The man with the megaphone stood up again. “Now we’ll have the first, second, and third prizes. In third place, for an original and creative depiction of two great American Sams, is Peter Boucher with ‘I Am Sam, Sam I Am.’”

There was a small cheer, and Mrs. Boucher helped Peter put his hat back on and push the Big Wheel onto the court. She gave Ellen a shy thumbs-up, and I felt my insides rip. She was always so nice to us.

“In second place,” the megaphone man continued, “for a patriotic salute to our war heroes, is Scott Jacobs with ‘We Salute Our Brave Military.’” A huge cheer erupted, and a group of men were all slapping each other’s backs, one of whom I guessed must be Scott’s dad.

“Finally,” the megaphone voice announced, “in first place, a sentiment that touched the hearts of all of us here, is Duke Costello with ‘Please Don’t Burn My Flag.’” Grown men roared and started chanting “Duke—Duke—Duke,” and there was more back-slapping and hooting while the three boys who’d each won a prize circled the basketball court on their contraptions. I looked at them pedaling, three ideas of America, completing their victory lap to the cheers of mostly grown men.

I thought about Abbey’s older brother, whooping at the campfire the other night. He had done multiple tours in Vietnam. He and his friends weren’t here. I wasn’t sure if the flag-burning was a reference to antiwar demonstrations in America, or if it was the burning of the American flag in Iran.

“Ellen’s should’ve won.” Thomas was next to me. I was surprised he had come. “It was the only one that really looked homemade. Those others look like they were made by professional designers.”

Peter was with Ellen and Mrs. Boucher, holding a white third-place ribbon and a little bronze trophy.

“Well done, Sam,” said Thomas.

Peter was about to correct him and then broke into a smile. “Thanks,” he said.

Mrs. Boucher was heading home. They wouldn’t stay for the picnic. I knew none of this was her kind of thing. She gave Ellen a hug. “Thank you. I think you’ve just given him the best day of his life.” I looked at the ground and mumbled goodbye. I felt wretched.

Thomas, Ellen, and I wandered around together for a while. Out on the baseball diamond, children sprinted with eggs and spoons and ran wheelbarrow races, and families spread out picnic blankets and lawn chairs. On the hill a group of men had carried up grills and started to fire them up. We’d have hot dogs and hamburgers later and wait for nightfall and fireworks.