Kissing Shakespeare

by Pamela Mingle

  This is a work of fiction. All incidents and dialogue, and all characters with the exception of some well-known historical and public figures, are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Where real-life historical or public figures appear, the situations, incidents, and dialogues concerning those persons are fictional and are not intended to depict actual events or to change the fictional nature of the work. In all other respects, any resemblance to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2012 by Pamela Mingle

  Jacket photograph copyright © 2012 by mercier

  All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Delacorte Press, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

  Delacorte Press is a registered trademark and the colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.

  Visit us on the Web! randomhouse.com/teens

  Educators and librarians, for a variety of teaching tools, visit us at RHTeachersLibrarians.com

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Mingle, Pamela.

  Kissing Shakespeare / Pamela Mingle. — 1st ed.

  p. cm.

  eISBN: 978-0-375-98881-3

  [1. Space and time—Fiction. 2. Shakespeare, William, 1564–1616—Fiction. 3. Theater—Fiction. 4. Actors and actresses—Fiction. 5. Love—Fiction. 6. Great Britain—History—Elizabeth 1558–1603—Fiction.]

  I. Title.

  PZ7.M6568Kis 2012

  [Fic]—dc23

  2012007891

  Random House Children’s Books supports the First Amendment and celebrates the right to read.

  v3.1

  For Jim

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Time is out of joint.

  —Shakespeare, Hamlet

  My tongue will tell the anger of my heart,

  Or else my heart, concealing it, will break …

  —Shakespeare, The Taming of the Shrew

  Boston, Present Day

  I WAS ALL ALONE BACKSTAGE. Flinging props and costumes around, slamming cupboard doors, kicking a row of empty water bottles. I’d planned to clean up, but instead I was wrecking everything.

  We opened The Taming of the Shrew tonight. A few months back, when I found out I’d gotten the role of Katherine, I knew I was headed for trouble. I hadn’t even auditioned for it. I wanted to play Bianca, the sweet daughter, the one all the suitors are after. But Mr. Finley, our drama teacher, wouldn’t even consider it. “Miranda, you will play Katherine,” he’d said. “The role was one of your mother’s triumphs, and you must carry on the tradition.” Inside, I’d fumed. My mother again. It was always about her.

  So here it was, opening night, and I’d totally screwed up. Rather than playing Katherine with the subtleties the role deserved, I’d played her as the traditional shrew turned submissive. The woman completely tamed by her husband. Afraid to make the role my own, I practically sleepwalked through the performance. When the curtain fell, I raced offstage, defying anybody to look at me. No way could I deal with polite smiles, insincere congratulations, and, worst of all, pitying eyes that quickly darted away.

  My cell phone vibrated in my jeans pocket. It was Macy, my friend and fellow actor, so I answered.

  “Miranda? Are you all right?”

  “Yeah,” I fibbed. I hated it when people asked me that, even friends who actually cared. No, I’m not all right. I feel like a failure and an idiot. And I let everyone down.

  “Where are you?”

  I heard loud music and laughing in the background, so I knew where she was. The opening night party. “I’m still changing and putting stuff away. What a mess.” I didn’t mention that my foul temper had caused the mess in the first place.

  “You’re not thinking of skipping the party, are you?”

  I drew a deep breath and squeezed my eyes shut. “Macy, please don’t freak out, but I’m not coming.”

  “What do you mean you’re not coming? You have to come! It’s opening night.” She broke off to talk to someone, then said, “John wants to talk to you.”

  “No! Tell him I’m sick or something.” John had played Petruchio, and we’d been dating, sort of. He was a nice guy, but he wanted more than I was willing to give. I heard Macy making excuses for me.

  I waited a few seconds, until she was back. “What’s the matter with you?” she asked. “I’m sure he knew I was lying.”

  “I ruined the whole performance, Mace! I sucked. I can’t face anybody right now.” Or maybe ever.

  “You weren’t that bad.”

  “Thanks. I feel much better. Look, after Sunday’s closing, I’m driving up to Maine, to our place at Acadia. I need to be alone for a while. I think I want to quit acting, Mace.”

  “Oh my God, Miranda, give it a little time. Everybody has their off nights. Remember how good you were in Much Ado About Nothing?”

  I spoke over the lump in my throat, my voice sounding raspy. “I had about ten lines in Much Ado! And this was more than just an ‘off night.’ I stunk from the first rehearsal.”

  “This is because of your mom, right? You think you can never measure up to her. That’s so not true.”

  “Mace, can we talk about this later? It’s late, and I want to get out of here.”

  “Please come to the party. You’ll feel better.”

  “I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” I said, ending the call. If I listened long enough, she might wear me down.

  Driving up to Acadia National Park had popped into my head while Macy and I were talking. There was no reason I couldn’t go. My grandparents, who kept an eye on me when my parents were on tour, wouldn’t care. Spring break started next week, and the play, mercifully, would be over. I loved it up there. With its dense forests and deep lakes, Acadia was a great place to hide out. I could use the time to reflect on life after acting and on how I could get out of going to Yale Drama. And on what I dreaded most: telling my parents I didn’t want to be an actor. The tears I’d been holding back overflowed, trailing down my cheeks.

  “Miranda?”

  I spun around, my heart racing. But it was only Stephen Langford, another actor. Someone else who hadn’t gone to the party.

  I brushed my cheeks with the back of my hand. “You scared me. I thought everyone had left.” He was still in costume, I noticed. That wasn’t his Taming of the Shrew outfit, though. It looked Tudor, like something a man at Queen Elizabeth’s court would wear. The first Queen E
lizabeth.

  “I need to talk to you,” he said. “Urgently.”

  I started throwing the plastic water bottles littering the floor into a recycling bin. What could be so urgent? I barely knew him. He’d shown up at the Dennis School early last semester, just in time for auditions. Finley practically drooled when he heard that posh British accent, so it was no surprise when Stephen won the role of Lucentio. Outside of rehearsals, he never hung out with us, so none of us knew him very well.

  “Why are you wearing that costume?” I asked.

  “It’s not a costume. These are my real clothes.” He gestured at his outfit, and I sensed a challenge in his expression. Did he want me to question that ridiculous statement?

  Stephen had grown a mustache and short beard for the play, and I now realized he looked years older than a typical high school senior. He was a good-looking guy, with full lips and a straight nose. One of his front teeth slightly overlapped the other, but that didn’t spoil his smile. Macy said she’d caught him staring at me a few times during rehearsals, but I’d never noticed.

  I lowered my eyes. “Right.” I moved on to the dresses I’d thrown to the floor and started hanging them up on the wardrobe rack. They’d be in the wrong order, but someone could fix that tomorrow. “So what do you want to talk to me about?”

  “Will you stop fussing with those damnable costumes!”

  I felt my jaw tense. “What’s your problem?”

  “Sit down. Please.” He tilted his head toward a trunk. “I need your help with something.”

  I could see he wasn’t going to give up until I agreed to listen. With an irritated sigh, I tossed the last gown aside and plopped down on the trunk. “What is it?”

  Stephen dropped to his knees in front of me, and I instinctively drew back. “How would you like to meet William Shakespeare?”

  A laugh burst from my mouth. “You’re crazy.” I tried to stand up, but he put his hands on my shoulders and pushed me back down. My rear smacked the trunk, hard. “Shit!”

  “Sorry,” Stephen said. “But I’m not crazy. Shakespeare needs our help. Desperately. All the plays and sonnets could be lost forever if we do not act now.” This guy was either the biggest drama nerd in existence or a lunatic. Probably the latter. Wonderful.

  “Last time I checked, the Bard lived in a different century. Like the sixteenth?” All of a sudden, I got it. “Wait a minute. Is this for one of those cheesy reenactment things?” Reenactors are big in Boston. They’re all over the Common, dressed like Redcoats or Patriots, acting out battles or meetings or whatever. Doing a Tudor-era reenactment here seemed kind of strange, though. “Thanks, but I’m not interested.”

  Just then, my cell phone rang. Probably Macy again. But when I pulled it out of my pocket, I saw it was my parents, with their usual great timing.

  “I have to take this. It’s my mom and dad.” Why would they be calling at this hour? I wondered. Principal actors in the New England Shakespeare Company, they were in Rome, starring in Antony and Cleopatra. Egomaniacs playing egomaniacs. Perfect.

  Stephen muttered something under his breath but wandered toward the hallway. I checked him out as he strode away from me. His reenactment costume, or whatever it was, did look authentic. He was wearing a velvet doublet, embroidered with silver and gold threads, over a white linen shirt. His hose were silk, and his boots rich leather, polished to a high sheen. None of our school costumes were that realistic or expensive looking.

  I shrugged and took the call. “Mom?”

  “Darling!” My mother’s exaggerated greeting resounded over the ocean, bridging the space separating us. “We just got in. Daddy and I want to hear all about your opening.” I detected an intake of breath and figured she was yawning. It must be around four o’clock in the morning there. Already Saturday.

  “Fine. It went fine.” I wasn’t about to tell her how awful I’d been. Especially since she was the one who’d convinced me to stick to the traditional interpretation of Katherine. I glanced over at Stephen and noticed him pacing, shooting me edgy looks. He was beginning to scare me.

  “Miranda? Are you there?” Mom asked.

  “I’m here. How was your opening? Did Rome’s rich and famous turn out for the performance?” Not that I cared, but I knew my mother expected me to ask.

  “Of course! The mayor, the city councilors, actors, opera stars. Your father even thought he saw the prime minister.”

  “That’s so exciting,” I said, trying to sound thrilled. “How many curtain calls?” But my mind was somewhere else. How would you like to meet William Shakespeare? I felt sweat gathering under my arms and breasts. Maybe I was dealing with a real whack job here. After all, what did anyone really know about Stephen Langford?

  “Oh, maybe a dozen,” my mother said, pretending to have lost count when I knew darn well she always kept track. “Hold on a second. I’m putting your father on.”

  “Hi, sweetheart. How did it go?”

  Hearing my dad’s voice perked me up a little. I repeated my “fine” mantra.

  “Did your grandparents make it?”

  “Grandpa did. Grandmother had some social event she had to attend.” I heard my father snort from his end. My maternal grandmother, a true Boston snob, was still busy, at age seventy-two, impressing the city’s elite.

  “I just wanted to make sure someone was there for your opening. I wish you could have seen your mother tonight. She dazzled, she hypnotized … well, she was magical. The audience couldn’t get enough of her.”

  Because they’re not related to her. I turned toward the hall and caught Stephen watching me. “Listen, Dad, there’s a boy hanging around—” Even as I said it, I realized how incongruous the word boy sounded when applied to Stephen.

  I heard my mother shrieking. “Oh, Geoffrey, look! Roses from the prime minister!”

  “Wonderful, darling. You were saying, Miranda?”

  I turned my back to the doorway, hoping Stephen couldn’t hear me, and lowered my voice. “One of the guys in the play is hanging around me. He’s acting strange, talking about …” How could I possibly explain it?

  Dad said, “Talking about what, Miranda? I’m having trouble hearing you.”

  “Nothing. Never mind.” What could he do, anyway, from Rome? I’d have to deal with Shakespeare Boy by myself.

  “Hey, Dad, I’ve got to go. The party, you know?”

  “Of course. We’ll be here for two more performances, and then we’re off to Florence. After that we fly to Milan.” But I wasn’t listening anymore, because I heard footsteps. When I turned, Stephen was striding toward me, his eyes glittering crazily.

  “ ’Bye, Dad. Tell Mom I said goodbye.” Feeling a surprising pang of loneliness for them, I disconnected just as Stephen grabbed my arm. I flinched. “Don’t touch me!”

  He jerked his hand away. “I’m sorry, Miranda, but we don’t have time for this.”

  I walked over to the cupboards, now desperate to get away from him. I reached in, snatched my backpack, and threw it over my shoulder. Where was the custodian? He was usually the last one to leave after performances, busy with cleaning and closing up. I couldn’t possibly be here alone, could I? When I turned around, Stephen was standing directly in front of me, blocking my path.

  “You’re in my way.”

  “Enough of this!” he said. “I have need of you, wench.”

  Before I knew what was happening, he bent down, grabbed me around the legs, and hoisted me over his shoulder. “Put me down! Right now!” I pummeled his back with my fists, but I might as well have been punching a brick wall.

  Next thing I knew, we were climbing up some stairs, and when Stephen finally set me down, we were on the roof of the school. My legs immediately collapsed under me, and I held still for a few minutes, catching my breath and getting my bearings.

  A strong gust of wind nearly blew me over when I finally stood up. It didn’t take long to spot Stephen, perilously close to the roof’s edge, fiddling with something. M
y legs were wobbly, but I grabbed on to one of the vents sticking up from the roof and, going from one to the next, I gradually made my way closer to him. Even though I was scared, I was also more than a little curious.

  “What are you doing?” I screamed.

  “Get back!”

  “Not until you tell me what’s going on! Why are we up here, and what’s that thing you’re holding?”

  He eyed me, apparently weighing whether to reveal anything. “It’s an astrolabe,” he finally said.

  It was small and round, and made of a shiny metal—brass, maybe. Even in the dark, it reflected light from the stars and the street below, and whenever Stephen’s hand moved, it gleamed like the flash of a firefly.

  “I’m finding the position of Mars. I measured the altitude of this building weeks ago.”

  “Well, that explains a lot!” My sarcasm was lost in the wind.

  “I must find the portal.”

  When I didn’t respond, he said, “For us to travel back.”

  He spun around and continued peering through an opening in the astrolabe while adjusting a narrow arm that stuck out from one side. After a minute, he seemed satisfied.

  “Let’s commence. ’Tis the right time, and the planet is positioned as it should be. Now I need only say the words.” He stepped back from the edge, and I sneaked slowly toward my backpack. I planned to run like crazy for the door and then dash down the stairs. Midstep, I sensed Stephen’s presence behind me. Before I could escape, he clenched me tightly. And then I heard his voice:

  “From this age we take our leave; to Shakespeare’s time we do proceed!”

  In a blast of cool air, I felt myself being lifted off the ground, like that amusement park ride, except Stephen’s arms were holding me. We were flying above the earth, around it, a blue-and-white sphere with swatches of green. And there were huge splashes of light. I was cold. Freezing. It was like someone had wrapped me in an ice blanket. Time sped past, and I was tumbling through its layers. I realized the light was from the Milky Way, spilled out before me like fairy dust, and it was dazzling. I started to laugh, and then I felt myself slip into oblivion.