tricks on him or if Juniper’s face really was especially radiant when she skipped into the Malt that next afternoon, with a wicker basket in one hand and a watering can in the other.
“Hurry, hurry, hurry,” she urged, dancing from foot to foot as Ethan slung his apron on the peg. “Project Invincible Summer starts right now, and anything slower than top speed is way too slow.”
“Okay, okay,” Ethan said. “I’m coming.” With a nod to Uncle Robert, who had just emerged from the kitchen, he followed Juniper out the door. They circled to the back of the store, where their bikes leaned against the wall, and he asked, “So, what’s the plan for today?”
Juniper shook the basket before hanging it from her handlebars. Ethan glanced inside and raised his eyebrows, surprised to find that it was filled to the brim with black seeds. “Sunflowers,” she declared. “By the time we’re done today, there will be sunflowers ready to grow all over town.”
Ethan made a face. “I don’t get why you chose sunflowers. They’re basically weeds.”
Juniper frowned at him as she mounted her bike. “They’re misunderstood,” she retorted. Then, as an afterthought, “But still beautiful.” Then she pedaled off down the lane, and Ethan had no choice but to follow.
Their first stop was a patch of dirt near the edge of downtown. The few blades of grass that poked from the earth were a sad, brownish hue, and Ethan wondered how anything could ever grow from such a helpless plot of land. But Juniper was already on her knees, her yellow skirt no doubt becoming ridden with stains. She scooped a handful of seeds from the basket and dropped half into Ethan’s outstretched palm.
“You know how to do this, right?” she asked.
Ethan shook his head. “My little sister tried to grow some tomatoes in our backyard once. They all died.”
Juniper winced. “All right,” she said. “Well, then, I’ll show you. Come on, kneel down.” Ethan did so carefully, making sure to avoid the dirtiest parts of the ground. June, utterly oblivious, shifted comfortably in the mud.
“First, you have to pull out the weeds,” she began, tugging at a few serrated stems and tossing them into the road, “or they’ll stop the plant from growing. Then”—she jumped up, reached into her bike basket, and pulled out a small bag and a shovel—“you have to add some fertilizer.” She reached into the bag and drew out a fistful of white pellets then sprinkled them onto the soil. “Swirl that around, would you?” she said, and Ethan did. “I’ve been watering spots all over for the past few days to make sure the soil is ready, so now we can just plant.”
Leaning over the small plot, she dragged the shovel in a straight line, creating a long, shallow ditch. When she finished, she tossed the shovel aside and dropped seeds in. She nudged Ethan, and he did the same.
“Next, you cover it with soil,” she said, smoothing loose dirt over the seeds and patting it gently down. “Then water it—you can do that.” Obligingly, Ethan took the watering can from her handlebar and tilted it over the row so that water flowed down in a gentle stream. Juniper grinned when he was done.
“That’s it?” he said, squinting at the wet dirt.
“That’s it,” Juniper confirmed. “All that’s left to do is wait. Now come on.” She gathered her supplies and loaded them onto her bike. “That’s one spot down, but we’ve got a whole lot more to go.”
They pedaled slowly toward the lake, taking their time in the lazy afternoon sun. “Where’d you learn to garden?” Ethan asked as they rode.
“I didn’t,” Juniper replied, then explained, “My mom had an amazing garden when she was my age. Rhododendrons, camellias, orchids, daffodils—you name it, she planted it. What’s it they call someone who’s good with plants? Oh right, a green thumb. Well, she had one of those, all right. She even won some prizes. Imagine that! Here she was, a girl in Ellison, winning prizes. She was something, my mom was. Or so I’m told.”
For a moment her smile faltered, and Ethan slowed his bike, unsure what to say. But before he could decide, Juniper shook her head and stood suddenly on her pedals, coasting for a moment before glancing back with a grin.
“Anyway,” she continued, her voice bright, “no one ever taught me how to do this stuff, it was just kinda natural. I guess I was just born with flower petals in my blood.”
Ethan nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I guess so.”
By the time the sunset smeared pink and orange across the horizon, they had planted sunflowers in thirty-two spots around town and, despite his efforts to stay clean, Ethan was covered in dirt. Now he and Juniper sat on the dock, their bare feet dangling in the lake and tall glasses of lemonade—courtesy of Gus—in their hands. Juniper had a streak of soil on her forehead.
“The town will be so pretty when it all grows in.” She sighed and took a long sip. “I’ll betcha when you come back next summer, you won’t even recognize the place.” Ethan didn’t reply, and she frowned. “I mean,” she said quietly, “you are coming back next summer, right? At least to see the sunflowers?”
Ethan paused. Truth be told, for the past few weeks he hadn’t thought o
f his life more than a few hours in advance. The summer seemed endless in Ellison. But in less than two months, he realized, he would be in the car headed back up to Arcadia, back to his dad and the twins, to the track team and his friends, and even Samuel Hill. It would be his sophomore year. But as he sat by the water and sipped his lemonade, that life seemed a thousand years away.
He glanced over at Juniper, who was staring at him with watery blue eyes, still waiting for an answer. He chewed on his bottom lip and felt the silence between them as a weight on his shoulders. His glass was sweating into his hand.
Finally, with a small sigh, he shook his head. “Well,” he said softly. “I guess I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know?”
Ethan shrugged, keeping his gaze focused on a ripple in the center of the lake. Juniper pulled her feet out of the water and hugged her knees to her chest. The dirtied hem of her skirt landed in a damp spot on the wood.
“Maybe I asked the wrong question,” she said softly. “Maybe what I shoulda said is, what don’t you know? Whether you can come back, or whether you want to?”
Ethan felt shame warm his cheeks under Juniper’s prying stare.
“Well?”
Setting down his glass, Ethan turned to her. “I meant what I said, okay?” he said, harsher than he intended. “You’re great, June. All of our adventures so far—they’ve been great. But it’s not easy to be here. For me.”
“You think I don’t know that?” She ran the heel of her hand against her freckled forehead. “I’m trying my best. And for the record, it’s not easy for me to be here either.”
“It’s not the same.”
The Invincible Summer of Juniper Jones Page 11
