Crushing on a Capulet (8 page)

“We've seen him before,” I said.

Frankie peered closer. “It's that guy Paris. The one who wanted to marry Juliet. I wonder what he wants.”

I grinned. “There's only one way to find out.” I pointed at an open window nearby. “We creep in and listen. One thing I've learned from this Shakespeare guy. He doesn't put in dumb stuff. If this is a scene in the play, there's got to be a reason. I say we go into major snoopy spy mode and listen in.”

Frankie began to nod. “It's ideas like that that make me glad we're in this together. Let's do it.”

Making myself as skinny as possible, I slipped through the window and dropped to the floor. I opened it some more for Frankie and her dress to slide in. Then we crept around and into the hallway, just as the Capulets and Paris were coming our way.

“The rug on the wall,” I whispered. “Let's hide behind it.”

“We better hide good,” she whispered, as we darted behind a large tapestry. “If they find us, all they have to do is shout and all those nasty-looking guards will charge from the street with their swords and beards and torches and we're done for! And maybe the prince will do more than banish us.”

“Like maybe …
vanish
us?”

“Maybe. Shhh—”

“I haven't had the time to talk to my daughter,” Mr. Capulet was saying. “Juliet dearly loved her cousin Tybalt. So did I. We are all confused and saddened by his death.”

Paris spoke. “It's only that, well, I love her and I would marry her to stop her grieving.…”

“Sorry, pal!” I whispered. “An hour too late for that.”

“But I understand, sir,” Paris added. “I bid you good night.”

He turned and walked away from Capulet, heading down the hallway past us, and toward the garden.

I peered out my end of the tapestry to see him leave, but what I saw instead sent shivers up my spine.

Beyond the door at the end of the hallway leading into the garden was the nurse.

She hustled across the grass, stopped, looked both ways, then waved to the bushes. Which I thought was odd. Until the bushes parted, and out came none other than Romeo himself, dashing across the open garden to the ladder.

“Oh, my gosh!” I gasped. “No, no—”

“Paris is going to spot Romeo!” Frankie said. “He's going to see him! What are we going to do—”

Old Capulet turned on his heels. “Paris, wait!”

The instant before Romeo passed before the doorway, Paris turned around. “Yes, my lord?

Romeo flitted by outside. I could breathe again.

“I have thought this over, my son. We are all in grief about noble Tybalt's death. But your love of our daughter may help dry her tears—”

“It's Romeo she's crying over!” whispered Frankie.

“My lord?” said Paris. “What are you saying?”

“That you should marry her!” said Capulet, almost laughing. “Yes, and Juliet will obey me in this. Yes! I like the idea. Dear wife, go now to Juliet and tell her that on Wednesday next … wait, what day is it today?”

“Monday, my lord,” said Paris.

“Monday? Well then, Wednesday is too soon—”

“Or too late,” I whispered.

“Thursday, then?” said Mrs. Capulet.

“Yes, Thursday,” said the old man. “Dear wife, tell Juliet that on Thursday she shall be married to this noble gentleman Paris!”

Frankie and I nearly choked. But it would have given us away. But, come on! Juliet can't have
two
husbands!
That
would never work!

Of course, Paris thought it would work just fine. In fact, the guy leaped for joy just like the first time.

“Oh, I wish Thursday were tomorrow!” he cried.

Capulet laughed. “Well, good,” he said. “Thursday be it then. Wife, prepare Juliet for her wedding day!”

Capulet and Paris walked off into the main part of the house, while Mrs. Capulet walked toward the stairs to Juliet's room.

“Holy cow!” I said. “Romeo's up there! She'll catch him. The guards will come rushing in! The prince will find out! We have to save him! I have an idea.”

I slipped out from behind the rug in full view of everyone.

“Devin!” hissed Frankie, still hiding. “What are you doing?”

“Stalling her,” I said. “Oh, lady Capulet?”

She stopped on the stairs and turned. “Yes?”

“Did you know that—that—that—”

I completely went blank. It was probably because I didn't have the book. It was with Frankie.

“Well?” Mrs. Capulet said, stepping down one step.

Finally, an idea came to me. “There's someone … locked in the bathroom!”

“The what?”

“The bathroom! Quick! This way!”

I ran to the stairs and pulled Lady Capulet down into the main room. Then I opened the nearest door and pushed her through. I shut the door behind her, and put a small table in front of it. Immediately, she started banging on the door with her fists.

Frankie rushed over. “Devin, this is totally nutty. She's not liking it. And by the way, did they even have bathrooms four hundred years ago?”

I looked at my friend. “All I can say is, if they didn't—eeeww! Come on!”

We hightailed it up the stairs as fast as we could go, but something weird was happening. It was like we were moving in slow motion, while time was passing quickly.

The light was changing. The torches along the stairway walls burnt down and went out as we passed them.

“Whoa—Frankie!” I said. “The scene must be changing!”

“I know!” she said. “Time … is … passing!”

By the time things were normal again and we blasted into Juliet's room, it was practically morning.

And Romeo and Juliet were holding hands, looking out over the balcony at the sky.

Chapter 12

I rushed in. “Hey! Guys!” I said.

But they didn't even hear me. They only heard and saw each other. It's like they were totally focused on themselves. It was romantic, I guess, but also slightly icky.

“It's nearly daylight,” said Frankie. “Romeo, you have to leave—”

Romeo, still keeping his eyes locked on Juliet's, said, “It's nearly daylight‥‥”

“This is what I'm saying!” said Frankie.

Paying no attention to us, Romeo said, “Juliet, I must go to Mantua. Friar Laurence has arranged a place for me to stay. I must be gone and live, or stay and die. But I am content, so long as I am with you.”

Juliet laughed. “That light is not daylight,” she said. “It is some meteor that the sun exhaled to be to thee this night a torch bearer and light thee on thy way to Mantua. Therefore stay.…”

I shook my head. “Boy, for being in mortal danger, they sure talk fancy.”

“Hey, you two!” said Frankie. “Alert! Knock, knock!”

Juliet tore her eyes away from Romeo for a fraction of a second, then seemed startled. “Devin! Frankie! I am sorry. We did not see you—”

I laughed. “No kidding. You guys haven't taken your eyes off each other since we got here.”

“Yeah, look,” added Frankie. “We're sorry to bust up your love-fest, but any minute now Juliet's mom is probably going to get out of the closet that Devin locked her in, and fly in here to give you some very bad news.”

“We stalled her as long as we could,” I said. “But things are moving really fast now, so I think it's exit time for Romeo. Down the ladder, pal.”

For the first time since the play began, Romeo looked as if he understood the danger he was in. “What is the bad news?”

“First things first,” said Frankie. “We need to get you out of here pronto—”

At that very moment, heels clacked down the hall.

“I would know those footsteps anywhere!” said Juliet. “It is my mother!”

Romeo turned to her. “One kiss and I'll descend.”

“I must hear from thee every day in the hour,” said Juliet, giving him actually a couple of kisses.

Clack! Clack!
More footsteps. And closer!

“Excuse me! Pay attention! Hello! Mrs. Mom is nearly here!” snapped Frankie.

“And ten to one, she's very, very mad!” I said.

Romeo slid over the balcony and began to climb down the all-important rope ladder. We looked down at him as he jumped into the dirt of the garden.

“Oh!” gasped Juliet. “Now thou art so low as one dead in the bottom of a tomb!”

“Nice, cheery thought,” I muttered.

“Good-bye, until later, then,” said Romeo from below.

He fled across the garden and hopped over the wall, just as the door flew open and Juliet's mom barged in, all snarly. And, of course, Frankie and I had to dodge her. So we slipped over the balcony and hung there, listening to the whole scene.

And it wasn't good. It was bad. Very, very bad.

“I have splendid news for you, Juliet. On Thursday, the gallant nobleman Paris will make thee his joyful bride!”

Juliet rocked on her feet a little. “I wonder at this haste. Tell my father I will not marry yet, and when I do I swear it shall be Romeo, whom you know I hate, rather than Paris—”

“What!” boomed a voice in the hallway. The door burst open and Mr. Capulet himself barged in, huffing and puffing as if he ran all the way up the stairs. “What is this? You'll be in church on Thursday and marry Paris—or never look me in the face again!”

Juliet's eyes bugged out. It was terrible to hear a dad say that. She opened her mouth to respond, but he raised his hand sharply.

“Reply not!” he shouted. “Do not answer me! I am a cursed father to have such a child!”

“That is
so
not fair,” Frankie whispered.

But her father wasn't quite done. “Juliet, you shall marry Paris—or live no longer in my house! Live on the streets, if you like, but I shall have no daughter!”

We all watched as he stormed from the room, Juliet's mother with him.

The nurse, who was cowering in the hallway, came in. So did we.

“Dear girl,” said the nurse, “I heard it all.”

“What will I do?” asked Juliet. “I already have a husband. But I cannot tell them that. I cannot tell anyone!”

The nurse breathed deeply. “Oh, dear girl,” she said. “Romeo is banished. You may never see him again. I think it best you marry Paris‥‥”

“What?” I hissed. “That's crazy talk. This is called
Romeo and Juliet
, not
Paris and Juliet
. That doesn't even sound right.”

“This second match excels your first,” the nurse went on, ignoring me.

I think Juliet was flabbergasted to hear her old nurse say this. She was quiet for a while, leaning over the balcony toward us. Finally, she turned, with what I thought was a ghost of an idea in her eyes.

“Very well,” she said. “Tell my mother that I shall go to Friar Laurence to pray for forgiveness for displeasing my father.”

“This is wisely done,” said the nurse. She got up and quietly left the room.

Juliet stood for a moment on the balcony. Where tears had filled her eyes, there was another expression now.

“Wait a sec,” said Frankie. “You're not really thinking of marrying Paris?”

She shook her head. “I'll to the friar to know his remedy. If all else fails, I will myself have power to die.”

“Let's hope it doesn't come to that!” said Frankie. “Come on. Friar Laurence will know what to do.”

“All right!” I cheered. “The big scheme to make everything right! Do you think it really can work out?”

Frankie looked at the book. With lots of doubt in her eyes, she said, “I sure hope so. Let's go.”

A fraction of a second later, we went.

All the way into the next scene.

Chapter 13

Friar Laurence was pacing the floor of his little cell as usual. And since it was such a small room, he really only did a half-pace before he ran out of cell and had to turn around again.

“Bad news, friar guy!” I said, when Frankie, Juliet, and I crowded in.

“No need to tell me, Devin,” said the friar. “Paris has just been here. He told me how on Thursday Juliet is to be married to him.”

“Man, the dude moves fast!” I said.

“I will not marry him!” said Juliet. “Never!”

“Cool down, Jules,” said Frankie. “Friar—”

“Friar,” said Juliet, her eyes flashing, “prevent this, or I'll find my own way to stop it. By stopping my heart from beating! I'll do it!” She pulled out a dagger.

“Where'd you get that thing!” I gasped.

“No!” Friar Laurence grabbed the pointy object from her and tossed it away. “Hold, daughter!”

“Then, bid me leap off the highest tower in Verona—”

The friar clucked his tongue. “Oh, dear, no, no …”

“Or chain me with bears!” she said.

“Are there bears in Verona?” I asked, looking around.

“Child, do not say such things,” said the friar.

“Then I shall jump into the river and be eaten by a serpent! If that doesn't work, I shall—”

“Whoa, dudette!” I said. “This is very uncool talk. Think happy thoughts. There's always a way out.”

“That's right,” said Frankie. “Just calm down, Jules. Maybe the friar has a plan to turn all this around.”

It seemed like he did. The friar scuttled over to a high shelf on the wall and slid off a tiny glass bottle. “Behold!”

“You're going to hide her in that?” I asked. “She seems too big—”

“No, no!” he said, giving me the eye. He bent over to a small wooden cabinet and pulled out a larger bottle. Inside it was some kind of purplish liquid. He poured some from the big bottle into the little bottle.

“Well, then, Juliet,” he said quietly. “Go home, be merry, and give consent to marry Paris.”

I frowned. “That's the plan? Maybe we weren't clear about something. Juliet
doesn't
want to marry Paris.”