Fakespeare--Star-Crossed in Romeo and Juliet Page 2

  Sam ignored her and flipped the book over. “It says Romeo and Juliet.”

  “I’ve heard of that. It’s a—” Becca cut off as she lunged after a now-free Rufus, who was wiggling toward the straw. “Sam, I told you to hold on to him!”

  “Romeo and Juliet is a loooove story, you know,” Sam said, batting his lashes. “Maybe Kyle got this for you, to show his truuue feelings.”

  “Don’t be dumb,” Becca said. “Though I guess that’s like telling you not to be tall.”

  She tightened her grip on Rufus. “I was going to say it’s a play by William Shakespeare. But the book must belong to Halley. Could you please just…”

  She reached up with her free hand, but Sam lifted the book out of her grasp. “Kyle and Becca, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N—”

  “Put it down!”

  Becca tried to keep Rufus still as she stretched for it, but Sam was just too tall. He opened to the first page, and a slip of paper fell out. She reached for it, but his basketball reflexes meant he nabbed it first.

  “Well, maybe this is the clue we need,” Sam said. “Finally the truth from ol’ kissy-wissy Kyley Wyley, right, Rufus?”

  Rufus barked once and wagged his tail harder.

  “Stop that,” Becca scolded her traitorous dog.

  Sam looked down at the paper with evil delight, but as Becca watched, his expression changed to confusion.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  Frowning, Sam read out loud:

  * * *

  ENJOY YOUR GET LOST BOOK CLUB ADVENTURE!

  Sincerely,

  As pizza is more than just round, flat dough,

  The tale inside is not just simple woe.

  His family is her kin’s ancient foe,

  Yet you must get the lovers’ love to flow.

  Then read the final page to reach “The End,”

  And soon enough, you will be home again.

  * * *

  “What does any of that mean?” she asked. It all sounded like gibberish.

  “I don’t know…,” Sam said. He riffled through the pages.

  “Oh, so at last the big sixth grader doesn’t understand something?” Becca asked. “But I thought you were soooooo old and wise.”

  “Give me a moment,” he snapped, and ran his fingers through his hair. With his hair as short as it was, it looked more like he was trying to comb his brain back into place.

  Still frowning, he turned to the first page. “It says Prologue—hey!” He looked up at her. “Maybe this actually has something to do with going pro! Did Kyle mention any interest in sports recently?”

  Becca peered over his shoulder. “I think prologue just means the story before the story. I’ve seen it in the front of comic books before. Regular books, too.” For a moment, she wondered if she should quickly write a prologue to add to their Storyland submission. Maybe the story of how Mal and Cal first learned of their abilities …

  Sam cleared his throat and read again, “Prologue. Two households, both alike in dignity, in fair Verona where we lay our scene…”

  As Becca listened, Sam’s voice got a weird echo to it, as though they were in a big marble hallway instead of in Kyle’s living room. She shook her head. Maybe she’d gotten water in her ears after Sam drenched her.

  Suddenly Sam’s eyes bugged and he dropped the book. It hit the floor with a huge thump.

  “What was that for?” Becca asked.

  “It got too heavy!”

  “What do you mea—?”

  But when she took a second look, she saw exactly what he meant. The book on the floor was twice as big as she remembered it being just a few seconds ago. In another second it was twice as big as that.

  Becca let go of Rufus, but for once the puppy didn’t zip away—he seemed just as shocked as she was. Was Sam playing another prank on her?

  The book was expanding outward before her eyes. The room shook. Rufus whined and hid behind Becca’s legs as the book flipped open.

  Chomp! Chompchompchomp!

  The book snapped open and shut again and again, looking, Becca noticed with alarm, hungry. The room looked like it couldn’t decide if it was melting into a puddle or crinkling up and blowing away. Suddenly the whole world was printed ink on paper, rushing and rushing around them.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ALOHA, VERONA

  Becca lay on her back in the middle of a pile of straw, gasping for breath. She felt like she had been put in a tumble dryer and then pushed down a hill—a hill that happened to be the home of twenty scarecrows.

  “Ppphuf!” she cried, spitting hay out of her mouth. “Ppphuf! Pphuf! Pphurf! Blech!”

  The blech was in response to Rufus’s long pink tongue slurping across her face. He seemed thrilled that Becca was finally carrying sticks in her mouth.

  She must have fallen asleep standing up and then toppled into the packing straw from the crate. That was the only explanation.

  Next to her, Sam groaned.

  Becca had to admit it was a little weird that he’d fallen asleep at the same time, too.

  Carefully she sat up and took a look around. She leaped to her feet.

  The room was gone.

  Kyle’s house was gone.

  The whole neighborhood was gone.

  In its place was a town square of old brick and cobblestones that looked like it belonged thousands of miles and at least five centuries away. Women in poufy dresses and men in tights walked in and out of stalls with signs that said things like FINEST BLACKSMYTHE, GIORGIO’S SHOE COTTAGE, and SALE! YE OLDE NEWE TOMATOES, BUY’ST ONE, GET’ST ONE FREE!

  The straw she’d fallen into was part of a hay display according to the sign next to her, which read, FRESH HAY? YAY OR NAY? SURVEY OUR HAY DISPLAY ALL DAY!

  “What happened?!” Becca asked as Sam sat up. His jaw dropped open as quickly as if someone had tied a bowling ball to it.

  “Uh,” he said, “uh, uh…”

  “This better not be another one of your pranks!” Becca warned. “Because I really don’t have time for it! The library closes at five on Tuesdays!”

  Sam shook his head. “It’s not! I promise!”

  And he looked so worried, Becca actually believed him.

  Sam reached for Rufus’s collar, and Becca started to chew her thumbnail again. The last thing she remembered was the book coming toward her, its covers snapping like the jaws of a crocodile. But a book couldn’t actually have eaten them … right?

  Becca felt someone bump into her shoulder.

  “You!” someone snarled. “Do you bite your thumb at me?”

  Turning, she came face-to-face with a man dressed all in red except for a white lace ruff around his neck that made it look as if his head were being served on a plate.

  Becca quickly removed her thumb. “Uh, no. I’m just biting my nails. I’ve been trying to break the habit.”

  The man frowned. “That sounds just like something a Montague would say!”

  “A what-a-gyoo?” she asked.

  The next second, the man reached to his side and withdrew a long saber. “Stand and draw, villain! En garde!”

  Suddenly Becca was looking at the wrong end of a very angry steel blade.

  Around them, the noise of the market dropped away as everyone turned to watch.

  “Hey!” Sam said. “What are you doing?”

  Woof! Woof! Rufus barked.

  Before the man could reply, a new voice shouted, “Do you quarrel, sir?”

  Too scared to move her head, Becca jammed her eyeballs to the side, trying to see the new speaker. A man in a blue shirt walked up to them—he also had his saber out.

  “Do you quarrel?” Red Shirt asked.

  “No, I asked first,” Blue Shirt responded, “so you have to answer first!”

  “No, you do!”

  “Excuse me,” Becca said, keeping an eye on both their sabers. “I don’t think any of you are a squirrel.”

  Both men looked at her in surprise.

&nbs
p; “I didn’t ask if he was a squirrel,” Blue said. “I asked if this Capulet was quarreling!”

  “Quarreling means arguing,” Sam whispered loudly to Becca as he took a step back from the saber points. “And they were definitely arguing.”

  “See?” Blue looked triumphantly at Red. “You were quarreling—and now you’ll pay for it!”

  It was as if his words were a light switch.

  One moment, the entire market was still, everyone going about their business, and the next, everyone in the town square drew out their weapons.

  Before anyone got another word out, the whole town erupted into a colossal brawl, blue versus red, and in moments the shouts and clashing metal had Becca’s ears ringing.

  Becca looked at Sam.

  Sam looked at Becca.

  And for the first time in their lives, they agreed on something:

  “RUN!”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  NO GREATER NARRATOR EVER SPOKE A PLAY …

  Getting out was easier said than done.

  With every step, Becca and Sam were almost knocked over as more and more people in blue and red rushed to join in. Rufus had to dance around like a cat chasing a laser pointer so that his tail wouldn’t be trampled.

  “Where do we go?” Becca shouted to Sam. “Now would be a good time to actually act like an older brother!”

  “Uh, we need to hide?”

  “I know,” Becca shrieked. “But where?”

  Suddenly there was a loud CRACKLE above them. Sam brightened up. “Maybe the thunderstorm will make everyone stop.”

  Becca frowned. The noise hadn’t sounded like thunder. It seemed more like static on the radio, but maybe it was even more like the flip of a page from a very old, very dry book.

  Becca and Sam knew they needed to hide, and quickly! Only the promise of a nearby vegetable cart offered some hope of protection.

  Sam glanced over at Becca, who narrowly missed a flying tomato. “Did you just hear a loud voice say something about a vegetable cart?” he asked.

  Becca nodded. The voice was strong, but not loud. Like someone sitting in an armchair at home, but somehow also all around them. Or as though someone had hooked up a microphone directly into their brains.

  “Where did it come from—DUCK!” Becca shouted, and Sam dropped to his knees as a basket of tomatoes hurtled over him, barely missing his head.

  If they did the sensible thing and took cover in the vegetable cart, maybe they’d have the time to ask questions.

  “Beats staying here!” Becca said, looking around until she spotted an abandoned cart. “Go!” she ordered, pointing.

  They raced through the battle, Becca using her backpack as a shield to protect them from flying tomatoes until they reached the safety of the cart. Rufus jumped behind it first, and Becca and Sam dived after him.

  “Okay, who are you? And where are we?!” Sam shouted above the noise.

  The Narrator, at your service. And if you’ll allow me, I was just about to get back to narrating. *Ahem.* Becca and Sam were being given a crash course in the daily life of the Italian city of Verona.

  Verona sounded familiar to Becca. Where had she heard that before?

  Becca first heard about Verona when Sam read the prologue to Romeo and Juliet in Kyle’s living room.

  “Hey!” Becca protested. “Are you reading my mind?”

  I am the Narrator. I know everything. Like I was saying, it was a beautiful city and had been at the top of Best Home Pamphlet’s list of Places with the Best Balconies for the fifth year in a row, but alas, Verona was now being torn apart.

  Becca and Sam ducked another shower of tomatoes.

  “I don’t know if it’s being torn apart,” Sam muttered to Becca. “But it’s certainly getting sauced.”

  Pay attention, please! Verona was being torn apart by two families: the Blue Montagues and the Scarlet Capulets. Both claimed to make the world’s best pizza, and they had gone to increasing lengths to prove it. Now it was truly war.

  Oh, and you may want to hold your noses in a second.

  Sam opened his mouth, but he suddenly turned shamrock green. A second later, Becca knew why. Well, actually, she smelled why.

  A tall, skinny man in scarlet appeared in the square, and it was like someone had liquefied a flower garden and shot it through a hose into Becca’s nostrils. She could practically see the cologne waves rolling off him.

  “Stand back, peasants!” he proclaimed, waving his sword dramatically.

  “Tybalt has arrived!”

  Yes, so that’s Tybalt. And he’s the best swordsman in Verona … but he also has the worst temper. And he doesn’t like kids, so stay out of his way.

  Tybalt whirled his cloak, sending more waves of overpowering floral aroma toward Becca’s nose, and she thought it would almost be worth sticking her fingers up her nostrils. Rufus whined loudly, and she quickly covered his snout with her hand.

  “We’ve got to get out of here,” Becca said. “Between that awful perfume and the swords and the tomatoes, we’re going to get hurt!”

  “If only I had a basketball,” Sam said.

  “For what?” Becca said. “I don’t think your three-pointer skills are going to impress a crowd of bloodthirsty pizza chefs.”

  “Oh yeah?” Sam said, grabbing a handful of tomatoes from the back of the cart. He plucked one and rolled it around in his hand. “My teammates didn’t nickname me Sam Kablam for nothing.”

  “That’s a terrible nickname,” Becca said automatically, though as Sam began to fire one red fruit bomb after the other, she couldn’t help but be a tiny—a teeny, tiny, TEENSIEST—bit impressed.

  His throws were fast, sharp, and accurate. One tomato even landed right on the point of a dagger and stuck there.

  And then he made a mistake.

  Tybalt staggered, and Becca saw what looked like a red sun splashed across his chest and face.

  “Uh-oh,” she murmured as Tybalt’s neck swiveled around quicker than an owl’s. His eyes locked on Sam.

  “You,” he snarled, and Becca saw he had unusually pointed teeth. “You owl-nosed, vegetable-hurling street weasel! You ruined my doublet!”

  He swung his sword and charged toward them.

  “What do we do?” Sam asked Becca.

  She grabbed Rufus’s collar. “We hide!”

  CHAPTER SIX

  BEWARE OF LOW-FLYING, BAD-SMELLING TYBALTS

  Tybalt shot across the square like a mustached cannonball, while Sam and Becca turned and bolted. Rufus sped after them like a rocket.

  Becca’s lungs ached with the effort, and a stitch in her side began to pulse. She was good at writing chase scenes for The Astounding Adventures of Mal & Cal Worthy, but she’d never actually run for her life before. What if she tripped? The thought almost made her trip, and she realized she should stop asking questions.

  “There!” Becca said to Sam, pointing at the open door of an empty shop. They dashed through, and Sam shoved the door closed behind them.

  Tybalt’s footsteps got louder, slapping on the cobblestones right outside the door—and then they kept on going, fading away.

  Sam and Becca collapsed, leaning against the door. Rufus put his head in Sam’s lap, panting like he had a tornado in his belly.

  “Man,” Sam said. “That was close.”

  “Too close,” Becca agreed.

  She looked around. The place clearly used to be a cheese shop. The air was ripe with the unmistakable smell. It had sunk into the wood and wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. The smell wasn’t bad, but it did make Becca feel like she’d been rolled into the middle of a string-cheese stick. Rufus licked the shelves happily, leaving little puddles of drool as he went.

  “What do we do now?” Sam asked.

  Becca tugged at the straps of her backpack. “I don’t know. You’re the one who got us into this mess; why don’t you tell me?”

  Sam gaped at her. “What do you mean?!”

  “You’re the one who opened
that book!” Becca crossed her arms. “I told you that you shouldn’t have touched it.”

  Sam snorted. “Well, if Kyle just admitted he was in wuuuuuvvvv with you, we wouldn’t be in this mess!”

  “Ahem?”

  Becca and Sam leaped to their feet as the head of a boy poked out from behind a row of shelves. He seemed older than Becca and Sam, an eighth grader, perhaps. He had big, sad eyes and just-too-long, messy hair. On his head was a blue cap.

  Becca and Sam shared a wary look. Blue meant he was on one side of the pizza war—what was it the Narrator had said? Blue Montagues.

  “If you don’t mind, I’m trying to write,” the boy said. He scratched behind his ear with a quill, and drops of ink splattered his neck. “You’re ruining my concentration. And your dog is slobbering on my boots.”

  “Oh,” Sam said. “Sorry about that.”

  They hurried behind the shelves. It was clear that the boy had made this corner into his office. There was a little desk with a single rose in a vase. And there at the boy’s feet was Rufus, eagerly sniffing his boots. Sam tried to tug the dog off the writer’s feet, but the boy’s feet must have been wonderfully stinky, because Rufus didn’t budge.

  Sam pulled one of Mrs. W.’s cookies from his pocket and threw it across the shop.

  Rufus galloped after it.

  “Excuse me,” Becca said, “but could you maybe tell us—”

  “Shh,” the boy said. “I’m composing. I’m at a crucial part of the poem. I’ll be with you in just a minute.”

  “Oh,” Becca said. “Composing, yes. Great.”

  After twiddling her thumbs exactly thirty-three times, Becca tried to think of another way to interrupt the poet without being rude. But just as she was about to ask again, Rufus began to whine. Sam hurried across to check on their puppy.

  The boy didn’t react. It seemed only Becca, Sam, and Rufus could hear the Narrator.