He strained to get to the food, his claws scrabbling against the cement. He was panting harder, desperately. Why couldn’t he reach it?
Even in the dim basement light, Siria could see how hungry he must be. Ah, the end of the chain around his neck was caught between the wall and the end bin. He was trapped there.
How to help without getting too close?
Siria pushed the food toward him with one foot. He began to eat as she darted forward, yanking out the chain.
“You’re free.”
He stopped eating and looked up.
Only a faint hum came from the electricity room; the woman had stopped singing. Maybe she was gone. Siria took a breath, her heart in her throat. She rushed toward the elevator, tripping over an empty box, and pressed the button.
The elevator was right there. She slid in and leaned her forehead against the Mery Christmas graffiti to catch her breath.
The elevator stopped on the first floor. “What’s the matter with you?” a voice said.
Douglas stepped in, carrying a shopping bag.
It was too much to tell him everything. “I just … Let’s get out of here.”
He punched the button for three, and she saw his hands: raw, red, and thumbs blistered. “Douglas! What happened …?”
For a moment he didn’t answer. Then he grinned. “I was moving the boards. Without help.”
“I’m sorry. Really …”
He waved one chapped hand. “Don’t worry.”
She pictured the dog that needed to be fed.
Desperate.
She had a lot to worry about.
CHAPTER 9
Wind swept across the fire escape outside the kitchen windows and rattled the panes.
“It’s cozy in here, though.” Mimi slid a warm platter of curly pasta twists onto the table, and then hot rolls and butter. She raised one shoulder. “But I don’t know about the dessert. A chocolate ice cream sundae? On a night like this?”
“Love it,” Siria said.
“Now, Christmas,” Mimi said. “I wish I knew what to knit for your father. Socks? A quick scarf, maybe?”
Siria bent her head, hiding a smile. Pop had dozens of Mimi’s socks in his drawer, and four or five scarves hanging from hooks in his closet. “He’ll be happy with anything.”
“Slippers for Izzy,” Mimi said. “I know that.”
Izzy was always part of their Christmas. She’d take Siria shopping on her next day off and help trim their tree.
Mimi waved Siria away when it was time for dishes. Siria blew her a kiss. “You’re the best,” she called as she went into her bedroom.
The wind blew against her window, moving the curtains. It was bitterly cold out, a night to read her mother’s star book under her quilt. The sky was dark, with only a pale moon over the sledding hills, and the creek was a strange color. It didn’t glimmer with that blue-white ice as it had before dinner.
It was red.
How could that be?
Siria pulled the quilt around her, opened the window, and stuck out her head.
It was hard to see with the wind in her face. She pushed her hair out of her eyes.
It was a reflection. Glowing. Shimmering against the frozen creek. She could see it clearly now, marked by two willows that leaned out over the water.
She pulled her head inside, shivering, and closed the window. She sank down on the floor, trying to think. What did it mean?
A fire, close to the creek. But what was there to burn? Only the small room that sheltered the picnic tables in the winter. And the snow there was so deep.
She swallowed. Mimi would be busy in the kitchen for another ten minutes; then she’d sit in the living room, feet up, knitting, her needles clicking. There was no way to get past her.
It would have to be the fire escape, covered with snow, slippery.…
And what about that wind? There was no help for it. She tugged on an extra set of jeans, two sweaters, and her leopard boots, which lay under her bed.
“I’m going to shower, Mimi.” She crossed her fingers and went into the bathroom to turn on the water just a bit. Then she climbed out her window, sliding along as quickly as she could, holding the icy railing.
She tried to duck as she reached the sixth-floor landing. Laila would only slow her down. But there she was, doing ballet steps near the window. She stopped on one foot when she saw Siria. “Wait for me.” She looked back over her shoulder, then grabbed her jacket off the chair. “It’s freezing out. Where are we going?” she asked, her head out the window.
“The creek,” Siria said a little reluctantly.
“Ice-skating? I have to get my skates.”
Siria shook her head. “No skates. Just hurry.”
They stopped at Douglas’s floor. Ashton and Aydin were wrestling on the rug. “Hey,” Siria yelled in.
“He’s not here.” They rolled away, pounding each other.
“If I had a brother,” Laila called, “I’d know where he was.”
They circled the last landings and jumped to the ground. It was a long walk; snow crunched under their boots and coated their shoulders. No engine lights flashed in the distance; no sirens wailed. No one else had called in the fire.
Laila stopped. “Why are we rushing down to the creek if we’re not skating?”
“No time.” Siria took her arm. “Just wait till we get there.”
At last they reached the creek and stood on the rocks at the edge. “Poor fish under all that ice. They can’t even see the sky.” Laila’s teeth chattered. “What are we doing here, anyway?”
Siria brushed snow off her face with her glove. She leaned forward. “Someone is setting fires.”
“Here?” Laila’s eyes widened behind her glasses. “Call your father!”
If only she could. But she’d have to tell him about going out at night. What would he say? What would he think? “Let him know I’m wandering around? I can’t do that.”
“You could call the fire department without giving your name,” Laila said slowly. “No one would have to know it was you.”
Siria tapped the cell phone in her pocket. “What about caller ID? They’d know. Everyone knows me.” She shrugged, feeling a little sick over it.
Laila tilted her head. “Maybe I could call.”
“Don’t do that. Let’s wait and see.”
Laila nodded. “But let’s get out of here.”
“In a minute. We’re okay, really.” She wondered if that was true. She walked around the willows, their thin limbs swaying. What could have caused that reflection?
In front of the picnic house, she found a plank of wood like the ones Almo had dragged up to the roof, but this one was charred.
“You’re right,” Laila said. “There was a fire.”
Siria pulled off her gloves and reached out. It was hot, still smoldering.
Someone had wedged paper bags underneath, although most of the paper was gone now.
“Who …” Laila stood behind her, touching her shoulder.
Siria glanced around. There was only the sound of the wind, the cracking of ice, and branches rustling. The creek was half hidden by rocks. Anyone could be hiding, watching them. They’d never hear him. He could come right up to them and …
Laila pulled her sleeve. “Let’s go back. Please.”
Still, Siria looked down at the board. Why would anyone set a fire here?
“Siria?”
“I’m coming.”
They turned and went back to the apartment. Siria looked over her shoulder once or twice. But singing came from the church on the avenue, the choir practicing “Silent Night.” Not like tonight, with the whoosh of the wind and car horns blaring.
The traffic light changed; Jason and Mike crossed from the other side of the street. Mike wasn’t wearing a hat. In this weather! But then she saw that cool tattoo on the back of his neck. Of course, he was showing it off. The dog, looking meaner and scruffier than ever, followed, a half block away.
CHAPTER 10
“That green cloth you found? It belongs to Douglas,” Laila said. “It’s part of his jacket.”
Laila was right. “Even so, you can’t believe …”
“Good people can do bad things,” Laila said slowly.
“Not Douglas.”
“He loves fires. Remember the time he set one in his bathtub? And another, down in the lots …”
Siria put her hand up. Shook her head. “That was a long time ago. We were in first grade.”
“You know it,” Laila said. “Remember?”
“Don’t.”
The wind was strong, and they were silent as they climbed the fire escape.
Laila let herself in her window. “I’m sorry, Siria,” she whispered. “Really sorry.”
Siria didn’t answer. She turned and went back down the fire escape, feeling the terrible wind and cold through her jacket. She’d talk to Douglas, ask him. He’d tell her …
Never mind what he’d say. It wouldn’t be about setting fires.
She stopped at his window. She could see Douglas standing in the living room, wearing his brother’s jacket, his hat wet from snow. He’d been outside, then. At the creek?
His brothers must be fighting. Yelling again. Kevin, loudest of all. “Are you trying to kill us, Douglas?”
She leaned against the wall.
“What’s Mom going to say when she sees that stove?” one of the brothers shouted. “Soot all over the place. If we weren’t here, the whole kitchen might have gone up in flames.”
She didn’t wait to hear the rest. She scrambled upstairs. Just a coincidence, she told herself over and over. But still she was crying.
She didn’t bother hanging from the closet. What was the use? She hadn’t grown a speck in months. She huddled under the quilt, but she couldn’t get warm; her hands and feet were numb.
She closed her eyes, but it took forever to fall asleep.
In the morning, she stood at her bedroom window, looking at the sledding hills and the creek, white with drifts of snow. She pictured Laila’s earnest face, her glasses sliding. Laila, who never lied, who always tried to think things out.
And Douglas’s hands …
Blistered.
Red.
Burned?
Hadn’t he thought about small fires growing larger?
Growing dangerous?
Hadn’t he remembered helping Pop with the model ships? And what about Izzy, or Danny and his children? Hadn’t Douglas thought about Willie and Jesse playing ball with him all last summer?
She threw on her clothes and went into the kitchen.
Mimi was scrambling eggs with bits of tomato and bacon tossed in the pan. But Siria could manage only a few bites.
“Are you all right alone for a while?” Mimi asked.
“Sure.”
“I want to go across to Trencher’s. He was supposed to have the groceries delivered, but that boy is never around when you need him.”
Siria kept nodding. She had to make herself go down to the basement and feed the dog. And then …
She’d go up to the roof to see Douglas.
A word was in her head. A bitter word.
Arson.
Siria bent over to look at the cans of dog food under her bed. Chicken and rice. Beef. She took them both.
As the elevator passed the third floor, she caught a glimpse of Douglas in the hallway, bouncing his ball against the wall.
He didn’t look like an arsonist. He looked more like the brother she wanted. She brushed at her cheeks angrily and stepped out when the elevator reached the basement.
The dog wasn’t there—not in the laundry room, not in the storage bin aisle. She even tiptoed to the electricity room, where machinery hummed. The back door was open, so maybe he’d wander in later.
She dumped the chicken onto the paper bowl and left the other can on top of one of the storage bins. Lucky. She hadn’t had to go near him.
She walked all the way up to the roof. What would she say to Douglas? She didn’t open the heavy door but stood beside it, head against the wall. Stop crying.
Crying? Over a fire starter?
She tore open the door.
Douglas was bent over the beginnings of the star shelter. Boards were piled on one side, high enough to sit against. He’d just started the second side with two boards laid end to end.
Siria could hardly breathe. She ran toward the star shelter and kicked the finished side. She pushed the top board off, and the next.
Douglas spun around. “What are you doing?”
She kept kicking at the boards. She was crying so hard, she could hardly talk. “You. Setting fires,” she managed.
“Stop!” he yelled.
“Your jacket. I know.”
He shook his head.
“Your hands.”
He put them behind his back.
“You were almost my brother.” She put her thumb to her mouth and felt blood from a splinter. “I’ll never talk to you again.”
He stepped back. “What are you talking about?” His face was blotched, and she saw that he wasn’t really looking at her.
“I’m going to watch you,” she said. “Every second. One more time and I’m going to tell.”
She stopped for a breath. “I’ll tell Pop and Izzy. I’ll go to the station house and tell the police.”
“You’ve lost it.” Now he kicked at the shelter. He was stronger than she was. The boards fell apart, and in moments, all of it was destroyed.
She went back toward the roof door, but it was locked. Over her shoulder, she saw Douglas climbing down the fire escape.
She waited until he was gone, her hands tucked in her jacket.
She tried to lift one of the boards, to begin the shelter all over again. It wouldn’t work. Even with Laila’s help, it would be too hard.
If only she were taller. Stronger.
She looked over the edge of the building. Douglas was gone. Down on the avenue, Jason straddled his bike, packages in his basket. It was a busy morning, with cars bumper to bumper and people wandering on the street.
No dog down there.
Had Douglas paid attention to her? Would he stop? No more fires?
She’d have to stay up all night to be sure.
Maybe she’d hide somewhere on the avenue. If Douglas came out of the building, she’d see him and follow.
She went down the snowy fire escape slowly, Douglas’s footprints ahead of hers. She let herself into the apartment. Without taking off her jacket, she reached for Mom’s book, ran her fingers over the soft leather cover, and opened it. She remembered the story of best friends.
What would Mom say to all this?
Castor and Pollux grew up together. Some say they were twins, others that they were half brothers. They were the best of friends.
Sometimes they fought, jumping to conclusions, and one would blame the other. The arguments didn’t last long, though, and they had many adventures together.
One day, when freeing a herd of cattle, Castor was killed. Pollux was heartbroken.
But Zeus rescued them. He sent them high into the sky, where they can be seen during the winter months. They stand with their feet in the Milky Way, always together.
CHAPTER 11
If only she and Douglas could be friends again. If only he hadn’t set those fires.
She spent the rest of the afternoon in the kitchen with Mimi. The apartment smelled of cinnamon-and-sugar cookies baking in the oven. Trays of gingerbread men and buttery Santa Clauses filled every countertop. Siria and Pop would bring them to the firehouse tomorrow. She filled another plate for her teacher, too.
After dinner, she went down to the basement. The food was still there, a sticky mess. The dog hadn’t come back, then. Suppose he was caught somewhere with that chain he dragged behind him?
In bed later, she wondered: Was he trapped out in t
he cold and the snow? Hungry, with no way to get food? Such an ugly, unfriendly dog. Would anyone ever stop to help him?
Don’t think about it.
She must have dropped off to sleep, but then she heard the sirens.
A dream?
She sat up to listen to the wail as they came closer. The sound was real, and Pop was on duty.
Siria rolled out of bed and crouched at the window, the pane cold against her forehead. She caught a glimpse of the engine, huge and misty red against the sky as it turned the corner.
The sirens cut off; the fire had to be nearby.
Siria stood up and opened the window. The smell of greasy smoke drifted up from the street, where two or three people were running by.
She glanced at the little clock on her dresser; it flashed twelve. Midnight. She threw her jeans and jacket on over her pajamas and toed into her boots.
In the living room, Mimi was sound asleep on the pullout couch, breathing softly, her head resting on her shoulder. A ball of gold wool had let loose, cascading across the floor.
Was that going to be a Christmas present for her? Siria closed her bedroom door. No time to wait for the elevator.
She flew down the fire escape, passing Laila’s darkened window, hesitating at the third floor. Douglas’s floor.
Was he there, or somewhere outside? Would he have dared start tonight’s fire? She peered in. Dark. Too bad they wouldn’t go after the trucks again.
She didn’t bother with her bike. More people were running now; doors were opening; someone was yelling. She turned the corner to see another factory on fire, its painted walls stained black. Ashes drifted through the air like gray snowflakes.
Someone said, “Old wires. I always knew it would happen.”
Siria took a breath. Maybe it wasn’t arson this time.
Engines lined up along the curb, red lights pulsing onto the snow. Firefighters moved around the trucks, calling to each other as Willie and Izzy unwound the hose.
More trucks pulled up; the dispatcher had called in a second house for help. That meant a three-alarm fire: hot and dangerous.
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