Fakespeare--Star-Crossed in Romeo and Juliet

by M. E. Castle

  “Um, hi there,” Romeo said.

  “Who are you?” Juliet demanded. “Why’d you throw a pebble into my window?”

  “What do I say?” he whispered to Becca.

  Her mind scrambled, but for some reason the words that came easily when writing Mal & Cal Worthy in her notebook or on a laptop weren’t coming to her.

  Then, out of the darkness that had clutched her brain, words emerged. Bright, shiny, really lame words. The kind of words that were designed specifically to get into your head and never, ever leave, no matter how much you might want them to.

  Ad copy.

  Specifically, Stephen R. Danielson III’s ad copy.

  Becca leaned toward Romeo and whispered something into his ear.

  “Hello?” Juliet leaned out the window. “Did you hear me? Stop throwing pebbles.”

  “A pebble now to avoid a boulder tomorrow!” Romeo said after Becca nudged him. “I’m the last one you’d expect to see, but I’m the first choice for getting you what you need!”

  Becca held her breath during a long pause, waiting for the balcony doors to slam closed.

  “Go on,” Juliet said warily.

  “Are you feeling run-down?” Romeo repeated after Becca. “Let down? Put down? Here’s something that can get you right back on your feet, out the door, and in the mix: Revenge™.”

  “How do you suggest I get my revenge on the Montagues?” Juliet said. “And what can you, mysterious voice from the garden, do to help?”

  “One bad turn deserves another,” Romeo said quickly. “And where do turns matter? Dancing. Specifically, at the Montagues’ Lotsa-Rella Ball.”

  “The one tomorrow night?” Juliet asked, leaning over the edge on her elbow.

  “That’s the ticket,” Romeo said. “Or should I say, this is the ticket. One all-expenses-paid-general-admission ticket to payback.”

  There was another long silence.

  “Tempting,” Juliet said, “and I like your style. But I’m afraid I’ll have to decline. You should go back to the party and enjoy the Instead-Stix pizza.” She turned to go inside.

  Becca’s mind was all sirens and flashing lights. Juliet was leaving! They’d failed! She tried to come up with more words, but before she could, Romeo spoke.

  “I understand,” he said, nodding sadly. “I’ll pass on the party, though, because, well, it’s a little embarrassing to admit, but I don’t really like pizza that much.”

  Juliet stopped in her tracks and slowly turned around. Her face was red, and Becca wondered how Romeo could be so silly as to insult pizza in front of the daughter of one of the most famous pizza chefs in Verona. She braced herself for Juliet’s explosion.

  “Really?” Juliet finally gasped out. “You, too? Because I hate pizza!”

  Now it was Romeo’s turn to gasp. “Wow! I thought I was the only one. Pizza is just so, so…”

  “Cheesy,” they both said at the same time.

  “Exactly!” Juliet said. “I’ve always been more of a sauce person.”

  Becca was shocked. She’d never heard of anyone not liking pizza, but here were Romeo and Juliet, and they couldn’t stop talking.

  “Me, too,” Romeo said. “I am a saucy boy, through and through. That’s why I prefer pasta. Nothing wrong with a little cheese on your pasta—”

  “—but it doesn’t totally drown out the other flavors!” Juliet said, beaming.

  Romeo and Juliet were bonding! Becca didn’t really understand how it had happened, but either way, she was ecstatic.

  “I am?” Becca said. “I haven’t been scuffing across a carpet or anything.”

  Not static. Ecstatic. It means really happy.

  “Of course I am!” Becca exclaimed. “Juliet’s talking to Romeo!” She clamped her hands over her mouth—she realized her mistake too late!

  “Wait,” Juliet said. “Romeo? Romeo Montague?” Her smile disappeared quicker than an ice cube in a fire. “You ruined my party!”

  “No!” Romeo said. “Well, maybe, but I didn’t mean to!”

  “Oh yeah?” she glowered. “Why should I believe you?”

  It was all falling apart!

  “Stop!” Becca shouted. “Please! This was all going so well. Don’t ruin it all now!”

  Loud footsteps interrupted them.

  Becca crouched closer to the ground, hoping the Capulet guards hadn’t spotted her. But the figure seemed too short to be a guard.…

  “Sam!” Becca said. “Did you get the—” She stopped short.

  It was Sam, but it was just Sam.

  No backpack.

  No Rufus.

  “Don’t … be … mad,” he gasped, clutching his side. “I … got … the bag, but then … I put … it down to … tie … my shoes. When I … turned around … there was only this.”

  He held out a little piece of paper, and Becca grabbed it from him. And as she read it, she felt like a pointy sword had been jabbed right into her belly button.

  I have your strange satchel and your soggy-mouthed dog. You may have them back on two conditions:

  1. The Montague family must return our dough recipe immediately.

  2. The prince of Verona must appoint me as his heir, then retire, effective immediately. Prince Tybalt sounds nice, don’t you think? With me in charge, my perfume empire can spread across the globe.

  If these demands aren’t met, every gutter and well in Verona will run red with my latest masterpiece, Eau de Rotten Tomateau. You will suffocate horribly, and you’ll never see your dear pooch again.

  Most sincerely yours,

  Tybalt Capulet, Certified Perfumer

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  FOLLOW THE SLOBBER TRAIL?

  The Narrator’s page-turning noise rushed into the scared silence.

  They had seen what Tybalt was capable of. He was willing to kidnap an innocent dog and threaten a whole city just to be able to wear his favorite perfume again. If Tybalt became Verona’s ruler, no one would be safe. Not even Kyle and Halley in Hamlet’s Elsinore.

  “What?!” Becca gasped. “Kyle and Halley are trapped in a bookworld, too?”

  Oops. Forgot you were listening.

  “Are they okay—”

  A crashing thump interrupted their conversation. Becca whirled around to see that Juliet had jumped off the balcony and into the bush. She looked like a furious windstorm as she shook her finger at Romeo.

  “Our family is built on that dough!” she said. “We’re on the verge of losing everything without it!”

  “What do you think losing our cheese has done to us?” Romeo said. For once he didn’t look sad. He looked angry. “The Montague fortune is already melting away!”

  “That’s not our problem!” Juliet shouted.

  “Not your problem?” Romeo shouted back. “Your family stole our cheese!”

  Juliet blinked in surprise. “We did not,” she said.

  “Hang on,” Becca said, stepping between them. “Is that really true, Juliet? Did the Capulets not steal the Montague cheese?”

  “Of course not,” Juliet snapped. “Our pizza’s better. We don’t need to cheat and steal to win.” She narrowed her eyes at Romeo. “I demand our dough recipe back.”

  “I didn’t take it,” Romeo said. His eyes turned to the night sky in thought. “Now that I think of it, nobody in my family actually claimed credit for the theft.”

  “Wait,” Becca said. “Are you saying the Montagues didn’t steal from the Capulets, either?”

  “I’d just assumed it was us,” Romeo said, shrugging.

  “You expect me to believe that?” Juliet said.

  “Like I should believe you,” Romeo said.

  The bickering started again.

  “OKAY,” Sam suddenly burst out. He’d been quiet ever since Becca read the note aloud. “Juliet, Romeo, you can sort out your own problems later. Rufus is in danger!”

  Becca knew he was right. Even if they could get Juliet to fall in love with Romeo, what was the point of going
home if they’d lost Rufus? They couldn’t leave him behind in this pizza-less place.

  “Sorry,” Romeo and Juliet both mumbled.

  “That’s more like it.” Becca nodded. “Juliet, Tybalt’s your cousin. Do you have any idea where he might be hiding?”

  Juliet shook out her dress, thinking. “He’s been renting a room in the apothecary’s shop. He’s been working on new perfumes and colognes ever since the Montagues took our dough recipe.”

  “Except we didn’t,” Romeo said.

  “Well, we didn’t take your cheese, either,” Juliet said.

  “FOCUS,” Becca said, pushing them both toward the front gate.

  They walked in silence, though Becca was pretty sure she still heard Juliet and Romeo muttering insults to each other.

  Better to be a friend than to fight again! Stephen R. Danielson III’s voice popped into Becca’s head. It was what he’d told Becca and Sam during their most recent argument. She almost stopped walking.

  Romeo and Juliet were annoying, but she and Sam fought just as much. Were they this awful to each other?

  She snuck a glance at her stepbrother. His shoelaces had been quadruple-knotted and his head hung down. He really loved Rufus and always made sure the water in his bowl was fresh. He was actually kind of thoughtful, now that she stopped to think about it. He’d surprised her with his poetry, and she appreciated how much he liked words. Could it be that she and Sam were actually more similar than she had thought?

  Becca reached out and tapped his shoulder. “It’s going to be all right.”

  “It’s all my fault,” he said miserably. “I let Tybalt steal Rufus and the book. If I’d just tied my laces earlier, this wouldn’t have happened!”

  “Tybalt has a sword,” Becca said. “He would have found a way to get them no matter what. But now we have a plan, and we’re going to save them! We’ve already survived tomato bombs and Instead-Stix. We can do this, too!”

  Sam gave her a small smile. “Anything for Roo.”

  Instead of rolling her eyes at his rhyme, Becca smiled. “For Roo,” she agreed, feeling lighter than she had in a while.

  When they reached the gate, however, she felt her good mood disappear. She’d forgotten about the guards.

  “What do we do?” Romeo whispered, eyeing their crossbows and spears, but Juliet kept walking with her head high. The guards snapped to attention, opened the gate, and let them all pass without a word.

  She wore confidence like a suit of armor. The line drifted into Becca’s mind, and she made a mental note to include it in the next Mal & Cal Worthy comic book. With that kind of writing, she and Kyle could definitely win the trip to Hawaii! But maybe—just maybe—she and her mother didn’t have to stay there forever.

  “Which way to the apothecary?” Sam whispered.

  “North,” Juliet said.

  “South,” Romeo said.

  “Wrong!”

  They all jumped at the sound of a fourth voice. As Juliet stepped back, she hit a tree root and tumbled to the ground.

  “How long have you been there?” Becca asked.

  “Long enough to know what’s happened.” Mercutio dropped down from a tree with a big smile. Tomato seeds dotted his hair. “The direction you’re looking for? It is the east. Juliet, pleasure to be sneaking around with you. But, er, I’m not sure I understand your costume. Are you a tangerine?”

  “Juliet is the sun,” Romeo said.

  “Oh!” Mercutio said. He helped Juliet to her feet. “Arise, fair sun. Let’s go stop Tybalt, for the sake of Verona and sensitive noses everywhere!”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  FIDDLING WITH THE RIDDLE OF TYBALT

  “Stop looking at me,” Juliet said.

  “You stop looking at me!” Romeo snapped back.

  “You were looking at me first.”

  “You’re in front of me! It’s not my fault you’re in the way of my eyes.”

  “Maybe I should’ve turned you in when I had the chance. You’d be in the Capulet dungeons right now being tortured.”

  “I tried the Instead-Stix. After that, torture sounds pleasant.”

  Becca sighed, and next to her she heard Sam grind his teeth.

  Juliet and Romeo had bickered as they passed the bakery.

  They had fumed as they passed the farmers’ market.

  They had been quarreling, squabbling, and arguing up and down the dark streets of Verona, and Becca was nearing the end of her Instead-Stix rope.

  “Are we there yet?” she asked Mercutio.

  “I told you, we’ll get there when we get there!”

  Becca blinked. It seemed even good-natured Mercutio was getting annoyed by the feuding Miss Capulet and Mr. Montague. They couldn’t get to the apothecary soon enough!

  “What is an apothecary, anyway?” Becca asked.

  Mercutio looked at her in surprise. “You really are from far away.”

  “Something like that,” Sam said.

  “Apothecaries learn about different plants and herbs and such things,” Mercutio said, sniffling a bit. “They mix them to make medicines and potions, including perfumes.” He sniffed again. “I may need some medicine myself. My nose is still itching from the last time I was around your pup.”

  THHHHHBBBBBTTTTT!

  Becca turned in time to see Romeo make a raspberry at Juliet, who immediately crossed her eyes at him. Mercutio picked up the pace.

  After two more lefts and then a right, Becca was about to tell Juliet to stop repeating everything Romeo said, when Mercutio finally came to a halt. “We’re here!”

  The apothecary shop looked like a witch’s cottage—or what Becca would have imagined a witch’s cottage to look like. The window was so filled with bottles and flasks in all different colors and sizes that she couldn’t see anything in the shop itself. There was no way of telling if Tybalt and his hostage were in there or not.

  “Tybalt’s been renting it for cheap because our apothecary’s out of town for a while,” Juliet whispered. “Apparently some big disaster stank up a castle all the way in Denmark, and they wrote to people all over Europe to ask for help.”

  “It’s quiet,” Mercutio said, peering in. “I don’t see any light inside.”

  Becca in no way wanted to enter the shop. Its eerie silence reminded her of a tomb. More specifically, the Egyptian tomb where Mal and Cal had their very first encounter with a mummy. Mal and Cal had bravely ventured through, though. Becca gritted her teeth. If her fictional characters could withstand the silence and dark, then so could she!

  “Is there a back door?” Sam asked.

  “Pretty sure it’s just this one,” Juliet said.

  Then from inside there came a faint whine. It could have just been the wind … but it also could have been a dog in trouble.

  Becca stepped closer to the window. “Did you hear that?”

  “I heard something,” Sam said, and Romeo nodded.

  As carefully as she could, Becca pressed her ear against the wooden door. There it was again—a low whimper.

  Becca jerked her head away. “Rufus is in there!”

  “We have to be smart about this,” Mercutio warned. “We can’t just open the door. Tybalt might be trying to lure us into a trap.”

  “You’re right.” Becca turned to Juliet. “You’re his cousin, right? Maybe you can reason with him. Call him out here so we can separate him from Rufus.”

  Juliet had finally stopped making faces at Romeo and now looked very serious. “I can try,” she said doubtfully. “But Tybalt is not known for being reasonable.”

  Romeo snorted. “I’ll say.”

  “Stop agreeing with me!”

  “Fight later,” Becca said, snapping her fingers. “Rescue now.”

  “I’ll try,” Juliet said again. She knocked on the door. “Tybalt? Cousin? Are you in there?”

  No answer.

  “I think I know how to get back at the Montagues,” she said in a deeper voice. “We can beat them once and f
or all!”

  But if Tybalt was inside, he wasn’t convinced. The shop remained as quiet and still as school on a snow day.

  “Any other ideas?” Romeo asked.

  Luckily, Becca had one.

  “I do?” Becca said.

  “She does?” said Sam.

  Juliet and Mercutio looked at them quizzically.

  “We’ll explain later,” Sam said.

  “Shh,” Becca said. “I have an idea?”

  You’re supposed to. That’s how the story should work. Has it not come to you yet?

  “I … don’t think so.”

  Okay. Here’s a hint: Achoo!

  “Gesundheit.”

  No. That was the hint.

  Becca thought for a moment. She looked at Mercutio, who was still standing at the window.

  “Ohhhhhh,” she said. A story started to come to her—and an idea of what a hero might do. “Do any of you think you can get that window open? Quietly?” Becca asked in a whisper.

  Juliet stepped forward. “Having the nurse I do has made me an expert in all things sneaky,” she said. She pulled a brass hairpin shaped like a shining sun from her head. Next she found a tiny gap in the window and slowly worked it open.

  “Sam, do you have any of Mrs. W.’s cookies left?”

  “Just one.” He reached into his pocket and handed it to her.

  “Thanks,” she said. “Mercutio, face the window, please.”

  “As you command!”

  “Hold still,” she said and placed the cookie on the sill. She cleared her throat and half whispered, “Rufus, treat!”

  Mercutio’s eyes widened. “But … I’m allergi—ACHOO! ACHOO! ACHOO! ACHOO! ACHOO! ACHOO! ACHOO! ACHOO! ACHOO! ACHOO! ACHOO! ACHOO! ACHOO! ACHOO! ACHOO! ACHOO! ACHOO! ACHOO! ACHOO! ACHOO! ACHOO! ACHOO! ACHOO! ACHOO!”

  A thunderstorm of spit and snot geysered out of his mouth and nose and into the apothecary shop.

  “Why’s it raining?” came Tybalt’s voice from inside. “Is there a leak? Why’s it so sticky and … EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEWWWWWW!”

  Becca listened in satisfaction as Tybalt—who bathed in flowery water every day, who tweezed his mustache into shape twice a week, who wore more cologne than most royal families—came tearing out the door, frantically swiping snot off himself with one hand while gripping a rope in the other.