Jerry Spinelli - Crash

Did you see her?

That was the first thing Kevin said to me on the first day of school, eleventh grade. We were waiting for the bell to ring.

See who? I said.

Hah! He craned his neck, scanning the mob. He had witnessed something remarkable; it showed on his face. He grinned, still scanning. Youll know.

There were hundreds of us, milling about, calling names, pointing to summer-tanned faces we hadnt seen since June. Our interest in each other was never keener than during the fifteen minutes before the first bell of the first day.

I punched his arm. Who?

The bell rang. We poured inside.

I heard it again in homeroom, a whispered voice behind me as we said the Pledge of Allegiance:

You see her?

I heard it in the hallways. I heard it in English and Geometry:

Did you see her?

Who could it be? A new student? A spectacular blonde from California? Or from back East, where many of us came from? Or one of those summer makeovers, someone who leaves in June looking like a little girl and returns in September as a full-bodied woman, a ten-week miracle?

And then in Earth Sciences I heard a name: Stargirl.

I turned to the senior slouching behind me. Stargirl? I said. What kind of name is that?

Thats it. Stargirl Caraway. She said it in homeroom.

Stargirl?

Yeah.

And then I saw her. At lunch. She wore an off-white dress so long it covered her shoes. It had ruffles around the neck and cuffs and looked like it could have been her great-grandmothers wedding gown. Her hair was the color of sand. It fell to her shoulders. Something was strapped across her back, but it wasnt a book bag. At first I thought it was a miniature guitar. I found out later it was a ukulele.

She did not carry a lunch tray. She did carry a large canvas bag with a life-size sunflower painted on it. The lunchroom was dead silent as she walked by. She stopped at an empty table, laid down her bag, slung the instrument strap over her chair, and sat down. She pulled a sandwich from the bag and started to eat.

Half the lunchroom kept staring, half started buzzing.

Kevin was grinning. Whad I tell you?

I nodded.

Shes in tenth grade, he said. I hear shes been home-schooled till now.

Maybe that explains it, I said.

Her back was to us, so I couldnt see her face. No one sat with her, but at the tables next to hers kids were cramming two to a seat. She didnt seem to notice. She seemed marooned in a sea of staring, buzzing faces.

Kevin was grinning again. You thinking what Im thinking? he said.

I grinned back. I nodded. Hot Seat.

Hot Seat was our in-school TV show. We had started it the year before. I was producer/director, Kevin was on-camera host. Each month he interviewed a student. So far, most of them had been honor student types, athletes, model citizens. Noteworthy in the usual ways, but not especially interesting.

Suddenly Kevins eyes boggled. The girl was picking up her ukulele. And now she was strumming it. And now she was singing! Strumming away, bobbing her head and shoulders, singing, Im looking over a four-leaf clover that I overlooked before. Stone silence all around. Then came the sound of a single person clapping. I looked. It was the lunch-line cashier.