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           "What’syourfavoritecolor?"heasked,hisfacegrave.

           Irolledmyeyes."Itchangesfromdaytoday."

           "What’syourfavoritecolortoday?"Hewasstillsolemn.

           "Probablybrown."Itendedtodressaccordingtomymood.

           Hesnorted,droppinghisseriousexpression."Brown?"heaskedskeptically.

           "Sure.Browniswarm.Imissbrown.Everythingthat’ssupposedtobebrown-treetrunks,rocks,dirt-isallcoveredupwithsquashygreenstuffhere,"Icomplained.

           Heseemedfascinatedbymylittlerant.Heconsideredforamoment,staringintomyeyes.

           "You’reright,"hedecided,seriousagain."Browniswarm."Hereachedover,swiftly,butsomehowstillhesitantly,tosweepmyhairbackbehind

           myshoulder.

           Wewereattheschoolbynow.Heturnedbacktomeashepulledintoaparkingspace.

           "WhatmusicisinyourCDplayerrightnow?"heasked,hisfaceassomberasifhe’daskedforamurderconfession.

           IrealizedI’dneverremovedtheCDPhilhadgivenme.WhenIsaidthenameoftheband,hesmiledcrookedly,apeculiarexpressioninhiseyes.Heflippedopenacompartmentunderhiscar’sCDplayer,pulledoutoneofthirtyorsoCDsthatwerejammedintothesmallspace,andhandedittome,

           "Debussytothis?"Heraisedaneyebrow.

           ItwasthesameCD.Iexaminedthefamiliarcoverart,keepingmyeyesdown.

           Itcontinuedlikethatfortherestoftheday.WhilehewalkedmetoEnglish,whenhemetmeafterSpanish,allthroughthelunchhour,hequestionedmerelentlesslyabouteveryinsignificantdetailofmyexistence.