Now that the moment has come, Nathan sits, stupefied. He gauges the few remaining empty seats between him and Roy. Roy glances at him in the general surveillance mirror. Finally he says, "Why don't you come up here?"

The question echoes. Nathan moves behind the driver's seat. A slight flush of color rises from Roy's collar. Nathan leans against the metal bar behind Roy's seat and hangs there, chin to seat back. The orange bus lumbers down the dirt road.

The feeling is restful. They can be quiet together. Nathan is glad, and wishes Poke's Road were longer.

Roy parks the bus beside the barn and sits for a moment. His face has taken on a strange meaning for Nathan, registering expressions Nathan would never have expected from someone older. Roy listens acutely, as if for some signal. It is as if he needs something but he cannot speak about it. Nathan lingers too, taking a long time to stack his books, straightening them carefully and arranging them largest to smallest. Roy says, reaching for his own books, "I have so much stuff to do on top of my homework, I'm about to go crazy."

"You have to work?"

"I got chores for my dad. There's always something to do around here." Roy grimaces, gathering his tattered notebooks and light jacket. "And I got to write a paper in English, and I don't want to."

"I'm good at that kind of stuff."

"Are you?"

"I like English."

"Then I'll come over later and you can help me. It's about railroads. The paper is."

Nathan can hardly believe the offer. Why does Roy want to spend time with him? Roy lets him descend first, but they linger on the short walk to the house. Roy says maybe he can help Nathan with other stuff, like math, since he's pretty good at math. Since Nathan is ahead of kids his own age, maybe he could use somebody older to help him. He mentions this casually, like a stray thought. They will study together later, after supper, the fact is established. Something about the agreement makes Nathan happy and afraid at the same time.

An image of his father gives the fear. The image comes to Nathan from dangerous places, from territories of memory that Nathan rarely visits. The memory is his father standing in a doorway, in the house in Rose Hill, and it reminds him of Roy because of the look in his father's eyes.

Later, standing at his bedroom window, Nathan watches Roy moving from barn to shed, shirt unbuttoned, sleeves rolled above his elbows, flesh bright as if the glow from a bonfire is radiating outward through his torso and limbs. He is cleaning the barn, stacking rusted gas cans and boxes in the back of the pickup truck, forking soiled hay into damp piles. He moves effortlessly from task to task as if he is never tired. The sight of him is like a current of cool water through the middle of Nathan.

It is a new feeling, not like friendship. Not like anything. Nathan has had friends before, especially before the family began to move so often. This feeling is stranger, forcing Nathan to remember things he does not want to remember.

After a while Nathan retreats from the window, lying across the bed scribbling idly at homework. He wants supper to be over. The arithmetic figures waver meaninglessly on the pages of his text. When he tries to concentrate, the word problems make periodic sense. He reads one long paragraph, considers it, realizes he has remembered nothing he has read, then finally stands, pacing to the window and drawing the curtain carefully back.

Roy stands below. He is waiting near the hedge as if he has called Nathan. He carries a wooden crate full of Mason jars with dusty, cobweb covered lids. Nathan parts the curtains slowly. Roy waves hello without fear or surprise. Nathan fights the impulse to turn away, to pretend he has come to the window for some other reason than to look at Roy. Roy's gentle smile disturbs Nathan deeply. It is as if he knows what Nathan is thinking and feeling. He sets the crate on the back porch and turns. He heads back to the barn for more jars. Nathan goes on watching as long as there is light.

Mom calls Nathan to supper, and he descends from upstairs as if into some shadowy pool. He sits underwater and eats the food his mother has prepared. Tonight, Dad misses supper, working late. Tonight, Nathan can taste what is in front of him.

After supper, Roy crosses the yard to Nathan's house for help with his homework. Nathan sits at the desk in his bedroom with light from a warm study lamp pouring over his grammar textbook. He has completed work on his sentence diagrams. Footsteps sound in the hall, and when Nathan turns, Roy is leaning against the door jamb, gripping school books as if he would like to crush them in his big boned hands. He says, "I told you I was coming."

"I know. I was waiting."

The statement pleases Roy. "You sure it's okay?"

"I finished my homework while you were doing your chores."

He has bathed and wears a white cotton shirt, buttoned to the collar. The cloud of his aftershave is vigorous. "Miss Burkette says you're supposed to be good at English, even if you are younger than me." He takes careful steps into the room, laying his books on the bed and rubbing his knuckles. "I hate to write stuff."

"I like it okay."

"I have to write about trains." Roy's brows knit to a sharp black line. He spreads open his notebook on the bed, and Nathan sits beside him on the sloping mattress. Miss Burkette has assigned his class to write a seven paragraph essay on a preselected topic, "Railroads in the United States." Roy has brought the volume "Q—R" of the World Book Encyclopedia with him, and he shows Nathan the sentences he has copied down from the article on "Railroad."

Nathan studies the writing and asks questions about the facts for the essay. Under these circumstances it becomes simple to talk, and the conversation feels as easy as their quiet. They discuss the essay seriously, agreeing that Roy must narrow what he wants to say about railroads, weighing one topic against another. Roy selects steam engines as a starting point and soon he is writing words on paper under Nathan's supervision. Roy seems vaguely surprised that the essay is actually getting written, and they work step by step through all the necessary decisions.

Mom brings iced tea for both of them, flushing when Roy thanks her, as if the acknowledgment is too much. She moves as if she would like to be invisible, same as she always moves, and yet she is clearly curious about Roy. When she retreats downstairs, they take the iced tea as a signal to rest. The evening is almost balmy. Nathan opens the window and takes long breaths. Roy stands, stretching. He sips tea and watches the half finished page on the bed, thoughtful and quiet. "I guess I ought to be embarrassed, getting a kid like you to help me with my homework."

Nathan answers, fervently, "I take English with the juniors. That's just one year behind you. I'm not a kid."

Roy appears confused by what he has said. He blushes a little and reconsiders. "I didn't mean it bad. I mean you're younger than me, that's all." His gentle expression kindles. He approaches closer, and his nearness brings a physical reaction to Nathan, a sudden heaviness, as if his body is sliding toward Roy's. Roy goes on talking with calm ease. "I appreciate the help."

"I like to do it."

"You're pretty smart, aren't you? That's what everybody says. I mean, I'm not dumb or anything. But you're different."

He offers no response. But Roy goes on smiling. "We could be buddies, Nathan. You think so?"

His throat is dry and he is suddenly terrified. "Yes. I'd like that."

"You'll like living out here. In the summertime it's real peaceful. Nobody comes around."

"Is it okay to walk in the woods?"

Roy laughs as if the answer is self-evident. "Yeah. I go out there all the time. There's some great places, Indian mounds and camping places and a haunted house and stuff. I'll show you."

"I bet you have a lot of work to do in the summer. Because it's a farm."

"Yeah, but it's all right. It's all outdoor stuff and I like that. You ever live on a farm before?"

"No. We lived in towns before, mostly. But my dad wanted to live in the country this time."

"Why did you move here? Nobody moves to Potter's Lake."

Nathan can feel himself reddening. "My dad got a job. At the Allis Chalmers place in Gibsonville."

He is momentarily afraid that maybe Roy has heard some gossip. A breeze stirs Roy's fine black hair. The lamplight traces one arched brow and outlines a lip, a curve of jaw, a shadowed cheek. He would be handsome if it were not for his nose. Maybe he is handsome anyway. He sees Nathan watching and likes being watched; he squares his shoulders and clenches his jaw. "You like this school stuff, don't you?"

"I guess so. Most of the time."

"I don't see how anybody could like school."

"Beats staying at home all the time," Nathan says, and Roy laughs quietly. He leans toward Nathan. Nathan's breath hovers between them both.

"So you stay at home too much, huh? We can fix that."

They sit quietly in the aftermath of this implied promise. The sense of closeness between them survives the return to work. Roy finishes the paper and stays to copy it over. His handwriting is neat and square, an extension of his blunt hands. After he folds the paper neatly for safekeeping and places it inside his English book, he stays to talk about kids at school, about Randy who put jello mix in Miss Burkette's thermos of ice water, and Burke who beat up a Marine five years older than him at Atlantic Beach last summer. He talks about what it was like in Potter's Lake before integration and avows that the black kids are okay if you get to know them. He talks about baseball. He says he doesn't want to go to college but his folks want him to. He talks more than he has talked in a long time, he says as much himself, with an air of slight surprise.

At last Nathan's mother calls upstairs to remind them it's about bedtime, and Roy stands. He tucks in his shirt and combs his hair at Nathan's dresser. His bundle of books lies on the bed, and when he turns for it he passes close to Nathan, lingering long enough that Nathan notes the difference. He takes the books, and Nathan walks him to the head of the stairs. Roy descends into the murky lower floor and passes out the kitchen doorway.

Nathan waits at the bedroom window, quietly tucked into a fold of curtain. The rich yellow bar of Roy's bedroom light spills across the hedge, and Roy's shadow passes one way and then another, a long teasing interval, until finally Roy returns to his own window. He glows in the warm square of glass. At last he waves to Nathan and disappears.

Nathan remains at the window a little longer, breathless and numb, the memory of the evening wrapping him like a warm mantle. 

Chapter Two

But the new ease has vanished by morning and Nathan wakes full of fear that Roy will dislike him today. Roy will discover that yesterday was an accident and should never have happened. Nathan dresses with deliberateness and eats his breakfast slowly. The night was cloudy but morning is clearing, he notes the changing sky through the kitchen windows. He heads for the bus when he hears the engine running. The grass, heavy with morning dew, whispers to his feet as he crosses the yard. Roy waits in the driver's seat. He smiles when he sees Nathan, something shy in his expression. Nathan takes the seat behind him, and he hands back his books and asks Nathan to look after them. The books are warm and precious, placed in Nathan's trust Roy grinds the bus into gear and commences the long drive to high school.

At lunch Roy finds Nathan again, setting his tray next to Nathan's, and announces that the essay, "Steam Engines in the U.S.A.," went over pretty big with his teacher. There is a message of gratitude behind the words, and Nathan savors it. Later Randy and Burke join them, and they tell jokes and dig elbows into each other's ribs. Nathan remains comfortable even in the presence of these other boys, and eats his lunch as he listens.

Randy strikes Nathan as curious at Nathan's sudden presence in their group. But he seems willing to accept. Burke hardly seems aware of anything, except occasionally Roy.

After lunch they head outside to the smoking patio, where Roy and the others smoke cigarettes. Roy says he thinks Nathan ought to go hunting with him and his friends sometime; even if you don't kill anything, hunting is fun, he says. Nathan studies Roy's lips on the thin cigarette, the place where the tender lip touches the filter, the compression of Roy's cheeks as he inhales. A bird wheels beyond his head in the clouds. The conversation continues the ease of the night before, and Nathan understands that Roy rarely talks so freely or on so many subjects. Roy declares he thinks it very practical to do your homework with somebody. The company makes it easier. This reminds him of his algebra class, where the senior class is studying something about the values of X and Y. Nathan listens attentively. Roy asks if he knows about solving equations for the unknown, and Nathan answers, truthfully, no. Tonight, Roy says, he will teach Nathan about it, as a way of paying Nathan back for the help on the railroad essay.