The Total Tragedy of a Girl Named Hamlet (12 page)

“I might change what I think,” Ely said. Ty threw a balled-up napkin at him. Ely ducked in mock horror.

“Would it be the most terrible thing in the world if you love it?” Judith asked. “I think my recitals are fun. Being in front of an audience rocks. It gives you energy.”

I appreciated the pep talk, but it didn’t help. The feeling that I had in James’s office, of being done with it all, came back. I slid out of my seat and stood up.

“Leaving?” Judith asked.

“I’m going to get some to take home.”

Ty crumpled his cup and walked to the counter with me.

“Are you
sure
you’re okay?” I asked him again. “Because it really seems like something’s bugging you.”

He waited a minute. “I’m fine. Seriously. It’s just been an off day.”

It was a lame response, but I knew not to push him. Felix asked what I wanted, and I ordered some berry crunch to go.

“That’s Dezzie’s favorite flavor,” Ty said, seeming happy to change the subject. “I thought you were barely speaking.”

“Yeah, but Mom’s tried three new seventeenth-century recipes this week,” I joked, remembering the artichoke pie, orange pudding, and something called “pickled broom buds.” Fight or no fight, my sister needed something from this century. And maybe it would hold her attention long enough for me to point out what her not-friends really wanted from her. It was worth a shot.

I got my ice cream and said my good-byes. Ely and Judith paused in conversation about their Globe Theatre—seems that they couldn’t get their second level right—and Judith followed me out to my bike.

“There’s something you need to know,” she said.

“Okay, what?” I was busy tucking Dezzie’s ice cream into the basket.

“Someone likes you,” she said, using her very serious voice. Squeals and squees are for telling people they are liked, not serious voices. I glanced up at her.

“Someone who?” I tried to keep my tone neutral. Did she know who was responsible for the locker pigs?

She licked her lips and nodded her head toward the door. “Ty,” she said.

At the same time as a bowling ball settled into my stomach, a lightbulb went on over my head. It explained why he’d been acting so strange, but . . .

“He doesn’t know origami.”

Judith’s face was one big question mark. I reminded her about the swine collection in my locker, and she laughed.

“It’s not funny!”

“It kind of is,” Judith responded, then tried to smooth things over. “But if it’s not Ty, then who is it?”

“I have no idea. I’m hoping it’s Carter Teegan,” I said shyly.

“You think
Carter
knows origami?” Judith’s skepticism was hard to miss. “He barely
opens
his notebooks in class, let alone folds the paper in them.”

“Whatever.” I never should have said anything about Carter. This conversation needed to end. Pronto. “Anyway, Ty doesn’t like me, like me. He may as well be my brother.”

“My word,” Judith said, and raised her hand in a mock Boy Scout salute. “Sorry, but true.”

“How do you know?” I said.

“He told me.” She tinkered with the paper bag. “He’s been freaking out about it.”

I could see why. I swung a leg over my bike seat, ready to leave this behind.

“Look, I didn’t want to tell you. I knew it’d creep you out, but I thought you should know.”

“Gee,
thanks
.” That came out sharper than I intended. “Look, I need to think about this, okay?” I needed to leave. Fast.

She nodded. “Sure.”

Before she could say anything else, I was gone. And . . .
scene
.

iii

Hey, Dezzie,” I called, “I brought you some berry crunch!” I tossed the paper bag onto the kitchen island. Hopefully she wouldn’t mind that it was a bit melted. I’d taken the long way home so I could think about what Judith said. And, no surprise: I didn’t know what to do and I wanted to forget I ever heard the conversation in the first place.

“Huzzah!” she cheered, skittering out of the den and launching herself into the kitchen. Ice cream was one of the only things that could make Dezzie act her age. I brought some back whenever I could, because I loved her reaction. Since Mom and Dad shopped at a local organic farm to get the ingredients for their Renaissance-era meals, ice cream rarely appeared in our house (although lots of giant cuts of meat and bushels of veggies did).

I didn’t always tell them about my Chilly Spoon trips because I went much more often than Mom would like. She’s not into sweets. Dad’s more relaxed, but even so, he feels that ice cream should be for special occasions, while I believe it’s a way of life.

Dad popped his head around the doorframe. “Didn’t happen to bring home a chocolate frappe, did you?” His eyes were hopeful behind his oval reading glasses. He’s a sucker for the occasional contemporary treat. I shook my head.

“Sorry.”

“I need to find this week’s lecture notes for Birth of the Sonnet. Your mother will be home shortly—she’s at her Shakespeare on the Common planning meeting.”

While he spoke, Dezzie attacked the cup like it was an immersion project. A dribble of pink slipped from the corner of her mouth. I handed her a napkin.

Dad disappeared in the direction of his office.

I leaned against the counter, watching my sister scrape every last drop of her dessert from the paper container. Sitting on a counter stool, wearing that white T-shirt with the embroidered ring of flowers at the hem and on one sleeve, spoon clenched in her right fist, staring into the cup, eyebrows drawn together in concentration, she could have been anyone’s little sister—anyone’s
normal
little sister. And then she had to speak.

“Did you know,” she said, dropping the spoon into the empty cup, “that precursors to ice cream were available in ancient Persian societies? And that even the Roman Empire would serve flavored snow after banquets?”

I shook my head, irritated by the quiz. “Nope.”

“The first recorded recipe for true ice cream was printed in 1718, in a book called
Mrs. Mary Eales’s Receipts
. And . . .”

“And I’m not interested in learning any more,” I said, patience gone. “You could thank me instead.”

She froze. “Oh, sorry. I just . . .” She faltered, glancing around the kitchen as though an escape hatch would make itself visible.

“It’s fine.” I paused. “Look, I know things between us have been different lately,” I began, trying to figure out a way to approach the Mauri/Saber subject.

“If by ‘different’ you mean that you made some unconscionable comments to me, then I agree,” Dezzie said.

I wasn’t sure what “unconscionable” meant, but I got the gist of what she was saying.

“You insulted me first,” I pointed out.

“I made an accidental slip of the tongue,” she said, crushing the paper cup. “
You
were malicious.” She scowled. “I wouldn’t be malicious.”

I wanted to point out that her giggle at Saber’s art class “bacon fingers” comment when I dropped my brushes was pretty malicious, but that would lead to more arguing.

“Okay, you’re right—as always. I’m sorry.” I rushed through the apology. Then it occurred to me: Maybe if I first let Dezzie do what she was good at—solving puzzles—she’d be more receptive to the idea that Saber and Mauri weren’t what they seemed.

“Do you think you could help me with something?” I asked. I didn’t want to bring it up, but it was the only chance I had at getting her to listen to me.

“I will try my best to do so,” she responded. “What is the nature of your query?”

I told her the story of the origami pigs and the first-day note. I left out the part about Ty liking me—I couldn’t bring myself to say those words out loud or hear what Dezzie’s opinion of that situation was. As I spoke, she folded her hands and rested them on top of the island. She was a mini psychiatrist. All she needed were some glasses and a notebook to complete the look.

“It is an obvious ploy to get your attention, Hamlet,” she said. “Preadolescent male peacocking behavior.”

“Peacocking?” What was she talking about?

“Males of any species show off to garner female attention. Someone is designing the origami to get you to notice him.”

“But I don’t know who is leaving them there,” I huffed. “If it’s a ploy to get my attention, I don’t know who I should be directing my attention
at
!” Frustration built in me. Why had I thought this was the way to go?

“If you are more observant, I am sure you will find that someone is putting on a display for you. That is the person unobtrusively visiting your locker,” she finished, satisfied with her solution. “Also, I should be interested in seeing the craftsmanship of the animals, if you are inclined to share them with me. The art of paper folding requires patience and precision.”

I didn’t know what she meant by “display,” and I didn’t want to ask any more questions. Patience and precision were what I needed to steer this conversation back to Saber and Mauri—my original target.

“I’ll let you know if I notice any strutting birds in the hallway.” Not the lead-in I was hoping for, but I barreled on to the real point of this conversation. (And, really, “displays”?!?) “Also, there’s something you might need to know.”

Dezzie raised an eyebrow at me. “What?”

“It’s about Saber and Mauri. They aren’t your real friends. They are just—”

“How would you know?” Dezzie snapped, surprising me. Oof! Smooth Transition Failure.

“You don’t like them. It is obvious that you are envious of their social stature and, thus, my interaction with them. They’ve never invited you to sit at their lunch table, I’d wager.” She folded her arms and smirked, all friendly con fidante behavior gone. Seeing such a mean-middle-school expression on her second-grade face disoriented me.

How did she have everything so wrong?

“That’s
not
it,” I said, irritated by her tone and new-found attitude—and unable to believe that Saber and Mauri were causing the second fight I’d ever had with my sister. “I don’t want to sit at their lunch table, nor do I want to hang out with their group of friends. I’m trying to help you see what they really want from you.”

Dezzie tossed her crushed cup and spoon into our recycling bin. “I don’t need your help anymore, Hamlet. I am doing just fine on my own.” She turned her back to me and left.

Seething with anger, I called after her, “I think ‘pea cocking’ is a lame explanation! Boys aren’t as immersed in ornithology as you are!”

When she didn’t respond, I made one more jab—“And forget getting any more ice cream from
me
!”—and stomped up to my bedroom.

Fight total: two.

And that was two fights more than my sister and I had ever had.

iv

The Monday after the ice cream fight, I strug gled through the pre-al test and found that my herd of pigs went up to six. I added the latest one—made from floral origami paper—to the others on my locker shelf, then went to lunch.

For the first few minutes of the period, my thoughts stayed firmly in my locker. I hadn’t noticed any “peacocking” around me this morning. Even though Dezzie’s theory didn’t make too much sense to me, it was all I had to go on. I tossed possibilities around in my brain, ruling anyone else out to force Carter into being the culprit. I was about to imagine his confession when Judith gave me a funny look.

“Isn’t that your sister?” she asked. I spun around in my seat.

Sure enough, across the caf, I saw Dezzie’s mess of dark curls sitting substantially lower in her chair than Saber’s and Mauri’s ponytails. She was sucking on a juice-box straw acting like she sat there every day. My heart was replaced with a cold lead weight.

“What’s she doing there?” Ely said.

“Saber and Mauri asked her to stay for lunch in art a few days ago.” I shrugged, acting like it was no big deal. “I guess Mom said it was okay.” I plopped my sandwich onto the table. What was it about eighth grade that caused me to lose my appetite so often? I could only imagine what was in store for me in high school.

“Dude, no offense, Ham,” Judith said, “but why would
they
want Dezzie to sit with them?”

“None taken.” I paused. “They’re using Dezzie to get ahead in English,” I explained. “She’s feeding them answers to our homework and she doesn’t even know it.” In spite of our most recent argument, the idea still disgusted me. I didn’t want to turn and stare at them, but I had to know what was going on at the table. Judith and Ely gave me the play-by-play.

“I think they’re asking her a lot of questions,” Ely said.

“Yup,” Judith agreed. “And Mauri has a notebook that she keeps writing in.”

“Rip-off jerks,” Ty muttered. He took a bite from his sandwich. I wasn’t meeting his eyes. The info from Judith was too new; around him, I felt like my skin contained a bag of jangly triangles. But his assessment of the Dezzie situation was right on.

“What else are they doing?”

“Laughing,” Judith said.

“Is it a good laugh?” It was so frustrating not to be able to see them.

“What?” Ely cried. “They’re
laughing
. What’s a ‘good’ laugh?”

Judith rolled her eyes at him. “Of
course
you can’t tell the difference—you’re about as observant as a wind-up toy. Good thing
you’re
not on this side of the table too, or Ham would have no idea what’s going on.” She directed that last part at Ty, who threw a potato chip at her.

“Excuse me,” I said. “In need of information over here.”

“It’s not a friend laugh,” Judith evaluated, “more like an ‘isn’t it cute’ laugh. They keep looking at each other over Dezzie’s head when she’s done talking. Or maybe it’s more like an ‘are you impressed too’ laugh. Hard to say.”

They were making fun of her, I knew it. But I couldn’t prove it. And Dezzie didn’t seem to realize—or she didn’t care, which was a possibility. We hadn’t spoken in a few days, and silence was becoming routine in the Kennedy household. But despite our argument, I still felt as though she was my responsibility while she was at HoHo.