I’d heard about Samuel when several women, including Nettie Yates, had gathered in our kitchen to do some canning. Every year since my mom had died my neighbors would bring fruit and vegetables from their own gardens and can all day, filling our shelves with their labors. That August, the kitchen was uncomfortably warm and smelled of stewed tomatoes. I listened to the women visit as I wished for freedom from the endless canning, although my gratitude would not allow me to leave. I found myself drawn into the conversation out of sheer boredom. Nettie Yates was venting her concerns to the other women -

“He’s gotten so his mother can’t handle him. She remarried, you know. Seems Samuel doesn’t get along too well with his step dad and his step siblings. My opinion is there is some alcohol involved - the step dad drinks to much, I think. Samuel’s gotten in several fights this year and was kicked out of the school on the reservation. He’s an angry boy, and I’m a little worried about having him come live here.” Nettie Yates paused for breath and then continued. “I just hope people are good to him - it’s what Michael would have wanted. We’d have taken him when Michael died, but his mother wouldn’t hear of it. We told her to bring Samuel and come live with us, but she ended up going back to the reservation to live with her mother. Can’t say I blame her. It’s what she knew, and there is comfort in that, especially when you lose someone you love.

“We’ve barely seen the boy all these years. Don’s looking forward to having Samuel help with the sheep. Them Navajos know about sheep, you know. Samuel’s helped his grandma tend sheep since he was six years old. Anyway, he’ll attend school here for his senior year and hopefully graduate. Then he’ll be old enough to decide what he wants to do.” Nettie had finished the telling with a long sigh as she continued to slice ripe tomatoes into her bowl, never breaking rhythm.

Samuel looked up at me as I tried to slide past Joby into my seat. Samuel’s dark eyes and wide mouth were unsmiling, his eyebrows drawn together in an irritated slash against his warm brown skin. His shiny black hair skimmed his shoulders. I’d never said two words to Samuel Yates. In fact, I’d never heard him talk at all. His face was filled with hostility and his wide mouth turned down as he looked away. I inched past Joby, trying not to touch him as I sat down. Joby moved at the last minute, pulling me into his lap.

“Josie!” He said in mock surprise. “I didn’t really mean come to papa!” Everyone laughed again as he pretended to push me off, all the while making it impossible for me to get free of his long arms and big feet.

I felt tears spring to my eyes as he continued to tickle me and jostle me around. Someone in front of me must have noticed my mortified expression, because a voice called out, “Uh oh, Joby! She’s gonna cry!”

Joby whooped and looked down at me. “Don’t cry, Josie! I’m just messin’ with ya. Here, I’ll kiss it better.” Joby stuck out his lips comically and smacked a big kiss on my cheek.

“Stop it, Joby!” I sputtered out and elbowed him as I fought my way out of his messy embrace. Suddenly, Joby pushed me onto Samuel. My head collided with the window, and my backpack slid down and pinned my arms behind me. I found myself face first in Samuel’s lap and yelped as he jerked me upright. The kids around us howled with laughter.

Suddenly, Samuel’s right arm lashed out and pushed Joby clean off the seat. Joby landed with a loud thump right in the aisle. Surprise whooshed out of his lungs in a startled grunt. Before I could register what was happening, Samuel maneuvered me across him and sat me down next to the window. He stood up slowly and leaned over Joby’s stunned person. The laughter dimmed to nervous twitters, and then there was silence. The kids around us watched, their mouths and eyes wide. My face throbbed with humiliation. I felt faint, and I realized I was holding my breath. Samuel stared down at Joby, his arms braced on the seats on either side of the aisle. Joby stared back at him; his mouth was working but no words were coming out, as if he hadn’t narrowed down what to say next.

“Don’t cry, Joby! I’m just messing with you.” Samuel’s voice was deep and soft, his face completely expressionless. The kids who had been laughing started laughing again.

The bus had just pulled up to the last stop when the confrontation in the back of the bus drew the driver’s attention. Samuel had pretty much ignored everyone since he started school two months ago. He hardly spoke, but he was tall enough and intimidating enough that everyone steered pretty well clear of him. Everyone, including Joby, stared at him incredulously.

“No fighting on my bus, boys!” Mr. Walker, the bus driver, yelled back as he threw the bus into park, engaging the brake and disengaging his seatbelt in a huff. He rushed down the aisle towards Samuel. Without acknowledging Mr. Walker’s approach, Samuel slowly bent down, extended his hand, and pulled Joby to his feet. Then, like he had all the time in the world, he turned and looked down at poor Mr. Walker. He reached over and pulled Joby’s name tag off the seat where I was now sitting. I flinched and ducked my head as all eyes flew to me.

“Joby needs a new seat,” Samuel said softly. He pressed the curling white label against Joby’s forehead, all the while staring at the bus driver calmly. Mr. Walker looked confused and Joby was, for once, at a loss for words.

“Can’t he sit there?” Mr. Walker questioned, pointing to the seat I was now occupying. I noticed how Mr. Walker’s voice had immediately softened to match the volume of Samuel’s quiet declaration.