Crushing on a Capulet (7 page)

“Friar, close our hands with holy words,” said Romeo, gazing at Juliet. “Then death do what he will. It is enough that I may call her mine.”

Death? I didn't like the sound of that. Frankie was frowning something awful, too. We both had a feeling something was going on in Verona, and it wasn't good.

Even as we stood there in the garden, the nice bright streaks of light that started the day were beginning to fade. Clouds were gathering on the distant horizon. And a strange wind whistled through the garden flowers.

“Frankie,” I whispered, “what's going to happen?”

“I can't read ahead,” she said, glancing at the page we were on. “The words are too blurry. And I don't think we should flip ahead. We'd miss the wedding.”

I shuddered. “Okay. But I'm starting to be worried.”

If something bad was brewing, Romeo and Juliet sure didn't notice. All they saw was themselves in love and wanting to get married.

The friar clasped their hands. “We'll make short work of this. Smile the heavens upon this holy act!”

I looked up at the heavens, but the clouds were darkening by the minute, turning from gray to black when the friar finally took the two lovebirds into his cell.

“Frankie, I hate to say this, but I think Mr. Wexler was right. I have a feeling this story isn't going to end too well.”

“But it's different now because we're here. Maybe we can make things turn out all right. Maybe we could give what might be a tragedy a happy ending.”

“Cool. I like those much better,” I said, managing to give her a grin. “All right, then, let's get back to town. I think the two lovebirds want some privacy.”

But as we hurried back, Frankie and I realized that things in town were probably not going to be so lovey-dovey.

We were right.

Chapter 10

We rushed through the gates and right away heard loud shouting coming from the main square where the play had started.

Mercutio, still looking like he had eaten too much lunch, was stumbling across the cobblestones away from Benvolio.

“Stay, Mercutio,” said his friend. “Let's go home. The Capulets—”

“I don't care if it's Capulets!” snarled Mercutio.

“You should care,” said Frankie. “Here comes Tybalt. And the look on his face is not at all about being friends.”

“Too late,” I said.

The Capulets were with us in an instant, led by black-suited Tybalt himself. He gripped the handle of his sword, his eyes flashing. “Gentleman, a word with you!”

“Why not a word and a fight?” said Mercutio.

“Whoa, simmer down, Merc,” I said. “We're all just walking here. Chill out, why don't you—”

Tybalt glared at Mercutio as if he couldn't hear me. “A fight? I'll give you one if you want one. You are a friend of Romeo, are you not?”

Benvolio stepped forward. “Let us go to some private place, or reason calmly, or else depart.”

Mercutio stood his ground. “I will not budge.”

“Wrong answer!” said Frankie. “Budging is, like, the perfect thing to be doing right about now.…”

“Besides,” I added, “you've got lots of nice spots in this city. Why not go sight-seeing? I hear they make the best jumbo meatball grinders two streets over.”

“Meatball?” said Tybalt. “Are you calling me a name, young sir?”

“Uh-oh,” I whispered. “This isn't going well.”

Tybalt sneered. “And so! Here comes Romeo.”

We all turned.

Romeo came skipping into the square, looked at himself in the fountain, and smiled at his reflection.

I nudged Frankie. “Oh, man! Nobody knows it, but he just married Juliet.”

Frankie nodded slowly, her eyes fixed on Romeo. “Which makes him … Tybalt's cousin.”

Romeo kept grinning into the water. Finally, lifting his head up and seeing us all watching him, he came bounding over as if he were a puppy just called for his supper. “Tybalt!” he said.

“Romeo!” Tybalt snarled. “Thou art a villain!”

Romeo stopped, but held on to his smile. “Tybalt, the reason that I have to love thee excuses my rage at such a greeting. Therefore, farewell—”

Tybalt stepped in his way. “Boy, this shall not excuse the injuries that thou hast done me. Therefore, turn and draw your sword.”

Romeo froze. “I never injured thee, Tybalt. I love thee better than thou canst understand. And so, good Capulet, whose name I hold as dearly as my own, I go.…”

Romeo turned once more to walk away.

“What, Romeo?” snapped Mercutio. “Will you let your enemy go by? Tybalt, will you just walk away?”

Tybalt turned to Mercutio, his hand on his sword.

The sliding of Mercutio's sword from its sheath happened so fast that Frankie and I barely had a chance to step back. Tybalt's sword was out even faster.

Romeo shouted. “Put down your swords. Stop this!”

“Or use plastic ones!” I said. “They bend really easy!”

But Mercutio and Tybalt were already at it, clashing their very real, very metal blades together.

Clank! Cling!
The air was silver with swords.

Romeo rushed into the mess to try to part the two. “Gentlemen, stop this now. The prince hath forbid fighting in the streets. Hold off, Tybalt. Stop, Mercutio—”

But even as Romeo stepped between them, holding his arms high to stop them, Tybalt lunged at Mercutio, whipping his sword right under Romeo's arm.

“Ahhh!” cried Mercutio, as the blade struck him.

Frankie screamed. I jumped back, pulling her with me. “Pointed swords!” I screamed. “Get us out of here!”

But it was too late, Mercutio stumbled back against Benvolio, clutching his side. Tybalt's gang pulled him away.

“I'm hurt,” growled Mercutio, sinking to the ground.

We all crowded around him. Benvolio knelt next to him. “How bad is the wound?”

“Just a scratch,” said Mercutio. “A scratch. But 'tis enough.” His face tightened, and the smirk left his lips.

“Someone get a doctor!” said Frankie. “Is it bad?”

“No,” said Mercutio. “Not too bad. 'Tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church door, but 'tis enough. It will do. I am dying—oh! Montagues and Capulets! A plague on both your houses! Romeo, why did you come between us? I was hurt under your arm!”

“I thought I could stop you both,” Romeo said.

“You stopped only me. And Tybalt stopped his sword in my side!” Mercutio said, trying to make a joke.

We pulled him to the fountain and gave him some water to drink. He sipped a bit, then cried out again, “A plague on both your houses! Benvolio, take me inside or I'll faint—”

Benvolio and some others picked him up and carried him into the nearest house. Romeo stood staring at the cobblestones at his feet. “He's hurt for me. I did this.”

“Hey,” I said, “you tried to stop it.”

“It's Tybalt's fault for stabbing him when you tried to pull them apart. He cheated,” said Frankie.

“Tybalt,” said Romeo. “Since I'm married to his cousin Juliet, he's my cousin, too. For only an hour, he's been my cousin. Yet, he does not know.”

Breathing heavily, his face red, Benvolio came out of the house where they carried Mercutio. “Oh, Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio is dead. But watch! Here comes the furious Tybalt back again—”

Romeo whirled on his heels. “Not as furious as I!” he snapped. “Tybalt, you villain! You took Mercutio. Now either thou or I, or both, must go with him!”

Tybalt swung his sword at Romeo. “Thou wretched boy, thou shalt follow thy cousin!”

“No!” cried Frankie. “Will you guys stop this!”

But the two fighters leaped at each other, clashing and clanging their swords across the square and into the marketplace.

“Dumb fighting!” I said. “This stinks!”

Frankie and I tried to help Romeo, since he was the star of the show, but Tybalt's gang started getting into the act, too. We tumbled some baskets on them, because we knew they weren't supposed to be in the scene. They threw fruits and vegetables at us, because they probably figured the same thing about us.

But in the spotlight were Tybalt and Romeo. They fought their way around the fountain.
Clank! Pling!

Once, Romeo even splashed through the fountain, but Tybalt was ready for him. It was like a movie swordfight. They were all over the square, even going up the stairs of one house, across an alley, and down the other side, clashing blades all the way.

Romeo, even though he was, like, Mr. Married Man, fought amazingly well, getting in some good swats against Tybalt, who was the great swordsman.

It was clear that Romeo didn't really want to hurt the guy. I mean, after all, they were related.

Finally, Tybalt did this fancy twirl to give Romeo a final lunge, but lost his balance, fell, and slid sideways onto Romeo's sword.

“Ahh!” he moaned, and dropped to the cobblestones. Then he shuddered, groaned loudly, and went still.

It was over in a moment. His friends rushed to him, but he didn't say much.

Tybalt was already gone. Lifeless. Dead.

“Oh, my gosh!” said Frankie. “I can't believe this.”

Benvolio dashed over to us. “Frankie, Devin, take Romeo away. He knows not what he has done.” He waved his hand in front of Romeo's glazed eyes. “Romeo, away with you, be gone. The prince will sentence you to death if you are captured. Begone—”

Dazed, Romeo stumbled backward, his eyes still fixed on Tybalt's lifeless form.

“Oh!” he cried suddenly. “I am fortune's fool!”

The tramping feet of soldiers thundered into the square.

“Go!” yelled Benvolio. “The prince's guard is here!”

To escape, we had to scurry up a set of stairs to the overhanging rooftops, practically dragging the dazed Romeo behind us.

From above we watched a crowd filling the square, including Mr. and Mrs. Montague, the Capulets, and finally the prince.

The prince called for witnesses, and Benvolio, held by the guards, told him what had happened.

“Tybalt killed Mercutio,” he said, “and Romeo, trying to keep the peace, was forced by Tybalt to fight. They went at it like lightning, and before I could draw them apart, Tybalt fell, and Romeo fled.”

Mrs. Capulet shook her head. “This man is a friend of Romeo. He speaks not true. Romeo slew Tybalt. Romeo must not live!”

“No, no,” said old Montague. “Tybalt killed Mercutio, and Romeo merely did what the prince himself would have done—”

The prince held up his hand, then stood silent for a while. “Tybalt was a killer, and Romeo did kill a killer. For that offense, we exile him from fair Verona under penalty of death. Let Romeo leave now! For when he's found, that hour is his last!”

“Frankie, this isn't good,” I whispered from our roof.

“No kidding,” she said. “Let's get Romeo out of here and tell Juliet right away. She needs to know.”

We tugged poor Romeo across the rooftops to Friar Laurence's cell, then shot back to the streets, to tell Juliet the very, very, very bad news.

Chapter 11

Whoomf!
We threw the rope ladder up.

“You know, Frankie,” I said. “This ladder was supposed to sneak Romeo into Juliet's house so they could be together.”

“Yeah,” she said, hauling herself up the dangling ladder. “It doesn't look like that's going to happen anytime soon.”

We pulled ourselves up on to the balcony. I peered in. Juliet was all goopy-eyed and sighing and giggling.

“Poor kid,” I whispered. “She doesn't have a clue what just happened.”

But even as we watched, the nurse came bustling in. “Oh, it's terrible!” she cried. “Tybalt slain! And Romeo, oh!”

Juliet bolted up from the bed. “Tybalt slain! And Romeo—what? Slain also? Then I shall slay myself—”

“Hold on!” I said, climbing over the balcony and bursting into the room. “Did anybody ever mention that you two don't really communicate too well? Look, here's the situation. First Tybalt killed Mercutio, then Romeo killed Tybalt. Not that he wanted to. He tried to stop all the fighting. But Tybalt wouldn't let it go.”

“My husband has killed my cousin?” said Juliet.

“That's about the size of it,” said Frankie. “And now Romeo has to beat it out of town before the prince's guards—or any Capulets—find him.”

Juliet staggered on her feet. “Then … is this the end?”

Frankie held up the book. “No. A little over halfway.”

“Which means that we still have a chance to make this end good,” I said. “I think we can. I hope we can.”

“I must see Romeo,” said Juliet. “I must see him!”

Frankie breathed in, then glanced at me. “Hmmm. I wonder. Maybe Friar Laurence can come up with a plan. And Romeo can swing by and tell you what we've figured out. I mean, this will be the last place anyone would look for him.”

“Plus,” I said, “after all the trouble we've been to, he's got to use that rope ladder at least once!”

“Absolutely,” said Frankie.

“Nurse, go to Romeo,” said Juliet. “Find him and give him this ring.” She pushed a ring into the nurse's hand. “And bid him come to take his last farewell.”

“I will do it!” said the nurse. She scurried out and down the stairs.

“And we'd better leave the other way,” I said. Then, I turned to Juliet one more time. “Cheer up, Jules. Friar Laurence seems like a smart guy. If anyone can think of a plan, he can.”

She looked at me, but said nothing.

As we scuttled down the ladder, Frankie sighed. “Devin, things are bad,” she said. “Very, very bad.”

“Hey, I know. I hate to see her like that.”

“Yeah. Me, too.”

When we jumped down to the garden, Mr. and Mrs. Capulet were just returning from the square and were walking in one of the hallways inside with a young man.