might get suspicious and ask questions. He’s even at dinner with them right now. Let’s give it a few days and move you farther away from Elsinore first.”
I didn’t like the idea one bit, but I knew he was right. What was the point of all that Horatio and Marcellus had done for me if I got impatient and blew my cover?
Barnardo: Hamlet and your brother made quite a scene.
Ophelia: That’s an understatement.
Barnardo: If you knew Hamlet was so upset about your supposed death, why didn’t you go rushing back to him? He didn’t seem mad about the whole betrayal thing anymore. You two had gotten past squabbles in the past.
Ophelia: Killing my dad was more than a squabble.
Francisco: Once you knew your brother was in town, why didn’t you contact him?
Ophelia: It wasn’t safe.
Francisco: You knew he was practically destroyed by the news, and yet you kept quiet. Is that love?
Ophelia: You shut your mouth. You know nothing about—
Francisco: What? Love? If I loved someone, I wouldn’t let him think I was dead. You could have called him at any point and stopped him. Stopped everything that came next. Or maybe you wanted it to happen.
Ophelia: I hate you.
23
“Was it hard for you to lie about your whereabouts? To fool the public? To watch everyone mourn your death?”
Ophelia looks very serious and explains, “None of this was done to affect the average person. Things were deteriorating at the castle, and it seemed to be the only way out.… Yeah, it was hard to know so many people were being misled.”
Zara nods appreciatively. “I understand that not even your brother knew you were alive. When were you going to tell him?”
“I had hoped to send him a message—” Ophelia breaks off.
Zara looks at the audience with tear-filled eyes.
Ophelia whispers, “But everything happened too fast.”
A few days after my funeral, I got a call from Horatio. “Ophelia,” he said, and his voice was so strained that I dropped the package of Pop-Tarts I had just grabbed off the convenience-store shelf.
“What’s wrong?”
“I… Hamlet is going to play in a lacrosse game.”
I had been expecting so much worse, but my adrenaline was pumping, so I asked, “A what?” too loudly. When other customers turned to look at me, I pulled my hat down and rushed out of the store.
As I made my way into the alley, Horatio said, “You know, the annual Elsinore Academy fund-raiser.”
I did know. Each year, for as long as I could remember, a group of lacrosse alumni and members of the current team played to raise scholarship money for the high school. It brought out huge crowds, huge names, and huge money.
“Yeah,” I said, “but I can’t believe they’re going through with it after all that—” My voice broke off as I pushed away the image of my father lying in a pool of blood.
Horatio said, “I know. I don’t think Hamlet should be anywhere near that game. I tried talking him out of it by telling him he’s too tired and that it’s a bad idea for him to be in the same place as Claudius. But he says he wants to play like he has every year for the past five years.”
“Hamlet can’t believe that, at this point, his inclusion is business as usual. With everything—You’d think Claudius and Gertrude would want him away from public scrutiny.”
“I know. Even Hamlet knows it’s weird. He admitted that he’s really uneasy about the whole thing. So I told him to trust his instincts and that I could tell them he’s not feeling up to it. But Hamlet looked at the e-mail invitation like he saw his destiny. It was eerie, Ophelia. He said to me, ‘No. I’m prepared for whatever. Que será será, you know?’ He sort of laughed, but I didn’t. And he looked at me all sad and said, ‘Let’s just do this thing.’ He just went to get dressed, and then we’re gonna go to the field.”
“So you think it’s a trap?” I asked.
“Yeah. Claudius had been trying everything to get rid of Hamlet. Hamlet has to know that Claudius might use this opportunity to make another move.”
“Don’t go,” I begged.
“Hamlet’s determined, and I’m not letting him go alone.”
I kicked at the cinder-block wall and worried more than I wanted to about Hamlet.
I heard a voice in the background, and Horatio whispered to me, “Gotta go. I’ll call later.”
I stood in the alley with the disconnected phone pressed against my ear. I was frustrated to be