The Total Tragedy of a Girl Named Hamlet (11 page)

“Sure,” I croaked, and took the pale green piece of paper. I had no idea who Dr. Lafevre was, but I didn’t want to ask Mr. S. in front of the whole class in case I didn’t like the answer.

In the hall, I glanced at the slip:

Then I remembered—James, Ely’s counselor friend, was Dr. Lafevre. I was being sent to the school counselor?!

The whole walk from pre-al to the administrative suites I tried to figure out why. Had something happened? Were Mom and Dad okay? Had there been an accident? Were they being held hostage by a rival Ren Faire troupe? Had something happened to Dezzie on her walk to class? Just about every possible scenario blew through my head.

By the time I reached Dr. Lafevre’s door, I was convinced that it was bad news. Sweat ran down my back, and my legs were wobbly jelly-filled balloons.

The door opened and a student I didn’t recognize slipped out. He kept his eyes on the floor as he passed me.

“Hamlet Kennedy? You out there?” A deep voice came from inside the office.

“Uh-huh,” I whispered, then cleared my throat.

“Well, come on in. I don’t bite.” The door opened wider, and I got a look at Dr. Lafevre, whom I hadn’t seen since sixth-grade orientation.

Tall—really tall—and skinny, he had a short brown beard and long brownish-blond hair pulled back into a ponytail. He also had a nice smile and crinkly blue eyes.

“Everything with your family is okay,” he said as soon as he saw me. “No worries.”

I let out a huge breath.

“I make sure that’s the first thing I say when someone new comes to the door. Well, that and call me James.” He gestured to his office. “Come in and have a seat.”

I stepped into his office. Instead of a big desk, he had a small one stuck in a corner. Two bulgy green armchairs squatted in the middle of the room, a teeny coffee table covered in pamphlets in between them.

James sat in one of the chairs and offered me the other one. I put my bag on the floor and tried to perch on the edge of the seat, but the chair was too squashy and I fell into it. I struggled to sit up straight.

“So,” he said, propping his hands on his knees and leaning toward me. He was so lanky that sitting that way he looked like a coat hanger that’d been bent in half. “I bet you’re wondering why you’re here and not in math class.”

I nodded.

“I hear that you have a lot going on right now,” he said, “and I thought you might want to talk about it.”

A completely clueless “huh?” came out of my mouth, but my brain buzzed with a zillion questions and emotions: Who had told him I “had a lot going on”? What did he know? Was this about Dezzie? About English? About Saber and Mauri using my sister? About my plummeting math grade? What was I supposed to say? I was embarrassed, angry, and confused, all at once.

He leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. “It must be difficult having your sister here this year, and I wanted to make sure you’re okay.” His eyes were warm, and he smiled at me.

“Um, well, it’s been . . . okay,” I said, not sure what my response should be. Part of me didn’t want to get into everything that had gone on, the other part was a teeny bit happy to have someone finally
ask
me how things were going, instead of just telling me what to do.

James nodded, encouraging me to continue.

“I mean, we’re only in one class together, so it’s fine,” I said. Should I mention the fight? Or that Dezzie was upset about art? That didn’t seem to be what he wanted to talk about, so I just stopped there.

“It can be difficult to have a sibling like yours to begin with,” James said. “And then to have her come to
your
place . . . well, I bet it’s been a tough start to the year. Are you okay with that?”

“Not really.” The words slipped out before I could stop them.
Why
had I said that? Now he’d want to get into all the stuff that the counselor guy at SMARTS camp wanted to discuss—and I wasn’t interested in any of it.

“I bet,” he said. Then he was quiet for a minute, like he was waiting for me to say something. I didn’t. “Do you want to tell me more about it?”

I shook my head.

“Look, Hamlet. This is a safe place. Nothing you say here can be repeated to anyone. Not your parents, your sister, or your friends—unless you want me to. So it’s okay to tell me what you’re thinking.”

I understood what he meant, and I did trust him. It was hard not to, with his nice eyes and relaxed attitude. I could see why Ely came in here regularly. But suddenly I felt tired and empty. I was exhausted from the fight with Dezzie, stressed about English, worried about my ever-faltering pre-al class, and just sick of thinking about it all.

“I think I just want to go back to class.”

James rubbed his beard and stared at the floor. When he looked up, he gave me a small smile. “That’s cool. You don’t have to talk today. But listen . . .” He rummaged through the pile of pamphlets on the coffee table and pulled out three or four small green cards. “These are what I call Go Cards,” he said, and handed them to me. “When you want to talk, just write your name on a card and slip it under my office door. I’ll send for you that same day.”

I glanced down at them and then stuck them in my backpack. I didn’t think I’d be using them, but I didn’t want to be rude.

“Okay. Thanks.” I struggled to get up from the chair. James unfolded from his and stood. He glanced at his watch.

“There’s ten minutes left in this period, so you can go back to class.” He scribbled on a late pass. “Thanks for coming in.”

“Okay,” I said. I took it and folded the corners down. “Thanks for checking on me.”

He opened the door and I slipped out.

The hallway was empty, but given the way things had been going, if Shakespeare himself had been waiting there, I wouldn’t have been surprised.

ii

That afternoon I was supposed to meet Ty, Ely, and Judith at the Chilly Spoon to discuss the whole Dezzie/Saber/Mauri situation and probably argue more about my newly discovered Shakespearean curse. As I coasted into the tiny parking lot, I saw Ty’s skateboard chained to the bike rack. He’d had one stolen two years before, and it was like he’d lost part of himself. He was determined not to lose this one to thieves. I parked my bike next to the board.

The Chilly Spoon is the best ice cream place in town. When you open the door, a whiff of homemade vanilla goodness wraps you in a desserty cloud. They make their own waffle cones and bowls all day, so the store has this warm, cozy smell. Ty and I had been coming here nearly weekly since they’d opened, and Ely and Judith joined us after we all started hanging out our first year at HoHo.

Ty was sitting at the rear table, the only one that didn’t rock, back to me, alone. A tall white cup printed with the Spoon’s logo sat on the pink and black checkered tablecloth. I plopped into the seat across from him.

“Hey,” I said. “Where’re Ely and Judith?”

He shrugged. “Ely said he’d be here after he walked Bunny, and I think Judith has a piano lesson.” Ely’s mom and dad got the family a dog after his sister had finished her cancer treatment, and had let her name him. Sometimes, when things at home went medieval to the extreme, I’d call Ely and ask him to meet me at the dog park. Iago would sit in the shade, lick his paws, and refuse to get dirty or interact with the other dogs, but Ely’s dog was another story: Picture a seventy-five-pound chocolate Lab responding to “Bunny! Here boy!” when romping around, playing with the other people and their pets. It cracked me up every time.

“Of course Judith has piano.” I rolled my eyes, but Ty knew that I was proud of her. Judith takes her music very seriously—she wants to be a singer/songwriter someday, and plays piano and guitar. Her voice is really good too.

I kicked at the rungs of my chair. “So what’s up with the beverage? That better be water.” I tried to sound like I was teasing, but I wasn’t. Ty knew it too.

Whoever got to the Spoon first waited for the other before ordering. That way we could be sure to get complementary flavors. It was a bummer if you went in wanting orange sherbet and the other person already ordered mint chip—no sharing allowed, unless you’re a fan of the ever-popular toothpaste/OJ combo.

He shrugged. “I wanted a frappe.”

“Chocolate cherry?” I asked. It was one of his favorites.

“So what’s up with Dezzie?” he continued, ignoring my question.

Something was off. Ty took our ice cream rule very seriously.

“Uh . . . everything okay?” I asked. I hadn’t done anything wrong . . . had I?

“Yeah, totally.” He brushed his bangs back and sipped at the straw, watching me the whole time. “So where’d you go during math?”

I told him about being sent to James’s office, then Mrs. Wimple’s not-so-subtle remarks after class. “I don’t want to be Puck, and she knows it.”

Ty rolled his eyes at me. “You’ll be great. Don’t worry about it.” He chewed on his straw.

I waited a few seconds to see if he’d say anything else, but he didn’t. Was his day as bad as mine? Giving up, I went to the counter and ordered two scoops of strawberry. It was a flavor that could go with nearly anything. If Ty wanted some, he could have a bite. I carried my cup to the table and sat, then tried to change the subject to get Ty talking.

“Something is definitely up with Saber and Mauri. They treat Dezzie like she’s a pet. I’m surprised they haven’t put a leash around her neck.” A knot of irritation pulled tight in my middle. “It’s even gotten worse since we got in that fight.”

“What do you mean?” Ty slurped at the straw. A burbly sound came from the cup—he was almost finished.

“Dezzie doesn’t want to talk to me, so she hangs out with them even more. She follows them around and talks Shakespeare all day. They’re totally using her brains to pass English.”

“Why do you care?” asked Ty. He rattled the empty container on the tabletop.

Honestly, I didn’t know. I mean, cheating is wrong, so there was that part of it. They were taking advantage of her. But plenty of other kids cheated and it didn’t bug me. I guess because she was my sister.

“Is there anything else going on?” Ty asked.

I swallowed a heaping spoonful of strawberry and immediately got brain freeze. I winced. “What do you mean, ‘anything else’? I think this is enough to deal with, don’t you?”

Ty’s face pulled into a funny, tight expression: eyebrows scrunched, mouth in a thin line pulled down at the corners. “I don’t know. What about KC and those guys? Aren’t they around all the time?”

I shrugged and went for more ice cream. My spoon scraped against the paper bottom.

“I guess they’re around,” I said, when I’d swallowed again. “But they don’t seem very interested in Dezzie. At least, not like Saber and Mauri.”

Ty fiddled with his straw. “Maybe you’re making a big deal over nothing. I mean, you guys are in a fight, right? Maybe that’s making you more worried than you should be.”

“Maybe, but I don’t think so,” I said.

“She’s a smart kid,” he said in an offhanded way. “She’ll be fine.”

But that was the problem—even though she’s smart, Dezzie is still a kid. Ty wasn’t going to be able to help with the situation—at least not while he was in this prickly mood—so I decided to let it go.

After a few minutes, Ely and Judith came in. Judith smiled and said hi, and when she thought I wasn’t looking, I saw her glance from Ty to me and back to Ely with a raised eyebrow.
What
was going on?

“So what’s up with English?” Ely asked. The way he attacked his bowl of chunky lumpy chocolate you’d think he was excavating an ancient burial ground—he ate around each white chocolate chunk, almond, and brownie bit.

“Dude, why do you eat it that way?” Judith asked. She gestured toward his bowl with her spoon. “You’re dismantling that poor dessert.”

“Saving the best parts for last,” Ely muttered, all his concentration on separating the chocolate ice cream from a partially buried brownie cluster. He raised his eyes to me. “English. Spill.”

I turned to Ty for help, but he was watching Felix, the best scooper at the Spoon, as he attempted to double stack blue bubblegum and what appeared to be cake batter for a little kid. The top flavor—cake batter or perhaps vanilla?—wobbled, but Felix smooshed it with his ice cream paddle and it held. Victory!

“Now Wimple wants me to play Puck.” I paused.

“And you’re surprised by this?” Judith asked. “I don’t know why you can’t just embrace it. Why so much with the hate-speare of the Bard?”

Her words reminded me of the practice session I’d held in my room. I had enjoyed reading the words, but I just couldn’t get into this whole idea. Keeping my eyes on Felix, I didn’t say anything. The kid turned away from the counter, a just-in-case cup under his cone.

“Double your creativity points for that one.” Ely clacked his spoon with Judith’s, acknowledging her joke.

“Seriously. I don’t get what the big deal is,” Ty said, attention back to us. “It’s just the Bard, Ham. Think of him as your unlovable uncle, and saying the words won’t be a big deal.”

How could I explain that that was what I was afraid of? That making my “talent” public was like I was embracing the whole Shakespeare thing—crazy uncle and all. Of anyone, you’d think Ty would be able to get it. He knew my family the best. I tried again.

“It’s extreme Shakespeare,” I said. “Too much . . . just like my family. And that’s not me.”

“You’re right,” Ely said. We turned to him. Ice cream gone, all that remained in his cup were lumps of filling. They looked kind of gross out of their creamy context.

He crunched a mouthful of leftovers. “But you’re not extreme anything. So no one is going to think that.”

“Exactly,” Judith said. “It’s not like we’re all of a sudden going to change what we think of you because of a stupid English project. You’re overstressing about this.”