Laugh Till You Cry

by Joan Lowery Nixon

  Cody remembered overhearing his mom say on the phone, “If Rosalie could stop going to so many luncheons and parties, she could help take care of my mother.”

  Cody had had dinner with the Nortons shortly after he and his mom had arrived in Houston. Aunt Rosalie had asked him a question right after he’d taken a bite of roast beef. Cody remembered chewing fast and gulping before he answered.

  “Hayden, dear, I hope you’re noticing what good table manners Cody has,” Aunt Rosalie had said. “Unlike you and your friends, Cody does not talk with his mouth full.”

  She’d smiled approvingly at Cody and added, “I’ve pointed out to Hayden that he could use you as a good example, Cody. You always remember to say ‘please’ and ‘thank you,’ too.”

  Hayden glared at Cody, who wished he could slide under the table. Maybe he should tell them that his mom drilled him before every family visit about what to say and do, under penalty of being grounded forever.

  Aunt Rosalie began describing how they were going to decorate the luncheon tables at a fund-raising party she was in charge of. Cody was no longer of interest to her, but she’d only added to Hayden’s bad attitude.

  “Uncle Austin and Aunt Rosalie don’t come over here very often, do they?” Cody asked his grandmother. He pressed his lips together tightly, wishing he hadn’t been so blunt.

  “No, but since I retired from teaching, I’ve spent a great deal of time with their sons, your cousins.” Mrs. Norton smiled. “I miss Bennett, although I’m sure he’s enjoying his first year at Harvard. I miss Hayden, too. I don’t see him nearly as often as I used to. He’s busy with school and sports. I can understand that.”

  He’s busy with his thug buddies, Cody thought. “Have you ever been in Hayden’s clubhouse?”

  “Not since he turned it into a clubhouse,” Mrs. Norton answered. “It began life as a potting shed and a place to protect plants that couldn’t take the winter freezes. I think Austin still uses it for gardening and keeps some tools and fertilizer in it, but I suppose there’s plenty of space to add a few chairs and whatever else a clubhouse needs.” She studied Cody. “Hasn’t Hayden invited you into the clubhouse yet?”

  “Not exactly,” Cody said.

  “I’m sure he will. Give him a little time,” Mrs. Norton said. “It makes me happy to realize that you and Hayden will finally get to know each other as friends, as well as cousins. You’re in some of the same classes, and you can enjoy the school activities together. The football season should be starting soon, shouldn’t it?”

  “There’s a game on Friday.”

  Mrs. Norton’s smile was so bright that Cody gulped. His mother was right. There was no way he could let his grandmother know what a no-good bully Hayden was. And he couldn’t really complain to her about having to be in Texas. She was his grandmother.

  Cody struggled to think of the right thing to say. He was saved by his mother’s appearance in the doorway. Bustling past him to the bed, she said, “Mom, your dinner’s almost ready. Let me prop you up against your pillows. Cody, wash up and head for the kitchen.”

  “Cody, after you’ve eaten, come back and bring your book. We’ll go over your reading assignment,” Mrs. Norton said.

  “Thanks, Grandma. See you later,” Cody answered, and left the room. But at the door to the kitchen, he paused.

  Lamb chops and Hamlet lay ahead of him. He could handle the lamb chops, even though they were not his favorite things to eat. But Hamlet? How was he ever going to manage that?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  In the morning Cody’s mother handed him her cell phone. “Grandma’s doctor is going to call later today, after he’s seen the results of her latest blood test,” she said. “There’s a good chance he might give her a prescription for a new medication he’s thinking of trying. Call me right after school. You know where the drugstore is, right down on Westheimer. You can stop by and pick it up on your way home.”

  “Okay, Mom,” Cody said. He slipped the phone into the pocket of his blue polo shirt. He hoped the new medicine would help his grandma.

  English class came right before lunch. Cody slid into his assigned seat in the row near the window, his stomach rumbling. He pretended he didn’t see Hayden stroll into the room with Eddie and Brad.

  Hayden began to swagger toward Cody, but at that moment Ms. Jackson came into the room and Hayden headed to his seat. The bell rang, and Ms. Jackson shut the door. She wore a neat dark blue jacket and skirt, and round silver earrings dangled from her ears. She didn’t look like a teacher, Cody thought. Instead, she looked like an anchorwoman on TV. He’d never seen her in jeans and wondered if she even owned a T-shirt. She had decorated her classroom more than most of the other teachers, and Cody realized that even though he wasn’t enjoying Hamlet, he liked Ms. Jackson and the extra effort she made. He leaned back in his seat, gripping his copy of the play, and tried to prepare himself for class.

  “Good morning, everyone,” Ms. Jackson said. She silently checked the rows to make sure every seat was filled, then put down the clipboard she was holding. “Did everyone read Act Five, Scene Two, the last scene in the play?”

  Without waiting for an answer, she said, “We’ll talk about that scene in a few minutes. But first, I want to discuss projects with you.”

  Cody saw that he wasn’t the only one who was instantly alert. “What projects?” someone asked.

  “The projects you’re going to do to complete our study of Hamlet,” she said. “Instead of a test. You’ll enjoy this assignment,” Ms. Jackson told the class, “because you’ll have a chance to use your creativity.”

  Ignoring another groan and a couple of grumbles, she continued. “If you can’t come up with an original idea, then you might like to write a two-page theme about one of the topics I’ve listed on the board. For example, you could discuss Polonius’s advice to his son, Laertes, or you might write about the two appearances of the ghostly king.

  “On the other hand, I’m hoping that some of you might like to construct a diorama of one of the major scenes in the play, or paint a picture, or think of something different and unusual to do. What you create will be up to you.” Ms. Jackson picked up an old leather book wrapped in plastic. “I’ve brought in something special to inspire you. This is a very old, rare edition of Hamlet. It’s quite different from the paperback edition we’ve been reading. On Friday I will give everyone a chance to look at it.”

  Hayden raised his hand. “Is it worth a lot of money?”

  “Why, I suppose it is, Hayden. But it has more of a sentimental value for me. It’s been in my family for generations. You may work on your projects on your own, or you can choose a partner and combine your talents.” There was a buzz throughout the room as most of the kids immediately tried to connect with their friends.

  Cody watched for a moment, then reached across the aisle and tapped a redheaded girl named Jennifer. He didn’t like feeling left out, and Jennifer seemed to do well in class. He wouldn’t mind doing a project with her.

  She whirled toward him, waiting to see what he wanted.

  “Do you want to work with me?” Cody asked.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t,” Jennifer said, trying to look sorry but failing. “I already promised Emily.”

  Cody shrugged. “Okay,” he said. As Jennifer turned her back on him again, Cody slumped in his seat. He wished the doctors would find the right medicine for Grandma so she’d get better soon. He missed his real school in Santa Olivia. He missed his friends. He wanted to go back home.

  Ms. Jackson’s voice broke into his thoughts. “This is Tuesday. Your project won’t be due until Friday, so you’ll have three evenings to work on it. Any questions?”

  Emily Estrada waved her hand high in the air, and when Ms. Jackson looked in her direction, she said, “There’s a football game on Friday after school, and the cheerleaders have to practice.”

  “You’ll have time to do both. The project won’t take that much time.”

  Jennifer rais
ed her hand. “How much is the grade on the project going to count toward our final grade?” she asked.

  Ms. Jackson’s gaze took in the entire class. “It will be important for your final grade.”

  “Ten percent? Twenty?”

  Ms. Jackson walked to her desk and picked up her copy of Hamlet, opening it to the last scene. “I have a creative idea,” she said. “Why don’t you work on the project as if it were going to be worth one hundred percent? Now, let’s open our books to page 133, Act Five, Scene Two. Hamlet and Horatio are talking. Who’d like to read Hamlet’s dialogue, beginning with ‘Sir, in my heart’? Brad?”

  Brad slid down in his seat, mumbling, “I didn’t have time to do my homework.”

  “See me after class,” Ms. Jackson said quietly. “Emily?”

  Cody silently read along with Emily, glad that his grandmother had explained that “mutines in the bilboes” meant “mutineers in fetters in prison” and “plots do pall” meant “plans fail.” Otherwise, he might as well have been reading in another language. Emily finished, giving a flip of her long, dark ponytail, and Ms. Jackson said, “Thank you. Now let’s see who can tell us what Hamlet was saying.”

  Cody bent over, shrinking as small as he could.

  He let out such a loud sigh of relief when Hayden was called on that Jennifer turned and stared at him, and Ms. Jackson looked at him with surprise.

  “Hayden, can you tell us what Hamlet was describing when he said the following?

  Methought I lay

  Worse than the mutines in the bilboes.”

  For a moment Hayden was silent. Cody slid up straight and raised his head. He actually knew the answer! He and his grandma had discussed it.

  But Hayden answered, “Bilboes were metal cuffs that were put around prisoners’ wrists and ankles and fastened them to the chains in the wall in dungeons. And mutines were mutineers, so they were lying in prison wearing these bilboes. And Hamlet said he was even worse off than they were, which was really bad.”

  “Excellent answer, Hayden,” Ms. Jackson said. “I can see you made good use of the footnotes in the last pages of the book.”

  Cody started. There were footnotes? If Ms. Jackson had told the class about them, then he must have been thinking about something else. He’d only read the pages that were assigned and had seen no reason to look in the back of the book.

  As Hayden smirked at Cody, he got that weird feeling in the pit of his stomach again. He supposed he was jealous of Hayden, and he tried to push the feeling away.

  But Ms. Jackson walked to the window side of the room and smiled at him. “All right, Cody. You’re eager to answer. Suppose you take the next lines:

  Rashly

  (And praised be rashness for it) let us know, Our indiscretion sometime serves us well When our deep plots do pall.”

  Cody felt as though a giant eraser had swept through his mind. It was a total blank. What had his grandma told him?

  “To begin with, what does ‘rashness’ mean?” Ms. Jackson prompted.

  “ ‘Rashness’ … uh … oh, doing something without, uh, thinking about it first, like whether or not it was a good idea,” Cody stammered.

  “That’s right. So take it from there. Why did Hamlet say ‘praised be rashness’?”

  Cody stared at the page. “They … uh … did something without thinking about it, which was rash, but rashness works out okay when plots pall … uh, fail. If their plots fail.”

  He shifted in his seat, and his book fell to the floor with a crash.

  Jennifer gave a loud sniff and rolled her eyes, and he heard Hayden snicker.

  As Cody bent to pick up his book, his face flushed hot. He knew it was probably bright red and he’d made everything even worse. But he straightened up to see Ms. Jackson walking to the other side of the room.

  She said, “Thank you, Cody. You’re on the right track.” Then she read:

  “There’s a divinity that shapes our ends,

  Rough-hew them how we will.”

  She called on a kid named Paul, and he began to answer. Paul seemed nice enough. Cody had seen him drawing pictures—especially of horses—all over his notebook. Cody tried to listen, but all he could think about was how he had stumbled through a really dumb answer. Hayden would probably never let him forget it.

  When the lunch bell rang, Cody headed to his locker. He pulled his lunch bag from the shelf, but he didn’t hurry with the others toward the cafeteria. He saw Hayden’s Stupid Squad up ahead, waiting for him. Wanting only to be alone, Cody walked down the hall in the opposite direction and slipped out the side door he’d discovered the day before. He sat on the bottom step of the small alcove, resting his back against the cement wall. It was cool in the shade, in spite of the Texas heat.

  He munched on the peanut butter and jelly sandwich his mother had made for him and thought about his home and school in Santa Olivia. Tears blurred his vision, and he rubbed angrily at his eyes with the back of one hand. He wasn’t going to cry. Not here! Not now!

  For what seemed like a long time, Cody leaned against the wall and thought about the good old days in Santa Olivia. Suddenly he jumped as the electronic bell over the door slammed against his ears in a rapid beat.

  A fire drill? At lunchtime?

  He was tempted to stay where he was, but he knew that would just mean trouble, so he got to his feet and began to jog around the corner of the building toward the quadrangle in back, where the classes were supposed to line up during emergency drills.

  As he entered the gate, Cody ran straight into Coach Anderson, who grabbed his shoulders to steady him. She didn’t let go, but stared down at him, checking him over, inch by inch. She frowned at the phone clip on his pocket. “What are you doing out here?” she demanded.

  “I was eating lunch,” Cody said. “I brought it today. My lunch sack—” He glanced down at his empty hands. “I guess I left it on the stairs.”

  “On the stairs is not in the cafeteria, where all students are supposed to eat lunch,” she said. “Even though you’re a new student, you should know that.”

  “I do know,” Cody said. He tried to shrug but couldn’t since she still had a grip on his shoulders. “I—I just felt like being alone.”

  The bell kept up its insistent clamor, and Cody’s head began to hurt.

  Coach Anderson stepped back, dropping her arms. “Hurry. Get in line with your class. Every student has to be accounted for.”

  Cody took off at a run and skidded to a stop at the end of the lines in front of Ms. Jackson, who was also his homeroom teacher. “What’s with the fire drill at lunchtime?” he asked Jennifer, who was standing next to him, but at that moment the bell went silent.

  The principal of Farnsworth Middle School, Mr. Carmody, spoke to the students using a portable hand mike. “A few minutes ago,” he announced, “through an anonymous telephone call to our main office, we received a bomb threat.”

  One of the girls gave a little shriek, and everyone started talking. Mr. Carmody had to shout twice for silence so he could continue.

  “The police have arrived, and the school will have to be searched.” He paused, then added, “I am counting on the likelihood that it was not one of our own students.”

  “We were all in the cafeteria,” someone complained.

  Cody saw Coach Anderson slowly turn and search the crowd until she spotted him. She approached Mr. Carmody, who held the microphone down as the coach leaned toward him and spoke quietly in his ear.

  Then he turned and stared at Cody, too.

  Cody gulped as he realized what they must be thinking. It wasn’t me! He wanted to shout, but he couldn’t. He hadn’t been accused, so he couldn’t say anything.

  He saw Officer Jake Ramsey and another uniformed officer step out of the building and walk to the principal’s side. They spoke for a few minutes, and then Jake turned and looked at Cody, too.

  Cody’s legs felt so weak it was hard to keep standing. He tried taking a deep breath to stea
dy himself, but it was difficult to breathe.

  Mr. Carmody picked up the mike. “The police estimate that it will take at least three hours to thoroughly search the school building,” he said. “So we will proceed with early dismissal. Please remain where you are while arrangements are made.”

  Then, once again, he looked directly at Cody. “At this time,” he said, “I would like Cody Carter to report directly to me.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “I didn’t do it,” Cody said.

  “He wasn’t in the cafeteria, where he was supposed to be,” Coach Anderson stated.

  “Young man—” Mr. Carmody began, but Jake stepped forward. He was big enough to take charge, and his voice was firm. Even Coach Anderson kept quiet and paid attention.

  “Before we jump to any conclusions, let’s get the answers to some questions,” Jake said. He turned to Cody. “Where’d you eat lunch, Cody?”

  “On the steps outside the side door,” Cody said.

  “All students are supposed to eat in the cafeteria,” the coach interrupted, but Jake gave her a hard look, and she stepped back.

  Cody decided he’d better explain himself. “I—I didn’t feel well. I wanted to be by myself, so I picked a quiet place where nobody would be.”

  “Nobody saw you there?” Jake asked.

  Cody gulped. From what he had learned about law, he realized that Jake was asking whether there were any witnesses, anyone who could prove that Cody was there. Suddenly he remembered. “No, but I left my lunch bag on the steps. I meant to throw it away, but the bell rang and—”

  “I’ll go check,” the other policeman said. He strode toward the corner of the building in the direction Cody pointed out.

  Cody was aware that a lot of the kids were watching him. He heard Brad say loudly, “Nobody saw Cody after we got out of English class.”

  Eddie piped up, “That’s ’cause he was—”

  Hayden gave him a punch on his arm. “Don’t interrupt,” he muttered.