Falling for Hamlet

16



“People say Hamlet grew very paranoid. Was there any reason for it?”

“Yes. Absolutely. Everyone he thought he could trust betrayed him.”

“Even you?” Zara asks with a twinkle in her eye.

Ophelia sighs, then her chin begins to tremble. “Yeah.”

Zara hands her a tissue. “In what way?”

“I didn’t believe him when he told me there was gonna be trouble.”

That night, against my better judgment, I called Hamlet’s cell phone. Each mini-click after the ring sent my heart into my throat. By the time his voice-mail message came on, I was barely able to stand. “Okay. You’re not there. Or you can see it’s me and you’re not picking up. Probably that. I wouldn’t pick up if I were you. So, well, here’s the thing. You were right. Your mother and Claudius blackmailed me. There’s this video. Of us. God, you knew I couldn’t deal with being embarrassed, and look what I did. I’m so sorry.”

I was standing outside myself, distracted by my own lameness.

“I’m not sure where you are, but when you get this, could you just call? You probably don’t want to. I wouldn’t blame you if you never wanted to talk to me again, but… Listen, if I don’t hear from you in two days, I’ll have my answer. Okay? If I don’t hear from you within two days, I’ll know we’re really through and… I’ll leave you alone.”

Three days later, I still hadn’t heard from Hamlet or Horatio. I had kept to myself, staying out of my father’s sight, not talking to anyone at school, literally hiding in stairwells and bathrooms until the bell rang. But on the third day, I picked myself up and tried to act normal again. If a walk of a thousand miles begins with just one step, I figured the road to recovering from Hamlet might begin by getting out of his world.

I got to first-period art history early for the first time in a while, and though Mr. Norquest didn’t say anything, he did raise his eyebrows as I took my seat next to my friends Lauren and Sebastian.

“Wanna ditch PE and grab coffee after class? You look terrible,” Sebastian whispered as the lights dimmed for a slide show.

“Thanks,” I whispered back, elbowing his ribs. “Coffee sounds good.” The circles under my eyes had grown rather pronounced, and I rubbed my face, hoping to stay awake in the darkened classroom.

Mr. Norquest intoned, “Note the difference between Ingres’s Grande Odalisque and Manet’s Le déjeuner sur l’herbe, or The Lunch on the Grass. This painting caused quite a stir when it was unveiled. Comments?”

The class pontificated about the sexism in having the woman nude while the men were clothed, admired her direct gaze, and noted the fact that in Manet’s painting the woman seemed comfortable among the men. Additionally, students observed that she was clearly of their class, unlike the classic odalisques who were exotic slaves meant to be pitied while lusted after.

When the teacher called on me, I admitted in a rare moment of truth, “Sometimes I feel like her.”

“Why is that?” he asked, pulling his glasses off and tucking them into his pocket.

I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Regretting I had spoken up, I shrugged and slumped a little in my seat.

Sebastian nudged me and whispered, “Go on.”

I sat up slightly and fortified myself. “She’s so exposed, and everyone is completely casual about the fact.”

“But is she bothered by it?” prodded Mr. Norquest, leaning against an empty chair in the first row.

“Not always easy to tell just by an expression,” I mused. “Maybe she’s used to playing their game, hiding her true self.”

Mr. Norquest nodded and looked back at the painting, wondering at this perspective.

“Or maybe she really likes being the center of attention,” retorted a snippy girl with purple hair sitting right in front.

“At least she doesn’t have to dye her hair crazy colors to get people to look at her,” I jabbed.

Mr. Norquest’s head whipped around and he shot me a look. Dye Job was one of his favorites, and I was not to mess with her. I slumped down in my seat again as Lauren snickered.

“You’re awesome,” Sebastian whispered to me when the next picture flashed on-screen. When Lauren rolled her eyes at him, he muttered, “What? She is.”

“You don’t have to try so hard. She already knows you’re in love with her.”

It was true. I did. That said, I didn’t want to think about love or boys or the trouble both brought, so I slumped further in my seat and let the two of them whisper-fight over my head until Mr. Norquest shushed them.

I sat silently for the rest of class and managed to stay awake. After coffee, I considered going home. If I went, my father might ignore me, or he might be working late. Either way, I would end up eating alone. I could stare at my phone and hope that it would ring. Or I could finish out the day and try to enjoy an evening out.

After school, our friend Justine invited us all to her parents’ condo for pizza, and that night we sat around talking and laughing. Well, they laughed. I mostly sat back and watched normal life going on. People who didn’t watch everything they said. People who didn’t think anyone was out to kill them. People who didn’t use anyone to learn secrets or to get ahead. Or if they did use people, the whole world didn’t have to know about it.

We were waiting for the start of Denmark Divas, which everyone except me seemed to be obsessed with. My friends were all talking about which singer might win this season, and everyone was completely ignoring the entertainment “news” show that preceded it. I had gone into the kitchen to grab a soda when I heard the name Hamlet spoken by the hosts. I hustled out of the kitchen and caught an image I’ll never forget: a still photo of a girl wearing boxing gloves, skimpy satin shorts, and a sequined sports bra being carried by Hamlet, who was wearing horns and a painted-on mustache.

“Lord Hamlet is the devil, indeed. Here he is at a party in Amsterdam, and look at that knockout with him.”

“When Ophelia sees this, she’s gonna call for a rematch.”

“Let’s hope she doesn’t greet him with a sucker punch!” The reporters smirked at each other.

Everyone in the room was silent and staring at me. Dan was merciful and grabbed the remote. The screen snapped to black, and I swallowed hard. Looking around the room, I realized I could have been stark naked and doing the chicken dance, and they would not have been more embarrassed for me.

After a prolonged, awkward silence, Lauren offered, “Hamlet’s a jerk.”

“Don’t know what you saw in him,” added Keren.

“Duh. He’s the future king and he’s loaded.” Dan laughed. Keren slapped his leg.

“He’d better at least be great in bed,” Greg offered, shoving a handful of potato chips into his mouth.

Justine grabbed the bowl from Greg and said to me, “Men are dogs.” Turning back to Greg, she added, “All of you are dogs.”

He grabbed the bowl back and kissed her. “And you love us anyway. So who’s more ridiculous?” She threw a chip at him, and they started to laugh.

My pain had been quickly forgotten, and so I started backing out of the room. If I was going to be miserable I preferred doing it alone anyway, and I certainly didn’t want to hear any more hackneyed quips or assurances.

Standing alone in the kitchen, I tried to gain control of my enraged mind long enough to decide whether to go home or not. I hated the singing show anyway, and I knew everyone was either going to spend the evening asking me how I was doing or pretending to ignore what had happened, neither of which seemed like fun for anyone. I put the soda down and grabbed my keys, which were, fortunately, on a table right next to the front door.

“Where are you going?” Sebastian called across the sitting room.

Caught. I didn’t know how I expected to sneak out or why I was too chicken to even say good-bye. Wedged in the doorway, I answered, “Home. Thanks, Justine, I’ll, uh… yeah.” I sighed and walked out, letting the door slam behind me. I could kill Hamlet, I thought as I stormed toward the exit of her building. “Crap, crap, crap,” I mumbled, marching to the beat of each expletive.

Halfway down the hall I heard someone coming out of Justine’s, following me, I knew. When I looked over my shoulder, I wasn’t surprised to see Sebastian. “Go back in,” I called to him, but he picked up his pace to a near jog instead. He was going to catch up with me and would want to talk, so I figured I would just wait where I was, rather than chance having the discussion out on the street with the prying eyes and ears of strangers around us.

In three long paces, he caught up with me. “You don’t have to run away. No one’s judging you.”

“They’re all judging me. And him. Everyone does.” I scowled.

He opened his mouth as if to protest, then clapped it shut when he realized I was right. Unable to contain himself, he proceeded. “Why do you put up with that guy?”

I rolled my eyes, not wanting to explain myself. There was no more putting up with Hamlet, as far as I could tell, but Sebastian didn’t need to know that. The fact that our latest breakup had stayed out of the papers was a miracle, and I wanted to keep it to myself as long as possible. “There’s a lot to us that you don’t know about.”

“Because you never tell us anything about your relationship.”

“Can’t imagine why,” I snapped.

“You think we would sell your stories?”

I shrugged. Hamlet and I had each had trusted “friends” find the temptation of money or fifteen minutes of fame too hard to resist. “I just… It’s my business.”

Little wrinkles of concern sprang up around Sebastian’s eyes as he stared at me, thinking. “Here’s what I know: He drinks.”

“So do I.”

“He cheats.”

“So have I.”

Sebastian flinched. Then I could see his mind working, wondering how true that was, with whom, and if that meant he had a chance with me.

“Look, Sebastian, what Hamlet and I have works. Most of the time.”

He slapped at the wall next to me. “Does Hamlet even like art?”

“He tolerates it to please me.” When Sebastian made a face, I recanted. “He likes it. Just not the way we do.”

Sebastian shook his head. “He has more of it than anyone. What a waste. Seems he doesn’t appreciate anything he has as much as he should. As much as others would.”

“Sebastian, don’t,” I warned.

“Sorry,” he said. He looked down, but then his eyes flicked back to mine. As he did, I noticed the gold flecks in his brown eyes. Then my gaze wandered to his full eyebrows and strong nose, his square jaw covered in stubble. He wore a braided leather necklace tight around his neck and I had a sudden urge to kiss it and put my tongue in the space between the rope and his throat.

Shoot, I thought. Hamlet. Keep your mind on Hamlet. You’ve got to fix what you messed up, not make it worse. But then I remembered the girl in the boxing gloves and the little shorts. I stared at Sebastian’s bare arms, muscular from lacrosse, and then let my gaze be drawn up to his shoulders, and back to his throat. My facial expression must have changed because he asked me what was up.

“Go back in,” I instructed him.

“Why?”

“Because if you stay, I’m going to sleep with you for revenge.”

“Oh,” he said. After a pause, he laughed. “And I don’t want that?”

My only response was a shrug and a nervous, flirtatious smile. I made up my mind. Hamlet could go screw himself or boxer girl or whomever he pleased. If we were done, I wasn’t waiting around, especially when I had an attractive, attentive guy right in front of me who clearly wanted me.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked.

I nodded and leaned my head against the wall, waiting, hoping it would be a good kiss. And it was. My heart beat faster and I was greedy for more, but I scooted away. He looked concerned that I was changing my mind.

“I can’t risk being seen like this,” I reassured him, looking up and down the hallway.

“Wanna go to your place?”

“You a big fan of my father’s?” I laughed, but even the mention of my father saddened me.

Sebastian blushed and tried, “My apartment? My parents are out of town for the week.”

I nodded, and he took my hand, leading me out.

As we walked, I tried my damnedest to stop thinking about anything but Sebastian and how much I wanted him. But it didn’t work. By the time we got to his apartment, I was wary of going through with it.

He kissed me, and I pulled back. “I’m not sure,” I said.

Sebastian nodded. He tugged on his necklace and looked away.

My chest ached to see his disappointment, so I added, “It’s not you. It’s just… there’s a lot going on in my…” It sounded like a line, one Hamlet had used on me, which made it even worse. There was very little I could tell him about my life, and without any details he wouldn’t believe that it wasn’t personal.

The one thing that wasn’t technically a secret, I was reluctant to admit. But I had to say something. My cheeks burned as I tried to explain my hesitation and spare Sebastian his feelings. “I’ve actually never slept with anyone but Hamlet.”

“How is that possible?” he asked, his mouth hanging open.

If I wasn’t so embarrassed, I might have laughed at his expression.

When he regained his composure slightly, he added, “A girl like you?”

Staring at my sneakers, I asked, “What do you mean, a girl like me?”

“Nothing.”

“Do I seem slutty?” I asked, my cheeks stinging from the blood rushing to them. Thinking of the party photos and the secret video, I pulled my arms tight across myself again and wondered how quickly I could make it home before I embarrassed myself further.

“Not slutty,” he said, putting his hand on my arm.

I pulled away but let him finish.

He leaned back against his door and looked me over. “Just, like, sexy. And self-confident.”

“I don’t know what I am or how I ended up just with Hamlet.… It just never felt—” I reached into my pocket to check that my keys were there and said, “This was a mistake. I’m gonna go.” I was about to walk away, but then I looked into his eyes, his chocolaty, passion-filled, temporarily hangdog eyes, and my resolve melted away.

“Don’t. I meant it as a compliment. We don’t have to do anything, but don’t go. Not yet.” He kissed me gently on the forehead, and I let him pull me close. “Let’s just take this slowly and see what happens. No pressure.”

My body relaxed and sank into his. Sebastian didn’t live in the castle. He didn’t know what I’d done. He wasn’t acting crazy or violent or threatening to kill anyone or to expose me. He just wanted the girl he liked to like him back.

We kissed, and my arms gripped his muscular back. I had nearly lost myself in the moment when an alarming thought crossed my mind. I turned my head, and my eyes scanned the room, lingering in the corners and on the bookshelf.

“What are you looking for?” Sebastian asked, his arms still around my waist.

I looked down again, hoping he’d change the subject, but he didn’t say anything else. I didn’t want to lie anymore. “Cameras.”

Sebastian backed away. “You honestly think—What kind of person would—Did Hamlet—”

“No,” I answered quickly. Claudius’s leer, Gertrude’s scowl, and my father’s humiliation all filled my mind.

I considered walking out, but then Sebastian asked the perfect question. “What kind of people do you spend time with?”

I laughed. “You have no idea.”

And with that, the thought that had been forming in my mind solidified all at once. I was done. I didn’t want any part of Elsinore. I didn’t want to be a queen. I didn’t want to be in the public eye. Even if the Hamlet of the past—not the Hamlet with the gun, not the Hamlet who saw ghosts, not the Hamlet who attacked me in the limo, but the Hamlet I loved—showed up at that moment, I wouldn’t take him back. Because he came with all the trappings of royalty and was constantly in the public eye, and no matter how blasé he was about it, no matter how he might try to create a life for us that could be considered within the realm of normal, it wouldn’t be. Sebastian, or a guy like him, could be normal—God, even boring—without trying. Boring sounded amazing. Yet, from the way Sebastian kissed and talked, he could not be considered boring. And I wanted another kiss.

I trusted him. I don’t know how or why, after everything that had happened, but I did. For the first time in a long time, my trust wasn’t betrayed, and I didn’t have to pretend to be anything I was not.

Even if we’d just sat around talking, I think Sebastian would have been okay with it. But we did more than talk, and it was… nice. Hey, don’t underestimate the awesomeness of “nice,” and don’t think I’m giving details. I’m not one to do more than kiss and tell, so just know that it made me happy. No regrets. It was weird at first, being with someone other than Hamlet. But Sebastian was sweet and funny and so happy to have me with him. And I was happy to be there with him. Especially ’cause he wasn’t crazy or suspicious or on the edge. He was the un-Hamlet. It was my first move toward freedom. And if you gotta move on from a situation, I highly recommend a boy like Sebastian.

The next morning, we didn’t want to leave his place, but I had already missed too much class. We showered and dressed and headed for the door. I grabbed my bag and turned on my phone. Five voice messages and three texts were waiting for me. Seeing Hamlet’s name snapped me out of my bliss and I shut the phone, looking at Sebastian.

“I’m just… I’m not gonna check the rest now,” I started to say, trying to take the quake out of my voice. “I should call my dad, though. I’m sure at least one was from him.”

Sebastian nodded and walked across the room, flopping on his bed.

“Dad?” I began. I paused, waiting for him to stop yelling at me. “Dad, you know I wasn’t dead in a ditch.” I paused as he continued lecturing me. “I know I—” I paused again, and bored holes in the ceiling with my eyes. “But—” My guilt started to overwhelm me. I leaned against the door, avoiding Sebastian’s gaze. “Okay. I’ll be home before dinner. O… Okay. Bye, Dad. Bye.

“He’s pretty pissed,” I explained, trying to catch my breath. “We’re lucky the DDI didn’t come bursting in here looking for me,” I added, only half joking. I stretched my hand out to the wary young man in front of me, and it seemed to put him at ease.

At lunch we met up again and went across the street to grab some coffee. He reached for my hand as we walked, and when I pulled mine back, his face went pale. I said quietly, “Off campus, people have cameras, Sebastian. Not yet, okay?”

He nodded and breathed a little easier. “Maybe leaving campus wasn’t such a good idea,” he said.

I laughed. “It’s five minutes of not touching. You’ll live.” But while we were waiting for our drinks, I noticed his fingers twitching, like it was a real effort for him to keep his hands to himself. It was really kinda cute.

As soon as we were safe behind the school’s tall gates, he threw his arm around my shoulder. There was a part of me that was nervous about what people would say or think about my moving on so quickly, and there was a part of me that wanted to make the breakup definitive and mine. Plus he was hot and I liked him, so for those brief, wonderful moments, his arm around me was what I wanted most.

We headed to the coolest spot on campus, a courtyard with a giant bear sculpture, where the more artistic students would sit and read or play guitar or draw, even on cold days like this one. Dan, Lauren, Greg, and Keren were already there and scooted over, making space for us to sit. Their knowing smiles spoke for them, and they pretended to go on with their conversation, but they were watching our every move.

I stirred my coffee more than I needed to because every time I looked down, Sebastian would lean over and kiss the back of my neck. His expression was relief mixed with pure joy, like a child who gets precisely what he wants for Christmas but still can’t believe his luck. We sat close as he whispered stories in my ear as an excuse to sneak a gentle kiss every now and then.

“What the hell?” I heard over my shoulder, and my stomach clenched. Hamlet. I closed my eyes in a foolish attempt to turn back time. When I opened them, all I saw was the back of his head, and I went chasing after him without so much as an explanation to the boy who had thought he had won, or to our friends, who had looked on in horror. Even at a dead run I was unable to keep up.

“Hamlet!” I tried to shout, but I was out of breath.

People stopped to watch us and started pointing and pulling out camera phones. His driver was driving away by the time I reached the street.

“God, could you just leave us alone?” I screamed at the kids standing behind me.

Some snickered, some complied. Two security guards walked over to reprimand them for breaking school rules but didn’t take the phones, so I was screwed again.

I yanked up the hood of my sweater and scuttled off to ground zero. My crowd waited in silent expectation as I grabbed my bag.

“What did he want?” asked Lauren, her voice sharp.

I shrugged as I took out my phone. Still panting, I punched in the code. “You have five messages,” declared the gentle robotic voice.

Beep. “Ophelia, Horatio made me leave town with him and I forgot my phone, so I didn’t get your message until just now. I guess I should have called either way, but I was pissed. It took me a few days to calm down, but I have, and I need to talk to you. Things are so messed up. I said some things in the car—I don’t—I don’t know what’s going on with me. Or us. I was ready to kill you for—But now… Call me.”

Beep. “Phee, you didn’t call back. I don’t know what you saw on TV, but you can’t believe what they’re showing. I didn’t do anything with that girl. She got hurt and I was helping her. Seriously. Please call.”

Beep. “Young lady, it’s your father. It’s almost midnight, and you’re not home. Not like you. Not like you at all. If this is your idea of independence, then we shall have a talk. You tread dangerously, my dear. How can I trust—? It is a bold mouse that nestles in the cat’s ear. Come home this instant! Do you think—” I pressed Delete.

Beep. “Ophelia? Horatio. Hamlet’s telling the truth about Amsterdam. So… your dad said you didn’t come home last night. You’re killing him. Hamlet, I mean. Your dad’s pretty ticked, too. Hamlet’s on his way to find you. Call him. Or me.”

Beep. “Damn it, Phee. Where are you?”

I stood staring at my phone and shaking. What a mess.

I walked away from Sebastian and our friends like a coward, without explanation, without apology, without public tears. I felt guilty and confused, but I couldn’t share my pain. Not with anyone. I’m aware that technically I didn’t do anything wrong since, really, Hamlet and I had broken up. In my apartment. Again outside the theater. And, quite memorably, for a third time in the limo. Foolishly, I had thought that being with Sebastian would make things easier. Clearer. That it would help me make a break from the past. From Hamlet. From his family. Yet being with Sebastian had only made it worse, and when I realized that fact, sickening disappointment overwhelmed me, and all I could think was that I had to be alone.

I would try to tell Sebastian about it someday, and maybe he would understand. Until then, I would sit separately in art history. I would avoid the courtyard. And I would risk losing my friends and pretend I didn’t care. And I prayed that they wouldn’t try to make a buck off of our time together.

That evening, after listening to my father go on and on about how disappointed he was in me, I retreated to my room. I had messed things up with Sebastian. I had messed things up with Hamlet. Or he had messed things up with me. How do you go back to someone who says such disgusting things and scares the hell out of you? You don’t. Or you shouldn’t. Sitting alone in my room that night, I realized that neither Hamlet’s desire to talk to me nor his disappointment that I’d been with another guy changed my decision. I wanted out of Elsinore. Maybe even Denmark. At the very least, I needed to get away from Hamlet. Even though the old Hamlet, the sane Hamlet, had returned from Amsterdam, I wanted to be done.

I flipped on the TV, catching the end of the news. “With apologies again to our prince and the viewing public, let us say once more that we should not have run a story so irresponsibly. The young lady was hurt, and our prince was a hero for rescuing her from what could have been a dangerous stampede at the club.”

I wasn’t sure I believed them. It would have been as easy for Gertrude or Claudius to force a retraction for a true story as it would have been for the media to fabricate a false one. It didn’t matter. Mistakes and miscommunications. Violent love and violent hate. Betrayals and desire. Our beginning, our middle, and our end.

Francisco: Your father sent out security to look for you the night before Hamlet returned from Amsterdam.



Ophelia: Doesn’t surprise me.



Barnardo: Where were you?



Ophelia: None of your business.



Francisco: Everything’s our business.



Barnardo: We think your disappearance was meant to further upset Hamlet and trigger some sort of violent act.



Ophelia: Think what you want. This is outrageous.



Barnardo: Okay. Try this one. Would you say Hamlet was crazy?



Ophelia: I don’t know. I’m not a psychiatrist.



Francisco: What do you think?



Ophelia: Like “go to a nuthouse” crazy? No. Disturbed, yes.



Barnardo: Is there a difference?



Ophelia: Yeah. He was depressed. He was angry. He was totally obsessed with finding out what happened to his dad.



Francisco: Here’s a picture of Hamlet on the roof of a limo. Here’s a picture of Hamlet jumping on chairs in the theater. Was his behavior in either of these cases normal?



Ophelia: There was nothing normal about what happened at the castle after the king died.



Barnardo: Even so, there are no pictures of you being destructive.



Ophelia: Well then, someone hasn’t done enough research.