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.

During every class for the rest of the day, Roy inhabits Nathan's mind, surrounded by whiteness and emptiness. It is perfect to think of Roy and nothing else, to dwell on Roy's image and think nothing at all. Roy will teach Nathan algebra, and Nathan will study Roy's shoulders and arms. The thought makes Nathan's mere arithmetic seem tedious and small. He stares at the flaked paint and rust on the iron posts that support the canopy outside. The clock spitefully crawls. Mr. Ferrette scratches the blackboard with fevered chalk. He occupies a fraction of Nathan's mind.

On the bus home Roy remains quiet, almost somber. Nathan sits behind him again but this time there is some change. Roy faces the bright world beyond the windshield. The very set of his shoulders denies any knowledge of Nathan. Nathan accepts the fact quietly. Fields wash by the windows, the motor roaring and groaning as Roy shifts gears with strong, sure motions. When he drives the bus to the back of the yard, under the pecan tree, he still stares straight ahead. A warning is evident in his quiet; Nathan presses for no attention. In the yard under the spreading pecan branches, Roy waits while Nathan gathers his books and hurries out of the bus, mumbling a goodbye that is barely returned. He does not ask whether Roy will come to his house tonight. Breathless, discomposed, he flies through the kitchen past Mom's flowered skirts (in which she is still studying how to be invisible) through the cloud of Dad's cigarettes (where he is already vanishing in the television's blue aura). Nathan climbs the stairs to his room and closes the door behind him.

Supper comes and goes. Nathan finishes his homework at the desk, from which he can see the lighted square of Roy's window. Now and then Roy's shadow passes the bright frame. Nathan sits quietly over his books. He studies his math a while, hardly concentrating, until he hears footsteps on the stairs.

When the door opens Roy is holding his algebra book before him like a shield. He grips the cover, which features a series of black and purple triangles on a field of burnt sienna. Roy's expression makes Nathan immediately cautious. "I told you I was coming over. Did you forget?"

"No." Nathan stands.

"Can I come in?"

"Sure."

Roy enters and cautiously sits on the bed. He sets out his books in a way that designates a place for Nathan beside him. The math book falls open. Soon Roy is writing in his firm hand on the notebook beside Nathan's thigh. He denotes equations in letters and numbers, illuminating each in pencil as he describes their arcane meanings and functions. Roy speaks to Nathan as to a peer and not as to a younger boy. Algebra is simple. You learn to work from both sides of the equation, to find the answer implied by circumstance. He sets out problems that become increasingly clear, reading from the math book about the price of yellow and green ribbon in Mr. Sawyer's department store, about the number of nickels in $1.97 if there are four quarters and six dimes. Finding a solution for the problem, as Roy explains it, requires a peculiar and inexorable logic. Enlightenment comes to Nathan at the same time that Roy's presence begins to have its usual effect on him. The principles of algebra break over Nathan like day. What has not before been known—the undiscovered element in any circumstance—may be ferreted out, exposed to light. Nathan watches Roy's hands on the pages, his brows knit together as he reads. There is an unknown here in this room. X and Y hang in the air between them.