If I Was A Star

Moonlight spilled across Maya Alvarez’s blanket as she pressed her nose to the cool apartment window.

Above the rooftops, stars blinked in the dark blue sky. Some were bright and bold. Others were tiny, almost hidden. Maya liked those best. They seemed to whisper, “I am still here.”

The window glass felt cold against her cheek. Behind her, the apartment was quiet except for the soft hum of the old refrigerator and the little click of the heater. The room smelled like warm dust and the cinnamon toast she had eaten for dinner. It was not much, but Maya had made a nest beside the window with her pillow, a quilt, and her favorite blue sweater.

She tucked her knees under her chin.

“Which one would I be?” she whispered.

A star near the top of the sky gave a small, bright wink.

Maya smiled, but the smile slipped away when she looked around the room. The paint on the wall was peeling near the window. One chair had a loose leg. A stack of folded clothes leaned against the door because there was no closet big enough to hold them.

The apartment was small and dim. It felt even smaller when nobody talked.

Maya reached for the paper she had been drawing on. She had made a picture of a shining star with a little girl inside it. The girl wore a yellow coat and held a helping hand out to someone below.

Maya had wanted to color the star gold.

She searched beside the pillow. Then she checked under the quilt. She looked on the floor, near the chair, and even inside the empty cereal box where she kept small treasures.

Her gold crayon was gone.

“Oh, no,” Maya said.

She crawled across the rug and lifted a book. Dust tickled her nose. She sneezed, then peeked behind the heater.

Nothing.

The gold crayon was her favorite. It was short from use, with a paper wrapper worn smooth where her fingers held it. She had found it in a free art box at the library. It had helped her color suns, stars, buttons, and the bright badge on the paper doctor she had drawn last week.

Maya sat back on her heels.

“It has to be here,” she said.

She checked the table again. She moved a cup, a spoon, and a small pile of mail. The crayon did not appear.

Her shoulders drooped. The star on her paper looked pale and unfinished.

Maya wanted to throw the drawing away. Instead, she held it close.

From the apartment below came a muffled sound. A door closed. Then voices rose and fell. Maya could not make out the words, but the noise made the floor seem less still.

She pulled the quilt around herself.

“I can’t even find one crayon,” she murmured. “How could I ever change anything?”

The thought sat heavy in her chest.

Maya looked back at the stars. They were far away, but they did not seem alone. Each one shone beside another. Tiny lights filled the sky, making room for one another.

She took a slow breath. The air smelled like dust and cinnamon.

Maybe the stars did not wait for the whole sky to become bright. Maybe each one simply did its own small shining.

Maya stood and tried again. She opened the drawer beside the sink. She lifted a dish towel. She looked in the pocket of her sweater.

No gold crayon.

Her eyes grew hot.

“I need help,” she said softly.

The words felt strange. Maya was used to trying by herself. She tried to fix loose buttons, find lost things, and make quiet dinners from what was left in the cupboard. Asking for help felt like knocking on a door when she did not know if anyone would answer.

She took another breath.

“Help, please,” she said to the empty room.

Nothing changed at first. The heater clicked. The refrigerator hummed. A car rolled along the street below.

Then Maya remembered the little basket near the door. She had placed her library books there after school. She hurried over and pulled them out one by one.

A book about stars.

A book about doctors.

A book about helping animals.

At the bottom of the basket, something rolled against the side.

Maya reached in.

Her fingers closed around the gold crayon.

“There you are!”

She held it up to the moonlight. The worn wrapper shone like a tiny golden road.

Maya laughed, and the sound warmed the room. She hurried back to her drawing and began to color. The crayon made soft, bright lines across the paper. Soon the star glowed above the little girl’s head.

But Maya did not stop there. She added a small red bag to the girl’s hand.

“What is that?” Maya asked herself.

“A helper bag,” she answered.

She drew a bandage, a bottle of water, and a kind note inside it. Then she drew a person in a blue coat and another person in a white coat. One could help keep people safe. The other could care for people who were sick or hurt.

Maya pressed the crayon down too hard, and the tip snapped.

She froze.

A tiny gold piece fell onto the rug.

For a moment, disappointment filled her again. She had only just found the crayon, and now it was broken.

Then she picked up the little piece and used it to color the last corner of the star.

The star was not perfect....