The Invincible Summer of Juniper Jones

by Daven McQueen

  Now, running through a stretch of forest he’d never seen before, Ethan thought of taking care of Anthony and Sadie, sometimes teaching his dad how to parent them—and he thought of how it had always seemed like his dad had been more interested in them than him. He’d always brushed it off, figuring it was just because they were younger. But now, picturing their rosy cheeks and wavy hair, he couldn’t help but wonder.

  His dad had taken the phone from the twins soon after, and Ethan heard their laughter fading into another part of the house. “So, everything’s going good?” his dad said after a moment. Ethan imagined him leaning against the kitchen counter where their phone sat, his elbows on the white tiles.

  “Yeah,” Ethan said.

  “Good, good. Well, in that case—”

  “Did Mom want me to come to Ellison too?” Ethan hadn’t realized he was going to ask the question until the words were already out. His heart pounded loudly as his dad sat in a seemingly stunned silence.

  “Well.” His voice changed in the way it did when he wanted to brush aside a topic without explaining it, the way he had when Ethan was ten and asked where babies came from. “Well,” he repeated. “Actually, your mother doesn’t know that you’re there.”

  Ethan pulled the phone away from his face and gaped at it, as if it could explain. He felt suddenly distant from his body, as if he was hearing himself speak from somewhere above his own head. “Sorry, what?” Ethan’s voice was tight and low. “You didn’t tell her that you sent me to this shit—”

  “Language.”

  “—to this shit town?”

  Ethan could feel his dad bristle on the other side of the phone. “When was the last time your mother called you, Ethan?”

  “Two months ago. My birthday.”

  “Okay, and before that?”

  Ethan paused, counting. “Maybe Christmas?”

  “Exactly.” He sounded smug.

  “Exactly what, Dad?”

  “Your mother is not around,” he snapped. “She lives a separate life now. She calls you on holidays. I’m the one who takes you to school, who makes you dinner, who pays for your running shoes—”

  “Dad, stop.” Ethan squeezed his eyes shut, trying hard to call to mind his mother’s face. He saw, instead, his own eyes, nose, mouth—his own skin. He remembered holding his mother’s hand as a child, how the brown of their wrists made one unbroken line. It was so easy back then, when neighbors would comment on how much he looked like her and he’d beam with pride, turning his face skyward to show off the dark cheeks she’d gifted to him.

  In Ellison, his mother’s gift was nothing to be proud of. His dad had known this, Ethan was sure—it was the knowing that had made him so uneasy as he’d moved through Aunt Cara’s house, the knowing that twisted up his features as he drove away. But it hadn’t stopped him, because he would never understand. He could list all the things he had done for Ethan, gather mountains of material proof of his love, and still he would never know what it was like to be in Ethan’s skin. Even Ethan didn’t know completely what stood against him. But his mother did, and he was certain that if she’d known what his dad was planning, he never would have ended up in Ellison.

  “I’m doing this because I care, Ethan.” His dad was shouting now. “I care about the man you are becoming!”

  “But she’s my mother!” Ethan screamed, surprising himself with the volume. It seemed to shock his father, too, because when he spoke again, his voice was softer.

  “I know,” he said, as Ethan breathed heavily into the line. “I know, I’m sorry. She is your mother, and she loves you. But I’m your father and your legal guardian, and I make the decisions.” He paused. “And for the record, I know your mother. And whether or not she knows that you’re in Ellison, she wouldn’t be happy about what you did either.”

  “You don’t get to tell me how she would feel about this,” Ethan said. “Not when you didn’t even bother to ask her.”

  “Ethan—”

  “Bye, Dad. Happy Father’s Day, I guess.”

  He slammed the handset back into its cradle. The living room was so silent that the air seemed to ring. Ethan felt as though he were coming back into his body—his head spun. He gritted his teeth and clenched his fists until his nails left crescent marks in his palms.

  He clenched them again, here, on the forest path. The sharp pain against his skin cleared his head enough for him to realize that his breath was coming in pants now, his mouth dry and gritty with dust. His body wasn’t used to such an intense workout anymore, especially in this Alabama heat, and he could feel his vision blurring with dizziness.

  At the next bend, Ethan came to a skidding halt and allowed himself to fall to his knees in the dust. He saw that his sneakers were coated with brown, his shirt and shorts soaked through with sweat. At this point, he couldn’t bring himself to care—his lungs were burning, and his stomach lurched. He dry heaved onto the path until the stars in his vision rearranged themselves into winding tree trunks and shivering leaves.

  “Okay,” he gasped. “Okay.”

  Ethan walked home. Or perhaps the proper word was wandered, and aimlessly at that, because every curve and fork and bend looked exactly the same, and it wasn’t long before he wasn’t sure whether he’d gone left toward town or right toward the lake, or if maybe the lake was left and the town was right. His breathing was ragged and tired and sad, and his muscles ached and his lungs shrieked, but he trudged on. At some point it started raining—a brief sun shower, which he’d learned often happened here in the summer—and then he was drenched in both sweat and sticky rainwater.

  Juniper found him at the base of a hill. He’d strayed off the path somewhere along the way and had stumbled through the trees until he found himself in a clearing. The sun was in his eyes and sweat pooled under his arms. He didn’t notice the ground had begun to incline until he once again tumbled to the ground.

  At some point he must have closed his eyes, because suddenly there was a hand on his shoulder, prompting them open. Light blurred his vision. He spat out a few blades of grass and rolled onto his back. Juniper was staring down at him, looking a little bit confused and very concerned.

  “Ethan?” she asked carefully, poking his cheek with one finger.

  He coughed and slowly eased himself into a sitting position. She squatted beside him. “Juniper. Hey.”

  “Are you all right? You’re all wet.”

  If he’d had the energy, he would have pointed out that she was all wet too—the rain had plastered her hair to her cheeks, turning orange into muddy crimson.

  “I—” He had to pause for breath. “I went for a run. I think—I think I got a little carried away.”

  “No kidding. Look, I was going to save this spot for our next adventure, but there’s no use trying to hide it from you now. Welcome to Alligator Hill! Ethan? Are you paying attention? Open your eyes.”

  Ethan groaned and kept them closed.

  “Fine. That’s your loss. Anyway, remember how I told you that the lake was my second favorite place in the whole town? Well, this is my first. Alligator Hill. The best place in all of Ellison, Alabama. The best place in Alabama period, probably. If you climbed to the top right now and looked out, you could see the whole wide world. Some people don’t like it up here, because they say it makes them feel small. But I love it. It makes me feel big. Taller than everyone.”

  She sighed. “Anyway, not like it matters. Not like you can even hear me right now. Are you asleep? Ethan?”

  Ethan grunted and threw a hand across his eyes. “You look drunk.” Juniper snorted. “Maybe you won’t remember this place after all. I’ll bring you here sometime, and you’ll see how great it really is. Just you wait, Ethan. Just you wait.”

  Somehow, through his own power or perhaps a show of superhuman strength by Juniper Jones, Ethan found himself back in the woods, trudging alongside
the energetic redhead as she chattered up a storm.

  “—don’t know what’s gotten into you,” she was saying, shaking her head so that her curls slapped Ethan in the face. “You gave me a real shock, showing up at Alligator Hill like that. I don’t know how you even found it. You must have gotten real off track. What happened?”

  Ethan hung his head, tugged at the hem of his shorts, and shrugged. Now, he was conscious enough to think clearly about what his dad had said—he couldn’t stop thinking about it. The thought of his dad keeping all this from his mom made him feel sick to his stomach, as if he was caught back up in the same power struggle that had erupted in their home during the divorce. It made him want to disappear.

  “Come on,” Juniper said, nudging Ethan with her shoulder. “You can tell me.”

  Keeping his eyes on the path, Ethan took a deep breath. “My dad called today. We talked for a while, and he, um. He told me that my mom doesn’t know I’m here. He didn’t tell her.”

  “Oh,” Juniper said, but sounded as if she didn’t understand.

  “They’re divorced. I don’t see her much. But he didn’t even give her a say in all of this. As if she doesn’t even matter, which is how he acts pretty much all the time. And the thing is, my mom is—you know. Like me.” He lifted an arm, pointed to his arm. “Colored. And I just can’t help thinking maybe he didn’t tell her because she would have tried to stop him. And maybe then I wouldn’t be here.”

  “Oh,” Juniper said again, softer this time. “Sorry, Ethan.”

  Ethan shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I just want to go home,” he mumbled. “Or—not even home. But not here. I’d rather be anywhere but here.”

  Juniper was silent, and Ethan didn’t realize why until he turned and saw the stricken look on her freckled face. “No, I didn’t mean—it’s not about you, I—sorry,” he said.

  “No, it’s fine,” she said flatly. “I get it.”

  “Sorry,” he repeated.

  They walked on in silence for a while, until the path split in two.

  “The lake is that way,” Juniper told him, pointing to their left. “Just follow the path to the right and you’ll end up back at your aunt’s house. Can you find your way from here? My aunt’s probably waiting for her afternoon tea, and—”

  “I’ve just been thinking a lot about what you said the other day,” Ethan blurted. “About the people here, and the way they think, and I feel like—like I can’t ever belong here. And I feel like my dad knew that. But he didn’t care.” He dragged his hands across his eyes and sighed. “So I just want to leave.”

  Juniper said nothing for a long moment, studying Ethan as he stood hunched in the middle of the path. Her eyes flickered strangely, and after a moment of hesitation, she said, “Hey.”

  Her voice was sharp, and it startled Ethan. “I know it sucks. I know you hate it. But either way, you can’t go home. And I want you here. So you’re going to have to suck it up and let that be enough.”

  “June,” he began, still staring at the ground, but she held up a hand.

  “I can apologize for the people in my town,” she said in a low voice, “but I can’t change them. The best I can do is try to make things okay while you’re here.”

  Ethan looked up, expecting to see a glare on her face, but instead found himself faced with a red-faced, teary-eyed, tight-lipped Juniper Jones. He was startled to see her on the verge of tears when he himself felt so zapped of emotions. He felt like he needed to comfort her, but for what? This was his pain to bear, not hers.

  As Ethan looked on, Juniper balled her hands into fists and studied the ground, then, in a sudden explosion, threw her arms around Ethan’s neck and squeezed fiercely. Her chin dug into his shoulder. She pulled away before he could return the embrace and backed down the path toward the lake.

  “I’ll see you around, Ethan Charlie Harper.” She gave him a watery smile. “Count on it.” And with a flick of her sunset hair, she turned and hurried away.

  Ethan knew that she had tried to make him feel better, but he still felt the roll of nausea in his stomach. He was damp and grimy and tired down to his bones, but he cracked his fingers one by one and walked toward home. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears, angry and swelling, a discordant beat that drowned out the lonely sound of birdsong. He squeezed his eyes shut as he walked, feeling the dust that rose in his wake.

  When he found his way back to Aunt Cara’s, he stumbled straight to the shower, letting hot water pour over his head and wash the forest from his pores. Then he stepped out and put on his pajamas, refusing to look in the mirror. The tile floor was cold beneath his bare feet.

  “Okay,” he said to himself, his eyes pressed gently shut. And for the rest of the afternoon he lay on his bed, eyes to the ceiling, and played a Billie Holiday record—it was the saddest one he owned. He thought about his father, with his unassuming green eyes, and his mother, whose face he still struggled to remember. He wished to know what she would say if she knew he was here and what had happened to him so far. He wondered if she would tell him, as he had begun to suspect himself, that her blood, and therefore his own, was poison.

  Eight

  The unease from the conversation with his father hadn’t worn off by the time Ethan went into work the next morning. The morning lull of the malt shop certainly didn’t help. He ran the empty blender a few times just to fill the silence, then paced around the store, wiping the clean tables vigorously with a wet cloth.

  It was a relief, then, when at twelve on the dot, Juniper Jones swept through the door in typical hurricane fashion. Ethan, who had been selecting a song at the jukebox, jumped at the sound of the bell and dropped his nickel. It rolled across the tile floor and into a tiny crack at the bottom of the counter.

  “Jesus, Juniper!” he cried. Juniper stood just inside the shop in a bright-orange dress that made her look thoroughly like a carrot. She grinned, and in her crooked teeth he could see no indication that she remembered the tension of their meeting the day before. This is how Juniper is, he thought. Moving on as quickly as she can from the feelings that distress her.

  “Good noon, monsieur,” she said now. Ethan couldn’t decide what was funnier: her botched French accent or the bow she took, dipping all the way to ground.

  Shaking his head, he replied, “Hello to you too.”

  Juniper walked past him and up to the counter. She took a seat and looked at him expectantly. Ethan blinked at her, still standing next to the jukebox.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Well,” she said, “I’m visiting you at work because one of my goals for this invincible summer is to try every flavor of milk shake at the Malt. In one day. Today, on this fine June afternoon, I am going to drink milk shakes until I explode.”

  Ethan tried to keep a straight face, but seeing Juniper sitting at the counter, hands positioned determinedly on her hips, made the laughter bubble up in his stomach. He let out a loud snort.

  “Gotcha! I am an expert at making people laugh, Ethan Charlie Harper, and don’t you forget it.”

  He held up both hands in mock surrender. “All right, I won’t,” he said, making his way back behind the counter. “Anyway, which one do you want first? Chocolate, strawberry, vanilla and . . . that’s it, actually.” He squinted up on the menu posted behind the counter. “I’m surprised you haven’t tried them all already.”

  Juniper suddenly looked very serious as she beckoned Ethan closer to her. “Thing is,” she whispered once he had leaned in, “I’ve actually never had a milk shake.”

  “That’s not true. I made you a milk shake last week—the special of the day, remember?”

  Juniper snorted. “That was barely edible. And anyway, it had soda, so if anything, it’d be a float.”

  “Fine, it was a float,” Ethan said. “But still—how have you never had a milk shake?”

  �
��I’m a root beer float kinda girl,” she retorted. “But today, I’ll have a vanilla milk shake. Gosh, this is such an adventure.”

  Ethan raised an eyebrow and shook his head, but turned to the prep station and assembled the ingredients. Juniper leaned as far over the counter as she could to watch his every move, asking more questions than Ethan thought was possible about the making of a milk shake.

  “Is that vanilla bean ice cream or French vanilla ice cream?

  “How much milk are you putting in?

  “More ice? Really?”

  She’d move on to her next question before Ethan had time to respond to the previous one, so he just listened to her exclamations with a small smile on his face. When he topped the shake off with whipped cream and a bright-red cherry, Juniper gasped gleefully.

  “Wow,” she marveled. “That’s beautiful. You’re much better at milk shakes than you are at daily specials.”

  “I have my strengths.” Ethan dropped in a straw and slid the tall glass across the counter to her.

  “No, no,” she said immediately. “I’m not drinking this by myself. This is our summer. We have to try all the flavors together.”

  “Thanks, but I’m really fine without—”

  “Ethan Charlie Harper. Have you tried all the milk shake flavors at this malt shop?”

  “Well, no, but—”

  “Then grab a straw.” She gestured at the container of straws behind the counter. “Come on, don’t be shy.”

  “Fine, fine,” Ethan said, sticking a straw of his own into the drink.

  Juniper straightened in her chair. “Perfect,” she said. “Now on the count of three, we sip. One, two, three—”

  Forty minutes and three milk shakes later, Ethan and Juniper were slumped at the counter, their stomachs heavy with ice cream. Their final ranking had been chocolate as the best, then vanilla, then strawberry. Both had agreed that the flavored syrup in the strawberry milk shake, while delicious, was a little too sweet for their liking.