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“She—”
    Alvina suddenly stopped talking. Her eyes darted over my shoulder. Her expression showed curiosity, then shock, then fury. “Hey!” she yelled past my ear, and practically knocked me down as she took off.
    I turned to see, up the block, a boy on Betty Lou’s porch. 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. And then I couldn’t. I had continued on my way home when she came puffing back down the street. She flung a finger toward Betty Lou’s house. She yelled: “Serves ya right, ya
wacko
!”
    She was close to me now, but suddenly she took five steps backward. She squinted. “What’s
that
?”
    I had taken Cinnamon out of my pocket and perched him on my shoulder.
    “My pet rat,” I said. “Cinnamon.”
    “You got a
rat
for a
pet
?” Her lip was curling as if she smelled something bad. Pooh Bear was still beaming.
    “Best pet in the world,” I said. “Come meet him.”
    She pointed, clearly at me, not Cinnamon. “You know what? You’re wacko too.” She crossed the street and continued on home, muttering, “This place is fulla wackos.”
    I detoured to Margie’s and got some donuts and brought them back to Betty Lou’s. 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.
    And all the time I was at Betty Lou’s, I kept remembering the face of the boy on her porch. It was the same face I had seen during the milk run. In the Dumpster.
             
    April 19
    Sunrise.
    It’s been on my mind ever since the last milk run with my dad. Ever since Archie’s letter. 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 week—at sunrise.
    My parents weren’t too happy. They don’t like my going out alone while it’s still dark. On the other hand, they appreciate how attached I become to things like this. So we worked out a plan. We got walkie-talkies, one for me, one for my mother. And a flashlight for me. I’ll do it on Thursdays. 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 113. 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.
    When I returned home I expected to find my mother nodding off on the porch, but she wasn’t. She was wide-awake. She smiled and hugged me and said, “Why do I have to be stuck with two people who leave the house in the middle of the night?” We laughed and went back to bed. Someday I hope I can be as good a mother as she is.
             
    April 23
    I want to leave a donut for the man at the cemetery—Grace’s Charlie. But I’m a little shaky. Will I be intruding? Imagine that—Stargirl afraid of intruding!
             
    April 24
    OK—I decided. I’m going to do it. I bought a donut at Margie’s. Cinnamon-sugar. I’ll leave it at Grace’s grave site tonight, so Charlie will find it tomorrow when he arrives. I’ll be careful to put the bag beside the grave, not on top of