Dog Star

Giovanni

Gio sat in his chair in class, his notebook and pen laid out on his desk. The classroom was silent as his classmates sat ramrod straight in their chairs, their faces blank as they stared in front of them. There was no teacher, which seemed perfectly fine to Gio. What was less fine was the fact that while everyone was wearing their school uniforms—cream-colored blouses and light brown skirts for the girls and white shirts and black pants for the boys—he was the only one dressed in a tank top, basketball shorts and rubber flip-flops.

Mortified, he stood up to go change into his uniform, only to halt midway out of his chair when Auntie Nella strode into the room. "Pass your reports," she barked.

As everyone dutifully began passing papers forward, Gio dropped back in his chair, panic rising when he realized that he'd come to class empty-handed. As expected, Auntie Nella glared right at him. "Gio, where is your report?"

"I—I haven't done it. I'm sorry, Ma'am," he stammered.

"So you failed again?" his aunt said snidely.

"No, I—m-maybe I can do a makeup assignment?"

"You failed again. That report is another thing you owe me." Auntie Nella stalked over to his chair as his classmates turned around in unison to look at him, wearing identical smirks on their faces. "Just look at you," his aunt said contemptuously as she loomed over him. "Mariel was wrong about you. You've let your mother down."

To Gio's horror, he started to cry. Hiccupping sobs escaped him, which made sense because he was six years old and being taunted by the other kids again for being an over-sensitive, weepy pushover. His classmates started laughing, and he tore himself out of his seat and ran out of the classroom, fleeing down the corridor as fast as he could.

He found himself running through billowing golden clouds, which parted to reveal the living room of his house. He stopped, relieved to finally be safe at home and to find everything in its place. Their lumpy couch with the runners Lola had made out of scraps of cloth; the small, old-fashioned TV they'd inherited from a neighbor, with pictures of their family perched on top; their plastic dining table and plastic chairs, even the basket on the table that was filled with assorted toys, coils of string, hair ties and other gewgaws; their miniscule kitchen with Lola's oversized anahaw fan hanging among the utensils. There was Grayson's green plastic rocking duck in front of the TV, Gisele's notebook with the crazy-eyed unicorn on the cover where she'd left it on the stairs, Gaby's uniform blouse and skirt hanging on the bannister. Everything was the way it was before the fire.

Except for one thing: Yellow watched him from the middle of the stairs, her ears and tail low as if she wasn't sure of her welcome in Gio's home.

"Yellow?" he said in wonder.

She woofed and clattered down to meet him, tail wagging enthusiastically. She licked his hand, did her happy tap-tapping dance and woofed some more. Laughing, Gio dropped down to his knees and rubbed her behind her ears.

"You're looking good, girl." It was true. Yellow had lost her painful scrawniness and appeared round and well-fed. Her fur looked clean and well-groomed, and her eyes and nose were bright with good health.

"This is right," he murmured as he scratched her flank then gave her a belly rub when she lay down in front of him, wriggling with joy. "This is home. We're both home."

Yellow clambered to her feet and barked. Gio watched as she trotted over to the space underneath the stairs where they kept the cardboard box that contained Nanay's clothes and things. Yellow sniffed at the box, then looked over at Gio.

"What? You want me to open the box?"

He got to his feet and went over to the box. Suddenly, Yellow spun around and growled at the box. Gio drew back, surprised at the shift in the dog's demeanor, then looked at the box again. Smoke was rising from it, and red-orange sparks ignited in one corner and quickly spread. The air grew scorching as smoke filled the inside of the house, accompanied by a dull, steady roar mixed with distant shouts of alarm. Gio looked wildly toward the kitchen. Through the open back door, he saw a rippling wall of red flame and black smoke. It had just finished swallowing the house behind theirs and was moving relentlessly toward his house. The back door caught fire, flames licking the inside of their kitchen and turning Lola's anahaw fan into ash, and the smoke reached into his throat and squeezed his lungs.