be given to you? I forbid you to talk to Hamlet until further notice. Are we clear?”
I nodded and kept my tears back until I had turned away and walked out of his office.
When I got to my room, tons of e-mails were waiting for me. Most were from friends, but from the subject lines I knew I couldn’t face what they had to say, even the friends who found the whole thing very funny. I spotted one from Hamlet with the subject line: “Never Surrender.” I wondered if our parents could read our messages if they so desired. There seemed to be precious little privacy in the castle in general. I wanted to open it but was afraid of where it might lead. Then again, my father had said not to “talk” to Hamlet, which didn’t necessarily cover electronic messages, if one were inclined to argue the point. I wasn’t sure just then if I was so inclined. I walked away from my computer.
Later that morning, as expected, I was summoned by Gertrude. She was sitting very still at her tea table, delicately painted cups and saucers laid out perfectly. She did not stand in welcome. After some perfunctory utterances of shock, she took a moment to create a meaningful silence between us. She sipped and held the cup to her lips longer than she needed to. “Given my son’s inexplicable attachment to you, I had begun to think that you and Hamlet might get married someday.” Her lips curled in disgust, and she lowered the cup slowly. “But after this? How could the people honestly accept you as their queen after seeing you like… that?”
“Gertrude, I—”
“There is nothing you can say.”
My anger flared. “The people were shocked by you and Claudius, yet you go on being queen!” I shouted.
Gertrude pursed her lips and crossed her arms, daring me to say another word.
I softened my voice. “The pictures make it look much worse than it really was.”
Gertrude looked at the ceiling. “Hamlet tried to say the same thing. I say it does not matter what the reality was. You look like a whore. I’ve sent him back to school. You are not to go there again. Stay away from my son.” She stood abruptly and clacked away, leaving me in her empty salon feeling like she had kicked me in the chest.
Barnardo: You dragged him to that party knowing that bad publicity would come out of it.
Ophelia: No, I didn’t.
Francisco: Admit it. You and Horatio arranged the whole episode knowing it would further undermine his credibility and unravel their family stability.
Ophelia: That is not why. We wanted Hamlet to have fun—
Barnardo: Bull. You knew photographers would be there.
Ophelia: In four years, no one had ever taken a picture of him at school unless it was official and prearranged.
Francisco: How convenient. So you knew you could catch him by surprise. Who did you pay to take those pictures?
Ophelia: Why would I do that? I’m the one who got the most grief for that. A guy can do whatever he wants with whomever he wants. But a girl? Forget it. Everyone had something to say about my skirt, how drunk I was, Christ, even how I kiss!
Barnardo: Small price to pay. A little humiliation for—
Ophelia: For what? What do you think I gained from those pictures?
Francisco: Sympathy from Hamlet.
Barnardo: A great cover. It got him back to the castle.
Ophelia: Yeah, that worked out for everyone so well.
Barnardo: My point exactly.
13
Zara narrows her eyes at Ophelia as she leans back on the cream couch. “The queen could not have been happy about that kind of publicity.”
Ophelia clears her throat and says, “Happy would be an overstatement. But she was pretty understanding. Don’t forget, Gertrude was young once, too.”
“And your father?”
“He was… less understanding.”
One afternoon a couple of weeks later, I was in my room supposedly reading about the painter John Everett Millais but really staring off into space thinking about the fact that I should be reading. I had just looked at my book again when I heard Hamlet calling, “Ophelia?”
I jumped up, a thrill passing through me at the sound of his voice. But as I ran down the hall, Gertrude’s angry face popped into my mind. The image slowed my step, and when I saw Hamlet, as desperate as I was to touch him, I checked myself. Standing at the end of my hall and forcing myself not to go into the entry area, I called to him, “When did