(English Original)
Mary
picks up the record of _West Side Story_ and says, "Gee, I'd like to see
that. Did you?"

I say No, and to tell the truth I hadn't hardly heard of it.

"I read a book about him. It was wonderful," she says.

"Who?"

"Bernstein. The man who wrote it."

"What's _West Side Story_ about, him?" I ask cautiously.

"No, no-he wrote the music. It's about some kids in two gangs, and there's
a lot of dancing, and then there's a fight and this kid gets-well, it
isn't a thing you can tell the story of very well. You have to see it."

This gives me a very simple idea.

"Why don't we?" I say.

"Huh?"

"Go see it. Why not? We got money."

"So we do," she says slowly. "You think they'll let us in, I mean being
under sixteen?"

You know, this is the first girl I really ever talked to that talks like a
person, not trying to be cute or something.

We walk around to the theater, and being it's Wednesday, there's a matinee
about to start. The man doesn't seem to be one bit worried about taking
our money. No wonder. It's two dollars and ninety cents each. So we're
inside with our tickets before we've hardly stopped to think.

Suddenly Mary says, "Oops! I better call Mom! Let's find out what time the
show is over."

We do, and Mary phones. She says to me, "I just told her I was walking
past _West Side Story_ and found I could get a ticket. I didn't say
anything about you."

"Why, would she mind?"

Mary squints and looks puzzled. "I don't know. I just really don't know.
It never happened before."

We go in to the show, and she is right, it's terrific. I hardly ever went
to a live show before, except a couple of children's things and something
by Shakespeare Pop took me to that was very confusing. But this _West Side
Story_ is clear as a bell.

We have an orangeade during intermission, and I make the big gesture and
pay for both of them. Mary says, "Isn't it wonderful! I just happened to
meet you at the beach, and then I meet you at Goody's, and we get to see
this show that I've wanted to go to for ages. None of my friends at school
want to spend this much money on a show."

"It's wonderful," I say. "After it's over, I'm going back to buy the
record."

So after the show we buy it, and then we walk along together to the
subway. I'll have to get off at the first stop, Fourteenth Street, and
she'll go on to Coney, the end of the line.

It's hard to talk on the subway. There's so much noise you have to shout,
which is hard if you don't know what to say. Anyway, you can't ask a girl
for her phone number shouting on the subway. At least I can't.

I'm not so sure about the phone-number business either. I sort of can't
imagine calling up and saying, "Oh, uh, Mary, this is Dave. You want to go
to a movie or something, huh?" It sounds stupid, and I'd be embarrassed.
What she said, it's true-it's sort of wonderful the way we just ran into
each other twice and had so much fun.

So I'm wondering how I can happen to run into her again. Maybe the beach,
in the fall. Let's see, a school holiday-Columbus Day.

The train is pulling into Fourteenth Street. I shout, "Hey, how about we
go to the beach again this fall? Maybe Columbus Day?"

"O.K.!" she shouts. "Columbus Day in the morning."