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"See? He knows when school gets out then it's time to eat. That's why I like to come home," I tell Nick.

We say "Hi" to Mom, and I get out the cat food while Nick opens his coke.

"You know those girls we ran into over on Coney Island?" he says.

"Yeah."

"Well, I got the blonde's phone number, so Sunday when I was hacking around with nothing to do, I called her up."

"Yeah? What for?"

"You stupid or something? To talk. So she yacked away a good while, and finally I asked her why didn't she come over next Saturday, we could go to a movie or something."

"Yeah." I was working on my pear, a very juicy one.

"That all you can say? So she says, well, she might, if she can get her girl friend to come too, but she doesn't want to come alone, and her mother wouldn't let her anyway."

"Which one?"

"Which one what?"

"Which girl friend?"

"Oh. You remember, the other one we were kidding around with at the beach, the redhead. So I said, O.K., I'd see if I could get you to come too. I said I'd call her back."

"Hmp. I don't know."

"What d'you mean, you don't know?"

"How do I know if I like that girl? I hardly even talked to her. Anyway, it sounds like a date. I don't want a date. If they just happen to come over, I guess it's all right."

"So shall I tell them it's O.K. for Saturday?"

"Hmm."

"It's nice you learned a new word."

"Do I have to pay for the girl at the movies?"

"Cheapskate. Maybe if you just stand around saying 'Hmm,' she'll buy her own. O.K.?"

"O.K. But this whole thing is your idea, and if it stinks it's going to be your fault."

"Boy, what an enthusiast! Come on, let's play a record and do the math."

Nick is better at math than I am, so I agree.

Saturday morning at ten o'clock Nick turns up at my house in a white shirt and slicked-down hair.

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