by Tony Abbott
But the two fighters leaped at each other, clashing and clanging their swords across the square and into the marketplace.
“Dumb fighting!” I said. “This stinks!”
Frankie and I tried to help Romeo, since he was the star of the show, but Tybalt’s gang started getting into the act, too. We tumbled some baskets on them, because we knew they weren’t supposed to be in the scene. They threw fruits and vegetables at us, because they probably figured the same thing about us.
But in the spotlight were Tybalt and Romeo. They fought their way around the fountain. Clank! Pling!
Once, Romeo even splashed through the fountain, but Tybalt was ready for him. It was like a movie swordfight. They were all over the square, even going up the stairs of one house, across an alley, and down the other side, clashing blades all the way.
Romeo, even though he was, like, Mr. Married Man, fought amazingly well, getting in some good swats against Tybalt, who was the great swordsman.
It was clear that Romeo didn’t really want to hurt the guy. I mean, after all, they were related.
Finally, Tybalt did this fancy twirl to give Romeo a final lunge, but lost his balance, fell, and slid sideways onto Romeo’s sword.
“Ahh!” he moaned, and dropped to the cobblestones. Then he shuddered, groaned loudly, and went still.
It was over in a moment. His friends rushed to him, but he didn’t say much.
Tybalt was already gone. Lifeless. Dead.
“Oh, my gosh!” said Frankie. “I can’t believe this.”
Benvolio dashed over to us. “Frankie, Devin, take Romeo away. He knows not what he has done.” He waved his hand in front of Romeo’s glazed eyes. “Romeo, away with you, be gone. The prince will sentence you to death if you are captured. Begone—”
Dazed, Romeo stumbled backward, his eyes still fixed on Tybalt’s lifeless form.
“Oh!” he cried suddenly. “I am fortune’s fool!”
The tramping feet of soldiers thundered into the square.
“Go!” yelled Benvolio. “The prince’s guard is here!”
To escape, we had to scurry up a set of stairs to the overhanging rooftops, practically dragging the dazed Romeo behind us.
From above we watched a crowd filling the square, including Mr. and Mrs. Montague, the Capulets, and finally the prince.
The prince called for witnesses, and Benvolio, held by the guards, told him what had happened.
“Tybalt killed Mercutio,” he said, “and Romeo, trying to keep the peace, was forced by Tybalt to fight. They went at it like lightning, and before I could draw them apart, Tybalt fell, and Romeo fled.”
Mrs. Capulet shook her head. “This man is a friend of Romeo. He speaks not true. Romeo slew Tybalt. Romeo must not live!”
“No, no,” said old Montague. “Tybalt killed Mercutio, and Romeo merely did what the prince himself would have done—”
The prince held up his hand, then stood silent for a while. “Tybalt was a killer, and Romeo did kill a killer. For that offense, we exile him from fair Verona under penalty of death. Let Romeo leave now! For when he’s found, that hour is his last!”
“Frankie, this isn’t good,” I whispered from our roof.
“No kidding,” she said. “Let’s get Romeo out of here and tell Juliet right away. She needs to know.”
We tugged poor Romeo across the rooftops to Friar Laurence’s cell, then shot back to the streets, to tell Juliet the very, very, very bad news.
Chapter 11
Whoomf! We threw the rope ladder up.
“You know, Frankie,” I said. “This ladder was supposed to sneak Romeo into Juliet’s house so they could be together.”
“Yeah,” she said, hauling herself up the dangling ladder. “It doesn’t look like that’s going to happen anytime soon.”
We pulled ourselves up on to the balcony. I peered in. Juliet was all goopy-eyed and sighing and giggling.
“Poor kid,” I whispered. “She doesn’t have a clue what just happened.”
But even as we watched, the nurse came bustling in. “Oh, it’s terrible!” she cried. “Tybalt slain! And Romeo, oh!”
Juliet bolted up from the bed. “Tybalt slain! And Romeo—what? Slain also? Then I shall slay myself—”
“Hold on!” I said, climbing over the balcony and bursting into the room. “Did anybody ever mention that you two don’t really communicate too well? Look, here’s the situation. First Tybalt killed Mercutio, then Romeo killed Tybalt. Not that he wanted to. He tried to stop all the fighting. But Tybalt wouldn’t let it go.”
“My husband has killed my cousin?” said Juliet.
“That’s about the size of it,” said Frankie. “And now Romeo has to beat it out of town before the prince’s guards—or any Capulets—find him.”
Juliet staggered on her feet. “Then … is this the end?”
Frankie held up the book. “No. A little over halfway.”
“Which means that we still have a chance to make this end good,” I said. “I think we can. I hope we can.”
“I must see Romeo,” said Juliet. “I must see him!”
Frankie breathed in, then glanced at me. “Hmmm. I wonder. Maybe Friar Laurence can come up with a plan. And Romeo can swing by and tell you what we’ve figured out. I mean, this will be the last place anyone would look for him.”
“Plus,” I said, “after all the trouble we’ve been to, he’s got to use that rope ladder at least once!”
“Absolutely,” said Frankie.
“Nurse, go to Romeo,” said Juliet. “Find him and give him this ring.” She pushed a ring into the nurse’s hand. “And bid him come to take his last farewell.”
“I will do it!” said the nurse. She scurried out and down the stairs.
“And we’d better leave the other way,” I said. Then, I turned to Juliet one more time. “Cheer up, Jules. Friar Laurence seems like a smart guy. If anyone can think of a plan, he can.”
She looked at me, but said nothing.
As we scuttled down the ladder, Frankie sighed. “Devin, things are bad,” she said. “Very, very bad.”
“Hey, I know. I hate to see her like that.”
“Yeah. Me, too.”
When we jumped down to the garden, Mr. and Mrs. Capulet were just returning from the square and were walking in one of the hallways inside with a young man.
“We’ve seen him before,” I said.
Frankie peered closer. “It’s that guy Paris. The one who wanted to marry Juliet. I wonder what he wants.”
I grinned. “There’s only one way to find out.” I pointed at an open window nearby. “We creep in and listen. One thing I’ve learned from this Shakespeare guy. He doesn’t put in dumb stuff. If this is a scene in the play, there’s got to be a reason. I say we go into major snoopy spy mode and listen in.”
Frankie began to nod. “It’s ideas like that that make me glad we’re in this together. Let’s do it.”
Making myself as skinny as possible, I slipped through the window and dropped to the floor. I opened it some more for Frankie and her dress to slide in. Then we crept around and into the hallway, just as the Capulets and Paris were coming our way.
“The rug on the wall,” I whispered. “Let’s hide behind it.”
“We better hide good,” she whispered, as we darted behind a large tapestry. “If they find us, all they have to do is shout and all those nasty-looking guards will charge from the street with their swords and beards and torches and we’re done for! And maybe the prince will do more than banish us.”
“Like maybe … vanish us?”
“Maybe. Shhh—”
“I haven’t had the time to talk to my daughter,” Mr. Capulet was saying. “Juliet dearly loved her cousin Tybalt. So did I. We are all confused and saddened by his death.”
Paris spoke. “It’s only that, well, I love her and I would marry her to stop her grieving.…”
“Sorry, pal!” I whispered. “An hour too late for that.”
He turned and walked away from Capulet, heading down the hallway past us, and toward the garden.
I peered out my end of the tapestry to see him leave, but what I saw instead sent shivers up my spine.
Beyond the door at the end of the hallway leading into the garden was the nurse.
She hustled across the grass, stopped, looked both ways, then waved to the bushes. Which I thought was odd. Until the bushes parted, and out came none other than Romeo himself, dashing across the open garden to the ladder.
“Oh, my gosh!” I gasped. “No, no—”
“Paris is going to spot Romeo!” Frankie said. “He’s going to see him! What are we going to do—”
Old Capulet turned on his heels. “Paris, wait!”
The instant before Romeo passed before the doorway, Paris turned around. “Yes, my lord?
Romeo flitted by outside. I could breathe again.
“I have thought this over, my son. We are all in grief about noble Tybalt’s death. But your love of our daughter may help dry her tears—”
“It’s Romeo she’s crying over!” whispered Frankie.
“My lord?” said Paris. “What are you saying?”
“That you should marry her!” said Capulet, almost laughing. “Yes, and Juliet will obey me in this. Yes! I like the idea. Dear wife, go now to Juliet and tell her that on Wednesday next … wait, what day is it today?”
“Monday, my lord,” said Paris.
“Monday? Well then, Wednesday is too soon—”
“Or too late,” I whispered.
“Thursday, then?” said Mrs. Capulet.
“Yes, Thursday,” said the old man. “Dear wife, tell Juliet that on Thursday she shall be married to this noble gentleman Paris!”
Frankie and I nearly choked. But it would have given us away. But, come on! Juliet can’t have two husbands! That would never work!
Of course, Paris thought it would work just fine. In fact, the guy leaped for joy just like the first time.
“Oh, I wish Thursday were tomorrow!” he cried.
Capulet laughed. “Well, good,” he said. “Thursday be it then. Wife, prepare Juliet for her wedding day!”
Capulet and Paris walked off into the main part of the house, while Mrs. Capulet walked toward the stairs to Juliet’s room.
“Holy cow!” I said. “Romeo’s up there! She’ll catch him. The guards will come rushing in! The prince will find out! We have to save him! I have an idea.”
I slipped out from behind the rug in full view of everyone.
“Devin!” hissed Frankie, still hiding. “What are you doing?”
“Stalling her,” I said. “Oh, lady Capulet?”
She stopped on the stairs and turned. “Yes?”
“Did you know that—that—that—”
I completely went blank. It was probably because I didn’t have the book. It was with Frankie.
“Well?” Mrs. Capulet said, stepping down one step.
Finally, an idea came to me. “There’s someone … locked in the bathroom!”
“The what?”
“The bathroom! Quick! This way!”
I ran to the stairs and pulled Lady Capulet down into the main room. Then I opened the nearest door and pushed her through. I shut the door behind her, and put a small table in front of it. Immediately, she started banging on the door with her fists.
Frankie rushed over. “Devin, this is totally nutty. She’s not liking it. And by the way, did they even have bathrooms four hundred years ago?”
I looked at my friend. “All I can say is, if they didn’t—eeeww! Come on!”
We hightailed it up the stairs as fast as we could go, but something weird was happening. It was like we were moving in slow motion, while time was passing quickly.
The light was changing. The torches along the stairway walls burnt down and went out as we passed them.
“Whoa—Frankie!” I said. “The scene must be changing!”
“I know!” she said. “Time … is … passing!”
By the time things were normal again and we blasted into Juliet’s room, it was practically morning.
And Romeo and Juliet were holding hands, looking out over the balcony at the sky.
Chapter 12
I rushed in. “Hey! Guys!” I said.
But they didn’t even hear me. They only heard and saw each other. It’s like they were totally focused on themselves. It was romantic, I guess, but also slightly icky.
“It’s nearly daylight,” said Frankie. “Romeo, you have to leave—”
Romeo, still keeping his eyes locked on Juliet’s, said, “It’s nearly daylight‥‥”
“This is what I’m saying!” said Frankie.
Paying no attention to us, Romeo said, “Juliet, I must go to Mantua. Friar Laurence has arranged a place for me to stay. I must be gone and live, or stay and die. But I am content, so long as I am with you.”
Juliet laughed. “That light is not daylight,” she said. “It is some meteor that the sun exhaled to be to thee this night a torch bearer and light thee on thy way to Mantua. Therefore stay.…”
I shook my head. “Boy, for being in mortal danger, they sure talk fancy.”
“Hey, you two!” said Frankie. “Alert! Knock, knock!”
Juliet tore her eyes away from Romeo for a fraction of a second, then seemed startled. “Devin! Frankie! I am sorry. We did not see you—”
I laughed. “No kidding. You guys haven’t taken your eyes off each other since we got here.”
“Yeah, look,” added Frankie. “We’re sorry to bust up your love-fest, but any minute now Juliet’s mom is probably going to get out of the closet that Devin locked her in, and fly in here to give you some very bad news.”
“We stalled her as long as we could,” I said. “But things are moving really fast now, so I think it’s exit time for Romeo. Down the ladder, pal.”
For the first time since the play began, Romeo looked as if he understood the danger he was in. “What is the bad news?”
“First things first,” said Frankie. “We need to get you out of here pronto—”
At that very moment, heels clacked down the hall.
“I would know those footsteps anywhere!” said Juliet. “It is my mother!”
Romeo turned to her. “One kiss and I’ll descend.”
“I must hear from thee every day in the hour,” said Juliet, giving him actually a couple of kisses.
Clack! Clack! More footsteps. And closer!
“Excuse me! Pay attention! Hello! Mrs. Mom is nearly here!” snapped Frankie.
“And ten to one, she’s very, very mad!” I said.
Romeo slid over the balcony and began to climb down the all-important rope ladder. We looked down at him as he jumped into the dirt of the garden.
“Oh!” gasped Juliet. “Now thou art so low as one dead in the bottom of a tomb!”
“Nice, cheery thought,” I muttered.
“Good-bye, until later, then,” said Romeo from below.
He fled across the garden and hopped over the wall, just as the door flew open and Juliet’s mom barged in, all snarly. And, of course, Frankie and I had to dodge her. So we slipped over the balcony and hung there, listening to the whole scene.
And it wasn’t good. It was bad. Very, very bad.
“I have splendid news for you, Juliet. On Thursday, the gallant nobleman Paris will make thee his joyful bride!”
Juliet rocked on her feet a little. “I wonder at this haste. Tell my father I will not marry yet, and when I do I swear it shall be Romeo, whom you know I hate, rather than Paris—”
“What!” boomed a voice in the hallway. The door burst open and Mr. Capulet himself barged in, huffing and puffing as if he ran all the way up the stairs. “What is this? You’ll be in church on Thursday and marry Paris—or never look me in the face again!”
Juliet’s eyes bugged out. It was terrible
to hear a dad say that. She opened her mouth to respond, but he raised his hand sharply.
“Reply not!” he shouted. “Do not answer me! I am a cursed father to have such a child!”
“That is so not fair,” Frankie whispered.
But her father wasn’t quite done. “Juliet, you shall marry Paris—or live no longer in my house! Live on the streets, if you like, but I shall have no daughter!”
We all watched as he stormed from the room, Juliet’s mother with him.
The nurse, who was cowering in the hallway, came in. So did we.
“Dear girl,” said the nurse, “I heard it all.”
“What will I do?” asked Juliet. “I already have a husband. But I cannot tell them that. I cannot tell anyone!”
The nurse breathed deeply. “Oh, dear girl,” she said. “Romeo is banished. You may never see him again. I think it best you marry Paris‥‥”
“What?” I hissed. “That’s crazy talk. This is called Romeo and Juliet, not Paris and Juliet. That doesn’t even sound right.”
“This second match excels your first,” the nurse went on, ignoring me.
I think Juliet was flabbergasted to hear her old nurse say this. She was quiet for a while, leaning over the balcony toward us. Finally, she turned, with what I thought was a ghost of an idea in her eyes.
“Very well,” she said. “Tell my mother that I shall go to Friar Laurence to pray for forgiveness for displeasing my father.”
“This is wisely done,” said the nurse. She got up and quietly left the room.
Juliet stood for a moment on the balcony. Where tears had filled her eyes, there was another expression now.
“Wait a sec,” said Frankie. “You’re not really thinking of marrying Paris?”
She shook her head. “I’ll to the friar to know his remedy. If all else fails, I will myself have power to die.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that!” said Frankie. “Come on. Friar Laurence will know what to do.”
“All right!” I cheered. “The big scheme to make everything right! Do you think it really can work out?”
Frankie looked at the book. With lots of doubt in her eyes, she said, “I sure hope so. Let’s go.”
A fraction of a second later, we went.
