Jungle Crossing (4 page)

"Watch out,
chérie,
" she said in her fantastic French accent.

"Sorry."

"No problem," she said.

But the Hunky Blond looked at me like I was a big fat zero in looks, intelligence, and personality. I paddled so hard my arms felt as if they would break like that dead coral, and I still got there last. Everyone huddled in a little thatched hut eating fruit.

"Kat, the pineapple is so yummy," Barb said.

"Yeah, but is it washed?" I thought of Dad vomiting every five minutes.

Barb shrugged, then went on a ten-minute undersea travelogue. "Did you see the skinny fish? The black ones? The yellow ones with white?"

No. No. And no.

"Oh, oh." Barb waved a piece of fruit at me. "Alfredo told me all about his cousin's birthday party. It's going to be amazing."

"I truly doubt it."

We spent the rest of the afternoon lying on the beach or pairing up in the hammocks. I swung in a hammock by myself, not saying anything, like a big old nobody. I'll be a nobody back home too—on the outside of every inside joke. I pictured Fiona's Five sipping sodas by her pool, probably talking about me behind my back, rating my body parts the way they rated Grace Williams's wardrobe last summer. Lunch-box shirt. Inside joke.

Everyone else chatted away. The Sun Goddess—Monique—was from Paris. The Hunky Blond Dante, lived in Belgium. Luc, the other Sun Goddess admirer, was from Germany. The brothers Josh and Max came from New Jersey.

The blue-blonde who laughed at me but thought Barb was the cutest thing ever, lived in New York City. Her name was Talia, and she went on and on about how the clubbing in New York was far superior to Cancún and Playa. Yeah, right. How old was she, fourteen?

The cheerleaders flipped all over the sand showing each other their moves, while the others talked about music. Talia claimed to have seen almost every concert in existence.

At mini-camp they'd be lying out by Fiona's pool, rating guys. Luc and Dante would score perfect 10s. Nando would get a big fat 0 for personality because he'd sat in his stupid kayak and watched me suffer. My dad was even paying him! I reached into my backpack and pulled out my journal and added two new reasons. Number 39: scary eels. Number 40: mean tour guides. Talia watched me, so I quickly flipped away from my list and sketched a few palm trees.

"I like to draw sometimes," she said. "You know really the only way to learn to draw is to study the masters. Like in New York they have all these amazing museums—filled with all the most famous paintings in the world—like you wouldn't even believe it. The only place to live if you want to be a really famous artist is New York City. Like I'd totally take a drawing class, except I'm so busy and—"

I stopped listening and worked on getting the shadows right in my sketch.

When we finally got on the bus again, everyone sat near the back, talking about movies and comparing American and European TV shows. Once again, Talia, flipping her blue-blond hair around, was the expert. I thought about sitting back there, but...
Bock! Bock! Bock!
I chickened out and sat with Barb, right behind Nando. Alfredo tuned the bus radio to some funky Mexican music and bobbed his head to the beat. Dancing: 3.5. He and Nando shouted to each other in their bad Spanish.

"Do you think there's treasure buried in those trees?" Barb pressed her face against the window. "I'm going to ask him." She nodded to Nando.

"No, don't." I put my hand on her outstretched arm. "You'll just make him mad."

"But I want to say something Spanish—like I can say please. I mean
por favor.
"

I leaned toward Barb. "His Spanish isn't all that great. I'm pretty sure Mrs. Ruiz would flunk him. His English is okay, but still, don't bug him."

Nando whipped his head around. "I wasn't speaking Spanish. I was speaking Maya. And my English is good.
Mi profesor,
my teacher—"

"I know what that means."

Nando shrugged. "
Mi profesor
gave me high marks. I'm not a dumb Mexican, like you American
turistas
think. I speak three languages. How many do you speak?"

"I didn't think you were dumb." I felt my face flush as I lied. "But you are a Mexican because you live in Mexico."

"I am Mayan, son of kings."

"Well, then I'm a daughter of European warriors, or something." I could never get a straight answer from Mom or Dad about my ancestors. Half seemed to be English; some came from Scotland, I think. Or Norway or somewhere cold like that.

"Did the kings have treasure?" Barb asked. "Is there still treasure out in the jungle?"

"Why?" Nando narrowed his eyes. "You want to rob our temples so you can put our culture in a museum far away?"

Barb's eyes filled with tears. "I just want to be a famous explorer like my dad's friend Paul."

"Don't let him bother you." I put my arm around Barb and gave Nando a piercing look. "He's just making that stuff up. He has no idea about his ancestors. Plus the Spanish conquered all the Mayans and Aztecs a million years ago." I shot Nando another look. "I learned about that in fourth grade." I patted Barb's shoulder. "You'll learn all about it next year."

The girls in the back started singing pop songs, reminding me about the time Fiona sang on the escalator at the mall so we'd all chip in and buy her a pair of earrings. Why hadn't I just sucked up my fear and sat with them? I could've told them about how the security guard told Fiona to "settle down or suffer the consequences," so she made us buy her two pairs of earrings.

"Your American teachers don't know anything." Nando glared at me. "You think just because the Maya stopped making big buildings, they're all gone."

"Is the treasure all gone?" Barb asked with a bit of a sniffle.

"There are many treasures left to discover," Nando said. "Archaeologists like Señor Paul find new ones every day."

Barb lifted her chin and looked straight at Nando. "Are you mad at Paul?"

"No. He's okay. But I still think my people's treasure should stay right here in Mexico. It belongs to us."

"I promise to give you all the treasure I find," Barb said. "And I'll tell Paul, I mean Señor Paul, to do the same thing."

Nando fought a smile.

"Whatever," I muttered. Little suck-up. I looked out the window at the tangled jungle of low trees, wondering if that pile of rocks we'd passed had once been a temple or something.

Barb glanced out the window. "How do you know where to look? Is there treasure right there?" She pointed.

"No. They're building another stupid hotel." Nando rolled his eyes. "We know about our treasures from old stories, ruins, and—"

Barb leaned forward. "Do you know any stories?"

"I'm not going to waste my stories on American
turistas.
"

"Please? I mean
por favor.
I promise not to tell anyone," Barb said in a low voice. "Promise." She pretended to lock her lips with a key. Should I remind her about the time she told Fiona that I didn't really need a bra?

"Yeah, you're real good at keeping secrets," I said.

"Kat has to promise too, right?" Barb scrunched her nose at me.

"Don't worry. I'm not even listening." I leaned back and closed my eyes. If only I'd ignored reason number 8 (bandits) and brought my iPod anyway.

"Sometimes I make up stories—like the ones
mi bisabuela—
"

"Great-grandmother," I interpreted.

Nando shot me a look. "Like I said before being interrupted, I make up stories like
mi bisabuela
used to tell. Except I add more adventure."

"Oh, that's my favorite kind!" Barb jumped up and sat in Nando's seat. "Tell me!" she said about a hundred times. He fell for her cutesy routine—just like Dad always does.

Nando began, "Long after the gods created the Mayan people out of maize, that means corn—" He shook his head at me.

"Duh," I said under my breath.

"Yet long before the Spaniards came to destroy their kingdoms..." Nando continued.

"Wait," Barb said. "Why are the Mayan people made of corn?"

Nando sighed. "Are you going to interrupt with questions the whole time?"

"Just this one. Promise." Barb closed her lips tight.

"The gods wanted to create creatures who would worship them. First they made the animals, but they couldn't talk. Then the gods created people out of mud, but when it rained, they fell apart. Then the gods created people out of wood, but they had no feelings, so the gods washed them away in a big flood. Finally, the gods created people out of corn, and they turned out just right." He turned around to look at me again, but I whipped my head back to see why everyone was laughing. Monique crossed her arms across her chest because her boobs had been bouncing all over the place. At least I didn't have to worry about that, but my stomach felt like it was jiggling its way up to my lungs, causing some sort of irreparable damage.

"Corn is my favorite vegetable," Barb said. "Now the story.
Por favor.
"

"Many hundreds of years ago, during a booming thunderstorm, a baby was born to a wealthy elite family in Cob´. The priests named the baby Muluc, after the thunder and rain, because it was a strong name and it was good to please the water gods. Her name was the same as the day she was born; the Mayans had names for every day. We have Sunday, Monday, Tuesday ... but they had twenty day names representing different gods, elements, or animals, like rain, wind, or rabbit. Daykeepers and priests kept track of the calendar, and people could tell the future by tracking the days."

I loved reading my horoscope, so keeping track of the days made sense to me. Despite reason number 40 (mean tour guide), I leaned in closer so I could hear Nando's story and ignore the laughter and talking behind me.

Nando went on. "When Muluc turned fourteen, her parents began to arrange for her marriage to her father's apprentice."

At fourteen? Oh-so popular Fiona's not even allowed to date yet. I imagined my parents trying to find me and my flatter-than-flat chest a husband. I'd end up with someone like that kid in our neighborhood who eats his scabs.

"Who was the apprentice?" Barb asked. "Did she love him?"

Nando closed his eyes and sighed.

"Sorry. No more questions." Barb waved her hands frantically. "Promise."

"Muluc's father was a scribe, which meant that he made books about the gods and kings and priests. He was a powerful man because he could read and most of the kingdom could not."

"The Mayans had books?" Barb asked.

Nando snorted. "Libraries of books, until the Spanish burned them."

"Burned them?" I asked in spite of myself.

He looked right at me. "No more interruptions, or I'll stop."

"Sorry." I tried to sound really sarcastic. "Like I care."

"My story begins on the day called ten Manik. Manik means war and sacrifice. Ten was an unlucky day."

***

T
HE
D
AY
10 M
ANIK

War and Sacrifice

Ten was an unlucky number.

Muluc rose from her reed mat when she heard the spider monkeys chattering in the trees. A warm breeze fluttered through the compound, so maybe a storm would finally come today. Her mother slept with her little brother in her arms as Muluc walked barefoot across the cool marble floors, stopping at the doorway of her father's workshop, where she heard the servants beating bark to make paper. Her father was up and working, preparing a screen book honoring the rain gods. The king had ordered a special ceremony and ball game to appease the gods and to bring rain so the corn harvest would not be lost.

Muluc smiled at her father's short hair shooting out of his headband in a tangle. Quills and brushes dripping with paint stuck out of the headband at all angles, making him look like a strange bird. Parrot Nose leaned over him, nodding. Her parents wanted her to marry Parrot Nose because he was one of the king's nephews and might rule someday, but Muluc didn't like his looks—his forehead was too short, he was a little too tall, and his nose looked just like a parrot's beak. He treated her kindly when he bothered to notice her at all, but Muluc figured he'd rather be married to her father. She wasn't ready to be a boring married woman, spending her days weaving and nursing children; she enjoyed her freedom, what little she managed to have.

She tiptoed past the workshop and walked down the steps outside, despite her mother's warning not to leave the compound, because the royal priests had predicted raids from other kingdoms. Muluc thought her mother simply wanted to keep her home to fetch things—like a common servant!

"Muluc! Come back now." Her mother's voice startled her. "You know what I said."

"I was just looking for the monkeys."

Her mother raised an eyebrow.

"Really!" Muluc said.

"Come help me prepare the chocolate for your father."

"And Parrot Nose?"

"You know we don't want you calling him that. It's disrespectful."

After her mother's slave fetched hot water from the cooking hut, Muluc ground the cocoa beans, finally pouring the chocolate and water back and forth from one cup to another until it foamed.

As she served the chocolate, Parrot Nose smiled, showing off the beautiful jade beads embedded in his teeth. Muluc ran her tongue across her smooth teeth; she couldn't wait until she was old enough to have her teeth jeweled.

Muluc set a bowl of chocolate in front of her father, looking over his shoulder to read the ancient date he'd painted on the bark paper. Most girls didn't read, but Muluc was smart and curious, so her father had allowed her to learn. Parrot Nose didn't seem to mind her reading either; she had to give him credit for that.

When Muluc returned to her mother's rooms, the sun had risen high above the trees. No rain would fall today. Her mother spoke with the blind woman from the market, bartering for flowers to make dye for her cloth and for Father's paints.

The blind woman turned her cloudy eyes toward Muluc. "Ah. Your daughter is growing graceful like a jungle cat."

"Yes. Muluc is almost ready for marriage," her mother said.

"You have a powerful presence," the blind woman said to Muluc. "You possess the thunder in your name."

Her mother laughed. "She is as stubborn as the rain gods have been this growing season."

"She doesn't yet know her strength," the blind woman said.

Muluc backed out of the room. The blind woman made her nervous with her ominous predictions. What did an ugly old woman like her know?

With her mother busy, Muluc ran out of the compound and into the sweltering courtyard. Even the birds had stopped singing as the sun blazed high in the sky, although in the distance she could hear slaves pulling rocks up the side of the king's new temple. Muluc wondered if she would get a new dress to wear to the first temple ceremony—maybe something orange to set off her shiny black hair.

Muluc decided to go swimming in the lagoon. The crocodiles would be hiding in the deep mud to escape the midday heat. She wore plain clothes and tucked her jade pendant beneath her blouse so any guards she encountered wouldn't know she was a scribe's daughter—elites weren't allowed to leave the city boundaries because of the priests' warnings.

Muluc left the white paved roads and found the rough jungle trail to the lagoon. A bright blue bird followed her, squawking and diving down at her.

"Leave me alone."

She brushed the bird away from her head with her hands and walked toward the far side of the lagoon. There weren't as many crocodiles on this side because the common people hunted them for food. The bird followed, still squawking and diving, but she ignored it and watched the water shimmering blue in the sunlight through the green leaves.

Wham! Something knocked Muluc to the ground. A rock cut her cheek. She lay on the ground, stunned, watching her blood drip into the dry dirt. She lifted her head, dizzy and confused, as a man pulled her hands behind her back. Why wasn't he helping her stand? Why wasn't he apologizing for knocking her down? Muluc struggled when the man tied her hands and feet with vines. She screamed for the guards, but the man cupped his rough hand over her mouth and lifted her up, pressing her back against him. Blood pooled in her mouth. Did this man know who her father was? He would be severely punished for treating her roughly, like a commoner! She spit at the man's fishy-smelling hand. He slapped her head so hard that she almost fell down again. Muluc twisted and turned, fighting against his strength. Pivoting, she saw that he had blue streaks painted on his cheeks. He was not from Cobá.

He motioned to another man, then carried Muluc off on his shoulders as if she were a woven sack. Muluc's heartbeat thumped rapidly against the man's stony shoulder, and she kicked at him until he hit her head again. The jungle was full of warriors; soon the air filled with the shouts of war, drums, whistles, and shell trumpets. As she was carried past the city, Muluc heard screaming, shouting, and wailing. Tears mixed with the blood on her cheek, stinging.