Love, Stargirl by Jerry Spinelli Page A

the Blue Comet. The treat was on her—some of it, anyway. With her profits from the festival—$11.27—she insisted on taking me to lunch.
    “So,” I said, “what else did he say?”
    She licked ketchup from a French fry. “I don’t remember. Stuff.”
    “I saw you laughing.”
    “Yeah. He was funny.”
    “And nice?”
    “Uh-huh.”
    When she finished licking the French fry clean, she started in on another.
    “If all you want is the ketchup,” I said, “why did you order French fries?”
    She sighed, trying to be patient. “Because you can’t just
drink
ketchup, you goof.”
             
    We hung around downtown for a while, then we went to Margie’s for afternoon dessert. Dootsie got plain-with-sprinkles, I got chocolate-glazed. As we sat down Alvina came barging through the door. She waved at me. “Hey, wacko. Do anything wacky today?”
    Dootsie whispered, “Is she gonna beat you up?”
    I whispered back, “I don’t think so.”
    “Is she gonna beat
me
up?”
    “She’s not going to beat anybody up. Relax. Eat your donut.”
    Alvina took her books into the back and came out with her broom. “You’re not gonna sit here the whole day nursing that one donut, are ya?” she said.
    “Maybe I am,” I said. “You got a problem??” I might have even snarled.
    I felt Dootsie rising beside me. “Yeah. You got a
probum
?” She
was
snarling. Red and blue sprinkles fell from the half-eaten donut that she wagged in Alvina’s face.
    Alvina stared stone-faced—and quick as a lemon thief, she tore the half donut from Dootsie’s hand and popped it into her mouth.
    Dootsie howled. “Margie! She stole my donut!”
    Margie called from the counter, “Good grief. You’re three immature babies over there.” She plucked another plain-with-sprinkles from the rack and tossed it our way. “Here. Now shut up, all of you, or I’ll kick you out.”
    I caught the donut and gave it to Dootsie, who stuck her sprinkle-crusted tongue out at Alvina, who went off sweeping.
    When Alvina finished her sweeping, she came and sat at our table.
    “I don’t like you,” said Dootsie.
    “Dootsie,” I said, “be nice.”
    But Dootsie was rolling. “When I get big enough, I’m gonna beat
you
up.”
    Alvina looked at her across the 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. Her hand slowly formed a fist and slowly came across the table until it stopped a quarter inch in front of Dootsie’s nose. Dootsie’s eyes crossed as they followed it in. Tucked into the fist was the elegant pink nail on the little finger.
    Dootsie jerked back—but only to protect her new donut. She held it behind her chair. She was not the least bit afraid of Alvina. Their eyes were locked into each other’s, but they showed neither fear nor hatred. Their stares were more probing than clashing. Dootsie brought her face forward until it was again in front of the fist. She opened her mouth as wide as she could and, still staring up into Alvina’s eyes, closed her teeth slowly, gently, on Alvina’s knuckles. Alvina did not pull away. Dootsie did not bite down hard. Something was happening that I didn’t understand, and somehow that made it all the more special. I looked at Margie. She was staring, openmouthed, the coffee urn in her hand poised above a cup. When I turned back, Dootsie was releasing her bite and Alvina laid her hand flat upon the table.
    Margie’s voice broke the spell: “Alvina. Back to work.”
    Alvina grabbed her broom and headed for the kitchen in back.
             
    May 31
    When I tried to do my mind wash today, a smidgen of me would not evaporate away. It was those stone blue eyes behind the sunglasses and the lemon seed bouncing off my shirt. For today at least, I guess I flunked Elements of Nothingness.
             
    June