Laurel Fantauzzo | 2009 Fiction Awardee

Excerpt from “Sometimes There Are Trees,” a section of a novel-in-progress

“Huh,” Ms. Holden says. “What kinda snacks does your mom serve for study sessions, Melissa Grayson?”

Melissa says, “My mom works late, so Maria stays at our house. Maria gives us pizza bagels. Why do you ask?”

“Maybe if you bring me some of Maria’s pizza bagels you can bribe me into not giving you a pop quiz,” Ms. Holden says. “Anyone else want to take a shot at Osnabrück?”

I glance up. Melissa frowns and looks around for everyone to agree how messed up this is. Ms. Holden settles her dark eyes on mine. I think, Mary! Mary! Mary! Sin! Sin! Sin! Flip-Flops! Tattoo!! I feel my eyes moving fast, flashing these weird random words like a cipher for wrongdoing, and I force my face down again.

“What about you, Tagubio?” Ms. Holden asks.  “C’mere.” 

I rise, then trip a little on my backpack strap. A few girls giggle. A smile dances across Ms. Holden’s mouth. I want to see her teeth. God! Mary! Mom! Dad!

I take the marker from Ms. Holden. I think of my dad painting the dog, but not actually painting the dog.

“Um,” I say.

“Yeeeees?” Ms. Holden says, and more girls laugh.

I remember a heading on one of Ms. Holden’s syllabus handouts. “Peace of Westphalia and the Making of a New Europe.” I write the first three words.

“Good start,” Ms. Holden says. “Peace of Westphalia. Know what it’s about?”

The girls murmur. Melissa and Emily stare at me. I want to get back to my desk.

“Independence,” I say, since most of history seems to be about that anyway.

“What’s another term for independence?” Ms. Holden asks. “A fancier one.”

“You’re feeding her answers!” Melissa cries out.

“You’re full of pizza bagels,” Ms. Holden says.

“Being in charge of . . . oneself?” I say.

“Close enough. Ten points, Tagubio,” Ms. Holden says.

“What?! Whatever, fine,” Melissa says.

  “C’mon, you should be happy,” Ms. Holden says, grinning at Melissa. “Tagubio just saved you from a quiz you would’ve failed for that grand ol’ standardized test..” 

My hands tremble. I shove them under my thighs. The bell rings and I fly out, trailing wet, holy tears from Mary behind me, I’m sure. 

Mary gazes down at me. I heard that bolder students in the past used to put underwear on her head, so the faculty moved her higher and threatened the students with expulsion if it happened again.

I sit on a bench near her. I wonder what she would look like with a bra on her head. I wonder if Ms. Holden put a bra on Mary’s head when she was a student here. I wonder about Ms. Holden in a bra.

I press my palms against my eyes.

Some teachers walking by glance toward me approvingly. They like it when students sit near the Mary statue.