Crushing on a Capulet (11 page)

“A fight?” said Romeo, his eyes blazing. “Then you shall have a fight!” He tossed down the torch and tugged out his blade and the two young men went at it.

Clang! Clank! Swit! Plink!

They clashed swords all up and down the front steps of the tomb, the sound of steel against steel echoing across the graveyard.

“It's going to bring the night watch!” I said.

“We have to stop this!” Frankie said, jumping up. “Romeo, Paris—stop!”

“What?” said Romeo. Paris took the opportunity to lunge suddenly, but Romeo twisted aside, his sword flying up and out of the way.

Almost.

Paris stopped suddenly. “I am slain! Oh, I am slain!”

“No!” said Frankie, stopping, too. “Oh, no!”

“Romeo,” Paris groaned, “Romeo, if thou be merciful, lay me in the tomb next to my Juliet.…”

Romeo knelt down to lift him up. “In faith … I will. Oh, Paris, why did it come to this?” He carried him in.

“We have to tell him before it's too late,” I said.

“Maybe it already is,” she said, holding the book up. “Maybe we can't change it. It's like a train wreck happening in slow motion. It's going to happen. I know it is. Our happy ending is crumbling right before our eyes!”

I looked at her. Then I shook my head. “No, I won't believe it, Frankie. You and me. We can change things. We can make them good. I know we can. Come on. Come on!”

I pulled her with me into the darkness of the tomb. Romeo had laid Paris down next to Juliet's tomb. Then, holding a candle up to Juliet, he looked at her closely.

“Romeo!” I said. “She's alive. She's alive.”

“Believe us,” said Frankie. “She's just sleeping.”

I suddenly had an idea. It was a gamble, a severe gamble, but it just might work. Romeo had a crazy look in his eyes that was all about not listening to people. I had to try to reach him.

“Romeo,” I said, “we know Juliet's alive …”

“Devin,” said Frankie, “are you sure—”

“We know it … because … take a look at this!”

I yanked off my tunic and tossed it out the door. Romeo was left staring at my funky Shakespeare T-shirt.

“This is the guy who wrote the story you're in,” I said. “That's right, a story by a guy named Shakespeare! Frankie and I are reading it. Friar Laurence gave Juliet a sleeping potion. It's all part of the story. In another few minutes—she'll wake up—”

“It's true,” said Frankie, pulling her dress up over her T-shirt and shorts and flinging it to the floor. “Listen to Devin. Juliet is alive!”

Romeo's forehead just about wrinkled up into the biggest single wrinkle ever known to man.

It was cruel to do what we did, but it was our only hope. Maybe we couldn't change the play, but we could stop it cold.

Only we couldn't.

Taking off our costumes was the biggest mistake ever.

We could tell just by looking at Romeo, that the instant we were out of costume, we were suddenly out of the play. We were no more than two people in the audience. It was as if Romeo could no longer see or hear us.

“Romeo, listen!” I said.

“Romeo!” said Frankie.

It was no use. It was like shouting at a movie screen.

Slowly, he moved over to Juliet. She lay silent and unmoving on a slab of cold marble surrounded by candles, still dressed in her white wedding dress.

Nearby was another stone, with Tybalt laying on that.

Romeo slid his hand into a pocket and pulled out a small bottle of dark liquid. “Oh, my love, my wife. Death that hath taken thy breath, hath had no power yet upon thy beauty—”

“Because she's not dead!” I shouted.

“—in thy lips, and in thy cheeks, Death's pale flag is not advanced there—”

Frankie started to cry. “There's a reason for that!”

Not hearing a word, Romeo opened the bottle and raised it to his lips. “Here will I remain,” he said. “Oh, here will I set up my everlasting rest. Eyes, look your last. Arms, take your last embrace.…”

He drank the liquid, then shuddered. “Oh, true apothecary, thy drugs are quick! Thus with a kiss … I die.”

And he fell. He slumped to the ground next to Juliet's tomb, his hand still clasped in hers.

“Oh, man!” Frankie wailed. “This is too sad! And we couldn't do a thing! We couldn't do a stupid thing!”

There was a sudden voice calling from outside.

“If it's the prince's guards,” I said, “we'll never be able to explain this. Let's hide—”

We dashed behind Juliet's stone, scrambled back into our costumes, and crouched there, watching helplessly, in the flickering candlelight, as life quickly left poor Romeo.

Chapter 18

The voice called out again.

But we realized it wasn't the guard's voice. It was Friar Laurence's. He clambered breathlessly up the steps just as we finished putting our costumes back on.

“Saint Francis, be my speed! Fear comes upon me. I fear some terrible thing has happened. But … who's there?”

We crept out from behind the slab.

“Just us,” I said. “And a whole lot of dead folks.”

The friar's face fell nearly to the floor. He blinked in the candlelight. “Romeo? Romeo! Is it your blood that stains the stony entrance to this tomb? Oh, so pale you are! And who is this? Paris? Ohhhh!”

Juliet stirred on the slab, turned a little, then sat up.

She looked around. “Dear Devin, Frankie, Friar, where is my Romeo?”

Clank!

“The watch!” said Friar Laurence. “Juliet, come away from here. Thy husband, Romeo … lies dead. And Paris, too. Come, my dear. I will take you to a sisterhood of holy nuns, and we shall—”

More voices shouted outside.

“Wait,” Juliet whispered. “My Romeo … dead?”

“Do not stay to question,” said the friar. “The watch is coming. I dare no longer stay!”

With that, the friar darted through the front door of the vault and out into the darkness beyond. But Juliet didn't move. She saw Romeo on the floor and stared at him as if she didn't believe what she was seeing.

Then she spotted something in his hand. She slid to the floor next to him. “What's this? A vial closed up in my true love's hand?”

“It's poison,” I said. “He thought you were dead. We couldn't stop him. But at least you're okay. Now, come on. We really don't want the guards to catch us here. The prince is way mad already—”

A voice shouted, “What noise comes from there?”

I tried to pull Juliet up. “We need to leave—”

Frankie peeked out the door. “There's still a chance, but the guards are closing in!”

“Then I'll be brief,” said Juliet. “Oh, happy dagger, take me to my love. Romeo—let me die with you!”

“Dagger?” I said.

“What?” said Frankie. “Where did she get that! No!”

But it was too late. We rushed to stop her, but Juliet pushed us away. There was a sudden flash of silver in the candlelight, a sigh, and Juliet slumped next to her Romeo.

“Juliet!” Frankie screamed.

But it was clear that the girl was already gone. She'd said her last line, and it wasn't a good one.

Footsteps were right outside. “The ground is bloody,” someone said. “Search the churchyard!”

Frankie and I crouched down on the floor of the tomb.

Everyone rushed in.

The leader of the watch stood aghast at the sight. “Pitiful sight,” he muttered. “Paris slain, Juliet newly dead who was put here two days ago. You there!” he said to a guard. “Go tell the prince. Run to the Capulets. Rouse the sleeping Montagues to see this tragedy.”

I glanced at Frankie. She looked at me.

Yeah. It was a tragedy, all right.

And we couldn't stop it or change it.

In a few minutes, it was like a sad reunion of all the characters still alive, crowding around all the ones who weren't.

The prince himself entered, lighting the place with a blazing torch. “What terrible occurrence calls us from our rest?”

Mr. Capulet hustled up and pushed away the guards. His wife came stumbling right behind him.

“People in the street cry Romeo,” Mrs. Capulet said. “Some Juliet, and some Paris—and all run to our family tomb!”

She staggered into the tomb. A moment later, she cried a muffled cry.

Montague forced his way in next. “My wife,” he said, “my wife … is dead tonight. Grief over my son's banishment broke her heart and stopped her breath. What tragedy is here? What happened, tell me!”

Friar Laurence gave the crowd a whole summary of what had happened. Frankie and I broke down a couple of times—so did everyone else—because the story was so sad, but, strangely, it actually felt good to get it all out.

When the friar was finishing up, I raised my hand.

“I just wanted to say that everybody, the friar, me, Frankie, Benvolio, everybody tried to stop all these folks from dying. But we just … couldn't.…”

“It's true,” said Frankie, wiping her face and taking over when I got too choked up. “We wanted a happy ending to the story. We tried lots of stuff, but we just couldn't change it. The only way the ending could have been changed is if … if …”

“Yes?” said the prince. “If what?”

I knew what Frankie meant, and I took over. “If the Montagues and Capulets had gotten over their problems with one another. This here, all these nice dead people, is what happens when fighting becomes more important than family.”

We were done. We went quiet. So did everybody else. But I could tell from the expression on his face that the prince agreed with us. It was a cool feeling. If he were a teacher, he'd probably have given us an A.

“Listen to these children,” he said, finally. “Even though they are young, they have seen the truth of what tragedy has happened here.”

Frankie nudged me. “I think he thinks we did okay.”

The prince went on. “Capulet, Montague—see what a punishment is laid upon your hate? Romeo dead. Juliet dead! And all are punished.”

Capulet hung his head. “Oh, brother Montague, give me thy hand. My Juliet is gone.”

“But not forgotten,” said Montague, clasping his former enemy's hand. “For I will raise her statue in pure gold. Forever will Verona know of true and faithful Juliet.”

“And Romeo's statue shall be joined to hers,” said Capulet. “And never be forgotten.”

There seemed nothing more to say. The prince stepped forward in the quiet and began to speak. Frankie showed me the page and I read along.

“A glooming peace this morning with it brings
,

The sun for sorrow will not show his head
.

Go hence to have more talk of these sad things
.

Some shall be pardoned and some punished:

For never was a story of more woe

Than this of Juliet and her Romeo.”

No one said anything for a while. Suddenly, Frankie nudged me. “That was it, Dev. The last line.”

I shivered. It was really over. And to make sure of it, a sudden bright blue light sizzled just outside the tomb.

“The zapper gates!” I whispered.

“Time to go,” she said. “And like Juliet said back when a happy ending still seemed possible, ‘parting is such sweet sorrow.…'”

With that, Frankie and I slipped quietly out of the tomb, dashed down the steps, and launched ourselves right into the sizzling blue light of the zapper gates.

Chapter 19

Kkkkkk!

We tumbled and jumbled and nearly crumbled apart, but were finally hurled into the library workroom—
floop! flooop!
—at the very moment Mr. Wexler and Mrs. Figglehopper burst in.

“Aha!” said our teacher, giving us the wiggly eyebrow treatment. “I see you found the costumes.”

Mrs. Figglehopper laughed to see us sprawled on the floor. “But I never thought you'd actually try them on.”

Frankie grinned. “I guess we're really into our parts.”

“And I'm really into these tights!” I said, beginning to squirm. “So into them, I can hardly get out!”

“I think we'd all better get to the cafeteria,” Mr. Wexler said, opening the doors for us. “As soon as we're ready, we can begin our play. Too bad you didn't have a chance to read it.”

Frankie and I smiled at each other as we hustled down the hallway.

“Oh, I think we get the basic story—” I said.

“—of Juliet and her Romeo,” said Frankie, giving me a wink. “And I am definitely playing Juliet.”

“I think I could play Romeo pretty good, too,” I said.

“Oh?” said Mrs. Figglehopper. “And what changed your mind about being in the play?”

I wasn't sure how to answer that. But then I remembered what she had told us earlier. “Hey, a good story is a good story!”

Well, to make a good story short, our class put on the play for the rest of the school, and everyone flipped out.

They laughed at the funny parts and cried at the end. Frankie and I did our best to make it a fun play, but, hey, a tragedy is a tragedy.

We had excellent death scenes. I staggered all over the place before I plopped on the stage. Frankie made all kinds of wailing noises, then slumped over in a heap.

The best part was popping up at the end to take our bows.

After it was all over, Mr. Wexler applauded probably louder than everybody. Frankie and I had a feeling that, like the prince of Verona, he thought we did okay.

That meant a lot.

“Frankie, it's funny,” I said, as we put away our costumes. “Both of us tried really hard to change the sad ending to a happy one. But even though we couldn't, even though it's a real bummer of a story, I still sort of feel okay about it.”

She nodded. “I know exactly what you mean. It's like what the prince said. ‘Go hence to have more talk of these sad things.' You do want to talk about it. It makes you feel better by talking about the whole tragedy of it.”