I couldn't stop looking at him, at his smile and his hair. I had never seen locks up close. His were thick and black and spiraling down over his shoulders. I wanted to touch them, to touch his face. I wanted to hear him say his name again. For a moment we stared at each other, neither of us saying anything. There was something familiar about him, something I had seen before. I blinked, embarrassed suddenly, and turned away from him. Then Jeremiah rose and I rose. "Well . . . good-bye. I guess . . . I guess I'll see you around," he said softly, looking at me a moment longer before turning away and heading down the hall, his locks bouncing gently against his shoulders. "Jeremiah," I whispered to myself as I walked away from him. I could feel his name, settling around me, as though I was walking in a mist of it, of him, of Jeremiah. Excerpted from If You Come Softly: Twentieth Anniversary Edition by Jacqueline Woodson All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
