Cody smiled, feeling proud of himself. At least his grandma appreciated what he could do, even if Hayden and the other kids didn’t. He would bet that Hayden couldn’t make up jokes. Hayden probably had enough trouble just making up his mind to get up in the morning.
“How are you doing in English class?” Mrs. Norton asked.
Cody gave a start. “Fine,” he said. “Well, not exactly fine. Maybe okay.” He sighed. “Not exactly okay, either. Ms. Jackson’s kind of hard.”
“Ms. Jackson? I used to know all the English teachers when I taught English at Farnsworth. But I don’t know a Ms. Jackson.”
“She’s new this year,” Cody said. “She’s a lot younger than most of those other teachers, Grandma. Some of them have probably been teaching there a hundred years, but Ms. Jackson told us she’s only been a teacher for two.”
He sighed. “She’s making us read Hamlet. She said it was time we learned to appreciate William Shakespeare.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” Mrs. Norton told him.
Cody shook his head. “People in Texas talk different than people in California, but at least I can understand what they’re saying. Shakespeare wrote in English, so the words look right, but the way he put them together hardly makes any sense at all.”
“Maybe I can help you,” Mrs. Norton said. “I haven’t been retired that long. Bring me your book and we can go over anything that’s troubling you.”
Cody hopped up from the bed just as his mother appeared in the doorway. “I think you’ve been visiting with Grandma long enough, Cody,” she said. “We don’t want to tire her.”
“But Grandma is going to help me with my English homework,” he complained.
“Not right now.” Mrs. Carter’s tone was firm. “Later.”
“Later, Cody,” Mrs. Norton echoed. For a moment she closed her eyes, and he could see the exhaustion on her face.
Dejected, he walked into the living room, picked up his backpack, and dumped the contents on the coffee table. For a moment he panicked. Where was his paperback copy of Hamlet?
With a sick feeling, he dropped into a nearby chair. He must have left the book in his locker at school. He had meant to put it in his backpack, but he’d seen Hayden heading his way, and he’d been in a hurry to escape. He had no choice about what to do next. He couldn’t skip reading his homework or he’d be in big trouble. He’d have to race back to school and get the book.
Cody paused at the door to his grandmother’s room and whispered, “Mom? I’m going out. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
As he stepped out the front door, he looked carefully in both directions, but there was no sign of Hayden, Brad, or Eddie. They were probably holed up in his aunt and uncle’s backyard shed, which they’d turned into their secret clubhouse.
“You keep out,” Hayden had said the first time his parents had invited Cody and Mrs. Carter over. “The clubhouse is our secret and none of your business.”
Cody was only too glad to keep out. He wanted no part of anything his cousin was into—secret or not. It didn’t make any difference to him what dumb stuff Hayden kept in that shed.
It was only six blocks to the Oliver J. Farnsworth Middle School, three blocks south of San Felipe. Cody set off at a jog, wishing he could have brought his bike with him from California. The hot late-September sun beat against his neck and shoulders, and he longed for the cool breezes that blew off the Pacific Ocean in Santa Olivia.
When Cody arrived at the massive redbrick building, the heavy front doors were locked. He peered inside through one of the big side windows and saw that the central hallway was empty.
The cleaning staff must be there, he thought. Maybe he could find one of them and they’d let him in. He walked around the building until he came to the west side. He saw some narrow steps, partly hidden on each side by large, spreading ligustrum bushes. They led down a half flight to a door. Hoping it was open, Cody tried the handle, but it was locked. Shoot, he thought. How am I going to get in the building to get my book? He cupped his hands against the glass panel in the door, trying to see inside.
The door opened so suddenly that Cody was thrown off balance. A hand gripped his shoulder, and an angry voice said, “Just what are you doing here?”
Cody looked up into the frowning face of a woman in dark slacks and blouse, with a lanyard and whistle draped around her neck. “I left one of my books in my locker,” he said. “I came back to get it.”
“You know the rules. No students allowed in the school past five p.m. unless they have legitimate business here.”
“I have legitimate business,” Cody said. “I need to get a book I accidentally left in my locker so I can do my homework.”
The woman studied him. “You don’t sound like you’re from around here,” she said. “Are you a student at Farnsworth?”
“Yes,” Cody said. “But I’m new this semester. I’m from California. I came here with my mom, to live with and take care of my grandmother.”
“What’s your name?”
“Cody Carter. My grandmother Dorothy Norton used to teach here.”
The tightness in the teacher’s face softened. “I’m Coach Anderson,” she said, “and I know your grandmother well. Where is this book you need, Cody?”
“In my locker.”
She nodded. “I’ll go with you to get your book. But after this, remember the rules. We can’t continue to make exceptions.”
“Thanks,” Cody mumbled, not sure what else he should say. He stepped inside the building, which reeked of pine-scented cleanser. He followed the coach past the open door of a janitor’s closet and up six steps to the silent hallway. From there it was a short distance to his locker. He couldn’t help feeling like a prisoner marching with a warden. His fingers fumbled with the dial on his combination lock, and twice he went past the right numbers.
Finally, he managed to open his locker. He took out his copy of Hamlet and turned the dial, locking it again.
Once again they made their silent march down the hallway, and he stepped outside with a sigh of relief.
“Thanks,” he called, but the door had shut and the coach had disappeared. He stood for a moment in the small, shaded space, enjoying the sense of being hidden from the rest of the world by the overgrown bushes, but he realized it was getting late and he had a lot of homework to do. He went down the few steps and started for home at a trot.
Cody was too hot and tired to jog very far, but he walked briskly, book in hand, his mind returning to Officer Jake Ramsey and his need for jokes. He liked the idea of earning money for making up jokes.
How about food? Everybody thinks about food. Fast food. Hamburgers. What would a stand-up comic say? Maybe … The government says we’re all getting too fat. We have to give up hamburgers and start eating broccoli and spinach and string beans instead. Try telling that to my cousin Hayden. He thinks the four food groups are Hamburger, Cheeseburger, Chiliburger, and Coke.
And speaking of broccoli … modern science has discovered that you can count on broccoli doing three important things for you. It strengthens your muscles, brightens your vision, and leaves green stuff between your front teeth.
Suddenly, as Cody turned onto the block where his grandmother lived, someone leaped out at him from a bush, and an arm was thrown around his neck. He was jerked backward, and his book was snatched from his hand.
“Hamlet,” Hayden said with a sneer as he examined it. “Don’t tell me you’re going to study it tonight? I didn’t think you could read.”
“Give it back,” Cody demanded. He ducked and twisted and pulled away from Eddie’s grip.
“What did you tell that cop?” Brad asked.
“Yeah,” Eddie said. “How come he drove you home? What did you tell him about us?”
“None of your business,” Cody answered.
Brad took a step forward, but Cody jumped sideways. “For your information, I told him a couple of jokes,” Cody said. He tried to smirk the way Hayden did, b
ut he wasn’t sure he was doing it right. “He told me they were funny and he paid me five dollars for them.”
“That’s dumb,” Hayden said, and the others laughed. “Do you actually think we’d believe that somebody would pay you for telling him a joke?”
“He would. He did. He wants to be a stand-up comic, and he said he needed some good material.”
Hayden joined in the laughter. “Don’t expect us to believe that. He’s not a stand-up comic. He’s a cop.”
“He’s a musician, too. On some weekends he plays sax with a band at a club on Richmond.”
The boys stopped laughing and looked at each other.
“I didn’t think police officers could do anything like … well, you know, anything except be police,” Eddie said.
Cody heard someone call Hayden’s name. He looked up with the others and saw Alma Gomez, the Nortons’ full-time housekeeper, standing on their front porch, waving.
“Come home, Hayden,” Alma shouted. “Your mama wants you. Now.”
Hands on hips, she stood without moving, watching them, and Cody breathed a sigh of relief. Hayden wouldn’t try doing anything he shouldn’t in front of Alma.
“Give me my book,” Cody told Hayden, but Hayden tucked it inside his shirt and made a dash for home.
Brad and Eddie ran off in the opposite direction.
There was nothing for Cody to do but to follow Hayden to his house. The Nortons’ front door was shut by the time Cody arrived, so he rang the bell.
Alma answered and smiled at him. “Hi, Cody. Can you come back later? Hayden’s going out to dinner with his mama and dad, and he’s supposed to get ready.”
Desperate to get his book back, Cody said, “I’ll just be a minute. I need to get my book for English class from Hayden.”
Alma stepped aside, allowing Cody to walk into the beautiful entry hall, with its highly polished wood and curved staircase to the second floor.
Hayden appeared at the top of the stairs. He leaned on the banister and grinned down at Cody. “I don’t have your book, dork,” he said. “You must have left it at school.”
Cody gulped. He had to get his book back. But how? He couldn’t fight Hayden for it. Hayden would have him down flat and would be sitting on him within two minutes. He’d already done it more than once.
Cody took a deep breath and smiled at Alma. “I know where I left my book,” he said. “In the clubhouse in the backyard. I’ll just run out and get it.”
“Okay,” Alma said.
“No! It’s not okay! Nobody goes in that clubhouse!” Hayden ran down a dozen steps, but Alma held up a hand.
“Cody needs his book. He knows where it is. There’s no reason why he can’t go there and get it.”
For just an instant Cody caught a flash of what seemed to be alarm in Hayden’s eyes. Then Hayden slipped the book out from under his shirt. “Hey, Cody, you know I was kidding about your book being at school. Here it is. I found it where you dropped it and was just about to take it over to Grandma’s to give it to you.”
He tossed the book high in the air, and Cody scrambled to catch it. “Thanks,” he said, aware that Alma was paying attention.
“Anytime,” Hayden answered.
Alma looked at her watch. “Hayden, you better hurry. Your mama isn’t going to like your being late.”
“Thank you,” Cody said, smiling at Alma. Clutching his book tightly, he hurried out the door and across the lawn to his grandmother’s house.
He puzzled over the look on Hayden’s face when the clubhouse had come up. There was obviously something inside the shed that Hayden didn’t want anyone to see. Cody couldn’t help wondering—what could it be?
CHAPTER THREE
Cody was sitting at the kitchen table, bent over the page in front of him, scowling, when his mother came into the room. As she opened the refrigerator and took out a package of lamb chops, she stopped to study him. “Why the unhappy face?”
“It’s not just my face that’s unhappy. It’s all of me,” Cody said. “Why did Shakespeare make everything he wrote so confusing? Why didn’t he just write in plain English?”
“He did. It’s the way the English language was spoken at that time.”
“Too bad for me,” Cody said.
“You’re getting into Shakespeare a little early,” Mrs. Carter said. “I think I was in tenth grade when our class read Hamlet.”
“Ms. Jackson loves Shakespeare. She said the sooner we learned to enjoy the poetry in his writing, the better.” Cody made a face.
“Everybody reads Shakespeare sooner or later.”
“Later sounds a lot better than sooner.”
Mrs. Carter put the chops on the broiler tray and sprinkled them with garlic salt. “Do you remember when I rented the movie version of Hamlet? Maybe you’d like to see it again.”
“No thanks. It was bad enough the first time. I knew it wasn’t going to be a success or make any money.”
“How could you know that?”
“There couldn’t be a sequel. Everybody died in the end.”
Mrs. Carter smiled and shook her head. “Exactly what bothers you about the play?” she asked.
“For one thing,” Cody answered, “Hamlet goes around talking to himself all the time.”
“When he talks to himself, it’s called a soliloquy.”
“Whatever it’s called, it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense to me. When Ms. Jackson reads what he says and asks what it means, I’m completely lost.”
Mrs. Carter set the broiler timer, pulled out a chair facing Cody, and sat, propping her elbows on the table. “Maybe you should approach this in a different way. Instead of translating each word, try to understand the character of Hamlet.”
“What’s there to understand? I think he’s a nutcase.”
“He has been called ‘the melancholy Dane.’ ”
“How come people from Denmark are called Danes? Shouldn’t they be called Dens? Or Marks? I mean, I’ve heard of Great Danes, but they’re dogs, and—”
“Stop trying to make a joke, Cody,” his mother said. “Now think about why Hamlet is melancholy. He’s lost his father.”
“I lost mine, too,” Cody said quietly. It had been four years since his father got sick and died.
“I know,” Mrs. Carter said, “I miss your dad, too. It’s been hard lately, especially now with Grandma …” Mrs. Carter reached across the table and patted Cody’s arm. “But that’s why you might really find Hamlet’s problems interesting.”
She straightened and took a long, deep breath. “Now, let’s get back to your homework. Remember, Hamlet knows he’s the rightful heir and should rule Denmark, but his uncle Claudius has stolen control of both the kingdom and Hamlet’s mother, the queen. Claudius wasted no time marrying Gertrude after the king’s death. On top of all that, the ghost of Hamlet’s father has appeared and told Hamlet that Claudius was the one who murdered him. The ghost wants Hamlet to avenge his death. It’s a lot for Hamlet to handle. Not just the loss of his father—his life as he knew it. Everything is changed violently. Can you understand why Hamlet is sad and confused?”
“Do you think being sad is a good enough reason to go around whacking people and talking to a weird old skull in the cemetery and himself?”
Cody’s mother rested her chin on her hands and sighed. “I suppose. I think poor Hamlet’s feelings must have been unbearable.”
The bell in Mrs. Norton’s room sounded, and Mrs. Carter began to rise wearily. But Cody jumped up, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Stay here, Mom,” he said. “I’ll go find out what Grandma needs.”
As he hurried into his grandmother’s bedroom, she looked up at him from her pillows and smiled. “Just the person I wanted to see,” she said. “You were going to come and talk to me about Hamlet. I’ve been waiting for you.”
Cody sat on the small chair next to the bed. “Mom and I were just talking about that. Mom said Hamlet was unbearably sad. Do you think that’s why he acted the w
ay he did?”
“Oh, he was sad, all right,” Mrs. Norton said. “But I believe that most of his actions were a result of the terrible things that had happened to him. He wasn’t thinking normally. In the language of our times, he was mentally disturbed.”
“Does that mean you think he was crazy?”
“His actions certainly were not normal.”
Cody sighed. He was getting nowhere. His mom and grandmother couldn’t even agree on what Hamlet was all about. He remembered that Hamlet, in one of his soliloquies, wished that his “too too solid flesh would melt.” Cody also wished it had—along with the whole darned play.
“Would you like to get your book and read some of it to me?” Mrs. Norton asked.
Cody sighed. “It’s hard for me to understand the play in the first place. If it’s such a great play, you’d think people would agree on why Hamlet did the things he did.”
Mrs. Norton smiled eagerly. “That’s why the play is so much fun to discuss. Is Hamlet hero or victim? We can’t view Hamlet, or anyone else for that matter, as totally good or totally bad.”
“My dad could have figured it out,” Cody said. “When Dad went before the court, he had to prove that the defendant was wrong. That’s what an attorney does all the time.”
“Your dad was proving only that the defendant was wrong in one particular case. Now, if you’ll get your book …”
That was the last thing Cody wanted to do. He changed the subject. “Grandma,” he blurted, “tell me about Uncle Austin and Aunt Rosalie. Even though they live right next door to you, it seems like they’re always either out or going out. I hardly ever see them. I know Uncle Austin is Mom’s older brother, but I don’t know much else.”
Mrs. Norton looked surprised. “I guess Austin and Rosalie do stay busy most of the time. Austin is a very successful attorney. His type of work is different from what your father did. He works long hours and travels all over the world. Rosalie’s volunteer jobs at the hospital and the Museum of Fine Arts take up a great deal of her time. And, of course, together and separately they have important social engagements. I understand and don’t expect them to change their lives for me. It’s only recently that I’ve needed some help.”
Laugh Till You Cry Page 2