Roy has been watching this same way for a while. In the beginning Nathan thought he was imagining things. The first morning he rode the school bus, he thought it was unusual to find Roy studying him from the rearview mirror. They had barely said good morning when Nathan climbed onto the bus the first time, and yet here was Roy watching.
Sometimes the look in Roy's eyes reminds Nathan of his own father, of the look in his own father's eyes, but Nathan prefers not to think about that and shuts off the thought before it begins.
On the Monday morning after that first church service the sky unfurls its gray wash over the flat country, mist adrift over the fields beyond the Connelly house. Nathan wakes early and steps to the window. The partly open sash admits crisp morning air. Yellow light burns in
Roy's room. In the yard the muted school bus is parked beneath a pecan tree, brown leaves drifting across the orange hood. Nathan dresses with care, sliding a shirt over his pale body, buttoning buttons with lingering fingers, standing near his window so he can watch the other window. Now and then Roy's shadow crosses the visible wall.
After breakfast Nathan hurries to the bus. Roy waits in the driver's seat with sullen wariness. He speaks, for the first time going beyond a hoarse greeting. "I'm glad you're early, I like to leave a little bit before I'm supposed to," he says, and blushes and closes the door as Nathan takes the seat behind him. It is as if Nathan is drawn down into this seat by Roy's voice. They sit in silence, and Nathan watches the back of Roy's head. A line of red rises above Roy's collar, then subsides. Something has happened; Nathan puzzles at what it might be.
He feels as if there might be more. There is a kind of hidden movement in Roy, as if words are rising and falling in his throat. He races the engine of the bus and checks the play of the gear shift. Then, with an almost visible surrender, he abandons words and turns and looks at Nathan, simply looks at him.
"What is it?" Nathan asks.
"Nothing." Turning at once, Roy maneuvers the groaning, lumbering bus out of the yard.
The early ride is silent. There are no other families along the dirt road, called Poke's Road, that leads away from the farm. Even when other children climb aboard,
Nathan watches Roy, the curve of his shoulders and the column of his neck. Roy steers the bus neatly on its tangled route. After their arrival at school, Nathan is the last to leave the bus. Roy has already begun sweeping the long aisle.
This new school has required the usual adjustment. It is Nathan's second school since the fall term started, though Mom says they will live here for a while. Dad has made promises this time, she says. Nathan has gotten used to moving and hardly believes this time will be different. So here at school he is the new face again, sitting alertly in his desks in the various classrooms, answering the usual questions. We used to live in Rose Hill and then my dad got a job where he moves around, he's a salesman, he sells farm equipment, he works in Gibsonville now. We live near Potter's Lake on Poke's Road. We live next to Roy and his folks.
He remains serene. Already there are faces that he recognizes in each of his classes. Some of them have already heard from the teachers, who have heard from the guidance counselors, that Nathan skipped third grade in Rose Hill. That Nathan is very bright. The morning classes pass quickly, but then comes lunch, which is harder. He has been eating lunch at a table with kids he met in his sophomore Spanish class. He is not sure if he's welcome, but at least they do not chase him away. But at lunch this day, when Nathan heads for the table with his tray, suddenly Roy appears across the dining room.
Nathan sits, quietly. Roy wanders with his own lunch tray toward the same table. He studies the rest of the cafeteria with a troubled scowl, as if it is very crowded. Burke and Randy are following him in some confusion, since this is not their usual territory. Roy swings into a seat across from Nathan but at a slant from him. He glances at Nathan as if only seeing him at that moment. "Hey, Nathan."
His presence surprises the kids from Spanish. Roy is a senior and he hangs out with older kids who smoke on the smoking patio, like Burke and Randy, who are now making jokes about Josephine Carson and the black mustache on her upper lip, visible across the room. When Roy laughs, the deep timbre of his voice makes Nathan shy. In the watery light of the lunchroom, Roy's face seems full and strong, his nose almost in the right proportions. He goes on eating solemnly. Nathan fumbles with his fork. "You like your new house?" Roy asks.
"It's nice. I have the whole upstairs."
"We used to live over there. That room you got was my bedroom. Then Dad built us a new house." Something uncomfortable stirs at the back of Roy's eyes. He stares with seriousness at the plastic, sectioned plate.
