Love, Stargirl (11 page)

I realized that the moon was behind me now; my face was in shadow. His simple question stumped me. As far as I knew, he didn’t even know my name. So how should I identify myself? I thought over several possibilities and finally said, “I’m the girl you spat at.”

He laughed, or at least something that resembled laughter came out of his mouth. His head flopped back down. His eyes closed. I was afraid that was all, but in time he spoke again: “What do you want?”

The questions weren’t getting any easier. “Dootsie said you sleep on your roof on hot nights.”

“Didn’t answer the question.” He was right. His voice was straining, its tone saying,
Leave me alone so I can go back to sleep.

“I guess I don’t know what I want,” I said. “I woke up. It was hot. I couldn’t sleep. I remembered what Dootsie said. And here I am.”

“You don’t have your own roof?”

“Well, sure, but it’s not flat like this. Besides, you’re not on my roof. You’re on this one.”

“You want to sleep
here
?”

“No, no, I don’t mean that.”

“What do you mean?”

I was very uncomfortable. Whatever had compelled me to come here was gone. “I don’t know,” I said. “I do things without thinking.” I stood. “I’ll go. I’m sorry I woke you up.”

His hand flapped in the air. “It’s okay. I’m awake now.” I sat back down. “You got a name?”

“Stargirl,” I said. For the first time ever, I felt self-conscious saying it out loud.

His eyes opened. “What?”

“Stargirl.”

“What?”

I said it for the third time: “Stargirl.”

I thought he was going to make a big deal out of it, but he just said, “Okay,” and closed his eyes again.

This was such a new script to me. I had no idea what my lines were.

I said, “How can you stand to suck on lemons?”

“Juice is juice,” he said.

“Are you going to the Blobfest?”

“Don’t know.”

“I’m going with Dootsie.”

“Good for you.”

“You sneak into the pool a lot?”

“When I feel like it.”

“You’re braver than me. I’ve never gone off a high dive.”

“No big deal.”

“It is if you’re afraid to do it.”

“So you’re a coward.”

I don’t know how I expected things to go, but it wasn’t like this. What had made me think I might be welcome? I stood again. “Perry, I really am sorry. I—”

Suddenly he sat up. He snapped: “
You
came over to
my
house and climbed up here and woke
me
up. And now I’m wide awake. Is
that
what you wanted, to wake me up?”

“No,” I peeped.

“Well, what
do
you want? You just want to watch me sleep?”

“No.”

“You want to talk?”

I was shaking. “I think so.”

“So
talk.
You did enough talking before. You follow me home and call me a thief. You lecture me in the library. Who do you think you are, some chief nun or something?”

“No.”

“So open your big mouth and
talk.
”

I don’t know how long I stood there, trying to compose myself. I’ve never felt so brittle, so defenseless. It was all I could do not to burst out bawling. Until then I hadn’t realized what a fragile state I was in.

When I thought I was under control, I did the hardest thing of all: I took a step forward. Then another. The closer I came to him, the clearer it became that the angles were all wrong. I was looming over him. So I sat down, cross-legged, on the warm, papery surface of the roof, about five feet from him. We stared at each other for a long time. In spite of what he had just said, we both seemed to understand that this was not the time to talk. Still staring at him, I reached down and pulled off my sandals and tossed them aside. I think I was making a statement, but I have no idea what it was. Eventually I took a deep breath…“I dreamed about you one night.”

“Yeah?”

“Well, sort of you. You were swimming in the canal. Dootsie said you do that—”

“Once I did.”

“—and I was watching you under the water. You were a dark, shadowy figure, but I knew it was you—and then it wasn’t you, it was Ondine, and then you again, and Ondine, back and forth….”

“Ondine,” he said.

“The book you were reading in the library that day.”

He didn’t respond, just stared at me.

“I got my own copy and read it in one sitting. I loved it.” He kept staring. “Don’t you love it?”

“No.”

“Really? Why not?”

“She’s stupid.”

“How so?”

“She thinks everything is wonderful. Everybody’s beautiful.”

“Don’t you?”

His answer was a snort. “She’s always singing. She’s too happy.”

“Too happy?” I said. “Is that possible? Happy is happy, isn’t it? How can you be
too
happy?”

“When you’re living in a fairy tale. When the world you’re living in is bogus.”

“But it’s not all peaches and cream for Ondine,” I pointed out. “She gets sad.”

“Not sad enough. She’s stupid. She’s not real.”

Something suddenly occurred to me. “Perry,” I said, edging myself a little closer, “you never finished reading it, did you?”

“It sucked.”

“
Did
you?”

“No.”

“Well, I have news for you,” I said. “In the end Ondine’s beloved knight—Hans, remember?—he dies.”

“Good.”

“And Ondine forgets everything about her time on earth with people and returns to the water.”

“Good.”

“Forever.”

“Good.”

The word hung in the night—
good—
like a second, bitter moon.

“So why did you read any of it, then?” I said.

He shrugged. “It was in front of my nose.”

He lay back down, his crossed hands a pillow under his head. I was feeling a little more confident now, less uncomfortable, but still he wasn’t exactly a bonfire of warmth.

“You know,” I said, “this is the second time this week that I’ve been up all night talking to somebody.”

“That so?”

“That’s so. And you’re dying for me to tell you about the other time, aren’t you?”

“Can’t wait.”

I told him all about the cereus and the night in Betty Lou’s backyard. “Betty Lou is the person whose donuts you stole from her porch that day. When Alvina came running after you.”

“Who?”

“Alvina Klecko. The girl who chased you. Who dumped the bucket of water on you at the pool.”

“The girl with the fingernail.”

“That’s the one. She says you come into Margie’s.”

“Once in a while.”

“To steal donuts?” My boldness surprised me.

“She gives them to me.”

“I think she has a crush on you.”

“Sure.”

“Really.”

“She’s a little kid.”

“She’s a growing kid.”

“She’s a tomboy.”

“She’s a tomboy becoming a girl. Look”—I counted off on my fingers—“she gives you donuts. She chased you halfway across town. She threw a bucketful of water on you. That, my dear Perry”—I unfolded one leg and poked him in the knee with my toe—“is love.” I quickly withdrew my foot, happy and relieved that he didn’t swat it away.

“Alvina told me about boot camp,” I said. I looked at him. “Is it okay for me to know?”

He shrugged. “Everybody else does.”

His eyes gleamed in the moonlight. I inched closer. I looked at the starry sky. “I don’t know what else to ask.”

“Try: Why did they send you there?”

“Why
did
they send you there?”

“Stealing.”

I had to laugh. “Well, they sure knocked that out of you, didn’t they?”

“They tried.”

“Was it hard?”

“What?”

“Boot camp. Was it hard on you?”

“Yeah, I guess. Up at four o’clock. Run five miles. Yes, sir. No, sir. Socks on the washline. Classes. Marching. Stand at attention.”

“How long? One year?”

“Yeah.”

“And still you steal.”

He spat across the roof. “Yeah.”

I probably shouldn’t have prodded him, but I couldn’t seem to help myself. “So, what, it’s like at the library? If it’s in front of your nose, you grab it, right? Book? Donut? Caramel apple? Lemon? Whatever?”

He sniffed. “Nobody gives it to you.”

“Aren’t you afraid you’ll get caught again? Sent back?”

“Nah.”

“Maybe you should get a job. Make some money. Then you could—God forbid—pay for things.”

“I got plenty of money. I’d rather steal.”

Time to change subjects.

“So, are you going to the Blobfest?”

“You asked me that.”

“I forget your answer.”

“Maybe.”

“No maybe for me. Dootsie will drag me if she has to. You going to enter the scary costume contest?”

“Don’t think so.”

“Dootsie’s going to be Mrs. Blob.”

“Sounds like a winner.”

“Any ideas what I should be?”

“Yourself.”

“I’m not scary.”

“Don’t bet on it.”

He didn’t crack a grin, but I laughed enough for both of us.

I said, “I meditate.”

He said, “I don’t.”

“Didn’t think so. You’re not exactly the self-reflective type, are you?”

“Nope.”

“Afraid to be alone with yourself?”

“Terrified.”

“You seem so sure of everything. Got it all figured out, huh?”

“Yep.”

“Tired of all my questions?”

“Not really.”

“Do I talk too much?”

“Not for me.”

“Really?”

“I like people who talk a lot. Since I don’t.”

“Well, then”—I threw up my arms—“I’m your girl!”

Now why did I say that?

His eyes opened. He was staring at me. I felt like he was seeing me for the first time. I felt floaty, like a balloon cut loose. I needed to come back down.

“Ask me something,” I said.

“Huh?”

“I’ve been doing all the asking. Now
you
ask
me
a question.”

His eyes closed again. “Who dumped you?”

Uh-oh.

“
Dumped
me?”

“Yeah. Who?”

“Where did you hear
that
?”

“Your friend Pootsie.”

“Dootsie.”

“Dootsie. That day.”

“I thought you two were talking about lemonade. I didn’t know you were gossiping about me.”

“That’s all she told me. Your boyfriend dumped you.”

Something sweet and sad trickled through me at the sound of his voice calling you my “boyfriend.”

“I wouldn’t put it that way,” I said.

“How would you put it?”

I was afraid he would say that.
Ask me a question—
me and my big mouth.

“Nobody ever said, ‘I dump thee. Thou art dumped.’ He was under a lot of pressure. It just didn’t work out.”

“Sorry?”

“Maybe. Sometimes. I don’t know.”

“What was his name?”

Was that a faint smirk on his lips? He was enjoying this.

“It
wasn’t
anything. It
is.
”

“Is.”

“Leo.”

“Where?”

“Arizona. I moved away.”

“You loved him.”

I said nothing.

“Well?”

“Well what? You just made a statement.”

“You loved him? Question mark.”

“Of course.”

Please don’t ask….

“
Love
him? Present tense.”

I looked away. The edge of the roof seemed like the edge of the earth. We were on a raft among the stars.

I toe-poked him. “I said ask me
a
question, not twenty questions. Plus, you’re too nosy—”

“And you’re not?”

“—and I’m not about to tell you every detail of my life on…”

“On our first night.”

I wasn’t going to say that. I wasn’t going to say that.

“
Plus,
you’re having way too much fun. From now on,
I’ll
direct the conversation.”

He gave a chuckly sneer. “Typical girl.”

“Speaking of girls,” I said, “what about the girl at the pool? The one you were lying on the towel with.”

“What about her?”

“What’s her name?”

“Stephanie.”

Stephanie.

“Okay…so…how about Ike? The bike and lawn mower repairman. Is that your dad?”

“Yeah. What about Stephanie?”

“What does Ike do in the winter? No lawns to mow.”

“Snowblowers. What about Stephanie?”

“What about her?”

“Don’t you want to know more about her?”

I shrugged. “Not really.”

“Is she my girlfriend? Do I like her? Do I love her? Are we getting married? How many kids are we gonna have?”

He was smirking again.

“Funny,” I said. “I have a better idea. Let’s talk about my calendar. Bet you didn’t know I’m making a calendar.”

“Congratulations.”

“It’s not the kind you’re thinking.”

“What am I thinking?”

“The paper kind. You hang it on a wall.”

“You read my mind. How’d you get so smart?”

“I’m ignoring your sarcasm. My calendar is from before there was such a thing as paper. Ever hear of the Solstice?”

He let out a long, bored breath. “Winter or Summer?” Surprise, surprise. “Winter.”

“When the sun is over the Tropic of Capricorn. Shortest day of the year.”

I think I just blinked and gawked at him for a while. He appeared to have gone off to sleep.

“Am I boring you?”

“Nope.”

I’m not sure I believed him, but I went on and told him about my weekly work at Calendar Hill. “I’m aiming for December twenty-first, as of course you well know, Solstice expert that you are. I want to have a kind of—I don’t know—ceremony? Celebration? I want to give it a name. Got any ideas?”

A pause for five seconds, and he said, “Solstar.”

“Huh?”

“Solstar.
Star
girl.
Sol
stice. Reversed.”

I was overcome. Silly, I know—it was such a small thing. But hearing him say my name for the first time, a kind of thrill went through me. He was not as indifferent to me, not as bored, as he appeared.

I cleared my throat. “I like it. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“So,” I went on, “I’m going to have a tent, with a hole in it, exactly in line with the last spatula, pointing to the horizon, ready to funnel the first rays of the rising sun into my tent. A kind of tenty Stonehenge. I’m going to invite people.”