World War II looms over the U.S. while fourteen-year-old Junior Bledsoe struggles with anger and identity after his father's death. As World War II threatens the United States in 1941, Junior Bledsoe fights his own battles at home. He struggles with school and with anger—at his late father, his insufferable granddaddy, his neighbors, and himself—as he desperately tries to find his own aim in life.   But he finds relief escaping to the quiet of the nearby woods and tinkering with cars, something he learned from his pop. And a fatherly neighbor provides much-needed guidance. This heartfelt and inspiring novel about a boy learning to accept the past and create his own future also includes an author's note and bibliography. "A boy grappling with life-changing decisions, unlikely friendships, and what it means to be a man is at the soul of this story... Hostetter's well-crafted turn of phrase and timely humor all add to the richness of the era. A must-have for historical fiction collections." — School Library Journal "Set in the south in the early days of World War II, readers will find the times different, but not Junior's struggle to grow into a man. Young adults who enjoy historical novels...will appreciate Hostetter's attention to detail and the realistic way Junior reacts to the personal and political events around him...he learns his lesson about earning respect and overcoming generations of abuse to arrive at a sense of peace by the end of the book.' – VOYA "In this pre-World War II companion to the novels Blue (2006) and Comfort (2009), 14-year-old Junior Bledsoe fights personal battles at home as America's entry into the war grows imminent.... Hostetter creates a vivid sense of time and place in her early-1940s rural North Carolina setting and a fully realized, sympathetic character in Junior.... An absorbing, well-crafted coming-of-age story with finely detailed historical background." — Kirkus Reviews Joyce Moyer Hostetter is the author of Best Friends Forever. She received a BA in early childhood education at Lenoir Rhyne College in Hickory, North Carolina. Since then, she has continued her studies on the graduate level in special education at the University of North Carolina, Charlotte, and art at James Madison University in Harrisonburg, Virginia. She lives near Hickory. “Ready. Aim. Fire!” That was Granddaddy talking. He followed up with a string of words I wouldn’t repeat. His cussing woke me the rest of the way. I opened one eye. Straight ahead of me I saw Granddaddy’s knobby white feet dangling from the bed. His thick toenails looked like they hadn’t been trimmed since Granny died. “It’s about time you rouse yourself. You fixin’ on sleeping through the war?” I sat up. “Did the president declare war while I was sleeping?” Granddaddy cussed again. “One of these days he’ll be forced to get himself a backbone.” “Oh.” So we weren’t in the war yet after all. Granddaddy caught me up on the news. “Iceland. The Germans attacked an American ship. But we fired back. Yes siree! Wish I was on that ship. I’d blast those Krauts to Hades and back.” Granddaddy turned the radio up so I couldn’t miss the news even if I wanted to. And part of me did want to. I wished I could wake up in the morning with nothing bigger than homework to worry about. I pulled the pillow over my head as if that would make the world and all its problems go away. If hiding under the covers would keep war from coming to America, I’d stay there all day. Getting out of bed was hard anyway. These days nobody asked me how I was doing. Even if they had, I couldn’t have explained it. Pop had been gone almost two months and I should be used to it by now. But some days I still couldn’t believe he was dead. Except that he never came home. And I had to milk Eleanor twice a day and try to be the man of the house. And put up with Granddaddy. He was still yelling about war. What would it be like to have my own bed back? And to dress in the morning in a little peace and quiet? Finally, after five minutes of him raving, I crawled out of bed. “Yeah. I wish you was on that ship too.” I didn’t say it real loud, but he heard it. “You getting smart with me?” Granddaddy reached for his shoe. “You want war, I’ll show you war.” Before I figured out what he was up to, that shoe came flying at my nose. “Whoa!” That hurt! “Granddaddy. I don’t want war.” I pulled my britches on, grabbed my shirt and shoes, and left the room. “Heaven help!” said Momma. “Your nose is bleeding.” She wet a washcloth with cold water and clamped it against my face. “That old man threw a shoe at me. I’m not going back in there. I’ll sleep on the porch first.” “Of course you won’t sleep on the porch.” Momma lowered her voice. “Maybe we’ll put Granddaddy outside.” She snickered. But she didn’t mean it. She’d moved him in and now that Pop was gone she didn’t want him anymore. But how could we get rid of him