by Tony Abbott
“I think it means he likes her.”
“She likes him too,” I said. “Check it out.”
Juliet was giving Romeo a little smile. “Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much … for saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands do touch, and palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss.”
It was love at first sight.
Too bad nasty Tybalt had Romeo in his sights.
Throughout this whole scene, the guy kept stewing up a storm there in the shadows. And I was worried.
I mean, here we were in total enemy territory.
And here was a Montague, giving a Capulet a kiss! It was like a call to war!
Suddenly, the nurse hustled over to the dancing couple. “Madam, your mother wants a word with you.”
“So soon?” said Romeo.
“I must obey,” said Juliet. She sighed and scampered off to her mother’s table.
Romeo came over to us. “Who is her mother?”
That’s when it hit us. Romeo didn’t have a clue.
“Whoa, hold on to your mask, Romeo,” I said. “Juliet’s mother is—are you ready—Mrs. Capulet—”
Romeo gasped. “Is she a Capulet? Then … my love … is my enemy?”
“Sorry, guy,” said Frankie. “But that’s the way it is.”
“And speaking of enemies,” I said, keeping my eye on Tybalt, who was circling around us now, “I think it would be a really primo idea to get ourselves out of here.”
I guess Benvolio had the same idea, because he came edging through the crowd at that moment, too, grabbed Romeo’s arm and pulled him to the door. “Come now. We’ve eaten our fill. All that’s left is Tybalt.”
While Benvolio and Mercutio pulled him quickly from the house, Romeo kept searching out the crowd for another glimpse of Juliet.
Just after he slipped away, she sprung out of the shadows, touching Frankie on the arm. “Tell me!” she said. “Who is that young man you are following?”
Frankie told her. “His name is Romeo. And I hate to be the one to break it to you, but … Romeo is a Montague—”
She uttered a short gasp. “Oh, no! My only love sprung from my only hate! That I must love a loathed enemy!” With that, she went flitting off into the depths of the house.
Frankie turned to me. “This isn’t going to be easy.”
“But the play is just beginning,” I said. “Maybe it gets easier later on. These two are meant to be together. Otherwise, Shakespeare wouldn’t have named his play after them.”
Frankie glanced at how much of the play there was still to come. “I hope you’re right.”
A moment later, old Capulet gave the order and all the torches were put out.
And so were we.
Into the street. Where we saw Benvolio and Mercutio, but not Romeo.
“Where is he?” asked Frankie.
“I think he hath hid himself among some trees,” said Benvolio. “Let us go. ’Tis vain to seek him here that means not to be found. Good night, Devin … Frankie …”
Together Mercutio and Benvolio wandered off into the night.
“Now what?” said Frankie.
We didn’t have to wait long for an answer. At that moment, we heard that old familiar sigh.
“Oh … oh,” said Romeo.
“Uh-oh,” said Frankie.
Because the sighs were coming from right inside the Capulet garden.
Chapter 7
Frankie and I stood in the street, staring at the stone wall surrounding the Capulet garden. It was about ten feet high, with sharp spikes running along the top.
“How did Romeo get in there?” I asked.
Frankie laughed. “If that look in his eyes when he saw Juliet meant anything, he probably jumped over the wall in a single bound!”
“The guy should be playing pro basketball,” I said. Then I eyed those pointy spikes again. “Wait a sec. Don’t tell me we have to jump that wall. Because, I tell you, in these tights, that would not be pretty.”
By the light of the moon, Frankie read a page of the book, then gave me a sick sort of grin. “Sorry, Dev.”
“Besides which,” I went on, “good old Tybalt could find us in there. He can’t wait to do some serious damage with that sword of his. And in case you wondered, my sword is still fairly plastic.”
“We have to climb over,” she said. “We have to make sure Romeo and Tybalt don’t meet up. Plus, this is a big scene, and we have to be there.”
“I just hope it’s not my death scene!” I said.
Frankie grinned, then put her hands together and gave me a boost—okay, sometimes she’s stronger—and I scrambled up the wall and over the side.
Thwump! I crumpled to the ground next to Romeo.
Thwump! Frankie clambered over a second later.
The garden we were in was small and square and filled with tall gangly plants and big fluffy flowers. Above us hung Juliet’s balcony. Just for the record, it was about twenty feet high, with all kinds of branches and vines creeping up to it from the garden below.
Even in the dim light coming from inside, I could see Romeo gazing up at Juliet’s room.
“Oh, I see where this is going,” I said, giving him a nudge. “You want to see her again. And hey, I’m all for that. But you should probably arrange to see her somewhere a bit safer. It’s totally dangerous here.”
With his eyeballs still fixed on Juliet’s balcony, Romeo whispered, “How can I leave, when my heart is here?”
“Romeo,” said Frankie, “as weird as it sounds, Devin is right. Juliet is a Capulet. And you know who else is a Capulet? Tybalt.”
“You remember him,” I said. “Angry guy? Shouts a lot? Wears black all the time? Well, Tybalt’s gunning for us. I mean, he’s swording for us. And I, for one, don’t want to be the first-ever Italian shish kebab!”
Of course, Romeo didn’t budge. He just kept staring up at that balcony. Suddenly, there was a flicker of candlelight, and Juliet’s room grew brighter.
“But soft!” said Romeo. “What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.”
The latch on the balcony window clicked, and Juliet, looking all airy and light, stepped out onto the balcony.
“It is my lady,” whispered Romeo. “It is my love! O, that she knew she were!”
Even in the light from the moon and stars, Juliet’s cheeks seemed to glow pink from the dancing.
“The brightness of her cheek would shame the stars as daylight doth a lamp,” the lovesick guy went on. “Her eyes in heaven would through the airy region stream so bright that birds would sing and think it were not night—”
Step by step, Romeo drew closer, as if he was drawn toward her and couldn’t help it.
“She must be magnetic,” I said.
“Plus, he’s in love,” said Frankie.
Now, normally, both Frankie and I would be reaching for the gagging spoon right about now, or beginning self-choking procedures, but I guess we really didn’t feel that way now. Already I wanted Romeo and Juliet to get together. I mean, neither of them really fit in with the folks around them, and the odds were so stacked against them, you sort of wanted them to win out.
Juliet leaned against the balcony railing and looked out over Verona, not saying anything. She didn’t have to. Romeo filled in all the downtime with more poetry!
“See how she leans her cheek upon her hand!” he whispered with emotion. “O, that I were a glove upon that hand, that I might touch that cheek.”
“Now he wants to be a glove,” I whispered.
“Isn’t it romantic?” murmured Frankie, taking out the book.
“Better than being a shoe, I guess.…”
Juliet sighed. “Ah, me!”
“Shh! She speaks!” gasped Romeo. “O, speak again, bright angel!’
Juliet was quiet for a moment, then said, “O, Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo?”
“He’s right here!” I whispered.
“Devin,” whispere
d Frankie. “Wherefore means ‘why.’ She’s asking why he has to be a Montague—”
“Deny thy father and refuse thy name,” Juliet said. “Or if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, and I’ll no longer be a Capulet.”
“Shall I hear more, or shall I speak?” asked Romeo.
“Well, if you ask me,” I said. “I would—”
Frankie tapped the page. “Believe me, Devin, he’s not asking you!”
“What’s Montague?” said Juliet. “It is not hand nor foot nor arm nor face. O, be some other name. What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet. O, Romeo, refuse thy name—”
“Henceforth I never will be Romeo!” Romeo blurted out, stepping out of the shadows and standing right under Juliet’s balcony.
The girl practically choked. “What man art thou?”
“I know not how to tell thee who I am,” he replied. “My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself, because it is an enemy to thee.”
Juliet leaned over the balcony and blinked down into the garden. “My ears have not yet drunk a hundred words, and yet I know the sound!” Her eyes glistened in the moonlight. “Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague?”
“Neither,” he said, “if either thee dislike.”
“How camest thou hither, tell me? The orchard walls are high and hard to climb, and the place death, considering who thou art, if any of my kinsmen find thee here.”
“With love’s light wings did I over-perch these walls,” said Romeo. “For stony limits cannot hold love out, and what love can do, that dares love attempt. Therefore thy kinsmen are no stop to me.…”
“We tried to tell him of the danger,” said Frankie. “But the guy has only one thing on his mind.”
“And just so there isn’t any confusion,” I said, “the thing he has on his mind is … you!”
Juliet laughed. “Romeo, you brought your friends with you.…”
“He couldn’t stop us,” I said.
“And we couldn’t stop him,” said Frankie.
Juliet blushed in the moonlight. “O, gentle Romeo, if thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully.”
“What shall I swear by?”
“Juliet!” called a voice from inside.
“I hear some noise within!” said Juliet. “Dear love, adieu! I will come again.”
“Stay for a minute!” said Romeo.
“I can’t,” she said. “If you do want to marry me, send word tomorrow. I’ll send a messenger to find you. Tell them the time and place … and I will marry you!”
“Whoa, that was quick!” I said.
“Things move fast in Shakespeare,” said Frankie.
“Juliet!” It was the nurse’s voice, getting closer.
“Coming!” she called back. “Romeo, I will send someone for your word.”
He grinned from ear to ear. “I’ll be waiting!”
“Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow that I shall say good night till it be tomorrow!”
“I don’t think we have that much time,” I said. “I think I hear someone outside the garden. What if it’s Tybalt—”
Juliet made a soft sort of giggle at Romeo, then dashed in and closed the window behind her.
Romeo fell back into the shadows, a big smile on his face. “Juliet will marry me,” he said. “And it must be done quickly before her family can stop us. I must seek help in our little scheme. And I know just the person. I know a friar friend of mine.”
“A fryer? You know a chicken?”
Romeo laughed. “Not a chicken. A friar is a monk. Let’s go.”
We did go. And because things were happening fast, by the next page, we were there.
Chapter 8
It was nearly morning, and we were on a dirt road heading out of the city. The countryside around us was beautiful. On each side were big meadows and rolling hills, and here and there little stone houses with gardens and bunches of sheep and goats grazing.
“Frankie,” I said, taking it all in, “after last night, this is like one of those summer mornings when you wake up and realize the world is a nifty place.”
She grinned. “I like the postcardiness of it all.”
“Check it out,” I said. “I mean, here we are in old Verona. We have no homework hanging over our heads. The birds are tweeting. The air is clean. The sheepies go baaa. ‘And the grey-eyed morn smiles on the frowning night, checking the eastern clouds with streaks of light!’”
She paused and turned to me. “Devin, that’s like poetry.”
“Like?” I said. “Ha! It is poetry! When you weren’t looking, I was doing some serious reading—”
“You weren’t!”
“I was!” I held up the book, which I’d snuck out of Frankie’s pocket as Romeo led us out of the city. “And even though it was tough going, I picked up some of the words. It’s starting to rub off on me. Frankie, I’m learning to speak Shakespeare!”
“Mr. Wexler will be so pleased,” she said.
Romeo stopped in front of a tiny stone hut by the roadside. Next to the hut was a long garden thick with flowers and low leafy plants. Romeo froze.
“What is it?” I asked.
“The friar is coming!” he said, suddenly scampering behind a tree next to the hut. He put his finger to his lips. “Let’s surprise him with the happy news!”
Frankie nudged me. “Romeo is, like, super-happy that he met Juliet.”
“And we helped,” I said, handing her the book again. “I guess you’d call the balcony scene their first date?”
“And here they are, already wanting to get married!”
I sighed. “Kids today. Don’t get me started.”
The moment we crowded behind the tree with Romeo, we began to hear humming. It was a man’s low, growly sort of humming, very off-key.
And there he was, coming around from the back of the hut—a short, plump guy, wearing a hooded brown robe, and carrying a basket the size of a bathtub.
“That’s Friar Laurence!” whispered Romeo. “He is talking to himself. He always does this. Let us listen.…”
“Before the sun dries up the dew, I must collect these flowers and weeds,” the chubby friar was saying. “Oh, yes, in plants and herbs there is precious juice. Healing and healthful juice for the body and the mind.…”
Friar Laurence stooped over and picked a small flower. “Within this tender blossom, for instance, is both poison and medicine. Smell it, it cheers you up. Taste it, and you fall into a deep sleep that looks like death itself!”
“He talks to himself a lot,” I said.
“Our book calls it a soliloquy,” Frankie whispered.
I chuckled. “Sosillyquy? Because it’s so silly to talk to yourself?”
She turned to me. “I don’t think so, Devin—whoa!”
Grabbing our hands, Romeo jumped out of hiding and leaped in front of the friar. “Good morrow, Father!”
The friar turned. “Oh! Romeo! You startled me. Oh, my poor heart! Well, well, up early, I see. And with friends?”
“I’m Devin. This is Frankie,” I said, bowing.
“Welcome to you all,” the friar replied. “I see, our Romeo hath not been in bed tonight.”
Our friend smiled. “I was feasting with my enemy.”
“Capulet’s party?” said the monk. “You were there?”
“Not only was I there,” Romeo said with a quick nod, “I was wounded and need your medicines.”
The friar gasped. “Wounded?”
“Wounded in the heart,” said Romeo, with his smile turning into a kind of distant gaze. “By Juliet, daughter of my sworn enemy.”
“Talk about a crush,” said Frankie. “This guy was flattened by a Capulet. And for the record, Juliet is pretty nuts about him, too.”
“And the reason I’m here,” said Romeo, peeking into the friar’s little hut, “is to ask you to marry us.…”
The friar dropped his basket. Thunk!
“Today,” said Romeo,
grinning.
From the look on the friar’s face, I bet if he had still been holding that basket, he would have dropped it again.
“Today?” he coughed. “Today!”
Friar Laurence was obviously having a real problem getting his head around this. “But what about sweet Rosaline?”
“Hey, we said the same thing,” I told the guy. “Romeo doesn’t even remember her. And you gotta admit, Rosaline doesn’t even seem to show up in the play. I mean, here we are in act two, scene two and—”
“Play?” said the friar, his eyes wide. “Act? Scene?”
Then I remembered that people in the books we get dropped into don’t really know anything about their being in a book. It’s their life, that’s all. I decided not to rock the boat. “I mean, you know, this play … of life!”
“Ah!” said the friar. “I know exactly what you mean. Well, so, come with me, Romeo. There may be something in this. You are young, but not too young, I suppose. And a marriage might solve the terrible hatred between your Montagues and her Capulets. Yes, yes. Let’s talk.…”
He drew Romeo off into his hut.
“Ah, yes,” said Frankie with a smile. “Old Friar Laurence, the wedding planner—”
There was, behind us, a sudden rustle of leaves and crackle of branches.
“Uh-oh,” I said. “Someone’s coming.”
Frankie whirled around. “Not bad guys with swords and looks on their faces that say ‘get Devin and Frankie’?”
Actually, it turned out to be Juliet’s nurse.
“Romeo!” she shouted, huffing and puffing. “Boy!”
Leaving the friar inside, Romeo came out of the hut.
“A word with you, Romeo,” said the nurse, catching her breath. “My young lady bade me find you.”
“I have been waiting for her message,” said Romeo. “What does she say?”
“I’ll tell you in a moment,” the nurse replied. “But first, let me say this.” She put on a harsh expression. “If you hurt my Juliet, it would be a terrible thing. She is young and gentle and I care for her and I will not forget a terrible hurt to her.”
“I care for her, too,” said Romeo. “With all my heart.”