Crushing on a Capulet (3 page)

I turned to Frankie. “Did you hear that? We're Benvolio's friends!”

“I heard,” said Frankie, tucking the book into a pocket in her dress. “I think we have to pay attention. This play moves fast.”

As Mr. and Mrs. Montague slipped away down the passage, we hustled around the corner after Benvolio.

There we saw a young man zigzagging down the street as if he didn't know where he was. He wore the usual stylish tights-and-tunic outfit, had brown hair, which badly needed a comb, and was sighing all over the place, practically fogging up the air. “Oh … oh!”

“That's Romeo?” said Frankie, her eyes going slightly buggy. “Oh, he's cute! He could have his own show!”

“Somebody gag me please,” I coughed.

I would have started to choke myself, but I wasn't sure if anybody would stop me, so I didn't.

Romeo wandered closer, his eyes gazing up at the sky, barely managing to put one shoe in front of the other. He stopped every few feet to sigh loudly, slump his shoulders, roll his eyes, shake his head, stagger a foot or two more, then sigh all over again.

“He looks like he's just been told he has to go to summer school,” I said. “What's his problem?”

“Is he sick?” asked Frankie.

“Sick in love, it seems to me,” said Benvolio, a little smile on his lips. “But let's find out. Ho, there, Romeo!”

Romeo put his hand to his forehead, sighed again, lowered his eyes to us, brushed some dust from his tunic, then said, “This is not Romeo; he's some other where. He is with the one I love …”

“Tell us, then, cousin,” said Benvolio, nudging us. “Who is it you love?”

Romeo sighed. “I love … a woman.”

I laughed. “We pretty much guessed that. And I think I know what her name is. It's Jul—”

“Rosaline!” said Romeo. “My true love's name is Rosaline!”

Frankie and I looked at each other. “Uh-oh,” I said. “Did we crash-land in the wrong play? Are we in
Romeo and Rosaline
by mistake?”

Frankie squinted at the pages of the book. “You know what I think? Romeo and Juliet haven't met yet.”

“Sure, sure, I can see it all now,” I said. “If they don't meet up, everybody will blame us for wrecking Shakespeare. Hey, Romeo, just so you know, we're Devin and Frankie. Friends of Benvolio. Nice to meet you.”

Romeo barely looked at us. “Nice? Nice? My true love Rosaline is nice. Her hair is the color of the raven's wing, so black and long, her cheeks are like the whitest cream, and her eyes shine like pools. Rosaline is so rich in beauty, if you saw her eyes …”

Blah, blah, blah. For the next half hour, we wandered through the streets of Verona, listening to Romeo go on and on about this Rosaline character. And the play wasn't even named after her.

“He's got it bad,” said Frankie.

“More than bad,” I chuckled. “His brain's fried. But, if Romeo is all goopy about Rosaline, maybe we should try to find Juliet. You know, to get them together? Otherwise, this play will never end, and we'll never get home!”

Frankie nodded. “Good idea. Um, hey, Benvolio?”

But Benvolio was suddenly crouching in a doorway. “Look yonder, my friends,” he said. “Here comes Capulet and some young man with a sword—”

We looked down the street.

“Again with the swords!” said Frankie. “Don't you people have regular sports?”

Benvolio paused to give her a strange look, then said, “We cannot risk another street battle. Perhaps we shall see one another soon. For now, I must take my lovesick cousin away from here. Montagues and Capulets are like oil and water. There's no mixing them! Be careful!”

With that, Benvolio trotted away, tugging the sighing Romeo with him. Before we could make tracks ourselves, Mr. Capulet saw us.

“You there! You with the book!” he shouted, motioning to Frankie. “Come here at once!”

Since the guy with him had a sword, Frankie and I decided to do what he said.

Chapter 4

“I need you for a task,” Mr. Capulet said to us. “Stand by my house there, and do not leave!”

He pointed to a big stone house with lots of windows, a walled garden, and a balcony overlooking the garden.

Obeying, we stood in front of it.

“This looks like the balcony on the stage at school,” I said. “I wonder if we get to climb up.”

“Not if they can help it,” whispered Frankie, pointing to lots of guardy types standing around with long speary things. “People sure like to make with the sharp and pointy in Verona, don't they, Dev?”

“Which tells me we shouldn't mess with them. So this is old man Capulet's house?”

Frankie glanced at the book and nodded. “If I'm reading this right, the fight in the square and meeting Romeo was in act one, scene one, right at the very beginning of the play. Now we're in act one, scene two. And, yeah, it's supposed to be at Capulet's house.”

“Acts and scenes instead of chapters?” I said. “Plays are sort of strange, aren't they?”

She nodded. “What's even stranger is that plays are almost totally people talking. You only know what the people are thinking by what they say.”

I thought about that. “If a play is mostly people talking, then we should probably listen to what Capulet and the other guy are saying, right?”

Frankie grinned. “A plan. I like it. Let's listen.”

I tugged up my tights as we leaned over and listened.

And boy did we get an earful!

“My lord Capulet,” the young man was saying, “I love your daughter, Juliet. I wish to marry her.”

“Holy crow, Frankie!” I whispered. “Juliet is Capulet's daughter!”

“And Romeo is a Montague,” she said. “I begin to see the problem in this story. Let's listen some more.”

Old Capulet stroked his beard. “My child is yet a stranger in the world, dear Paris. She does not know you well enough yet. But I have an idea. This night I hold an old accustomed feast. I have invited many a guest.”

I nudged Frankie. “Do you hear that? A party! I do great at parties! All the food, the fun, the people, the food. Plus, of course, all the food, which is my personal specialty, if I may sayeth so—”

“Devin,” growled Frankie. “There is a play going on here.…”

“It shall be a costume party,” said Capulet. “So, Paris, I ask you to come tonight. Woo my Juliet, win her heart. If you can win her, then I grant that you may marry her. What do you say to that?”

Almost like a ballet dancer, Paris did a small twinkly leap in the air. “Thank you, my lord. I shall be there!”

The next moment, he was running off chirping about what sort of costume he would wear.

I turned to Frankie. “Talk about mix-ups. We have Romeo all gooey about Rosaline, and Paris all twinkly about Juliet. I think we have our work cut out for us—”

“Now, then, you two!” said Capulet. “Come here!”

I cringed. “I hope he's not going to slice and dice—”

But instead of tugging out a sword, he tugged a sheet of folded paper from the pocket of his robe. “I called you over because I see you have a book. I presume you must be able to read.”

“Read?” said Frankie, waving the book around. “Sometimes our English teacher Mr. Wexler's not so sure.”

“But we try,” I said. “When we can understand the words.”

The old guy squinted at us. “Yes, well, good. I have a little errand I'd like you to do. Go about fair Verona, and find the people whose names are written on this sheet. Tell them there is a great feast at my house tonight. And that they should come in costume! Now, run along!”

He hustled back into his house, barking out orders for his servants to begin preparations.

“You know what's weird, Devin?” Frankie asked.

“Actually, the shorter list is what's
not
weird,” I said.

“I agree. But what's really weird is that, by themselves the Capulets and the Montagues seem like fairly nice folks. The problem is, when they get together they can't stop fighting.”

I nodded. “Wouldn't it be cool if we could stop it? Like if we get Romeo and Juliet together, maybe the Montys and the Caps will stop fighting.”

Frankie's eyes grew wide. “What a great idea!”

“I thought it up myself,” I said, as we headed to the town square. “Plus, I like happy endings.”

“My personal fave, too,” Frankie said with a grin. “Okay, then, first of all, if we're playing parts in a play, let's play our part by trying to find the people on Capulet's list.”

“Frankie, that was beautiful. Read that list!”

But when Frankie unfolded Mr. Capulet's paper and scanned the writing, she stopped, blinked, held it up to her nose, blinked again, turned the paper upside down, blinked a third time, rubbed her eyes, blinked yet again, then gave out a long, low grumble.

“What's the prob?” I asked.

“I can't read this!”

“Why not?”

“Because, it's … in Italian!”

I grabbed the sheet from her and peered at the words. “Whoa. Headache City! I guess we need to find someone who knows the words. But who do we know that doesn't want to wave a long pointy sword our way—”

Frankie grinned suddenly. “I know who! Romeo!”

I turned and there he was, the hero of the story, doing his famous zigzag walk along a side street on the far side of the square. Benvolio was straggling behind him, rolling his eyes and muttering to himself.

“Hey, guys!” called Frankie. “Can you read?”

For the first time since we met him, Romeo cracked a smile. Pointing to the book in my hand, he said, “Ay, if I know the letters and the language. Cannot you read?”

“Of course we can,” I said. “But pretty much only English, and sometimes not even that. Anyway, Mr. Capulet gave us this list and it's in the wrong language.”

“Capulet?” said Benvolio. “Ho-ho, a secret letter from the Capulets. This will be good. Read it, Romeo.”

Romeo took the paper from Frankie, snapped it open, and began to scan it. “Ah, yes. Names are written here. Signore Martino and his wife and daughters, the young gentleman Paris—”

“We just saw him,” said Frankie.

“—the widow Vitruvio, Signore Placentio, Mercutio and his brother Valentine, Tybalt—”

“Tybalt?” snorted Benvolio. “What sort of list is this?”

“The guest list to a party at the Capulets' tonight,” said Frankie. “You guys should definitely go. And Romeo might even see someone he likes.”

“It's far too dangerous to go into the house of our enemy,” said Benvolio. “The Capulets will want to fight instead of dance. And we shall be recognized.”

“Not if you wear a mask,” said Frankie. “And did I mention that Capulet's daughter Juliet will be there?”

“Never heard of her,” said Romeo.

“Something tells me you will,” I said with a little chuckle. “The word is that she's a babe. Everybody wants to marry her. But you can't let that happen.”

“Why not?” asked Romeo, still scanning the paper.

“Trust us,” said Frankie. “You gotta see her, you were meant for her. She's … she's … well, I don't know what she is yet, but you just gotta!”

Romeo shrugged and read out more of the list. “Someone named Livia is invited. And Lucio, Helena, Rosaline—” He stopped. “The fair and beautiful Rosaline will be there?
My
Rosaline?”

I was going to tell him that he should definitely forget about her, but an idea was beginning to form in my noggin. I remember, because I don't get that many ideas, and it always sort of hurts when I do.

“You bet Rosaline will be there!” I told him.

Romeo tilted his head. “Rosaline at this party.…”

Benvolio grinned. “Romeo, are you thinking—”

“No, no,” said Romeo.

“Too bad. It would be fun—”

“I'm done thinking!” said Romeo. “We shall go. You and Frankie and Devin and me. And you shall all see just how wonderful and sweet my fair Rosaline is!”

Frankie winked at me. “Or, just maybe you'll meet someone even more beautiful than Rosaline.…”

Romeo laughed. “That can never be! The all-seeing sun ne'er saw her match since the world begun—”

“Enough!” said Benvolio, sticking his fingers in his ears.

Still laughing, Romeo turned. “I'll go to this party and rejoice in the splendor of my Rosaline!”

With that, he raced away into a side street, up an alley, and was gone, his pal Benvolio reluctantly chasing at his heels.

Frankie smiled. “Are we matchmakers or are we matchmakers?”

“We are matchmakers!” I said, slapping her five.

“I'm feeling pretty good right about now.”

But someone else wasn't feeling so good.

“Nurse!” someone cried out. “Nurse! Help! Nurse!”

The shouting came from the Capulet house.

Frankie gasped. “What if it's Juliet? What if she's sick?”

“She can't be sick,” I said, “or all our matchmaking plans have been for nothing. We'd better flip ahead—”

“Whoa, Devin—”

There was a reason Frankie didn't want me to flip ahead. Flipping was dangerous. It could cause a sudden story meltdown. It was like skipping pages in a book.

And that's against the rules.

But sometimes you gotta bend the rules a little.

“Nurse!” came another cry.

“I'm doing it!” I said.

“Okay, but just one page!” said Frankie. “Do it!”

I did it.

Flip.

Kkkkk!

Lightning flashed across the sky.

Chapter 5

Kkkk!
Everything went dark, then light, then Frankie and I went crashing into the next scene.

We tumbled out onto a tile floor, twisting up my tights and upsetting the pillow arrangement of Frankie's weirdo headgear.