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About Love, Stargirl
Product Description The New York Times bestselling sequel to Newbery Medalist Jerry Spinelli’s modern-day classic Stargirl, now an original film on Disney+! 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 Stargirl. The novel takes the form of "the world's longest letter," in diary form, going from date to date through a little more than a year's time. In her writing, Stargirl mixes memories of her bittersweet time in Mica, Arizona, with involvements with new people in her life. In Love, Stargirl, we hear the voice of Stargirl herself as she reflects on time, life, Leo, and - of course - love. “Spinelli is a poet of the prepubescent. . . . No writer guides his young characters, and his readers, past these pitfalls and challenges and toward their futures with more compassion.” —The New York Times Review "Humor, graceful writing, lively characters, and important lessons about life will make this a hit with fans of Stargirl." -- Kirkus Reviews, Starred "Brilliant. . . . As charming and unique as its sensitive, nonconformist heroine." -- School Library Journal "Anyone who loved Jerry Spinelli's beautiful, poignant young adult novel Stargirl is in for a treat with his latest novel. Anyone who survived or is enduring the teenage years will repeatedly recognize him or herself in these pages--and find the book hard to put down." -- St. Louis Post-Dispatch "Touching and inspiring." -- VOYA "The many readers who loved the first book will embrace this sequel." -- Booklist About the Author JERRY SPINELLI is the author of many novels for young readers, including The Warden's Daughter; Stargirl; Love, Stargirl; Milkweed; Crash; Wringer; and Maniac Magee, winner of the Newbery Medal; along with Knots in My Yo-Yo String, the autobiography of his childhood. A graduate of Gettysburg College, he lives in Pennsylvania with his wife, poet and author Eileen Spinelli. Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. January 1 Dear Leo, I love beginnings. If I were in charge of calendars, every day would be January 1. And what better way to celebrate this New Year’s Day than to begin writing a letter to my once (and future?) boyfriend. I found something today. Something special. The thing is, it’s been right in front of me ever since we moved here last year, but today is the first time I really saw it. It’s a field. A plain old vacant field. No house in view except a little white stucco bungalow off to the right. It’s a mile out of town, a one-minute bike ride from my house. It’s on a hill—the flat top of a hill shaped like an upside-down frying pan. It used to be a pick-your-own-strawberries patch, but now it grows only weeds and rocks. The field is on the other side of Route 113, which is where my street (Rapps Dam Road) dead-ends. I’ve biked past this field a hundred times, but for some reason today I stopped. I looked at it. I parked my bike and walked into it. The winter weeds were scraggly and matted down, like my hair in the morning. The frozen ground was cloddy and rock-hard. The sky was gray. I walked to the center and just stood there. And stood. How can I explain it? Alone, on the top of that hill, in the middle of that “empty” field (Ha!—write this down, Leo: nothing is empty), I felt as if the universe radiated from me, as if I were standing on the X that marked the center of the cosmos. Until then I had done my daily meditation in many different places in and around town, but never here. Now I did. I sat down. I barely noticed the cold ground. I held my hands on my thighs, palms up to the world. I closed my eyes and dissolved out of myself. I now call it washing my mind. The next thing I noticed was a golden tinge beyond my eyelids. I opened my eyes. The sun was seeping through the clouds. It was setting over the treetops in the west. I closed my eyes again and let the gold wash over me. Night was coming
