June Travelers tells the exhilarating tale of Janis, an 18-year-old girl desperate to escape her small-town life and her alcoholic dad's shadow. Her quest for freedom leads her to Venice Beach, California, but not without a twist of fate. She bumps into Five, a stranger who becomes her unexpected ally, and together, they stumble upon a hidden treasure in a stolen Volkswagon bus. But as they race towards their dream, they're chased by their past, embodied by the "Cowboys'' Wayne and Guck, out for revenge.
At its heart, June Travelers is about staying present and relishing the time we have with those we meet along the way. It's a narrative soaked in adventure, the trials of friendship, and the courage it takes to face one's demons. I've crafted this story to resonate with young adults who yearn for adventure and the warmth of human connection in the face of adversity.
June Travelers tells the exhilarating tale of Janis, an 18-year-old girl desperate to escape her small-town life and her alcoholic dad's shadow. Her quest for freedom leads her to Venice Beach, California, but not without a twist of fate. She bumps into Five, a stranger who becomes her unexpected ally, and together, they stumble upon a hidden treasure in a stolen Volkswagon bus. But as they race towards their dream, they're chased by their past, embodied by the "Cowboys'' Wayne and Guck, out for revenge.
At its heart, June Travelers is about staying present and relishing the time we have with those we meet along the way. It's a narrative soaked in adventure, the trials of friendship, and the courage it takes to face one's demons. I've crafted this story to resonate with young adults who yearn for adventure and the warmth of human connection in the face of adversity.
If you closed your eyes, you could already imagine the feeling of tranquility. The touch of beauty as shades of pink and blue cotton-candy skies collided in the distance. The wind in the grass and dancing foxtails all around you. A simple bliss I took for granted. This was my moment of isolation. This was Janesway Park.
I often found myself drawn to this place when I was at a loose end. On summer mornings, the sky was always clear and peaceful, while at night, you couldnât see your hand in front of your faceâit was pitch black.
The bright afternoon sun beat down on my bare legs as I leaned against the trunk of a willow tree, a cigarette resting between my fingers as I flipped through my sketchbook. The blue cover was folded back, revealing the clean, empty pages beneath it. It was bigger than my hand with only thirty-five pages. My thumbs rubbed on the rough-textured paper. What would it be if I could imagine something more remarkable than cotton-candy skies?
My pencil pressed against the paper, shading back and forth, watching the Valspar gray emerge like magic. The waves broke over each other once they touched the grainy, dotted sand. The background was tinted with a light shade, leaving space for a few clouds.
With another inhale off my cigarette, I gazed at the five-minute sketch.
It felt good to exhale my thoughts on paper. I pressed the pencil down one last time.
Janis Isabella Miriam.
Venice Beach, California.
Paradise.
I shut my sketchbook, taking care not to tear the delicate pages, and tucked it away in my honey-yellow backpack, which had seen better days. The fabric was frayed from all the times Iâd dragged it around the park.
To the far right of me were four high school students playing loud music and sitting on a park bench. Looking at the black-and-yellow cans, I knew what kind of beer they were drinking. I could tell you the exact price and liquor store they got it from because itâs the same one I go to, two blocks down, where they donât ask for ID.
The boys held skateboards as their laughter echoed. One of them noticed me, and his face lit up with a smile. He turned and said something to his friend before waving in my direction.
Did he recognize me? I usually kept to myself unless it concerned my job.
âHey?â he said, getting up to walk over toward me. âJanis, is that you?â
Squinting to get a better look, I realized who he wasâa former classmate and old friend. His face was hidden under a knitted beanie where his long, dirty blond hair fell onto his shoulders.
I stiffened as he walked over. It had only been a few years since we had last spoken.
He sat next to me, using his skateboard as a chair.
âHowâs it going?â he said, offering me a cigarette from a pack heâd pulled from his pocket. He talked to me as if I were a lost puppy. It made me feel ill. âI could hardly tell it was you. If it werenât for those long, blond locks of yours, Iâd assume you were lost in Janesway.â
Janesway was a small town surrounded by more prominent cities. The signs welcoming newcomers were boastful of its speed limits, hoping to lure cars off the highway and onto their streets. It was the rock among trees, a town you stop in to get gas and take a scenic picture near the river on your way to Dallas. The Janesway River split it in two, with blue-and-white lines marking the boundaries at each end of town. North and south, two parts that never crossed.
The North Side was a place where families escaped the hustle and bustle of city life. It hugged the famous river that separated the two neighborhoods. There was only one high school, grocery store, park, and movie theater. Being on the same wavelength was essential here since you probably knew someone in each shop you went into. Unfortunately, this drained my energy because I could never make small talk as easily as Janesway could.
The South Side was sparsely populated. Crime, gangs, and drugs ran rampant, with no high schools, grocery stores, parks, or movie theaters around. All I knew was what the northerners joked about itâI hadnât visited the area. It was a place that Iâd been warned was dangerous.
I accepted the cigarette Marco offered, and before he had a chance to light it for me, I snatched the lighter and lit it myself.
âThank you,â I said.
âSo, itâs Sunday,â he said. âLast weekend ever in high school.â He rolled the pack around. âI was wonderingâŚâ
I inhaled the smoke.
âAre you selling? Itâs cool if you ainât.â
And then I exhaled.
âJust pot,â I said.
Marco looked behind him and nodded at his friends.
âGram,â he said, handing me a wrinkled ten-dollar bill. âPlease. If not, itâs okay. Iâm just planning to hang out with the choir kids back there and youâre the only dealer I know on the North Side.â
I dug into my backpack until I felt a plastic baggy tucked into the corner.
âHere you go,â I said.
He grinned while smelling it as I looked at the street, avoiding eye contact. I played around with the cigarette in my fingers, waiting for him to put the bag away.
âYou know, I donât see you at school anymore. I thought you moved away to Dallas or something,â he said after a long pause. âIt wasnât until Zoey over there told me you sold her brother some weed a couple days ago. I couldnât believe it was you.â
âDropped out two years ago. I donât go outside much.â
âAh. Are you still skating?â He tapped his fingers against his board.
âNo.â I shrugged. âItâs been a while.â
âOh. We used to skate together all the time as kids. Itâs funny how time flies, ainât it?â
I looked at his board as if it resembled my old one. Beaten up and chipped, like he used it all day.
âAnyway, graduationâs tomorrow,â Marco said with a wide smile.
âI heard.â
âIt just blows my mind. I never thought Iâd achieve anything in life. Look at me, though; I did it. Iâm getting my diploma and all, might even go to collegeâwho knows?â
âGood for you,â I said.
âYou know, Jan, it ainât never too late to go back.â
âBack where?â
âBack to school,â he said, still smiling.
I looked down at the wrinkled ten-dollar bill tucked into my hand.
âIâm good,â I said, smirking. âBesides, I got a job now.â
âWhat? This? Selling weed at a park?â he said, laughing, probably hoping this wasnât what I meant.
âWhy are you even here?â I said, furrowing my brow.
He looked down at the grass and rubbed his hands against the lining of his board. Who was he to tell me what to do with my life? He didnât even know what Iâd been through.
âYouâre right,â he said. âI ainât meaning to offend. Do you want to join us? We got some beer.â
I looked back at his friends, watching us from a distance.
âI gotta go,â I said and stood up.
âJanis, wait.â
He took a sheet of paper out of his pocket and doodled on it with his pen. He then folded the paper and gave it to me.
âThis is my number,â he said, avoiding eye contact. âIf you ever wanna hang out.â
The folded paper in my hand felt warm as I slid it into my back pocket, wiping my palms on my shorts. I waved goodbye, turned around, and walked toward the street.
âJan?â he called.
âYeah?â
âYouâre too smart for this.â
Pursing my lips, I turned and walked on.
Marcoâs comment angered me and struck like lightning. What if he was right? I hated admitting other people were right, yet I had to face my mistakes. Janesway seemed inevitable. I couldnât help being born in a small town without opportunities for change.
The following day, I woke up early and decided to go for a walk before my dad came out to the living room. He always stayed up late, yet had a strong habit of waking early. He wasnât a fan of staying sober too long.
After brushing my teeth, I splashed cold water on my face and went to the fridge to grab my favorite black-and-yellow can.
I walked over to my old high school with the open beer in a paper bag. The taste of the bitterness on my tongue was enough to start my morning. I took a couple more sips and leaned against the football-field gate. Today was crucial for others, but it was such a dreadful time for me. All the familiar faces sat together in plastic folding chairs, wearing the same outfits.
Dark-blue gowns that matched their dark-blue caps.
These were my old high school colors. They had a picture of the mascot, a sloth, printed on a giant banner above the ceremony. I smiled at the memories of first seeing this sloth as a kid.
After several minutes, the ceremony began, and they called out each name through the speakers.
Claire Adams was the popular girl who wore high heels on her first day of freshman year. She bullied me until we had a science project together. After that, weâd stay up laughing until we couldnât breathe.
Briana Axel was the teacherâs pet in the third grade. Her hair was always in a slick ponytail. She was my best friend, the first to introduce me to video games. She and I would play together every Saturday. Her momma baked the best apple pies.
Kyle Crassâs name was called. He was my middle school crush and first kiss. He once kissed me before my math class, and I sat there for forty-five minutes with the biggest smile on my face.
Jack Dapper, the high schoolâs football star. The first time I ever drank a beer was with him after a game. I swore I was drunk after the first sip.
The Fowler twins would skip school to hang out at the park, where they would smoke cigarettes on that same bench.
Edward Jackson failed every history and English test and was held back for two years straight. Dropping out wasnât an option for him. Heâd rather fail than quit.
These were the graduating people, with me stuck on the other side of the fence.
They called out Marco Lopez, who stood up with his fists in the air as his friends cheered him on.
âMarco, Marco, Marco,â they chanted as he danced up to the stage to grab his diploma and shake hands with the principal before scramming back to his seat.
I could point out most of the names that were called out, as each person had a memory attached to them. These were my friendsâwell, old friends. I wondered if theyâd even recognize me.
As the ceremony ended, the graduates tossed their caps in the air, hugging each other while everyone cheered. I couldnât stop smiling. This was it, a group of people Iâd been with my whole life, experiencing such a special moment without me. In the pit of my stomach, I felt a sharp pain that zapped up to my heart. I would never be able to get this moment back.
Marco shouted with his friends as they high-fived each other. He no longer had his beanie on but, sure enough, he kept his skateboard in his hands.
My thoughts made me feel warm inside. I imagined myself in the middle of the crowd, feeling the silk cap between my fingers.
I turned around because I couldnât take it. One of my biggest regrets was dropping out of Janesway High, even though I didnât have a choice; it was something I had to do for the sake of my family.
Why was I even here? What did I expect? For them to call my name after I magically appeared on the other side of the fence?
The last sip of beer tasted sweet as it slid down my throat. I dropped the empty can on the ground and crushed it with my shoe.
âHey-yo, Janis!â Marco said, running toward me, smiling. âYouâre here! Living that party life, huh?â He pointed at my crushed beer can on the sidewalk.
âAll day, all night,â I said, trying to think of an excuse for being here other than the fact that I wanted to see my old class graduate. âI just wanted to sayâŚcongratulations.â
âOh, thanks. Iâm finally freeâno more school! I ainât never going back.â
We rested against the fence that separated us. Marco chewed his lip as if he was struggling to find the words he wanted to say.
âLook,â he said, âI wanted to talk to you about this yesterday.â
âWhat?â
âRemember when we used to skate together as kids in middle school, well, I kinda always had this silly crush on you. I loved watching you skate. You were the coolest girl Iâd ever met, but I know life happens. Anyway, my friends and I going to Los Angeles this summer, and I have an extra seat if you want to join in. My cousin has extra rooms, and weâre going to surf all day. You know, bonfires, beer, parties. Itâd be fantastic if you could come with us.â
âUmâŚIâŚâ
I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket, and the sensation bolted up my spine. There was only one person who called this phone.
âHold that thought,â I said to Marco. I answered the phone: âWhat is it?â
âGet home now,â my dad said and hung up.
Marco stood there, waiting for an answer.
âI ainât that same girl. I have things I need to do, but have fun for me, will ya?â
I started walking away, then turned around to give him a wave.
He waved back and said, âCall me!â
My little brown house was squished in the middle of my neighborhood. Piles of dead weeds were scattered over the pavement, and a twisted tree stump rested forgotten in one corner. An old American flag flew from the roof of my house, slapping against a metal pole with each gust of wind. We had abandoned garden pots that collected dust and long spider webs that spun up to the corners of our front door.
I placed my key inside the lock and had to shake and twist the doorknob a couple times before it finally unlocked. I used all my body weight to push open the door. The smell inside the house was horrendous, especially in the summer. The mix of mold, rotting food, and rat feces tainted the air, and it was enough to make others feel nauseous, though I was immune to it.
The fan whirred as I opened the window in our living room, stirring up dust. Even though I tried to ensure the house was neat, several beer cans were still scattered across the floor, though they hadnât been here in the morning. He must have drank them all while I was gone.
âScotch?â I never called him Dad. I always felt more comfortable calling him by his street name. It was his second-favorite drink. His first was tequila and coke, but he never admitted it because it reminded him too much of Momma.
âScotch?â
He leaned against the kitchen counter, a bottle of whiskey in his hand. He wore a stained white shirt, black pants, and old blue sneakers. The gray skin under his eyes sagged as if he were older than he actually was.
âIf youâre going to drink beer this early, at least clean up your mess,â I said.
There was an empty trash bag near the fridge where I always put the empties. I assumed recycling would help make some extra cash on the side; Scotch didnât care. Still, I placed the cans in the bag.
âAnd where were you?â he said, slurring his words in a broad Texan accent.
âOut.â
âOut? Business, Janis. You ainât allowed to run around wasting myââ He burped and took another sip, forgetting what he was talking about. âDid ya sell yesterday?â
âWeed.â
âWeed?â
âYes, just weed.â
âWhen? This morninâ?â
âYesterday. I went to pick up some cigarettes just now and got distracted.â I reached into my wallet and pulled out the ten dollars Marco had given me yesterday. Scotch snatched the money from my hand and pushed it into his pocket, where I knew Iâd never see it again.
âDistracted with what?â
âLook, Iâm here now, so whatâs the emergency?â
âWe got a big snow order down on the South Side,â he said, gulping down the whiskey as if it were water.
âSouth Side? We never sell there, ainât that J South Gang territory? Theyâre partnered with the cartel down in Mexico.â
The J South Gang started in 1997. They were the main reason why the north and the south divided. Although I hadnât met anyone from the gang, Iâd listened to stories from people Iâd sell drugs to. So it was obvious I needed to avoid that place at all costs.
âIt was an offer your old man couldnât refuse,â he said.
âWell, how big are we talkinâ?â
âOur biggest one yet, Jan. Go ahead, take a peek.â
The lights dimmed as he shut the curtains, lifting a finger toward a black duffel bag on the kitchen table.
I stepped closer, my heart thumping like a drum. I grasped the zipper with my trembling fingers and pulled it down. Inside were two bricks of cocaine, stacked with precision and encased in thick, opaque plastic.
âHoly shit,â I mouthed as I looked over toward Scotch, whose eyes glistened with more joy than Iâd ever seen. âHow did you even get your hands on this?â I said, raising my eyebrows. âNo offense, but you ainât very trustworthy. Youâre a drunk.â
âI met some folks at the bar last night,â he said, looking down at the tile, âa couple boys came up to me, had a small chat, pulled me aside, and asked for a favor. I said, âBuy me another drink if yâall really need my help.â So they did, three of âem, now that I think about it.â
âAnd these menâŚthey trusted you?â
âOr was it four drinksâŚâ
âScotch, it doesnât make sense that these men picked you out of anybody to give these drugs to J South Gang. What about T-Bum or Stevie from down the street? They help sell the harder drugs, so whyâd they pick you?â
âJan, my precious Jan. Itâs all about presenting yourself, tellinâ people what they wanna hear. You know your old man knows all about business.â
Scotch sold cars in Dallas despite his seedy past. Every morning, heâd dress in a peachy pink suit and slick back his blond hair before pouring whiskey into his coffee. He said the alcohol freed him but also turned him into the worldâs biggest manipulator.
âOkay,â I said, rubbing my eyes and trying my best to be the logical one. âHow many grams of cocaine is this?â
He put up two fingers: âKilos.â
âTwo kilos!â
âRelax,â he said, opening up a can of beer and handing it to me. âHave a drink with me.â
âDammit, Scotch,â I said, ignoring the can in front of my face. The stacks of cocaine on our kitchen counter gave me a heavy feeling in my stomach. âWe could go to prison for years! I just turned eighteen. Remember my birthday? Or no, because you were too busy passing out at the bar. Call it off. Weâll move to bigger numbers when more people are on board, but for now, tiny baggies only.â
âYou ainât trustinâ me?â he said, frowning. âIâm the one that knows business!â
âOh, please!â
âWho sold fifty cars in less than a year, Jan? Want me to take out my trophies so you can count âem? Whoâs the one that managed grocery stores and bought their own apartment before the age of twenty-five? Whoâs got their associateâs degree in business? Whoâs the one thatâs got a diploma?â
Scotch waited for my response. If it were a couple days ago, Iâd be chucking bottles, screaming, fighting, and ending up getting drunk with him after my anger finally settled. But instead, the image of Marco standing on the other side of the fence with his cap and gown made me feel at ease. Almost as if I was taking the next step in life with him. So I didnât speak.
âLook, Jan,â he finally said, barely audible, âthey want the drugs by tomorrow night. I need your help.â
âDo it yourself,â I said. âI ainât going.â
âDammit, listen to me!â He got in my face. âThis is your job, you hear? How many kids in Janesway have a job right now? Theyâre still stuck in school with no money. Youâre so good at this, honey. Iâm very proud of you. If we do this right, we could leave Janesway. After this big move, you and IâŚweâre gone. Weâll get a big house with a pool and a yard or live in New York with your aunt. All right? Just this one time. After this, we ainât sellinâ no more. No drugs, no beerâŚjust the olâ American dream.â
âNo.â
âThink about it,â he said, putting down his bottle. âIâll sober up, promise. We could leave this town and move to wherever we want. Heck, we could leave the country.â He looked deep in my eyes. âFifty thousand dollars.â
Fifty thousand dollars.
I froze.
âYou see what Iâm saying now, Jan? This is our ticket out. Itâll be easier than pickinâ an apple off a tree.â
âI know what youâre doing,â I said, shaking my head as I stepped away from him. âIt ainât gonna be that easy. Youâre just using me as bait. We donât even have a car.â
âThen walk.â
âWhat?â
âTake a bus and walk.â
âYou want me to walk, really? With all this cocaine in a duffel bag? Do you want me to take a nice moonshine stroll down to the South Side? I bet these men got you so drunk out of your mind so youâd agree. Find someone else.â
âDammit!â Scotch banged his fist on the counter.
âWhat? Finally realizing that was a bad move? If Momma was here, sheâd shove you out of the house for getting me involved.â
With the darkest fury in his eyes, he grabbed the collar of my Dallas T-shirt and slammed my body into the old refrigerator. My heart fell as I realized Iâd let the monster out of its cage again. He cuffed his dirt-stained hand around my neck as if it were a bottle. Struggling to breathe, I kept eye contact with him as the lights flickered in the background.
âListen here. I better ainât never hear you speak about Momma again. We donât talk about her in this house anymore.â
âGet off,â I said with a hoarse voice.
âTake it back.â
âMomma died because of you,â I said, forcing out all the air I had left in my lungs. âBecause youâd rather go to the bar than share a single damn meal with her.â
âTomorrow afternoon, Jan,â he said without missing a beat. âYou walk there, hand them the drugs, and get our money.â
He released his hand from my throat, and I sank to the floor, coughing and gasping until I could catch my breath.
âSo what?â I said. âSo you can drown yourself in booze? Die already. I hate you!â
He was walking out of the kitchen, but something made him stop at the doorway.
âWhat?â I said.
âIâm sorry, Jan. I ainât gotta choice, you know? They didnât give me that option.â
He walked out of the kitchen, then I heard the front door close.
The silence was so loud as I leaned against the fridge with my sore back and bruised neck. The thought of graduating with my high school class lingered in my mind like a song stuck in my head. Finally, I grabbed the beer heâd offered me and drank the night away.
June Travelers by Daphne White is narrated by Sam, a young woman who escapes a volatile and controlling home life in her small Texas town and sets her sights on Venice, Californiaâa place tied to her late motherâs long-held dreams. Sam is a fiercely independent, emotionally protective, and survival-driven individual who has reinvented herself in both name and spirit. Early in her journey, she stops in the quiet town of Peakhill and is introduced to Five, a quirky yet sincere young man with a kind heart and a past he keeps close to the chest. Rather than drama, their connection builds through quiet moments of conversation and vulnerability. As they travel together across the American Southwest, their bond deepens against a backdrop of diners, highways, and fleeting encountersâsome kind, others dangerous. Along the way, Sam learns how to let someone in without losing herself; all the while struggling with issues of identity, safety, and what it really means to be free.
The emotionally authentic voice is what stood out most to me about June Travelers. Daphne White's honest first-person narrative draws readers into Sam's inner world. Sheâs no polished heroineâguarded, sarcastic, and often angryâbut White lets her flaws coexist with vulnerability and quiet hope. The contrast between her tough exterior and emotional yearning is what makes her feel so real. Five, by contrast, brings a gentle steadiness to the story. While we donât learn everything about his past, he serves like almost the yin to her yang because he is way more trusting and easy-going.
Even though some of the supporting characters might seem underdeveloped, they aren't the main characters in this tale, and in many respects, their fleeting appearances highlight Sam and Five's primary bond even more. However, there is one small disappointment: the conclusion comes a little too soon. I wished for a little more time with the characters and wondered what would happen to them in the future. Nevertheless, the emotional arc delivers a powerful impact, exploring themes like abuse, survival, trust, and the longing for home with unflinching honesty and grace.
Many readers will find Sam's journey, which combines self-discovery and escape, to be incredibly relatable. Iâd recommend June Travelers by Daphne White to readers who value emotional road trip stories, gritty realism, and character-driven narratives. Itâs a memorable, heartfelt journey about shedding the past and choosing your own future.