We were alone. We were the only ones in school.

		Highlight book: 'Frindle' "Frindle" by Andrew Clement, illustrated by Brian Selznick (Simon & Schuster, paperback, 112 pages). Publishers Weekly writes: "Trying to aggravate a tough language-arts teacher, a fifth-grade boy invents a new word for pen: 'frindle.' Soon, the whole country is using it." Ages 8-12. Related article My Gen Book Club author Q&A: Jerry Spinelli

At least that's how it seemed in the following days.

As I went about my day, I felt her going about hers. I sensed her movement, her presence in distant parts of the building. Walking the halls between classes, I didn't have to see her, I knew she was there: unseen in the mob heading my way, about to turn a corner five classroom doors down. I homed in on the beacon of her smile. As we approached each other, the noise and the students around us melted away and we were utterly alone, passing, smiling, holding each other's eyes, floors and walls gone, two people in a universe of space and stars.

And then one day I began to discover that we were more alone than I had dreamed.

It was a Thursday. Normally on that day, after third period, Stargirl and I would pass each other on the second floor around the teachers' lounge. We would smile and say hi and continue on our way to our separate classes. On this day, impulsively, I fell in alongside her.

"How about an escort?" I said.

She grinned slyly. "Anybody in mind?"

We touched little fingers and walked on. Her next class was on the first floor, so we went down the nearest stairway.

We were walking side by side. That's when I noticed.

No one spoke to us.

No one nodded to us.

No one smiled at us.

No one looked at us.

A crowded stairway, and no shoulder, no sleeve brushed us.

Students climbing the steps veered to the railing or wall.

Except for Stargirl jabbering in my ear, the usual raucous chatter was absent.

Mostly what I noticed were the eyes. Faces turned up from the steps below, but the eyes never connected with us. They went right on through us as if they were gamma rays. Or they nipped our ears and rattled off among the walls and other eyes. I had an urge to look down at myself, to make sure I was there.

At lunch I said to Kevin, "Nobody looks at me."

He was staring at his sandwich.

"Kevin!" I snapped. "Now you're doing it."

He came up laughing. He looked me square in the eyes. "Sorry."

Usually there were others at the table. Today there was only us. I leaned across my lunch. "Kevin, what's going on?"

He looked off, then back to me. "I was wondering when you'd notice. Kinda hoping you wouldn't."

"Notice what?"

He stalled by taking a bite of tuna salad sandwich. He took his time chewing. He drank orangeade from a straw.

"First of all, it's not you."

I pulled back. I held out my hands. "It's not me. What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's who you're with."

I sat there, blinking, staring at him. "Stargirl?" He nodded.