Ethan met the scorching sun with his face turned skyward, and for a long moment, he simply stood on the sidewalk in front of the malt shop, taking dusty breaths. The skipping rope and scratching feet coaxed up the dirt from somewhere beneath the pavement to coat the skyline gray and brown. With a sharp kick to the concrete and a dry cough, Ethan turned and headed home.
Something strange happened as he paused at the intersection, looked both ways, and crossed the street toward the general store. A man, a woman, and a sweet-faced little boy stepped through the ringing door just as Ethan’s feet touched the curb. It seemed as if their necks had been tugged by the same string, three fair-haired marionettes with piercing green eyes that met his gaze head-on. Something electric and frosty passed between them, a chill in the summer heat. The woman moved suddenly, one hand gripping her husband’s arm, the other flying to her purse; her son melted into the rustling folds of her dress. The man seemed to grow four inches in fear. He whispered something into his wife’s ear, then turned his frigid glare back to Ethan.
“Keep walking, boy,” he barked. “There’s nothing to see here.”
Ethan swallowed hard, sweat breaking out on the back of his neck. He hunched his shoulders, buried his chin in his chest, and took sweeping steps past the family. It wasn’t until he had put a store between them that he dared look back. They were in the same place, frozen, all three staring at his receding figure, wishing him away.
Ethan whipped back around, and for the first time, but certainly not the last, he ran through the town of Ellison. His feet pounded the pavement and startled the dust as the family’s blank gazes lurched to life and chased him all the way home.
That was the first encounter of many. Over the next few days, Ethan’s life fell into a routine. Wake up, exchange a few sleepy words with his aunt and uncle, eat breakfast, escape to the malt shop. Sit for four hours reading comics without seeing a single customer, wait for Uncle Robert to come and take his place. Walk home, run home, try to decipher the whispers and the stares.
“—you remember Andrew Harper?”
“What is that boy doing here?”
“That’s his son, I heard—”
“—last time one of ’em was here, it was all trouble.”
“Married that Negro woman, God knows why.”
“—too many colored folks moving into these parts—”
“—doesn’t belong in our town.”
He caught words here and there as he walked home, arranging and rearranging them in the back of his mind. With each passing day, he was becoming more aware that there was no one here who looked like him. The stares of the people here, their curiosity wrapped in disgust, was familiar in a deep, ugly way. It was as if some part of him had expected it. It reminded him of the way Samuel Hill and those other boys had looked at him after his parents split up, and his mom left town—the same way they had looked at him ever since. Even still, Ethan longed for Arcadia; for his next-door neighbor and the cute girl down the road and the malt shop that was packed with people all day long. He missed walking down the street and getting lost in the crowd, being passed without a second glance. He missed being outside without feeling fear and anger wrestling for control of his emotions, leaving him exhausted and drenched in sweat.
At dinner, he fended off Aunt Cara’s attempts at conversation and shoveled food robotically into his mouth. Her voice was still too loud.
It was on the second Thursday of June, a few days since he’d first set foot in Ellison, that Ethan Harper first met Juniper Jones. He was polishing the already spotless countertop, his eyes trained on the glossy pages of last month’s Crimefighters issue, when the bell above the door let out a jingle. It took a moment for his mind, lost in the action, to register the arrival of a customer. By the time he realized that someone had come inside, she was already at the counter and sticking a freckled hand in front of his face.
“Hello,” she said, her voice like wind chimes.
Ethan looked up quickly, his mouth hanging open and his arm still reaching out to wipe at an invisible smudge. He dropped his rag, cleared his throat, and stared at the girl who was now sitting calmly on the stool across from him, spinning herself in a slow circle. A volcano of bright orange hair erupted from her head and spilled down her back in loose, messy curls. Beneath the harsh malt shop lights, she was luminescent.
“I—” He licked his lips and tried again. “Hi.”
She swung back to face him, a wide, crooked-toothed grin splitting the galaxy of freckles on her cheeks. “Hi, there,” she said, extending her hand again. Ethan shook it gently. “My name is Juniper Jones, but you can call me June, Junie, or Starfish. Or Juniper, I guess. Or JJ. But really, I prefer Starfish.”
Her accent was just a quiet hint lingering on the edges of her words, and her sky-blue eyes never once strayed from his face. He fought the urge to take a step back.
“By gosh, you’re sure quiet.” She snorted. “What’s your name? Don’t make me pry it out of you.”
“Uh, I’m Ethan Harper,” he mumbled.
“That’s it?” Juniper cried. “No nicknames, no exciting alias?”
“I—my middle name is Charlie?” Ethan shook his head. “Listen, Juniper, it’s nice to meet you. Can I get you something?”
“Juniper again.” She shook her head. “I’ve been trying to convince someone to call me Starfish. It’s catchy, don’t you think? Anyway, Ethan Charlie Harper, I’ll have a root beer float, please.”
“Fifteen cents,” Ethan said, but her coins were already sliding across the counter. As he put them in the register, he felt her watching him.
“You’re new,” she said, slightly frowning as he moved toward the soda fountain. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before. And you know, that’s pretty rare in Ellison. I probably know everyone in this whole town. We could walk down the street, and I could tell you, ‘That’s Betty, that’s Stu and Laura, those are the Shaefer twins.’ Guess you’re not from here, huh?”
By the time Juniper finished her speech, Ethan had spent so much energy listening that he could hardly manage a response. He forced himself to nod. “My uncle owns this shop,” he murmured. “I’m here for the summer.”
“Mr. Shay is your uncle? I never would’ve guessed. Y’all just don’t look the same, is all.”
Ethan studied the dark skin of his hands but said nothing.
“Not that I mean anything by that, you know,” Juniper went on. “Some folks here think everyone should stick to their sides, you know, white folks and colored folks, so of course they were real frosted last year when that school in Topeka got all mixed up again, the way it shoulda been in the first place. Anyway, I thought it was ridiculous that they were so rattled because there isn’t a single Negro within twenty miles of this town. And Lord knows if they tried to force that here, half this town would be lined up in front of the schoolhouse to stop it. Whoa, careful there!”