around his neck and it was attached to a hole in the hood and he barely had enough chain to make the circle and lie down.
By now my tears had already come and I couldn’t go back, so I sat far from him and he watched me and I watched him. I cried and he watched me and after a while my tears stopped and he put his head on his paws. That’s when I noticed it. A black patch of fur on the back of his neck.
In the shape of a star.
The next day after school, I went to the forest. This time the tears weren’t pushing, because I was thinking about Star. Would he still be there? Was he okay?
I whizzed by crushed beer cans and Burger King trash and the daffodils. Their petals were a little more open today.
There he was! Under the rusty rainbow truck hood.
I sat closer to him than I had the day before. There was a dirty puddle of rainwater that he kept trying to reach with his tongue, but his chain wouldn’t let him. He made a high-pitched, desperate sound.
Nearby, a plastic bowl lay on its side, but it was cracked. I remembered the Burger King trash in the ditch. I said, “I’ll be right back, Star.”
I ran back and found the tall Burger King cup, and I tore off the top so that a dog’s tongue could reach in, and carefully, inch by inch, I moved toward the puddle. But I didn’t have to worry because he stayed back, far from me.
I scooped up water into the cup and put it on the other side of the puddle, so he could reach it. And then, quickly, I backed up, so quickly I stumbled in the mud. Then I sat against a torn-off truck door and watched.
Slowly, very slowly, he moved toward the cup,reached out a perfect pink tongue, and lapped it up, politely, without spilling a drop.
After that came Saturday, and Dalia and Reina and I had to move our stuff into Mamá’s room and clean our room for two guys to come live in it. We couldn’t afford rent on the trailer now that Papá was
deportado
, so we had to rent out the room. The guys who moved in were drywallers. They each brought a garbage bag full of clothes in one hand and a six-pack of beer in the other. They dumped the bags in their new room, then sat on the sofa watching action movies and playing video games and drinking Coronas. Mamá’s lips made a tight, upside-down parenthesis, and she cleaned up the kitchen as fast as she could and then went into our room and watched
telenovelas
and
noticias
on the bed while we did homework.
There’s one more thing. On the day Papá found out he was going to be
deportado
, it was my eleventhbirthday. There was a cake waiting for me in the fridge, a
tres leches
cake from Albertson’s that said
Feliz Cumpleaños Zitlaly
. They missed the third
L
.
That night, all anyone talked about was
deportado deportado
and so my cake sat in the fridge, uneaten.
You have to be happy to sing
“Las Mañanitas”
and have a party, and nobody was happy. A few times over the next three weeks, Reina asked if she could eat some cake, but Mamá frowned at her. Mamá frowned a lot nowadays. She had to work extra hours, cooking the breakfast and lunch shift at IHOP and the dinner shift at Denny’s. She wasn’t home when we got home from school anymore. And she worked weekends now, too.
At three o’clock on that Saturday, Mamá walked past the drywall guys on the sofa and left for Denny’s. In our crowded room, Reina was still watching TV and Dalia was sulking on the bed because she wanted to be with her friends at the broken-glass park. Luckily, Mamá thought I was too young to look after Reina myself, so Dalia had to do it.
After Mamá left, I snuck into the kitchen and heaved the box of cake out of the refrigerator. It was enormous. No one noticed me and the cake going out the door.
On the way to the forest, I had to grip my hands tight around it. It was especially hard going under the fence and jumping across the ditch with the cake. I didn’t want it to get smushed or anything.
Star saw me coming with the cake and then he did something
By now my tears had already come and I couldn’t go back, so I sat far from him and he watched me and I watched him. I cried and he watched me and after a while my tears stopped and he put his head on his paws. That’s when I noticed it. A black patch of fur on the back of his neck.
In the shape of a star.
The next day after school, I went to the forest. This time the tears weren’t pushing, because I was thinking about Star. Would he still be there? Was he okay?
I whizzed by crushed beer cans and Burger King trash and the daffodils. Their petals were a little more open today.
There he was! Under the rusty rainbow truck hood.
I sat closer to him than I had the day before. There was a dirty puddle of rainwater that he kept trying to reach with his tongue, but his chain wouldn’t let him. He made a high-pitched, desperate sound.
Nearby, a plastic bowl lay on its side, but it was cracked. I remembered the Burger King trash in the ditch. I said, “I’ll be right back, Star.”
I ran back and found the tall Burger King cup, and I tore off the top so that a dog’s tongue could reach in, and carefully, inch by inch, I moved toward the puddle. But I didn’t have to worry because he stayed back, far from me.
I scooped up water into the cup and put it on the other side of the puddle, so he could reach it. And then, quickly, I backed up, so quickly I stumbled in the mud. Then I sat against a torn-off truck door and watched.
Slowly, very slowly, he moved toward the cup,reached out a perfect pink tongue, and lapped it up, politely, without spilling a drop.
After that came Saturday, and Dalia and Reina and I had to move our stuff into Mamá’s room and clean our room for two guys to come live in it. We couldn’t afford rent on the trailer now that Papá was
deportado
, so we had to rent out the room. The guys who moved in were drywallers. They each brought a garbage bag full of clothes in one hand and a six-pack of beer in the other. They dumped the bags in their new room, then sat on the sofa watching action movies and playing video games and drinking Coronas. Mamá’s lips made a tight, upside-down parenthesis, and she cleaned up the kitchen as fast as she could and then went into our room and watched
telenovelas
and
noticias
on the bed while we did homework.
There’s one more thing. On the day Papá found out he was going to be
deportado
, it was my eleventhbirthday. There was a cake waiting for me in the fridge, a
tres leches
cake from Albertson’s that said
Feliz Cumpleaños Zitlaly
. They missed the third
L
.
That night, all anyone talked about was
deportado deportado
and so my cake sat in the fridge, uneaten.
You have to be happy to sing
“Las Mañanitas”
and have a party, and nobody was happy. A few times over the next three weeks, Reina asked if she could eat some cake, but Mamá frowned at her. Mamá frowned a lot nowadays. She had to work extra hours, cooking the breakfast and lunch shift at IHOP and the dinner shift at Denny’s. She wasn’t home when we got home from school anymore. And she worked weekends now, too.
At three o’clock on that Saturday, Mamá walked past the drywall guys on the sofa and left for Denny’s. In our crowded room, Reina was still watching TV and Dalia was sulking on the bed because she wanted to be with her friends at the broken-glass park. Luckily, Mamá thought I was too young to look after Reina myself, so Dalia had to do it.
After Mamá left, I snuck into the kitchen and heaved the box of cake out of the refrigerator. It was enormous. No one noticed me and the cake going out the door.
On the way to the forest, I had to grip my hands tight around it. It was especially hard going under the fence and jumping across the ditch with the cake. I didn’t want it to get smushed or anything.
Star saw me coming with the cake and then he did something
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