“Hello, Amos.” Amos watched her climb the stairs to the church, body bouncing beneath a plain brown woolen coat. For three years, he had wanted to claim that bounce for his own, and he carefully scrutinized her every move for the receptive hints other boys had described: fluttering lashes, blushing and stammering, two-second gazes over the shoulder. “If she fancies you, she won’t face you square on,” Dennis Brown had explained. “She’ll be looking at you from the side, pretending she idn’t.” When Amos had asked why, Dennis only said, “Girls is like that. That’s just the way they is.” But Nettie Rose had only flitted past, friendliness etched in her teeth, leaving Amos to continue in his secret state of despair – the backdrop to his life since he discovered that he loved her. “I’m leaving tomorrow, Nettie Rose,” he hollered after her. She paused in the arched doorway, but did not turn. “Yes, Amos. You and everyone else that counts.” With those words, Amos felt a quick jolt move through him.
