ME: Well, the most obvious thing is that if you had been here all along, it would have been no contest from the start. But…you are there and he is here, and, as Betty Lou said, I’ve been lonely and vulnerable.
She also told me to inhabit my moments, to live today, to embrace the uncertainty, the mystery of Perry. So I guess that’s what I did the other day on Calendar Hill. I plunged into the moment. I let myself drown in it. The setting, the sunrise-talk about a moment! Who could resist? And that moment just went on and on for the rest of that day and into the next. But then I began to notice a funny thing. The moment began to fray at one end and disengage itself from one of its major parts-namely, him, Perry-until there was a clear space between them: the moment here, Perry there. They were not one and the same. And I began to feel again something that I had been only dimly aware of before. It was a small, surprising sense of disappointment even as he was kissing me, but the violins were so loud that at the time I could hear nothing else. Now that disappointment was returning, and with it the realization that the magic had come only from the moment, not from him. It was different with you, Leo. In the eyes and ears of my heart, you and the magic are one and the same. The setting never mattered. On the sidewalk in front of my house, at the enchanted place in the desert, walking the halls at school-wherever I was with you, I heard violins.
—Jerry Spinelli, Love, Stargirl, p. -1