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school right now. I'm helping out my family."
    "Oh. That's cool, I guess." She took a seat on the grass next to the stump and then reached out toward his pant leg. "Hold stil ."
    Henry froze. "What are you—"
    She touched him, brushing against his shin and coming away with a large grasshopper. She leaned over and gently set the bug in the tal grass on the other side of her.
    "Much obliged," Henry said, stunned. He didn't tel her that he was glad to know she wasn't a ghost or angel. At least, he didn't think they'd be able to touch if she were.
    "You're welcome," Amy said, wrinkling her nose.
    "What's the matter?" he said.
    "It's just— much obliged? That's some real country talk you've got there, Henry." She gave him a warm smile that made a blush rise in Henry's cheeks.
    "Oh. Wel , I do live in the country," he said, glancing over at the tal grass, where the grasshopper had struck up a chirping song.
    "Hey—shhh." Amy took a seat on the ground near him, an expression of delight brightening her face.
    Henry shook his head. It wasn't unusual to encounter insects traveling through the clearing, especial y grasshoppers and bumblebees.
    Rarely, though, had he seen a bird. They seemed to sense that things were different here. Maybe it was that the winds and sun felt strange.
    Certainly, the breeze moved slower across this part of the field and the sky was farther away, hidden by the mists.
    When the grasshopper's song ended, Amy plucked a blade of the long grass and twirled it in her fingers. "Wasn't that pretty?"
    Henry watched her pul the strands of the grass apart. "Haven't you ever heard a grasshopper chirp before?"
    "Not real y. I guess I never paid much attention to that stuff before. Not too many grasshoppers on my old lawn, anyway."
    "Plenty round here," said Henry.
    "I bet." She looked at him with those big brown eyes—like chocolate with flecks of gold.
    Henry was suddenly aware of the time that must have elapsed since he'd started talking with Amy. "Excuse me, but I have to get along now,"
    he said, rising from the stump. "Mother's expecting me to bring in some vegetables from the garden for supper. I'l catch heck if I'm late."
    " Catch heck? " Amy said. "Wow. I wouldn't want that to happen."
    "You ain't kidding."
    "Right. I gotta go, anyway," Amy said, her gaze dropping to her hands. "Homework. It was, um, cool to see you again."
    "Maybe our paths wil cross again?"
    "Yeah, maybe." She backed away into the mist, giving him a little wave.
    "So long, Amy," he cal ed. He tucked his book into his pocket and dragged the mower out of the clearing.
    As Henry hurried toward the garden, his heart felt alive with a feeling that'd been absent for a while: hope. He was ful of the hope that she'd come to the clearing again.
    It was so wonderful to have someone to talk to. And even though he wasn't sure it was right, he couldn't help wanting something more than another aimless string of summer days—something different.
    And the fact that she was a beautiful girl didn't hurt at al .

    ***
    "You were acting strangely earlier," Grandpa Briggs said, settling down into his rocking chair on the porch later that evening. He looked out across the garden, toward the road that led into town. "You feeling better now?"
    "I'm feeling fine," Henry said. "Nothing a slice of Mother's icebox cake couldn't cure," he joked. But he wasn't fine. He hadn't been fine since he'd caught sight of Amy.
    "Alma makes a grand cake," his grandfather conceded. "She's as good a baker as her mother ever was. She can't beat your grandmother's cornbread, though. So light, so tender."
    Henry nodded. One of his earliest memories was his grandmother feeding him cornbread dripping with honey. She and Grandpa had been young when they'd built this house, barely older than Henry. But Grandma had been gone many years.
    Grandpa turned his head toward the sound of the radio's soft music. "Say, your mother looked better this morning," he said. "Had more color in her