understood me exactly and was actually interested in what I said, did and thought. I don’t know if I’ve ever actually seen that in any boy’s eyes before. Interesting feeling. On the way to school Kaplan told me a bit about his latest lyrics, which he rarely does, because as he says, without the music it just doesn’t work. This time he made an exception, perhaps in return for my poem. ‘‘My mother bought me this new shirt She thought I’d actually wear it, How did she ever get that idea? When it has no possible merit?’’ And the second verse: ‘‘My mother bought me new trousers She says the old ones don’t have it. How did she ever get that idea? Who wants to kill an old habit?’’ Well, I just totally leapt around with enthusiasm—it’s a wonder I didn’t give him a kiss. Amazing—I told him immediately what my mum had done with my favourite trousers and Kaplan said: ‘‘You mean those red corduroys—those old Levis?’’ I just stood staring at him in disbelief. ‘‘You remember what I have on? How come?’’ But I told myself off straight away for asking him in such a stupid way. Kaplan kicked the gravel and fallen leaves and then says:
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