by Michelle Ray
Stormy Somervil e walked over, hot pink microphone in hand. I tried not to gawk at the fact that her skirt was so tight, you could tel she was wearing a thong. “Ophelia,” she said, leaning close to me, “your guy is going away. Any parting words?”
“Hamlet—” I began. I was supposed to say, “Study hard and make Denmark proud.” But I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. Hamlet’s eyes were blank as he waited for my scripted farewel , and a spark of rebel iousness flared in me. “Listen,” I said, and he cocked his head as he snapped out of his stupor.
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, sweet prince.”
I heard Stormy and Reynaldo gasp, and Hamlet’s eyes now danced with glee. That was for us, so now I’d give the adults what they wanted. “And study hard. And make Denmark proooud.”
“Aw,” said Stormy as she turned to the crowd. I noticed tiny beads of sweat had popped up on her forehead, and I wondered if my actions could actual y get her in trouble. A girl in the front screamed uncontrol ably and then slumped into her mother’s arms. I forced myself not to laugh.
Suddenly Hamlet grabbed my arm and dragged me a few steps away from Stormy, who looked impatiently at Reynaldo.
“I’m so glad you did that,” Hamlet said quietly. “I should have said this upstairs, but this was the best summer of my life, and al we did was hang out. I wish you were coming with me. It’s a whole week before your classes start.”
“But you know I can’t.” Stormy was glaring at us, so I said, “We’d better go back.”
“This is so lame,” he muttered.
I shrugged, hoping he meant the staged good-bye and not my decision to go back to Stormy. “It’s part of your job.” He nodded slightly then whispered, “I love you, Ophelia.”
I got the chil s. “I love you, too, Hamlet.” I wished he’d been able to say that and more when we were alone. We kissed simply, he returned to the scheduled interview, and I went inside.
I hurried upstairs and flipped on the TV, knowing that his departure would be televised, replayed, and dissected on the morning talk shows. Hamlet posed for some pictures with the scream queens, and then he actual y kissed a baby.
My friend Lauren cal ed and asked if I was watching. I said yes as Hamlet wished a happy birthday to an elderly woman in a purple housedress who was turning one hundred.
“He’s quite the charmer,” narrated Stormy.
“No kidding,” Lauren said into the phone. “So,” she asked, “now that he’s gone, you wanna hang out? Sebastian, Keren, and al those guys are grabbing coffee. Sebastian real y wants you to come.”
I hesitated but knew I should. The first days after Hamlet left were always the hardest for me, so I tried to keep busy. “Yeah. See you in ten.” I grabbed my bag, and while I waited for the elevator I texted Hamlet.
Barnardo: You sent this message to Hamlet: “u bin gn 2 long. im w/ sm1 new. sry.” Ophelia: When did I… ? Oh. I sent that about five minutes after he left. Check the records. (pause) It was a joke.
Francisco: Did Hamlet find it funny?
Ophelia: Do you have his reply? (shuffling of papers) See? He wrote back “me 2.” And for the record, I laughed.
Barnardo: Interesting relationship.
Ophelia: You had to be there.
5
Zara tilts her head. “So Hamlet left for college not knowing that his life would change forever.” Ophelia looks at her lap. “None of us did.”
My friends and I met for iced coffee but decided it was too hot to be anywhere but the river. We piled into Justine’s car, and because there were so many of us, I ended up squished between Lauren and Sebastian. Lauren grabbed the sunglasses off my head and put them on.
“Gertrude buy you these?” she asked.
I tried to take them back, completely annoyed by the memory of the shopping trip during which Gertrude had chosen these glasses for me. She had spent the outing asking why Hamlet was refusing to declare a major, and she wouldn’t take “indecision” as enough of an answer.
“What’s it to you who buys me what?” I asked Lauren, brimming with irritation.
“Why do you go out with her?” Lauren checked her reflection in the window before Sebastian grabbed the glasses off her face and handed them back to me.
“You are a true gentleman, sir,” I said to Sebastian. “Thank you for coming to my rescue.” Lauren leaned into me. “Careful not to compliment him too much. He might take it the wrong way with Hamlet out of town.” Sebastian whacked the back of her head, and she smoothed down her short dark hair.
“Be nice to Sebastian,” I said, putting my hand on his thigh. “He’s sensitive.”
Sebastian shifted in his seat and pushed my hand away. Guilt overwhelmed me when I saw him blush.
“Uh,” I said, leaning toward the front seat to break the tension, “we going to our usual spot?” Everyone agreed, and soon we were by the river setting up towels and kicking off our shoes.
“Dan and Greg coming?” I asked.
Keren shook her head. “They have to work. Dan wants to have a barbecue tomorrow, though. You in?” I nodded as I stripped down to my bathing suit, pretending I didn’t notice Sebastian staring. We al walked to the water’s edge, and Lauren suggested a race. She and I plunged in and stroked hard against the current. She won, and when we emerged on the other bank, we found we’d been carried downstream a fair way. I wasn’t surprised by either fact, since she was a stronger swimmer, and the current, though slower than in the spring, was stil powerful. We swam back across and then walked together along the shore.
“You joining the swim team again this year?” she asked.
“I don’t know. I’m definitely doing lacrosse in the spring.”
“I love how they cal it a spring sport but practices start in January.”
I shrugged. “Nothing logical about sports or school.”
“I’l miss you if you don’t swim.”
“You’l miss giving me a hard time.”
“True,” she said. “Who wil I mock if not you?”
“I’m sure you’l find someone. You shouldn’t let that talent go to waste.”
When we reached the others and sat back down, Justine asked, “So how was Florence? Your pictures were gorgeous.”
“Oh my God, it was fantastic.”
Sebastian pul ed out his sketchbook and rol ed onto his side so we couldn’t see his face.
I hesitated, but Lauren waved for me to continue. “Wel , uh, you should go there someday. The gal eries are amazing and the buildings are—”
“I meant Hamlet. How was it being there with him?” Justine asked, leaning back to get more sun on her face.
My eyes flicked again to Sebastian’s back. “Good.”
“That’s it?” asked Justine, sitting up on her elbows. “You’re with the girls. Dish.”
“Not al girls,” I reminded her, “and I don’t want my business to end up in your blog.”
“I would never—” she began, but then lay back down and laughed. “It was one mistake, Ophelia. I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to tel about—”
“Anyone hungry?” asked Sebastian, reaching for the food bag.
“No. And no details. That memory’s al mine.” I put on my sunglasses and lay on my towel thinking about Hamlet and Florence and how much I wished we were there at that moment.
* * *
After school started, it was ridiculously boring around the castle. Horatio, Hamlet, Laertes, and I al e-mailed and cal ed, but it wasn’t the same. Gertrude invited me every so often to have lunch or shop or sit through a fitting, but I was certainly not welcome at her table on Sunday nights without the boys. And with my dad working al the time, I was alone night after night.
School was unchal enging, and every time I sat staring out the window or dressing reluctantly for swim practice, I thought about what Hamlet had said and knew the boredom was my own doing. I considered changing my schedule to take something enriching, but it sounded like a lot of trouble. Besi
des, being in shape and having time to paint were more appealing than learning about politics, a subject that seemed to be al too much a part of my life as it was.
Late one afternoon, I went to the conservatory to get some reading done. I liked working in there because it made me feel close to Hamlet, and few people in the castle had the time or the inclination to go in there, especial y midweek. I stepped out of the elevator and hesitated when I saw Hamlet’s uncle, Claudius, outside the glass entryway. He was shoving a bottle into his coat pocket as he walked. He stopped short and I thought he spotted me, but he was looking over his shoulder at the cameras pointed at the door to the conservatory. He furrowed his brow and hurried down the hal in the other direction, so I proceeded.
Inside, the thick, moist air was fragrant with blooming sweet peas and I considered picking some for my room. I looked up at the surveil ance camera that Claudius had been checking out and thought better of it, having previously been caught and reprimanded for filching flowers. Only after I had tucked myself into the coziest corner by the fountain did I realize that I had brought the wrong book, and so I unenthusiastical y headed back to my apartment.
Just as I grabbed the correct book from my nightstand, I heard sirens. I looked out the window and saw an ambulance and a fleet of police and security cars screaming to a stop in front of our building. Racing onto the balcony, I leaned over as far as I could. Royal guards fanned out and blocked the street in either direction while police set up barricades. I started breathing real y fast, and everything looked al wobbly. Ever since my mom died, sirens had triggered panic attacks. And when I saw a stretcher being rushed into the lobby, I had to hold the railing real y hard because I was terrified they were coming for my father. With hundreds of people working in the castle, it was pretty unlikely, but I was so scared of losing him, too, that I had to make sure it wasn’t him.
Moments later, a stretcher raced past. I couldn’t make out who it was under the oxygen mask and buckled sheet, but once Gertrude shrieked out after it, I froze. I knew it was the king. I shouldn’t have been relieved, but for a second I was, because it meant my dad was okay. And then I realized it was a man I loved almost as much as my dad. My chin began to tremble, and I clutched the railing, watching with horror as the stretcher was pushed into the ambulance.
They moved so fast that Gertrude didn’t even have time to hoist herself into the back of the ambulance. One of the royal guards grabbed her by the arm and, at a near run, guided her into a black town car with tinted windows. The cavalcade sped off toward the hospital.
“Papa Don’t Preach” blared from my phone. I usual y found the ringtone funny, but not just then. My father, usual y a man of many words, simply instructed, “Stay in our apartment. Do not leave until you hear from me again. And do not cal Hamlet.” He hung up before I had time to argue or question.
I pressed my lips together and told myself to breathe. The king would be okay. He had to be. He was young and healthy. But what could have—
A new set of engines rumbled outside, and heavy sliding doors opened and closed. I was al too familiar with the sounds of various news vans pul ing up in front of the castle for special events and scandals alike. I flipped on the TV and moved back to the balcony feeling as if I were walking through molasses. I leaned over the railing and then decided to sit. Then I jumped back up and ran inside. There was nothing new on TV, so I went back out and leaned over the balcony again, and then dropped onto a patio chair. I started shivering and chewed on my nails while I wondered if Hamlet knew what was happening, wondering if his father was going to be al right, wondering what we would al do if he wasn’t. I wanted to be with Hamlet. To reassure him. To have him reassure me.
I was about to defy my father and cal Hamlet when the soap opera that had been on was interrupted by a Special Bul etin logo and thumping music. I raced back inside as a camera zoomed in to a chiseled blond who began to speak, her voice shaky. Something about her expression made my breath short and kept me from focusing on her words. Unexpectedly, she broke down and cried, so the camera cut to an equal y chiseled man. His face crinkled as he said, “This just in. Our king… is dead.”
I breathed out slowly and sank onto the couch without realizing it. Tears fil ed my eyes, but my arms could not move to wipe them as they slid down my cheeks. It couldn’t be. The man who had made me laugh at my fifth birthday party by pretending he’d stolen my nose could not be dead. The man who had told me not to worry when I was starting a new middle school could not be dead. The man who had put his arm around my shoulder and led me gently to my mother’s graveside could not be dead. It could not be that man. It could not be Hamlet’s father they were talking about. No. Not Hamlet’s father.
Hamlet.
Oh God, I thought. I stood back up quickly, focusing my thoughts with al my strength. I grabbed for my phone and typed: “find hamlet.” My thumb hovered over the Send button momentarily before I punched it.
I gripped my phone hard and stared at it, waiting for a reply. Helicopters were circling the castle by that point and, from the sound of it, they were over the hospital as wel .
“Answer, damn it,” I muttered. I tapped my feet to try to keep my legs from shaking. I opened and shut my phone as if that would make something happen.
My phone bing ed and I jumped. A text message:
Keren: What’s going on?
Another bing.
Justine: King dead?
And another.
Lauren: OMG
And another.
Sebastian: U ok?
I couldn’t deal with my friends’ questions, so I hit Ignore over and over and paced.
My phone rang and when I saw Horatio’s name I flipped it open so fast, I almost dropped it. “You got my message?”
“Yeah. How did this happen?” Horatio was shouting. He sounded like he was running.
“I don’t know. Are you with Hamlet?”
“No, the royal guards grabbed him out of class. He’s on the helicopter already.”
“Is he okay?”
“I don’t know. I can’t believe this.”
“Me eith—” I fought away tears so I could ask, “Where are you?”
“Running to one of the cars. Officer VanDerwater said I could ride along if I hurried. Ophelia, try to meet him at the hospital.”
“I don’t know if they’l let me in.”
“Oh please,” he said skeptical y.
“I’l try. Let me know if you hear anything.”
“Same. Later.” He hung up.
I ran for my room and grabbed my bag and keys. Stopping to turn off the television, I noticed that the streets were blocked al around the hospital and the castle. No point in getting my car or even a driver.
I pushed the elevator button. The first time it stopped, it was packed with very angry-looking faces. “No room!” someone shouted before pushing the Door Close button. The next time, it was equal y crowded, but at the front stood Marcel us, who was Hamlet’s bodyguard everywhere but Wittenberg, as he was too old to blend in at col ege. He reached around the people in front of him and pul ed me in. Everyone jostled impatiently to make space.
After being shoved into its midst by the crowd behind me, I stood in the lobby slightly disoriented by the sheer volume of people. The common area was ful of workers who made the castle run but who suddenly had nowhere else to be. Some were crying; some were talking on cel phones; some were staring blankly at the flat-screen TVs.
“Come with me,” offered Marcel us. “We’l have to run, but I can get you into the hospital.”
“Thanks,” I squeaked out through my clenched throat, checking to be sure I stil had my phone in my pocket. I wanted to text Hamlet, but I resisted the urge to do so.
Marcel us’s uniform caused everyone lingering in the castle lobby to move out of his way, and we were out in the air sooner than I could have hoped. I was in shape, but he ran five miles a day and it showed. As he sprinted down the street, I struggled to keep pace with him
.
“Have you heard anything?” I asked, trying not to sound too winded, afraid he’d slow down or, worse, leave me behind.
“Maybe a heart attack. Maybe a stroke. Sudden was al we heard.”
He grabbed my arm and tugged me in the opposite direction of the cameras, down three blocks, and around to the back entrance of the hospital. A guard waved us inside and we ran for the elevator.
The hospital had an eerie stil ness about it. Everyone was standing around various televisions watching the latest emergency report. Nothing had changed since this had al begun, and yet the people acted as if staring would alter the outcome or make something happen. Running had kept my mind free, but once we stopped, thoughts of the king tugged at me. Images of his kind face rushed through my head, and his laugh seemed to echo in the silence. I pressed my fingers to my eyes to keep the tears in.
Marcel us and I got into the elevator, which was antiseptic and cold. The only sound was our panting as we tried to catch our breath. I felt sweat trickling down the smal of my back, so I dried it with my shirt. A gentle ping announced our arrival at the tenth floor, the one reserved for the king and his family, whatever the cause.
As we emerged, a door opened midway down the hal , and I spotted corn-silk hair bobbing between the black trench coats. “Hamlet!” I cal ed, but he couldn’t hear. The group was headed away from me, and I knew I had to do something since, once he found Gertrude, it would be ages before he and I could speak. I needed to know he was okay.
“Marcel us, where are they—Can you—?”
Marcel us lifted his wrist and spoke into a tiny microphone hidden under the cuff of his shirt.
The flock of guards halted and I heard, “Phee?”
“She’s here,” cal ed out Marcel us, and I put my hand up.
Hamlet rushed around his detail and flew at me. I was relieved to final y talk to him, to touch him.
His cheeks were as cold as his hands. He started to break down but wiped his face hard, looking at the doctors and nurses who had stopped to stare.