The Total Tragedy of a Girl Named Hamlet (15 page)

My stomach churned and burned. My hands, neck, and hairline were all damp, my shirt stuck to my back in a gross patch. But I never once looked up. I wasn’t “acting,” “enunciating,” or doing anything else that Mrs. Wimple had accused me of before. And I certainly wasn’t going all goo-goo likey-likey on Ty through my character.

We finished the scene with ten minutes left in the period. Mrs. Wimple closed her book. A bunch of kids sighed, probably grateful that it was over. I know I was.

“You should be working on those theaters,” Mrs. Wimple said. “Mr. Hoffstedder is going to be expecting a progress report on them from you tomorrow.”

Ugh. Ty and I still needed to finish the upper level on ours.

Mrs. Wimple stood by my desk, preventing me from leaving. “That performance was quite different from the last one,” she said, staring straight at me. I studied the zipper on my backpack.

“Well, I didn’t practice this time,” I mumbled, hoping that she’d accept that the last few times had been an accident or something. She narrowed her eyes like she was trying to X-ray my brain.

“I don’t believe you,” she said. Without meaning to, I gasped. She certainly wasn’t making any effort to hide her feelings, was she?

Even though I’d asked for it, her words stung.

 

In pre-al, Mr. S. collected our homework and gave us the day’s assignments after taking attendance. My assignments so far today: one period of embarrassment in English, followed by teacher torment and pre-al.

“Now then,” he began, “those of you who are launching our pilot program may leave. I expect you to go straight to The Learning Center, where you will finish the remainder of the class period.”

No one moved. My face burned as hot as a charcoal grill and my legs felt as though they’d been replaced by iron bowling balls. How was I going to get up?

“Do you need to be reminded?” Mr. S. moved toward his desk and his grade book. “I can read off your names—”

Before he could say another word, everyone in our group scrambled out of their seats. Even though the rest of the class would know who was going as soon as we stood up—and most of them knew already—having him read our names aloud would be the ultimate humiliation. I dragged my-self out of the room, not looking at anyone, and waited for the others in the hall. Carter, KC, and the rest arrived a couple of seconds later. Everyone’s faces were red and their eyes were on the floor—well, everyone except KC.

“Here we go,” he proclaimed, leading the pack down the hall. “It’s like a fairy tale: The Adventures of Miss Ham-Prince and the Seven Lame-Os in Tutor-land.” He winked at me when he said it.

I was torn between wanting to jab him with my pencil or laugh. Although stabbing him probably would have been more satisfying, I did neither.

“Watch it, KC,” Carter mumbled. I guess he didn’t count himself as a lame-o. And in this fairy tale, I was going to the wrong castle. I hung at the rear of the group, trying to come up with a way to avoid TLC. Could I make myself fall down the stairs and break a leg? Slam my finger in a locker? Unfortunately, there was no way to make either option look like an accident.

KC moved to walk beside me. “Why so slow, Your Highness?”

“Knock it off, KC.”

“But I only exist to serve you,” he said with a bow. Ever the court jester. I cocked an eyebrow at him.

A kind of choke-cough came from behind me. I spun around to see Ty, carrying Mr. Symphony’s attendance sheet, cheeks pink and eyes narrowed.

“Hey,” I said to him, an uncomfortable sensation traveling through my body. Ooooh, awkward! He didn’t even say anything, just gave KC a stiff nod and stalked off in the direction of the office. Dezzie would
definitely
classify that as a “display.”

I wanted to run after him. But if I did that, I’d be forced to talk about “us,” and I just wasn’t ready for that. Torn in two, I reluctantly let him go and turned my attention back to KC, who had bounced up to the front of the group.

We made it down the stairs with everyone in one piece, and found ourselves standing outside the TLC door. Even KC quieted down. The door was decorated with large construction paper leaves, and a cheery sign proclaimed: “Need a little extra TLC in your classes? Get help here!”

We just stood there, hoping that someone else in the bunch would grab the handle first. No one had to, because it popped open from the inside.

“Hello everyone! You must be from Mr. Symphony’s math class.” A perky blond woman wearing a plaid skirt held the door open and waved us in. “I’m Mrs. Arbuckle, one of the parent volunteers. We’re so glad to see you!”

I hadn’t been in TLC since I was a sixth grader and needed to make up a test. The room hadn’t changed much. Long tables ran down the center in a row, and shelves lined with books came halfway up the walls. Those encouraging posters—you know, the ones with big pictures of eagles or mountains on them, labeled with words such as “believe” and “dream”—filled every available wall. I guess it was supposed to be a positive atmosphere, but seeing those posters basically made me feel like “failure” and “disgrace.”

We pulled chairs out and sat at one of the tables. Mrs. Arbuckle stood at the end.

“Since there are nine of you, you’ll be split into groups of three and be assigned a TLC tutor, whom you’ll work with every day for the next four weeks. We’ll go over the class lectures and homework assignments. We’ll even give you some solid study strategies to get you in fighting shape for that upcoming exam!” She ended with a shining smile and a boxing-style swing.

I felt kind of bad for her. No one wanted to be here, and she was trying to be as enthusiastic as possible.

“Here are your tutors,” she said, gesturing. Another parent came out of the office, wearing a concerned expression and wringing her hands. I was close to wringing mine too. I hadn’t seen Dezzie yet, and was afraid that she’d pop up from under a table with an “I’m the smart sister” sign around her neck.

“Excuse me, Laura?” she hissed. Mrs. Arbuckle excused herself and the two had a whispered conversation in the corner. Mrs. Arbuckle came back.

“It seems that Mr. Hsu, our other parent volunteer, has taken ill,” she said. “We’ll just have to put you in larger groups for today. Ms. Grafton will be working with Ham let Kennedy, KC Rails, Julie Kennelly, and Davy Williams. I’ll take the rest of you.”

Wrong castle, and my prince was in another group. Just me and the fool again. The groups shuffled off to their respective tables. Still no sign of Dezzie. Maybe she’d picked up on my telepathy and disappeared.

The next second, I almost believed she
was
telepathic—and not in a good way. The door opened and Dezzie came in carrying a stack of library books. In her blue tunic and leggings, with her hair pulled back into a low ponytail, she looked like your typical seventeenth-century second grader. And until that moment, I hadn’t noticed that we’d worn our hair the same way that morning. In a flash, I undid mine, trying to put some distance between us.

It didn’t matter. Everyone was staring at her, including me. It was like a neon arrow that glowed “freak family” over my sister’s head.

Dezzie didn’t smile, wave, or acknowledge us. She just plunked her books down at the far table and sat with her back to the rest of the room. My stomach twisted as tight as a piece of licorice.

Ms. Grafton led our group to a table at the opposite corner from Dezzie, and told us to spread out. I opened my notebook and tried to concentrate as Ms. Grafton started explaining variables, but it was like Dezzie was a magnet that pulled my eyes in her direction. I wanted to know if other people were looking at her, what she was doing, if she was watching us, and, most of all, if my chances of ever blending in again were gone for good.

Ms. Grafton was also having a tough time.

“KC, I won’t ask you again. Keep all four feet of your chair on the ground, please.” She frowned, and that “please” wasn’t said in a nice, polite way—it was clipped and short. KC’s chair clicked back to the floor, then I saw him push it up again. I hid a smile behind my hand, grateful that his antics pulled me away from my Dezzie worries.

She started talking about
x
and
y
again, but my eyes—and brain—wandered. I could hear Mrs. Arbuckle’s group at the next table. Someone asked a question about the value of
x
that I didn’t understand. Evidently, Mrs. Arbuckle didn’t either. She stammered a little, then leaned over and spoke to Ms. Grafton.

“Marion? Can you explain to my group how the value of
x
changes when . . .” And I didn’t pay attention to the rest.

Either Ms. Grafton also didn’t, or the question was more than she bargained for in her parent tutor duties. Her face went blank under her thick black bangs.

“We’ll have to look that one up,” she said, and began flipping through our textbook. Mrs. Arbuckle leaned over her shoulder.

I felt her coming up from behind me.

“The value changes because the integers . . .” Dezzie started. The two parents turned to her, as did the rest of us.

She launched into the explanation, tugging on the hem of her shirt the whole time. When she was finished, she turned and walked back to her seat without waiting for anyone’s response. No one said anything for a minute.

“Oh,” said Carter, finally. I guess he was the one who’d asked the question in the first place. “I get it now.”

Mrs. Arbuckle and Ms. Grafton nodded.

“Um, yes. Well.” It was like Mrs. Arbuckle didn’t know what to do next. I mean, it
is
strange to have a small child come up to you and know the answer to the problem you’re trying to solve, but you’d think adults would recover better. Dezzie clearly had thrown them for a loop. For once, I was too proud of her to be embarrassed.

“Perhaps Desdemona would be willing to help us out?” Ms. Grafton suggested to Mrs. Arbuckle as though there was no one in the room. “Just until Jim Hsu comes back.”

And just like that, the humiliation returned.

Mrs. Arbuckle turned in Dezzie’s direction, her lips in a funny twist.

“That’s a great idea,” she answered.
No it’s not!
I wanted to yell. Instead, I watched helplessly as she crossed the space and sat down next to Dezzie. They spoke in low tones. The whole time, I watched Dezzie’s ponytail bobbing. It moved in time to my queasy stomach.

“Didn’t know they let people under four feet tall become tutors,” KC whispered in my ear. “Isn’t it illegal for someone that age to be working?”

I clenched my fists at my sides and tried to ignore him, but my eyes kept drifting back to his grin. It may have been responsible for the odd tingly, prickling feeling at the back of my neck. For a second—no, a
millisecond
—I wondered if he was the origami artist. Then I remembered what Dezzie said, that origami takes patience and precision. Uh-uh. No way.
Not
KC.

Mrs. Arbuckle finished her conversation with my sister and stood up.

“Attention, everyone. We are going to try an experiment. I’m sure you’re all familiar with Desdemona Kennedy ...”

Too familiar, thanks. And why did she have to call it “an experiment”? Mrs. Arbuckle continued, but all I could hear were my own jumbled thoughts mashed with irritation and embarrassment. Not only was my genius sister going to help kids in my class with math, but I was bombing so badly I was in one of the help groups too. Had I fallen into one of Dalí’s bizarre landscapes? Next I’d see long-legged elephants come out of the girls’ bathroom. It was even worse than the time my parents came to my fifth-grade concert, Mom in an Elizabethan collar, because we sang “Come Let Us All A-Maying Go.”

I quit choir after that.

“Carter, Davy, and Chrissy will work with Desdemona. She will also be available for individual questions if we get stuck.”

Davy’s ears turned pink as he scooped up his notebook and pencils. I willed myself to disappear. Maybe you could say I was taking things a little too personally—after all, it wasn’t my fault that Dezzie was a.) a genius or b.) tutoring people in my math class—but that’s how it felt. Especially when Chrissy muttered “geek freak” under her breath as she passed my chair.

“Let’s start again,” said Ms. Grafton, once Dezzie’s group was sitting at her table. “We’ll start with basics of
x
and
y
.” She explained why they were used and what they meant. Julie, who usually did pretty well in class, focused in on her explanation and appeared set on discovering all the secrets of pre-algebra.

I tried hard to listen, but found myself straining to get a glimpse of Dezzie. As embarrassed as I was, I was also anxious to know what they were doing and how my sister was as a group tutor. Meanwhile, KC stared over my head like there was a TV there, tapping his pencil and doing everything but getting up from his chair. It was distracting me from the distraction of watching my sister. I glared at him.

“Do you see?” Ms. Grafton asked. She looked at our group. Julie nodded, a smile spreading across her face. I tried to remember what Ms. Grafton had said, so I could ask a question. Instead, I settled for a weak nod. KC didn’t even bother.

From behind me came the sound of laughter. I jumped, then spun in my seat—I couldn’t help it. Carter, Chrissy, and Davy were giggling at something Dezzie had said. She smiled and nodded at them. I swore I even saw her bat her eyelashes at Carter. My Carter. I hadn’t seen Carter so much as smile at me in nearly three years, and my sister got him to
giggle
? Grrrrr.

“Hamlet?” Ms. Grafton said. “Are you with us?”

I turned around.

“Sorry,” I muttered.

“Yeah, I don’t want you to miss our discussion,” KC said, and tipped a fake hat at me. I grabbed the sides of my chair and squeezed.

For the rest of the session, I didn’t take my eyes off Ms. Grafton. I forced myself to repeat her points in my head, and did a couple of sample problems before the end to be sure I could do the homework. It
was
a lot easier with her help, but the effort it took me to concentrate was both exhausting and nerve-wracking, especially because I could hear Dezzie’s group laughing every so often. KC did his part to keep my attention focused on him, if not on our session. He doodled illustrations of planes and monsters, plus giant, man-eating variables. Every time Mrs. Grafton glanced in his direction, he covered them with an arm.