Romeo took the paper from Frankie, snapped it open, and began to scan it. “Ah, yes. Names are written here. Signore Martino and his wife and daughters, the young gentleman Paris—”
“We just saw him,” said Frankie.
“—the widow Vitruvio, Signore Placentio, Mercutio and his brother Valentine, Tybalt—”
“Tybalt?” snorted Benvolio. “What sort of list is this?”
“The guest list to a party at the Capulets’ tonight,” said Frankie. “You guys should definitely go. And Romeo might even see someone he likes.”
“It’s far too dangerous to go into the house of our enemy,” said Benvolio. “The Capulets will want to fight instead of dance. And we shall be recognized.”
“Not if you wear a mask,” said Frankie. “And did I mention that Capulet’s daughter Juliet will be there?”
“Never heard of her,” said Romeo.
“Something tells me you will,” I said with a little chuckle. “The word is that she’s a babe. Everybody wants to marry her. But you can’t let that happen.”
“Why not?” asked Romeo, still scanning the paper.
“Trust us,” said Frankie. “You gotta see her, you were meant for her. She’s … she’s … well, I don’t know what she is yet, but you just gotta!”
Romeo shrugged and read out more of the list. “Someone named Livia is invited. And Lucio, Helena, Rosaline—” He stopped. “The fair and beautiful Rosaline will be there? My Rosaline?”
I was going to tell him that he should definitely forget about her, but an idea was beginning to form in my noggin. I remember, because I don’t get that many ideas, and it always sort of hurts when I do.
“You bet Rosaline will be there!” I told him.
Romeo tilted his head. “Rosaline at this party.…”
Benvolio grinned. “Romeo, are you thinking—”
“No, no,” said Romeo.
“Too bad. It would be fun—”
“I’m done thinking!” said Romeo. “We shall go. You and Frankie and Devin and me. And you shall all see just how wonderful and sweet my fair Rosaline is!”
Frankie winked at me. “Or, just maybe you’ll meet someone even more beautiful than Rosaline.…”
Romeo laughed. “That can never be! The all-seeing sun ne’er saw her match since the world begun—”
“Enough!” said Benvolio, sticking his fingers in his ears.
Still laughing, Romeo turned. “I’ll go to this party and rejoice in the splendor of my Rosaline!”
With that, he raced away into a side street, up an alley, and was gone, his pal Benvolio reluctantly chasing at his heels.
Frankie smiled. “Are we matchmakers or are we matchmakers?”
“We are matchmakers!” I said, slapping her five.
“I’m feeling pretty good right about now.”
But someone else wasn’t feeling so good.
“Nurse!” someone cried out. “Nurse! Help! Nurse!”
The shouting came from the Capulet house.
Frankie gasped. “What if it’s Juliet? What if she’s sick?”
“She can’t be sick,” I said, “or all our matchmaking plans have been for nothing. We’d better flip ahead—”
“Whoa, Devin—”
There was a reason Frankie didn’t want me to flip ahead. Flipping was dangerous. It could cause a sudden story meltdown. It was like skipping pages in a book.
And that’s against the rules.
But sometimes you gotta bend the rules a little.
“Nurse!” came another cry.
“I’m doing it!” I said.
“Okay, but just one page!” said Frankie. “Do it!”
I did it.
Flip.
Kkkkk!
Lightning flashed across the sky.
Chapter 5
Kkkk! Everything went dark, then light, then Frankie and I went crashing into the next scene.
We tumbled out onto a tile floor, twisting up my tights and upsetting the pillow arrangement of Frankie’s weirdo headgear.
We looked up. It was obviously a girl’s bedroom, all pink and frilly, with a balcony overlooking the garden.
But it wasn’t Juliet doing the yelling. It was Mrs. Capulet, storming back and forth, booming at the top of her lungs, “Nurse!”
“What’s the problem, Mrs. C?” said Frankie. “You don’t look like you need a nurse, but maybe you’d better lie down—”
The woman gave us the old “you sillyhead” look. “Take your hands off me. Nothing is wrong with me. I was calling for the nurse.”
Frankie frowned at her. Then her eyes lit up. “Wait a sec. By nurse, do you mean like a nanny?”
“Exactly,” said Mrs. Capulet. And she started up again. “Nurse! Nurse, please come in here—”
“Yes, ma’am!” called a voice, and in hustled a middle-aged woman, all disheveled and rumpled. Her face was plump and red as she swept breathlessly into the room.
She bowed to Mrs. Capulet, wiped her hands on her apron, and said, “Yes, my lady? What is it?”
“Find my daughter,” Mrs. Capulet said.
“Your daughter. Of course, my lady,” said the nurse. “Oh, but I remember when the child was just a toddler—toddling around the room, she was. Since that time it has been years—oh, I remember a year once—”
“Spare me!” said Mrs. Capulet. “Just find her!”
“Yes, ma’am.” The nurse bowed, hustled out of the room, made some noise, called out a few times, and finally came back. Running into the room behind her was a teenage girl.
Frankie gasped softly. “It’s her. It’s Juliet.”
The girl was young, but tall, with long brown hair tightly braided and tied up in double loops in the back. She wore a gown of light pink that trailed behind her as she walked.
“Yes, mother,” she said, bowing. “What is your will?”
Even I had to admit that Juliet was definitely cute. She smiled at me and Frankie, then waited quietly for her mother to speak.
“The reason I’ve asked you here,” said her mother, “is because … oh, dear, now, let me see—”
“I remember when our Juliet was a little thing!” the nurse interrupted. “She was four or five and she had a blanket that she pulled around with her everywhere and I said—”
“Enough!” cried Mrs. Capulet, rolling her eyes. “Hold your peace, nurse, if you please! Now, Juliet, the reason for which I called you—”
The nurse went on. “Yet I cannot choose but laugh about young Juliet and that blanket dragging around until it was nearly black with grime—for the mud brought in from the streets—there was a wedding that day—”
“Wedding!” said Juliet’s mother. “That’s it! That’s just what I want to talk about today, Juliet. Tell me, daughter Juliet, how stands your disposition to be married?”
Juliet, who had been waiting patiently, now stood up straight, her eyes growing large. A moment later, she sat down on the corner of her bed and looked up at her mother. “Married? It is an honor that I dream not of.”
“Think of marriage now,” said her mother. “For the valiant gentleman, Paris, seeks you for his love. What say you?”
Juliet seemed a little overloaded. I glanced over at Frankie and she was sort of in shock, too.
Married? I mean, eeeww! And Paris was, like, totally the wrong guy.
Juliet blinked up at her mom, but couldn’t seem to say anything.
“Well, this night you shall behold him at our feast,” Mrs. Capulet went on, edging for the door. “Read young Paris’s face. This precious book of love only lacks a cover—”
There was the sudden clanking and clattering of pots and pans from downstairs.
“The party begins,” said Mrs. Capulet. “Juliet, our guests will begin to arrive soon. Make haste!”
With that, Mrs. Capulet swept out of the room, the nurse running after her.
Frankie kicked me, I guess that was my cue. “Um, hi, Jules,” I said, “I’m Devin.”
“And I’m his pal, Frankie,” said Frankie. “We were … sent to help you pick an outfit.”
Did I mention that Frankie was good at thinking fast?
“It is so nice to meet you.” Juliet smiled at us, then ran to her closet and pulled out a bunch of gowns, throwing them on the bed. “Now … which one should I choose?”
Frankie went over. “I like the greenish one. It makes you look mysterious.”
“I do like it,” said Juliet softly.
“And I like parties,” I said. “Who said Shakespeare wasn’t fun?”
“I’m pretty sure that was you, Devin,” said Frankie. “Of course, that was before you started wearing tights—”
There was a sudden stomping noise outside the room. Someone heavy was tramping up the stairs and muttering something about a mess-up with the guest list.
Frankie and I shot looks at each other.
“Uh-oh,” said Frankie, “that sounds like your dad. He thinks we’re out rounding up the party guests, which we sort of didn’t do.”
“My father is sometimes quick to anger,” said Juliet.
“So can we hide here?” I asked.
Juliet grinned. “I have a better idea.” She dragged a box out of the back of the closet and threw open the lid. Inside were dozens of masks of all different kinds. There were birds and tigers, giraffes and gnomes.
“Choose one for each of you, and escape over the balcony into the garden. You can enter the party from there. I use the balcony all the time when I want to sneak out. And the best part is that my father will not recognize you!”
“Hey, thanks, Jules,” I said. “You are pretty cool.”
“Now, shoo! Shoo! I must get ready.”
We yanked a couple of masks out of the chest, clambered over the marble balcony, and climbed down the tree that coiled up from the flower garden below.
Mr. Capulet came storming into Juliet’s room.
“Hurry!” said Frankie.
“Hey, climbing is not so easy when you’re all twisted up in skintight tights, you know!” I jumped the last few feet to the ground below.
“As if it’s a picnic wearing a dress longer than a bedsheet,” said Frankie. “This balcony could definitely use a ladder.”
“Or an elevator!” I grunted.
The sun was going down quickly, casting shadows in the curving streets outside the Capulet house. The party was just getting into full swing. Music was playing. There was the clank and ping of dishes, which meant lots of munchies for me.
We pulled our masks over our faces. Mine was in the shape of a monkey. Frankie wore a bird’s face.
“Get ready for the big scene,” I said. “Where Romeo and Juliet finally meet!”
“It’s going to be cool,” said Frankie. “But keep a lookout for Romeo. I hope he doesn’t chicken out and fly away.”
“This, coming from a person wearing a beak,” I said.
Then, just as we were about to enter the house, we heard a bunch of young men stumbling along the street behind us. They were all dressed in masks, except one. But we probably would have recognized him just from the noises he was making.
He was sighing like a leaky balloon.
“Oh, dear me! Oh, me, me, me!”
I laughed. “Here comes Romeo. In a few minutes he’ll meet Juliet and then—fireworks!”
“Maybe those fireworks are going to fizzle out,” said Frankie. “It looks like I was right. Romeo’s trying to get away!”
Chapter 6
By the time we reached Romeo, he had already started to walk away. His buddies tried to convince him to go to the party, but he was one tough sell.
“I will not go,” said Romeo with a sigh.
One of his pals removed his mask. He was short and lively, with a big, smiling face. He looked like he just wanted to have a good time.
“But, Romeo!” he said. “We must have you dance!”
“Mercutio,” said Romeo, shaking his head wearily at this new character. “You have dancing shoes with nimble soles. I have a soul of lead. It weighs me to the ground. I cannot move.”
Mercutio laughed. “But you are in love. Lovers have Cupid’s wings to help them soar above the ground!”
“Good one!” I said.
I had to admit, I sort of liked this new character.
The Capulet shindig was getting louder by the minute. We heard even more clinking of silverware and glasses.
“Soon, the dancing will be done,” said Benvolio, peeking into a side window. “Supper is already started! We shall come too late.”
Romeo peered over Benvolio’s shoulder into the Capulets’ living room. “My mind tells me the stars are not right for a visit to our enemy’s house … but if everyone else is going … then I suppose I will go, too.”
“That’s the spirit!” cried Mercutio, grabbing Romeo, Frankie, and me by the arm and pushing us to the front door. “Put on your masks, gentlemen, and young lady, and in we go!”
We all put on our masks—Romeo’s was a tiger—and marched to the front of the Capulets’ house, slipped past all the heavily armed guards as if we were Capulets ourselves, and strode into the front room.
I tell you, this room was something. It was like an exhibit in an old-house museum, but all aglow with life. Candles blazed everywhere, shedding their light on about a hundred people. In the corner, a small combo was playing strange-shaped instruments. But everyone seemed to think it was good dance music. They twirled across the floor.
“Devin,” Frankie said to me. “I know it’s weird, but I feel like dancing.”
My feet started tapping, too. But I resisted. “If you see somebody tripping on his face, that would be me. Besides, monkeys don’t dance.”
Soon, the band finished its number, and Mr. Capulet started tapping a glass to get everyone’s attention.
“Welcome, everyone. Welcome!”
I nudged Frankie. “He wouldn’t say that if he knew some Montagues were here.”
“Welcome to my house!” he went on. “There is plenty of food and much dancing to be had this evening. So, bring in more light and move the tables away. Quench the hearth fires. For we shall dance. Play, musicians, play!”
The music resumed with a fast tune, and everybody began twirling.
Suddenly, Romeo cornered Frankie and me. He pointed across the room, then took a deep breath as if he were going to come out with something big. He sure did.
“You see that young woman dancing there?” he said. “It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night as a rich jewel. For I never saw true beauty till this night!”
I squinted through the moving crowd. “Please don’t tell me it’s Rosaline?”
“Who is this Rosaline you speak of?” Romeo asked.
Frankie laughed. “Your crush? The one you were all gaga over this morning?”
Romeo laughed. “There was no morning until now.”
He slipped away through the spinning crowd, and we spotted who he had been looking at.
It was Juliet. She was dancing in her green gown.
She looked amazing.
“This is it, Devin,” Frankie whispered. “This is where they meet.”
“This is so cool. It’s like a historic moment. It’s like … hey, it’s like that historic moment when you and I met.”
Frankie grumbled. “Devin, we met at a hot-dog picnic. We were three. You got mustard all over me.”
I gazed off into the distance. “And you never got that stain out, did you? I told you it was historic.”
“Thanks for the memories. Now pay attention.”
But I couldn’t. There was a rustling behind me and suddenly someone pushed me out of the way.
“That man there—” snarled a voice.
We turned to see that tall man in the black tunic again. He hadn’t even bothered to change for the party. Except that now he was wearing the mask of a panther.
I nudged Frankie. “It’s that Tybalt guy. The angry one from the first scene.”
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“I remember,” she whispered.
Tybalt had old Capulet by the arm. “I tell you, he sounds like a … a … Montague! Someone get me my sword! It is Romeo!”
Mr. Capulet growled. “Tybalt, why do you rave so?”
“Look there, uncle!” Tybalt growled, pointing at Romeo with one hand and gripping his sword with the other. “That is a Montague, our foe. He is a villain come to scorn at us this night—”
Capulet grunted. “Young Romeo, is it?”
“’Tis he, that villain Romeo,” hissed Tybalt. “I shall—”
“You shall do nothing,” said Capulet firmly. “Let him alone. To say truth, all Verona brags of him to be a virtuous and well-governed youth. This is my house. Take no note of him—”
“I’ll not endure him!”
“He shall be endured!” Capulet replied. “What? Am I the master of this house, or you?”
Tybalt looked as if his head was going to pop.
“Go peacefully, Tybalt,” said Capulet, “and do not mind Romeo. This is my house! More light there! More light!” He strode off to see the servingmen. But Tybalt stood there, staring at Romeo and hissing like a snake.
“Oh, this makes me rage!” said Tybalt. He backed off into the shadows, folded his arms, and began to sulk without ever once taking his eyes off Romeo, even though the crowd of dancers came between them.
“Devin, I don’t like that guy,” said Frankie. “The way he’s looking at Romeo and clutching that sword of his. He’s like some kind of wild animal.”
“No kidding. He’s got the mask to prove it.”
Meanwhile, Romeo was dancing his way across the room to Juliet. Frankie and I pretended to do the same. Pretty soon, we were near them.
“Listen up, Devin,” said Frankie. “They’re talking.”
Romeo took Juliet’s hand and began to dance with her. Looking directly into her eyes like they do on mushy TV shows, he took her hand and said, “If I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine, the gentle sin is this: my lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.”
Frankie sighed. “That’s beautiful—”
“Like a greeting card,” I said. “And the best part is, I almost understood it. He’s saying that if his hand is too rough, he’ll kiss her hand and smooth it out. Extremely icky, of course, but the guy knows his pretty words.”