“Pillow, toothbrush, starry pajamas,” Pigúiça counted on her paw toes. “All in the backpack!” It was the most awaited day of the week. For the first time, she was going to sleep at a friend's house: Bolota, the long-eared basset hound.
The afternoon was a party. Nina and Tico came too. They played hide-and-seek in the garden, ate cloud cookies, and built a cushion castle so big that Tico got lost inside it twice.
In Bolota's garden there was a wide tree stump, and on top of it sat a crystal ball full of stars. The star decorations hanging from the trees swayed and jingled.
After dinner, Bolota's mom turned off the light. They all snuggled onto their mattresses, side by side. Tico fell asleep right away, his little leg twitching in a dream. Nina dozed off in two minutes. Bolota yawned three times and closed her eyes.
Only Pigúiça stayed awake. The bed was different from hers. The ceiling was different. The house made a different little noise: creeak. And a different breeze moved the curtain: fffff.
She felt a squeeze in her chest. It was missing her own home, the smell of her own blanket, even the squeak of her own door.
“Bolota,” she whispered. “Are you awake?” “I am now,” said Bolota, rubbing her eyes with her paw. “What's wrong?”
“Everything feels strange here. Not bad. Just... different. I think I miss home.” Bolota didn't laugh. She thought for a moment.
“I felt that way the first time I slept away from home,” she said. “Do you know what helped me? I brought something from home.”
Pigúiça remembered something. She opened her backpack and pulled out, from way at the bottom, a little gray stone that her mom had tucked in there in secret. It was a singing stone. She held it in her paw, and the stone sang softly, the same lullaby as every night: la, la, la...
The room changed. It felt as if Bolota's house now had a little piece of Pigúiça's house in it, too.
“How lovely,” whispered Bolota, resting her head close. “Will you sing it again?” The stone sang once more. Outside, the crystal ball glowed with more stars, as if it were listening.
The two friends lay close together, not saying anything. The creeak of the house now sounded like a house saying good night. The breeze was a gentle stroke on the curtain.
Pigúiça closed her eyes. La, la, la, sang the little stone. And, very slowly, at Bolota's house, the first night away from home turned into a cozy night for sleeping.
