The Total Tragedy of a Girl Named Hamlet (19 page)

After the mall excursion, there was a new equation in my life: The more popular Dezzie became with Carter the Meringue, the less I was interested in him:

Saber and Mauri invited her to eat lunch with them again too. Much to my irritation, Dezzie asked Mom and accepted. On the day I knew she would be in the caf, I took my lunch to the library, claiming to Ty and the rest that I needed to work on my English assignment. Based on their expressions, nobody was fooled. Ty even tried to get me to stay by saying we had to talk about the last steps on our Globe Theatre. I told him we’d get to it later.

Still, it was easier sitting in the library, with only the librarian and a seventh grader making up a Spanish test, than suffering through a whole lunch period watching Dezzie sit at Mauri and Saber’s table and wondering what they were stealing from her—or trying not to be awkward around Ty and keeping an eye out for KC’s antics (
wait—could those be considered
displays
?!? Eeeek! ).
Even though it seemed that Dezzie was finding her own way to fit in at HoHo, part of me wanted to protect her. The other—bigger—part was nuttier than Mom’s almond ginger bread over the whole thing.

A few days after the English class incident, we were in art working on surrealist-inspired drawings. Ms. Finch-Bean had us keep a dream journal, and we were going to pick random elements from our dreams and try to connect them in a sketch.

“I had a dream about all those Shakespeare figurines at your house,” Saber said to Dezzie and me. “They came to life and were chasing me through the mall.”

“Eww! Total nightmare!” squealed Mauri. I glowered at them. “You can draw him and make his neck wrap all big and sticky-outy.”

Dezzie put her pencil down. “It’s called an Elizabethan collar.”

“Whatever it’s called, it’s scary,” Saber said. “Speaking of scary, I felt like we were being stalked at the mall last weekend. There was this lonely shadow following us around . . .” She let the last part drift off. Mauri picked up.

“So sad. So ghostly—like she has no friends.” My blood boiled hotter than molten glass.

“Having no friends would be better than spending time with cheats like you,” I hissed.

“My mother instructed her to accompany me,” Dezzie explained, trying to defuse the discussion, but not fully comprehending what was going on. “And Hamlet, I told you, they’re
not
cheating -”

“Liar!” said Mauri, a little too loud. She, Saber, and Dezzie were all staring at me angrily. Too bad. I was ticked, telling the truth, and at least two of them knew it.

Ms. Finch-Bean prevented our “conversation” from escalating. She checked our dream journals (which she wasn’t reading, just making sure we wrote in them) and our image list.

“Table four, it looks to me like you’ve forgotten that you should be using your pencils right now, not your voices.” She frowned at us. Dezzie turned pink and picked up her pencil in a hurry. She wasn’t used to being scolded by anyone, let alone a teacher.

“Sorry, Ms. Finch-Bean,” she mumbled, and got back to work.

“We were discussing our assignment,” Saber said, “and how much we love it.” Her voice was thick and sweet like honey. I wanted to swat her like a bee.

“This is not the time for discussion,” Ms. Finch-Bean said. “Which I distinctly remember saying at the beginning of the period when I gave you directions. Now, work quietly or I’ll split you up.” She turned away from our table to continue making her rounds.

Mauri, meanwhile, seemed oblivious to Mrs. Finch-Bean’s remark. Her eyebrows knitted together tighter than a sweater; the scowl on her face could have blasted the new paint off the walls.

“Jerk,” Mauri spat, continuing her tirade toward me. Ms. Finch-Bean’s back stiffened. She had bent over to tie her shoe just a few feet away.

“Stop! We’ll get in trouble,” whispered Saber, one eye on the teacher . . . who spun toward us.

“Who said that?” she snapped, green eyes darkening like a stormy sea. She scanned each of our faces. She was so angry, I could
feel
her eyes crawling over me. “That language is unacceptable in the classroom, and particularly unacceptable in reference to a teacher!”

Everyone else in the class froze, forgotten pencils or notebooks clutched in their hands. No one bothered to hide the fact that they were staring at us.

My shoulders knotted and crept up somewhere around my ears. Ms. Finch-Bean thought Mauri called
her
a jerk! I waited for Mauri to say something, to apologize and explain, but all she was doing was giving Ms. Finch-Bean this tight little smile.

“Well?” Ms. Finch-Bean said again. “I’m waiting for an answer.” She crossed her arms and glared at us. Dezzie shifted on her stool.

I wasn’t going to be the one to tell her who said it, although nothing would have made me happier than to see Mauri get in trouble.

The bell buzzed. Behind us, the other kids in class shot uneasy glances at one another.

“You may pack up your journals and leave,” Ms. Finch-Bean said without turning around. Without talking, they stuffed their backpacks and put their materials away. At our table, Saber reached down to grab her bag.

“Not you,” said Ms. Finch-Bean. “You four aren’t going anywhere until I get an answer.” Saber’s bag thunked to the ground.

I’d be missing the beginning of English. As the tension around our table increased, though, those awful readings of
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
seemed as desirable as a Chilly Spoon Strawberry Shortcake Supreme Sundae. I’d read beautifully for a thousand years to avoid this situation.

Mauri studied her nail polish. Of the four of us, she was the only one who appeared unconcerned by the whole situation. Anger swept through me again.

“This type of rudeness is against school policy,” Ms. Finch-Bean said. “And it will be dealt with as such. Now, which of you said it, or do I have to bring
all
of you to see Principal Obin?”

At the mention of the principal, Dezzie stiffened in her seat. For the first time, I noticed her hands, gripping the edge of the table. Her knuckles were white.

“Ms. Finch-Bean . . .” she started. Her voice was small and barely audible. Mauri turned toward her like a shark going after a seal. Dezzie pretended not to notice. She cleared her throat. “It was—” Next to me, Saber flinched. Mauri must have kicked her. Other kids arrived at the room. By their size and the way they hung at the edge of the doorway, I guessed they were sixth graders.

“Don’t try to cover for her,” Saber said, patting Dezzie’s hand and avoiding my eyes.

“Cover for whom?” Ms. Finch-Bean stepped closer to our table. “Tell me, Miss Greene.”

The late bell buzzed. Ms. Finch-Bean glanced around her next class as though she’d forgotten they were coming.

“We’ll take this into the hall, then. Go out there and wait for me—all four of you.” We snagged our bags and trudged to the hall. The tension in my shoulders and neck built to a piercing headache. This was like the anti-Chilly Spoon treat: The Sundae of Stress. It contained scoops of my parents’ impending visit and imminent discovery of my reading ability, the Ty situation, and Dezzie getting played by these homework mooches—and now the trip to the principal’s office served as the cherry on top. I tried to scoot between Saber and Mauri to tell Dezzie to leave things alone, but they jammed close to her sides and blocked me.

“Guys,” I whispered, my voice sounding like a dry croak. Maybe we could agree on a way to present the situation to Ms. Finch-Bean that wouldn’t get us in any more trouble than we already were. Saber and Mauri ignored me. The two of them were using a mixture of silent eye communication, gestures, and what was probably telepathy to figure out what to do next. And I was left out of the loop.

Why wouldn’t Mauri just confess to the mistake? If she and Saber hadn’t started the whole stupid argument by making fun of me in the first place, this wouldn’t have happened. I was more than angry—I was furious as a fairy queen who finds out she’s in love with a jackass.

Dezzie leaned one side against the wall, back to us all, head titled to the ceiling. I was pretty sure she was trying not to cry. But her obliviousness was giving Saber and Mauri time to concoct a two-person plan of attack. My stomach sank. I tried to grab Dezzie’s arm, to spin her around to face me, but Saber slid between us.

“Leave her alone,” she said through gritted teeth, eyes out for Ms. Finch-Bean. “Can’t you see she’s
upset
?”

“Who isn’t?” I shot back.

Beyond Saber, I could see Mauri whispering in Dezzie’s ear. The door squeaked and Ms. Finch-Bean came into the hall like she’d been a drill sergeant in another life—back straight, face grim, no smile whatsoever in her eyes.

“With me.” We obeyed, falling into line behind her. I’d never seen a teacher so angry—not even Mrs. Pyll in fourth grade after Mark Sloughman glued her desk drawers shut and she couldn’t get her car keys.

I caught Mauri whispering “Major mad-itude,” to Saber, and although I didn’t find the joke funny, the description was accurate. There was some mega mad-itude coming off Ms. Finch-Bean, for sure.

“No talking!” Ms. Finch-Bean barked. Even Mauri kept quiet after that. We walked the rest of the way in silence.

What seemed like a second later, we were sitting in the row of chairs next to Mrs. Pearl’s desk. I couldn’t help but think that each time I’d been in the front office this term—and it was only eight weeks old!—I’d been there with my sister: her schedule, walking her home, and now this. They say the third time for anything is a charm, but this was more like a curse. Until this year, I’d only been to the office if I was sick (once), or dropping something off for a teacher (rarely).

Ms. Finch-Bean disappeared behind the principal’s door. Again, Saber and Mauri had worked it so that Dezzie sat between them. If I wanted to talk to her, I had to lean across Saber to do it . . . and as soon as I started to shift forward, Saber suddenly had something important to say to Mauri. Or Dezzie. And her voice was too low for me to hear.

The office door opened, springing Ms. Finch-Bean. She didn’t even give us a glance as she blew by, walking with long strides to get back to her waiting class.

“Mauri Lee,” Principal Obin’s voice boomed from the open door, “I’d like to see you now.”

Mauri and Saber exchanged knowing glances and she went into the room and closed the door. My stomach spun and I fought the urge to grab Dezzie and bolt. Without Mauri, Saber didn’t seem nearly as cool or comfortable—she picked at her sparkly sheer nail polish and kept sending nervous glances to the door. And with an open seat next to my sister, I took my chance.

I thumped into the chair harder than I’d wanted, making it clack against the wall. Dezzie didn’t seem to notice. Saber leaned across her to show me her scowl. Mrs. Pearl, on the phone with a talker who, based on the reassuring noises Mrs. Pearl was making, was clearly an unhappy parent, left us alone.

“What’re you going to tell him?” I whispered in Dez zie’s ear.

“The truth.” She didn’t meet my eyes.

Principal Obin’s door opened again, and Mauri stepped out. Her face was paler than when she went in, and although I studied her face for any giveaways that there’d been tears, I didn’t see any. She noticed me watching and sneered.

“Desdemona Kennedy,” the voice boomed. Beside me, Dezzie cringed. She grabbed her book bag and moved past Mauri to go in. She never took her eyes off the floor.

With Dezzie gone, I was left alone with Saber and Mauri, who had to wait for Mrs. Pearl to hang up and write out her late pass.

“What happened? Is he going to call our parents?” Saber’s voice quaked with what sounded like barely controlled fear. As much as I didn’t want to admit it, I sympathized. Besides, now I had a whole new worry—that the school would call Mom and Dad. How would
they
react?

“Why didn’t you tell Ms. Finch-Bean the truth?” I snapped at Mauri. “This is
your
fault.”

“Leave it alone, cheesehead,” Mauri hissed. “No one is saying
any
thing.”

“But we didn’t
do
anything,” I said. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Prove it,” she said. I faltered—how could I prove it? She must have read the indecision on my face. “See. You can’t. So just keep quiet or Prinicipal Obin will think you or your brainiac sister lost control of her mouth.”

“Is that a threat?” I said, anger rising through my anxiety.

Instead of answering, Mauri tossed her head toward the far side of the room, near the teachers’ mailboxes. Saber scooted off her seat to follow her. The two of them huddled and had a quick whispered conversation. Every once in a while, their eyes would float in my direction. I was betting that they were making sure that Saber told the same story to Principal Obin, and with me and Dezzie it would be a we said/they said situation. Who would he believe? The oddly named sisters, one of whom is a genius and the other who can’t pass math, or the two cute, normal girls? What would happen to us if he didn’t believe the truth?

Mrs. Pearl brought her conversation to an end, and before she hung up, Saber was back in her chair. Mauri politely asked for a late pass.

The door opened again. Dezzie emerged, smiling, relief plastered across her face like a billboard.