The Treasure of Maria Mamoun Read Free

911. So Maria was just fine, really.
    Until she wasn’t.

 
    3
    T HE R EPUBLIC OF U GLY
    It rained the day their family trees were due. And it was one of those terrible spring rains, where the wind drives the raindrops so hard they feel like hailstones. Maria rolled up the poster board and tied it with a shoelace. Then she slipped it into two kitchen garbage bags and taped them securely with white bandage tape from her mother’s home first aid kit.
    She had done a good job on the project, despite the challenges of having no photos to work with. She’d drawn an actual tree with wide spreading branches and applied green paper leaves for the different ancestors. Since she didn’t have photos, she drew flags to represent relatives from different countries: a cedar tree for the Lebanese contingent, and the red, white, and blue of Puerto Rico for her father. People born in the U.S. got an American flag. Celeste had provided names and dates as best she could. If she forgot this or that one’s name or birthdate, Celeste flicked her wrist and said, “ Maalish , it doesn’t matter: Mr. Kapusta has no way to check anyhow. What? He is going to call Beirut?”
    Under each family member Maria detailed whatever genetic traits her mother recalled: blue eyes and peaked hairline, diabetes and heart disease. It had taken her the better part of a week to complete, and she was pretty sure she would get an A. Probably half the class did theirs on notebook paper over breakfast. Mr. Kapusta was a tiny, rabbity man, whose old-fashioned vests made him look even more like the Easter Bunny. Maria imagined him grateful and relieved that at least one student had completed the project correctly.
    She’d gotten a late start, what with wrapping up her project because of the unexpected rain. As Maria stepped from the apartment, her umbrella turned inside out, rain slicked her hair so that it fell over her face, and raindrops obscured her glasses so that she could not see more than blurs of gray.
    On such a rainy day she didn’t expect to run into the Bad Barbies. They were the last thing on her mind. She was concentrating on getting herself and her project to school as quickly and as dry as possible. But the Barbies, even if they were around, would be running through the rain, eager to get to school quickly, too, wouldn’t they? And so Maria ran, with head down and glasses fogged, for the shelter of vinyl awnings that covered the shops under the elevated train.
    Unfortunately she couldn’t see that, as if they were waiting just for her, the Barbies had gathered beneath the rotting overhang of the Olympic Theater. She ran across the street and bumped right into them. She stopped, took a deep breath, and held it.
    Shy Girl said, “Watch yourself!” She brushed at her jacket as if the impact with Maria had left some sort of stain.
    â€œWhat’s that? You taking trash to school?” Sharpie jutted her sharp chin at the kitchen bag package.
    â€œWhat, you don’t answer us?” Skinny’s fat head swam on her neck like a serpent. “Why you so rude?”
    Maria’s hands tightened around her family tree. “It’s my science project. They’re due today.”
    Sharpie took a step toward her.
    â€œHow about I turn this in for you? I forgot mines. I could just say this is mines. You okay with that?”
    Shy Girl was even bolder. She simply snatched the slippery bags from Maria’s hands.
    â€œLet’s see this.” Shy Girl tore through the plastic. Immediately raindrops darkened the paper. She unrolled it full length and handed one end to Sharpie.
    â€œHoo-oo! What’s that Christmas tree?”
    â€œYour grandaddy a Christmas tree?”
    â€œAnswer the question. Don’t you be rude.”
    â€œIt’s a flag,” Maria said.
    â€œOh, yeah!” Skinny pointed. “It’s a flag from the Republic of Ugly.”
    Sharpie rolled