ronaldweinland.info Manuals LOVE STARGIRL PDF

LOVE STARGIRL PDF

Sunday, April 14, 2019 admin Comments(0)

Download and Read Free Online Love, Stargirl Jerry Spinelli Love, Stargirl by Jerry Spinelli Free PDF d0wnl0ad, audio books, books to read, good books to. Love, Stargirl picks up a year after Stargirl ends and reveals the new life of the beloved character who moved away so suddenly at the end of St. Get Free Read & Download Files Love Stargirl Jerry Spinelli PDF LOVE STARGIRL JERRY SPINELLI - In this site isn`t the same as a solution manual you download.


Author:JAQUELINE BUHITE
Language:English, Spanish, Portuguese
Country:Turkmenistan
Genre:Fiction & Literature
Pages:758
Published (Last):24.08.2015
ISBN:377-8-22350-978-1
ePub File Size:26.61 MB
PDF File Size:16.87 MB
Distribution:Free* [*Register to download]
Downloads:37325
Uploaded by: MINA

Stargirl Jerry Spinelli To Eileen, my Stargirl And to Loren Eiseley, who taught us that even as we are, we are becoming Love. Stephen King Love scanned. Love, Stargirl Jerry Spinelli January 1 Dear Leo, I love beginnings. If I were in charge of calendars, every day would. What inspired Jerry Spinelli in writing Stargirl? Where can I download basketball: A Love Story PDF? ⇰ File formats: ePub, PDF, Kindle, audiobook, mobi, ZIP.

Plot[ edit ] New in town, homeschooled, and feeling rejected by Leo, the year-old narrator of the first book who had fallen under her spell, she is lonely and sad—her "happy wagon," where she keeps stones representing her level of happiness, is almost empty. She befriends Dootsie, a noisy but lovable 6-year-old who takes a shine to Stargirl and wants to switch. Dootsie introduces her to Betty Lou, an agoraphobic elderly woman. She is quite nice and Stargirl soon becomes friends with her as well. They also share a very nice time watching flowers together. With the arrival of autumn , Stargirl's life is affected as she meets several new characters: Alvina, a grumpy young girl who delivers donuts to Betty Lou; Perry, a teen boy who Alvina is falling in love with; and Perry's "harem," The Honeybees.

My father was long gone to work. My mother creaked from her doorway: For a half moment all I saw was the house across the street. Then I looked down. It was Dootsie. She wore pajamas under her coat. Her slippers were Miss Piggys.

Where are your parents? The doorbell rang. It was Mrs. Pringle, eyes wild. Thank God! Pringle, Dootsie, Cinnamon, and I were at the dining room table while my mother mixed pancake batter in the kitchen. Pringle was telling us. She was playing with Cinnamon, standing him up by his paws and making him dance. At the beach. She giggled as he climbed to her shoulder and nosed into her ear, then sat on her head.

Let me! My mother held her at the skillet while she poured batter onto the sputtering griddle. Pringle looked at the ceiling. Only five pebbles left. Remember when I first showed my wagon to you? How many pebbles were in it then? And then I put another in, remember? I never told you this, but before I went to bed that night, after we kissed for the first time on the sidewalk outside my house, I put in the last two pebbles.

Total happiness. For the first time ever. It stayed that way until I painted that big sign on a sheet and hung it outside the school for all the world to see… Was that my mistake, Leo? Did I overdo it? Did I scare you off? So I played hooky today. My mother trusts me to play hooky every now and then.

Pdf love stargirl

In fact, we have a course called Hooky, but not for credit. I just got on my bike and rode. Rode and rode. Now that I think of it, I was heading west. To Arizona?

Somewhere along the way I heard a sound. I looked up. A Canada goose was flying across the gray sky. They always fly in Vshaped flocks, or at least in pairs. Had he been left behind? Had he just lost his girlfriend and was calling out her name? Was she dead? Or flown off to Arizona with another goose? One voice honking across the sky. The loneliest sound I have ever heard. And then I thought of the bundled man in the cemetery.

I turned back. I rode to the graveyard. There he was, same spot, sitting in an aluminum folding chair, green and white strapping. This time I went in. His chin was on his chest. He was dozing. Most of his face was lost behind the brilliant red and yellow plaid scarf. An old-fashioned black domed lunch box sat in the grass under the chair.

I was afraid to go too close. I foot-pushed my bike around behind him. There were two names on the gravestone: Grace and Charles. Under her name were the dates of her life. Under his name were his birth date and year, then a dash, then nothing. Death day to come.

It was her second date that surprised me-she died four years ago. And still he was here. I think she gave him the scarf. I think she called him Charlie. I whispered her name. I backed away as quietly as I could. January 27 I babysat Dootsie today. When I arrived she was invisible. She was in a corner in the dining room.

Nobody here for me to babysit. I guess Cinnamon and I will have to go home. She paints her room almost every day. So there I was, brush in hand, letting loose the bedroom-painting maniac that hides in all of us. Then we talked about you. I used to. I think he will again. Far away. I moved here to Pennsylvania. We moved to your home state. I left a note on the dining room table in case the Pringles came home early, and we went next door and rang the bell.

Love, Stargirl

The door seemed to open by itself. She waved. Dootsie pointed at me. She kissed a boy named Leo. A big, bold laugh. She pulled Cinnamon out and offered him to Betty Lou.

Betty Lou screamed louder. I took Cinnamon. The teased top of her black and gray hair was flattened against the ceiling. She was trembling. She jabbed her finger. She scowled. Right now. She covered her eyes with her hands. She had rolled her eyeballs up till they disappeared. Mucho creepy. She took donuts out of the freezer and warmed them in the microwave.

She visits me almost every day. Margie calls them the best in the world. I had taken off my winter coat and put it on the front porch. Cinnamon was warm in the pocket. Betty Lou laughed. And Dr. For someone so fearful, she seemed surprisingly jolly. Look at all those other people walking around out there-all those human beans, as Dootsie would say. Nothing bad is happening to them. May nineteenth. The birds were singing, the flowers were blooming, the weather was warm.

It was one of those perfect days you get a couple times a year. I had my garden gloves on because I was going to the backyard to plant my tomatoes. I had three tomato plants in those little green plastic boxes.

Better Boys. And I went to open the back door and the knob was stuck. I tried and tried, even with two hands. And then the phone rang, so I took off my gloves and went to answer it. It was my old friend Hildegard. We always talk forever. She stared at the counter, but she was seeing something farther away. The fresh air washing over me felt threatening. The world outside that…that rectangular door frame, it was all too much, too big.

I only open the front door to let in visitors. She stands on a porch chair and reaches in and gets it. I have my groceries delivered.

She leaves them on the porch and Dootsie brings them in with the mail. She smiled sadly. Afraid of my own house. Mommy said. That gave us all a laugh. We did a lot of laughing until Mr. Pringle came to the door to fetch Dootsie. February 6 Snow. Gobs of it. Up to my knees. We made a snowman. I took Cinnamon out of my pocket so he could see it. I put him on my shoulder.

I sneezed. The sneeze knocked him off. We looked down. Nothing but a hole in the snow. Four hands digging frantically. We got him. He was freezing. His tail was blue. We breathed our warm breaths on him and rubbed him and kissed him. When he kissed us back, we knew he was going to be OK, even though his tiny tongue was cold. February 14 February 18 Do you know what day this is, Leo? One year ago tonight. Outside my house. My happy wagon was full.

Today I took one out. February 22 Field trip assignment: I went for lunch. I had a powdered-chocolate and an old-fashioned. There are four counter seats and one small table. I sat at the table and watched the customers come and go. She talked to everybody who came in. She never stopped talking to me.

I was surprised how many people eat donuts for lunch. The four counter seats were always occupied. Margie is taking donuts where no donuts have gone before. You want chicken soup for lunch? Fine, open a can. But you want donut soup? Turns out the girl works there. Not officially. Gets paid in donuts. She comes in after school.

Sweeps, dusts, washes, bags trash, bothers Sam the donut maker in back. She came sweeping toward me. She stopped, stared. Bums do that. You gotta download something. This is a business. She went off sweeping but came back in a minute.

She wore a blue and red striped T-shirt and a yellow plastic Pooh Bear on a black shoestring necklace. What kind of name is that? She sneered. The broom was still. You got a problem? I took her arm and sniffed it.

She stepped back. She sneered and raked the shop with her jittering broomstick-and-bullet chatter. Every one. I doodled poem lines for a while. I looked up to find I was the only one in the shop. Everyone else was in back. The boys come in, quiet, sneaky, grinning. They look at me, eyes asking, Will you spoil it?

One puts finger to lips: I change my mind: She shapes, she molds the heap with her broom. She looks at the boys mocking in the street, laughing, gorging, spewing donuts. The broom clatters to the floor. She jumps, both feet come down on the pile of donuts, up down up down she stomps the donuts like she used to stomp puddles when she was little, stomp stomp stomp while the boys, frozen now, gape, open mouths full of unchewed donut.

February 28 It snowed yesterday. Today the world is white. I put on my boots and walked to Enchanted Hill. It was as pure and perfect as a new sheet of paper. I took one step onto the field and stopped.

What was I doing? The pure whiteness, dazzling in the sun, was one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen. Who was I to spoil it? Snow falls. Earth says: Here-a gift for you. And what do we do? We shovel it. Blow it. Scrape it. Plow it. Get it out of our way. We push it to our fringes.

Is there anything uglier or sadder than a ten-day-old snow dump? Was that beginning to be us, Leo? We were once so fresh, a dazzling snowfield. We will not become slush. I backed off carefully, stepping out of the one footprint, and walked away. March 3 I saw the first flower of the year today.

A crocus, peeking out from under a bush, like, Hello! A little purple dollop of cheer and hope. I cried. Last year at this time I was the crocus, popping out, blooming with love and happiness for you, for us. To make matters worse, I was with Dootsie. I tried to smile. First flower. He says it when I lie to him. I lie a lot. Her eyes were watering. He made you cry.

She was angry. He dumped you! When I got home I took another pebble out. Three now. You 2. He volunteered. Nothing I learned from him helped me when the State of Arizona came testing. He gave me more questions than answers. He made me feel at home-not in his house or even in my own, but in the wide world. He is like a third parent to me.

Dori Dilson Some of the kids at Mica High turned against me. Some turned away from me. Dori was the only one who did neither. March 10 Every day brings a new memory of something we did a year ago.

A parade of unhappy anniversaries. And then he spat at me. Something hit my cheek. It stung wickedly. I shrieked.

I pulled it out. It was a cactus needle. Pain in my neck. And then they came and came: I woke up sweating, tingling. I put on my sweatpants, coat. No shoes. I tiptoed downstairs, out of the house. I rode my bike to Enchanted Hill. I walked to the center. The ground was cold and clumpy against the soles of my bare feet.

I liked the feel of it. The hard, real now-ness of it. I felt alone on the planet, drifting through the cosmos. With both hands I reached out to the night. There was no answer. Stop being such a baby. Boyfriends are a dime a dozen. You want to talk loss, look at all the loss around you. How about the man in the red and yellow plaid scarf? He lost Grace. You barely had 50 days with Leo. And you have the gall to be sad in the same world as that man.

Betty Lou. Look at you. Have you ever stopped to appreciate the simple ability to open your front door and step outside? How would you like to trade places with her? Mossgreen pom-pom. What did he say to you? Anybody home in there? Grow up, girl. Every word is true. Or how proud you were of me when I won the speech contest in Phoenix. Who is? Sure, Susan makes sense. My heart never says: March 14 Today, for the second time, I rode into the cemetery. It was getting dark. I coasted along the winding pathways.

Moonlight and tombstones. A vision came to me. I was in the graveyard of my own past. Under each tombstone lay a memory, a dead day. Here Lies the Day in the Enchanted Desert. Each night I lie down in a graveyard of memories.

Love, Stargirl

Moonlight spins a shroud about me. March 15 My happy wagon is down to two pebbles. March 16 I hate you! March 17 I miss you! March 18 I hate you! March 19 I love you! March 20 I hate you! March 21 LEO! March 22 Now see what you did. You made me miss the start of spring. He asked me if I saw the sunrise on March Archie and I used to go into the desert and watch the sunrise on four special dates: We poured green tea into plastic cups and toasted each new season.

Yesterday the sun was directly over the equator. Day passed night. Winter became spring. With every turn of the earth now, day is leaving night a few more minutes behind. The universe is going about its business. Why am I surprised? Sure enough, he woke me at 2 this morning, and 30 minutes later we were having grilled sticky buns and coffee at Ridgeview Diner.

I knew what he was doing. He was trying to perk me up. Yes, my father is a milkman now. After fifteen years as an engineering supervisor at MicaTronics, he was burned out. As the truck turned a corner at a Wawa store, the headlights suddenly caught a face. It was a face in a Dumpster, wide-eyed with surprise.

Love, Stargirl download free ebooks EPUB, MOBI, PDF, TXT, Kindle - Interest Books

And then we were gone. I was still seeing the face, like the afterglow in my eyes when I turn away from the sun. The Friday route is in the southern part of the county. Solitary homes along curvy country roads. No streetlights. No traffic. Only the dark and our own headlights and the rattle of glass bottles in the racks behind us.

The customers leave notes, Scotch-taped to the door or rolled and rubber-banded in the metal milk box on the front step. Some order the same thing every week, some different. Some parents let their kids write the note. Dear Mr Milkman, Pleeze leave 1 gal skim 1 qt choc 2 cott cheese 1 doz eggs My cat Purrfecto loves your milk!! It came early in the run: The Huffelmeyers.

The Huffelmeyers are an old couple. They get one quart of buttermilk, one quart of chocolate each week. See, the Huffelmeyers remember the old days, when things were safer and they left the front door unlocked all the time and the milkman just came in and put their stuff in the fridge.

We just walk on in. Dad turns on a small table lamp with a fringed shade so we can see. We stay as quiet as we can. While Dad heads for the kitchen, I like to stop and look at the pictures. There must be a hundred family photographs in the living and dining rooms. I watch them go from black and white snapshots-the young married couple, he in his World War II uniform, she in a floral dress and wide-brimmed hat, standing arm in arm in front of a Ferris wheel-to color pictures of the old couple surrounded by kids and grandkids and, it looks like, great-grandkids.

Look at whatever you like. Get to know us. Feel free to stroll through our dreams and memories. We trust you. An hour later we left the weekly cottage cheese and orange juice in the kitchen of the Dents, who are even older than the Huffelmeyers. My father headed east then, toward a silver-gray sky. New day coming. So far we had hardly said a word to each other. Now we did, though the conversation was stop-and-go, shorthand, constantly interrupted by the rattle of the milk carrier as my father hustled off to another customer.

Blue these days? More like gray. You noticed. Leo Borlock? Leo Borlock. Worth it? Not sure. I think so. Dad his hand on mine: One thing you can be sure of. That is? Me smiling: I know. And Mom. By the time we headed home, kids were pouring onto the playgrounds of grade schools for morning recess. March 24 I was pretty OK the rest of yesterday. Puttered around the house. Then, as soon as I was alone-bedtimeit all came back. Then I realized it was on the other side of him.

I walked around to his back, and the mouth moved to the front.

Pdf love stargirl

Soon I was desperately running in circles around the old cactus, trying to catch up with the mouth, because I knew that only when I caught up to it would it speak to me. Who are you if you lose your favorite person? Can you lose your favorite person without losing yourself? I went to the stone piles today. I had a feeling that the shuffling man would come by again, and he did. Still wearing the moss-green knit pullover cap and tassel and navy peacoat, still gravelsliding along.

He stopped in front of me. Have you seen me?! March 27 I played homeschool hooky. I stayed in my room all day-writing, reading, daydreaming, remembering. I wrote three haiku and two lists.

You loved me 2. You liked my nose freckles 3. You were nice to my rat 4. You loved Archie 5. Your shy smile 6. You followed me into the desert 7. You held my hand in front of everybody 8.

You chose Me over Them 9. You filled up my happy wagon And the second list: You dumped me 2. You liked Susan more than Stargirl 3. You chose Them over Me 5. March 30 Leo! Save me from an empty wagon! I took them off. She saw it on my face. Her eyes grew wide, her smile vanished. She tugged on my finger. I hugged her and calmed her down.

I tried to tell her how it works. But I would soon find out she was getting it all right-just in her own way. We continued our walk to Bemus Park. Along the way I bought us each a pack of Skittles. It was the first warm Sunday of spring. The playground was an ant colony of little kids-swinging, climbing, darting this way and that, sawdust flying. Dootsie stationed herself at the bottom of the sliding board.

When the Skittles ran out, we started for home. We passed people in the park. Dootsie began unloading the rest of herself. To the first person, she gave a Mary Jane from her pocket. To another, a paper clip. And usually a puzzled smile from the recipient.

When her pockets were empty, she took the red plastic Cracker Jack ring off her finger and gave that away. Then the pink rubber band on her wrist. She panicked when she saw the next person coming and realized she was empty.

She reached for my Stone Bone fossil necklace. I gave her the change in my pocket. Dootsie gave away my coins one at a time.

I was hoping we would run out of people before we reached her house. Dootsie gave away the last nickel and again went for the fossil necklace. I straightened up, keeping the necklace out of her reach. It was gone in a minute, and she was back at me. There was one thing left. It was a tiny brown feather of an elf owl. I used a yucca stick to dislodge it. Dootsie was going for my pockets.

I blocked her. The feather had come to mean you. Stargirl and Leo. Blocking my pockets only made her suspicious. She knew I was holding back. She was crying. Crying for lack of something to give. I had been crying a lot lately too. And what had that loose change been doing in my pocket in the first place? Remember how it used to be, Leo? I never had change because as soon as I got some I would toss it onto the sidewalk to be found.

What happened to that Stargirl? Light does. I gave her the feather. She gave it to a man walking his dog. Thanks to the example of a five-year-old.

You occupied my space. But because you were not in my present, when I looked into my future I saw…nothing. And stupid? I cannot be faithful to you without being faithful to myself.

So I gave my wagon a booster shot the other day-five pebbles! Spring has finally caught my attention. As for the paper money in my allowance, I have a new use for it. The local newspaper is called the Morning Lenape. The paper has a section for classified ads. Three lines, three days, fourteen dollars. Most people use the section to advertise yard sales and such. It will run Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday next week: April 11 Something happened today that was both disturbing and mysterious.

Dootsie has been sick with the flu, so I went over to let Cinnamon cheer her up. Charming Alvina. I stopped. The little plastic Pooh Bear around her neck was holding out his arms and wearing a huge smile-unlike the sour face above him. And now today-still there. I should have done it myself. Alvina went on: I got your donuts!

Her eyes darted over my shoulder. Her expression showed curiosity, then shock, then fury. He had the white donut bag in his hand. He paused on the top step to look at us, then started running. Alvina chased him up Ringgold, then into an alley where they both disappeared, though I could still hear her screaming. I had continued on my way home when she came puffing back down the street.

She yelled: She squinted. Pooh Bear was still beaming. I persuaded her to open the door enough to let me squeeze in. We had a nice talk, and we agreed that whenever she was having a bad day she would hang a red slipper sock in the front window, so Dootsie and I would be alert to give her special attention that day.

Stargirl pdf love

It was the same face I had seen during the milk run. In the Dumpster. April 19 Sunrise. Ever since I turned back to the first page of this letter to you-which is becoming the Longest Letter in the History of the World-and read the first sentence. And so I decided to wash my mind on Enchanted Hill one day a weekat sunrise. On the other hand, they appreciate how attached I become to things like this. So we worked out a plan. We got walkietalkies, one for me, one for my mother.

And a flashlight for me. I started today. My mother dragged herself out of bed and sat on the porch and watched me as I walked down Rapps Dam Road. She got stuck with the job because, of course, my father the milkman is long gone by then. With my flashlight on, my mother could see me almost all the way to Route I crossed the road and a minute later I was in the middle of Enchanted Hill. The first thing I did was walkie-talkie my mother and tell her I was OK.

It was still pretty dark out, but the sky was lightening by the minute. I sat on an old bath mat I carried along. I faced east and closed my eyes and dissolved into the elements. Sometime later, a glint in my eyes told me the sun was up and it was time to go.

She was wide-awake. Someday I hope I can be as good a mother as she is. A crocus, peeking out from under a bush, like, Hello! A little purple dollop of cheer and hope. I cried. Last year at this time I was the crocus, popping out, blooming with love and happiness for you, for us. To make matters worse, I was with Dootsie. I tried to smile. First flower. He says it when I lie to him.

I lie a lot. Her eyes were watering. He made you cry. She was angry. He dumped you! When I got home I took another pebble out. Three now. You 2. He volunteered. Nothing I learned from him helped me when the State of Arizona came testing. He gave me more questions than answers. He made me feel at home-not in his house or even in my own, but in the wide world. He is like a third parent to me.

Dori Dilson Some of the kids at Mica High turned against me. Some turned away from me. Dori was the only one who did neither. March 10 Every day brings a new memory of something we did a year ago. A parade of unhappy anniversaries.

And then he spat at me. Something hit my cheek. It stung wickedly. I shrieked. I pulled it out. It was a cactus needle. Pain in my neck. I woke up sweating, tingling. I put on my sweatpants, coat. No shoes. I tiptoed downstairs, out of the house. I rode my bike to Enchanted Hill. I walked to the center. The ground was cold and clumpy against the soles of my bare feet. I liked the feel of it. The hard, real now-ness of it. I felt alone on the planet, drifting through the cosmos.

With both hands I reached out to the night. There was no answer. Stop being such a baby. Boyfriends are a dime a dozen. You want to talk loss, look at all the loss around you. How about the man in the red and yellow plaid scarf? He lost Grace. You barely had 50 days with Leo.

And you have the gall to be sad in the same world as that man. Betty Lou. Look at you. Have you ever stopped to appreciate the simple ability to open your front door and step outside? How would you like to trade places with her? Mossgreen pom-pom. What did he say to you? Anybody home in there? Grow up, girl. Every word is true. Or how proud you were of me when I won the speech contest in Phoenix. Who is? Sure, Susan makes sense. My heart never says: Why?

Only: Who? March 14 Today, for the second time, I rode into the cemetery. It was getting dark. I coasted along the winding pathways. Moonlight and tombstones. A vision came to me. I was in the graveyard of my own past. Under each tombstone lay a memory, a dead day. Here Lies the Day in the Enchanted Desert. Each night I lie down in a graveyard of memories.

Moonlight spins a shroud about me. March 15 My happy wagon is down to two pebbles. March 16 I hate you! March 17 I miss you!

March 18 I hate you! March 19 I love you! March 20 I hate you! March 21 LEO! March 22 Now see what you did. You made me miss the start of spring. He asked me if I saw the sunrise on March We poured green tea into plastic cups and toasted each new season. Yesterday the sun was directly over the equator.

Day passed night. Winter became spring. With every turn of the earth now, day is leaving night a few more minutes behind. The universe is going about its business. Why am I surprised? Sure enough, he woke me at 2 this morning, and 30 minutes later we were having grilled sticky buns and coffee at Ridgeview Diner. I knew what he was doing. He was trying to perk me up. Yes, my father is a milkman now. After fifteen years as an engineering supervisor at MicaTronics, he was burned out.

As the truck turned a corner at a Wawa store, the headlights suddenly caught a face. It was a face in a Dumpster, wide-eyed with surprise. And then we were gone. I was still seeing the face, like the afterglow in my eyes when I turn away from the sun. The Friday route is in the southern part of the county.

Solitary homes along curvy country roads. No streetlights. No traffic. Only the dark and our own headlights and the rattle of glass bottles in the racks behind us. The customers leave notes, Scotch-taped to the door or rolled and rubber-banded in the metal milk box on the front step. Some order the same thing every week, some different. Some parents let their kids write the note.

It came early in the run: White Horse Rd. The Huffelmeyers. The Huffelmeyers are an old couple. They get one quart of buttermilk, one quart of chocolate each week. See, the Huffelmeyers remember the old days, when things were safer and they left the front door unlocked all the time and the milkman just came in and put their stuff in the fridge.

We just walk on in. Dad turns on a small table lamp with a fringed shade so we can see. We stay as quiet as we can. While Dad heads for the kitchen, I like to stop and look at the pictures. There must be a hundred family photographs in the living and dining rooms. I watch them go from black and white snapshots-the young married couple, he in his World War II uniform, she in a floral dress and wide-brimmed hat, standing arm in arm in front of a Ferris wheel-to color pictures of the old couple surrounded by kids and grandkids and, it looks like, great-grandkids.

Look at whatever you like. Get to know us. Feel free to stroll through our dreams and memories. We trust you. An hour later we left the weekly cottage cheese and orange juice in the kitchen of the Dents, who are even older than the Huffelmeyers. My father headed east then, toward a silver-gray sky. New day coming. So far we had hardly said a word to each other. Now we did, though the conversation was stop-and-go, shorthand, constantly interrupted by the rattle of the milk carrier as my father hustled off to another customer.

Dad: So. Me: So. Dad: Blue these days? Me: More like gray. Me: You noticed. Dad: Leo Borlock? Me: Leo Borlock. Dad: Still? Me: Still. Dad: Worth it? Me: Not sure. I think so. Dad his hand on mine : One thing you can be sure of. Me: That is? Dad: Me. Me smiling : I know. Dad: And Mom. Me: I know. By the time we headed home, kids were pouring onto the playgrounds of grade schools for morning recess.

March 24 I was pretty OK the rest of yesterday. Puttered around the house. Then, as soon as I was alone-bedtimeit all came back. Then I realized it was on the other side of him. I walked around to his back, and the mouth moved to the front.

Soon I was desperately running in circles around the old cactus, trying to catch up with the mouth, because I knew that only when I caught up to it would it speak to me. Who are you if you lose your favorite person?

Can you lose your favorite person without losing yourself? I went to the stone piles today. I had a feeling that the shuffling man would come by again, and he did.

Still wearing the moss-green knit pullover cap and tassel and navy peacoat, still gravelsliding along. He stopped in front of me. Have you seen me?! March 27 I played homeschool hooky. I stayed in my room all day-writing, reading, daydreaming, remembering. I wrote three haiku and two lists. You loved me 2. You liked my nose freckles 3. You were nice to my rat 4. You loved Archie 5. Your shy smile 6. You followed me into the desert 7.

You held my hand in front of everybody 8. You chose Me over Them 9. You dumped me 2. You liked Susan more than Stargirl 3. You chose Them over Me 5. March 30 Leo!

Stargirl pdf love

Save me from an empty wagon! I took them off. She saw it on my face. Her eyes grew wide, her smile vanished. She tugged on my finger. I hugged her and calmed her down. I tried to tell her how it works. But I would soon find out she was getting it all right-just in her own way. We continued our walk to Bemus Park. Along the way I bought us each a pack of Skittles. It was the first warm Sunday of spring. The playground was an ant colony of little kids-swinging, climbing, darting this way and that, sawdust flying.

Dootsie stationed herself at the bottom of the sliding board. When the Skittles ran out, we started for home. We passed people in the park. Dootsie began unloading the rest of herself. To the first person, she gave a Mary Jane from her pocket. To another, a paper clip.

And usually a puzzled smile from the recipient. When her pockets were empty, she took the red plastic Cracker Jack ring off her finger and gave that away.

Then the pink rubber band on her wrist. She panicked when she saw the next person coming and realized she was empty. She reached for my Stone Bone fossil necklace. I gave her the change in my pocket.

Dootsie gave away my coins one at a time. I was hoping we would run out of people before we reached her house. Dootsie gave away the last nickel and again went for the fossil necklace. I straightened up, keeping the necklace out of her reach. It was gone in a minute, and she was back at me. There was one thing left. It was a tiny brown feather of an elf owl. I used a yucca stick to dislodge it.

Dootsie was going for my pockets. I blocked her. The feather had come to mean you. Stargirl and Leo. Blocking my pockets only made her suspicious. She knew I was holding back. She was crying. Crying for lack of something to give. I had been crying a lot lately too. And what had that loose change been doing in my pocket in the first place? Remember how it used to be, Leo? I never had change because as soon as I got some I would toss it onto the sidewalk to be found.

What happened to that Stargirl? Light does. I gave her the feather. She gave it to a man walking his dog. Thanks to the example of a five-year-old. You occupied my space. But because you were not in my present, when I looked into my future I saw…nothing. And stupid? I cannot be faithful to you without being faithful to myself.

So I gave my wagon a booster shot the other day-five pebbles! Spring has finally caught my attention. As for the paper money in my allowance, I have a new use for it.

The local newspaper is called the Morning Lenape. The paper has a section for classified ads. Three lines, three days, fourteen dollars. Most people use the section to advertise yard sales and such. April 11 Something happened today that was both disturbing and mysterious. Dootsie has been sick with the flu, so I went over to let Cinnamon cheer her up. Charming Alvina. I stopped. The little plastic Pooh Bear around her neck was holding out his arms and wearing a huge smile-unlike the sour face above him.

And now today-still there. I should have done it myself. I got your donuts! Her eyes darted over my shoulder. Her expression showed curiosity, then shock, then fury. He had the white donut bag in his hand. He paused on the top step to look at us, then started running.

Alvina chased him up Ringgold, then into an alley where they both disappeared, though I could still hear her screaming. I had continued on my way home when she came puffing back down the street.

She squinted. Pooh Bear was still beaming. I persuaded her to open the door enough to let me squeeze in. We had a nice talk, and we agreed that whenever she was having a bad day she would hang a red slipper sock in the front window, so Dootsie and I would be alert to give her special attention that day. It was the same face I had seen during the milk run. In the Dumpster. April 19 Sunrise. Ever since I turned back to the first page of this letter to you-which is becoming the Longest Letter in the History of the World-and read the first sentence.

And so I decided to wash my mind on Enchanted Hill one day a weekat sunrise. On the other hand, they appreciate how attached I become to things like this. So we worked out a plan. We got walkietalkies, one for me, one for my mother. And a flashlight for me. I started today. My mother dragged herself out of bed and sat on the porch and watched me as I walked down Rapps Dam Road.

She got stuck with the job because, of course, my father the milkman is long gone by then. With my flashlight on, my mother could see me almost all the way to Route I crossed the road and a minute later I was in the middle of Enchanted Hill.

The first thing I did was walkie-talkie my mother and tell her I was OK. It was still pretty dark out, but the sky was lightening by the minute. I sat on an old bath mat I carried along. I faced east and closed my eyes and dissolved into the elements. Sometime later, a glint in my eyes told me the sun was up and it was time to go. She was wide-awake. Someday I hope I can be as good a mother as she is. Will I be intruding? Imagine that-Stargirl afraid of intruding! April 24 OK-I decided. April 25 I chickened out.

April 26 I did it. With a fresh donut. April 27 I went to the cemetery this afternoon. It was a warm, beautiful day. He wore a gray sweater. The red and yellow plaid scarf was draped over the back of his chair. I circled around behind him. I kept my distance. He took it! I thought, thrilled. Then I saw the bag, a few grave sites away. Lurched up against a tombstone, as if he had angrily flung it there. Maybe even kicked it. I am a meddling, nosy, interfering, inconsiderate, intruding busybody.

April 30 I tried again. May 1 Same story. This time he kicked it farther.

Should I give up? May 4 Dootsie and I touch little fingers-our secret sign of affection. Like you and I used to do. And I sadly think of what Archie says, that the sounds of extinct birds may be preserved in the songs of mockingbirds. May 19 Dogwood Festival! First the parade. People lining Main Street from downtown to Bemus Park. Fire engines. Dance academies. Little Leaguers. Clowns on unicycles.

Politicians flinging candy from convertibles. The Dogwood Queen and her Court. The Grand Marshal was a TV weather lady. Dootsie was all over the candy, a great white shark among guppies. Every time a three-year-old reached for a piece, Dootsie snatched it. She was stuffing them in her pockets, her mouth. When she stuck a mini Tootsie Roll up her nose, I drew the line. I yanked her out of the gutter, pulled the Tootsie Roll from her nose, squeezed her shoulders.

She unwrapped a Mary Jane and popped it in her mouth. And spent the rest of the parade giving her candy away to three-year-olds. Bemus Park was mobbed. There were rides for the little kids and a haunted house and open mike all day at the band shell.

Herds of teenagers roamed everywhere. To Dootsie it was a zoo. Someone had just paid for something and the clerk had turned away to get change when the boy veered to the stand, reached out, plucked a caramel apple from the counter, and breezed on his way.

Two kids were on the ground. The one on top was pummeling the one beneath, pounding fist on face. I was paralyzed. Until that moment, for me, one person striking another was something in books and movies. But history never made me queasy. All this happened in a few seconds, then two men were hauling the kids off the ground and pulling them apart even as they continued to flail at each other. One was a boy, the one on the bottom.

The other was Alvina. There was even a streak of blood in his blond hair. It was the nail on her little finger. It was different-not plain, not short, not kid-scruffy like the others. It was long. And pink.

And glittery. It was elegant. And then it disappeared into the balled fist. She picked it up, spat on it, cleaned it with her shirt-tail, and put it in her pocket. It was her yellow grinning Pooh Bear necklace.

In the next instant, one horror replaced another. I looked down. She was looking up at me. Her lip was quivering. Tears streamed down her face.

She was sobbing now, her little body heaving against mine. I walked some more, talking to her. Stargirl is bad. I never should have let you see that. I was only thinking of myself and I forgot all about my best friend Dootsie. I hate your boyfriend too. Because he dumped you. I have to. A little hatred goes a long, long way. It grows and grows. You keep feeding it more and more people, and the more it gets, the more it wants.

The boy? Maybe something else. Sometimes it hurts. We headed for home. We got there mid-afternoon so we could help her make her famous cheeseand-garlic smashed potatoes-more specifically, so Dootsie could smash the potatoes. How was the Dogwood Festival? I want to hear all about it.

I nodded. Betty Lou gave a sad smile and wagged her head. Now tell me about the festival. How about the Dogwood Queen? Was she beautiful? A Queen. She was seeing festivals past, Queens of other Mays. Betty Lou smiled at the window. You were? But I was a bit of a looker in my own right. The Queen and her six Blossoms. What were they supposed to call us-the Queen and her six Losers? So silly. Quite seriously. To the point of unseemliness, my mother would say. She had to practically rip my gown off my body when I went to bed that night.

She looked about-and suddenly she was no longer in the kitchen, she was in the parade, waving, smiling, blowing kisses.

Dootsie and I applauded. Betty Lou returned to the present, looked at us. Any regrets, Leo? Do you wish you had gone with me? That crazy Stargirl showing up in a chauffeur-driven bicycle. Dancing with herself, then all the guys. And the bunny hop. Leading them off the lantern-lit tennis courts into the dark.

Until the bunny hop, I was doing fine. I was enjoying myself and my schoolmates, putting you and your rejection of me aside.

But out there in the dark, the farther we got from the music and the light, the more I thought of you, and it occurred to me that maybe I could work a little enchantment of my own. As we moved deeper and deeper into the dark I wished-I willed- that something magical would happen, that the hands I felt on my waist, if I danced through the darkness just right and just long enough, would become your hands. When we came back to the light and I looked, it was Alan Ferko behind me, not you.

By now Dootsie had made herself disappear. She stood in the corner, eyes squeezed shut, noiseless, still as a floor lamp-Cinnamon visible as usual on her shoulder.

I looked straight into the corner. I shrugged. She must have disappeared again. Looks like she took Cinnamon with her this time. Are you here? Betty Lou nodded, relieved. So then, tell me about the rest of the Dogwood Festival. I thought I saw a nose appear in the corner just long enough to sniff. When I finished, Betty Lou again gazed out the window.

Her eyes were gleaming. Betty Lou checked the big pot on the stove. The potatoes are ready to be smashed and Dootsie the Super Potato Smasher is nowhere to be seen. She had to be talked out of doing it with her feet. She had seen a picture of winemakers stomping grapes. Then she had to be talked out of letting Cinnamon stomp. At last the potatoes got smashed, and the dinner was eaten. I took Dootsie home. Like the Dogwood Festival, it began with a parade.

She seemed to think this was glamorous. I pulled her along in a little wooden wagon. She smiled and waved to the crowd about ten parents along Ringgold Street. The Grand Marshal sat on her shoulder. She was trailed by three attendants, walking-no wagons for them.

Two were little girls from the neighborhood. The third was a black Lab named Roscoe. Roscoe wore a pink crinoline ballet skirt. The rest of the parade consisted of a boy with a turtle, a little kid on a tricycle, a marching band two ten-year-olds playing a harmonica and a kazoo but mostly goofing off , a three-foot-high Darth Vader, a grandmother holding the hand of a wide-eyed toddler, and a teenager doing wheelies on his skateboard.

We had attractions galore: bake sale, fortune-teller, penny pitch, stroller coaster. And of course a lemonade stand. I even gave a ukulele concert. The Grand Marshal tried to get some shut-eye in a bicycle basket, but tiny hands petting kept him awake. The festival was hopping when I saw him on the sidewalk out front. The face from the Dumpster. The caramel apple stand. He was talking to the lemonade vendor, the Boss Queen herself.

They were chatting away. She poured him a cup of lemonade and he dropped a nickel into the cash register her Babar cereal bowl. I kept my eyes on his hands, expecting one of them at any moment to slip into the bowl and take something out. I wondered if he was chatting her up to distract her. I wondered if the moment she turned her back he would snatch the bowl as he did the donuts and the caramel apple.

But the only thing happening was talk. He was gesturing with his hands, telling her a story. She was laughing and saying things back to him. In fact, they were having such a great old time that suddenly I felt a twinge of jealousy that Dootsie-my little Dootsie-was so instantly smitten with this new boy person.

My impulse was to stride right over there and reclaim my territory, let her show him who her best pal was. But I hesitated.

I had seen him so clearly three times-three times stealing well, two-or can you steal from a Dumpster? He had black hair that flopped down to his eyes and over his ears. His skin looked as if it had been toasted in the Arizona desert. Even at a distance I could see his eyes were blue. He pulled a pair of sunglasses-shoplifted, no doubt-from his pocket and put them on. She let him, I thought. She stood up. She strutted down the sidewalk. She turned and looked straight into the sun. I was outraged.

He held his hand out. They shook. He was saying goodbye. His hand went to the top of her head and mussed her hair. He walked up the street. I followed him. I stayed a block or two behind, on the other side of the street. When he came to Produce Junction he veered into the parking lot. Boxes of fruit and vegetables were on display outside the door. He snatched two lemons as he breezed by and headed on down Canal Street.

He stuck one lemon in his pocket. He broke the other one and started sucking on a half. Just watching him, my spit dried up. I walked faster. He was breezing along in his shades, more swaggering than walking, sucking on his lemon, spitting seeds into the street like he owned the world.

I felt my bile rising. I was still twenty feet behind when he turned toward a small gray cinder-blocky building on the canal. The side facing the canal was open like a garage. The boy went around the side and up two steps to a back door.

I came closer. No expression. I felt if I could tear off his shades I would find two cold blue stones. He tossed the half lemon away and shoved the whole other half into his mouth. He worked it around and his lips puckered, and suddenly he spat a seed at me. It bounced off my chest. He stood there chewing with his mouth open. I thought I saw a tiny sneer on his lip just before he opened the door and went in. May 28 I finally have a name for the boy, the lemon thief.

He also told her he sleeps on the roof on hot nights. And he fishes in the canal. And sometimes he swims in it even though no one is supposed to. Dootsie told me all this as we were having lunch at the Blue Comet. The treat was on her-some of it, anyway. He was funny. Dootsie got plain-with-sprinkles, I got chocolateglazed. As we sat down Alvina came barging through the door.

She waved at me. Do anything wacky today? Eat your donut. I felt Dootsie rising beside me. You got a probum? Dootsie howled. She stole my donut! When Alvina finished her sweeping, she came and sat at our table. Her face was as stony as ever. I have known her for months now and have never seen her smile. And yet something was there, under the surface, behind her eyes, on the edge of her lips, something softer, something little.

Tucked into the fist was the elegant pink nail on the little finger.