Unlike Stargirl, I was aware of the constant anger of our schoolmates, seething like snakes under a porch. In fact, I was not only aware of it, but at time I also understood their point of view […] I saw. I heard. I understood. I suffered. But whose sake was I suffering for? I kept thinking of Señor Saguaro's question: Whose affection do you value more, hers or the others'?
I became angry. I resented having to choose. I refused to choose. I imagined my life without her and without them, and I didn't like it either way (23.8-10).
"I'm invisible," I said to Kevin at lunch. "Nobody hears me. Nobody sees me. I'm the friggin' invisible man."
"What did I do?" My voice was louder than I intended.
He chewed. He stared. At last he said, "You know what you did."
I had linked myself to an unpopular person.
That was my crime (24.24-32).
"Stargirl, you just can't do things the way you do. If you weren't stuck in a homeschool all your life, you'd understand. You can't just wake up in the morning and say you don't care what the rest of the world think."
Her eyes were wide, her voice peepy like a little girl's.
"Not unless you want to be a hermit" (25.40-42).