Star-Crossed Read online

  Advance praise for STAR-CROSSED

  “Star-Crossed delighted me! Barbara Dee has a light touch and a pitch-perfect middle school voice. This book will have you laughing and groaning in sympathy with crush-addled Mattie and eagerly turning pages. Mattie and her classmates charmed me with their kindness, their humor, their uncertainty, their devotion to one another and to—Shakespeare! Barbara masterfully sprinkles the Bard’s words over the narration and stirs the troubles of Romeo and Juliet into the plot. And those Shakespearean insults! Be sure to read Star-Crossed or you’ll miss out.”—Gail Carson Levine, author of Ella Enchanted

  “Barbara Dee’s Star-Crossed is a love story, a rallying cry for girl power, and a Shakespeare lover’s dream come true. When I finished reading, I had a huge smile on my face and a lightness in my heart.”—Nora Raleigh Baskin, author of Nine, Ten: A September 11 Story

  “Star-Crossed takes the drama, humor, friendships, misunderstandings, and romance of Romeo and Juliet and transforms them perfectly to the middle school stage. One word about this honest, heartfelt middle-grade novel for the theater geek in each of us? ‘Encore!’ ” —Donna Gephart, author of Lily and Dunkin

  “Star-Crossed by Barbara Dee cleverly draws from Romeo and Juliet, providing readers with an insightful introduction to Shakespeare while exploring the complexities of young love. Readers will root for this relationship.”—Ami Polonsky, author of Gracefully Grayson

  For all my former students, even the ones who thought they didn’t like Shakespeare

  1

  “In fair Verona, where we lay our scene.”

  —Romeo and Juliet, Prologue 2

  It wasn’t about me, I knew. But still.

  I hadn’t been invited to Willow’s Halloween party, and I was okay with it. Unlike a lot of my classmates, I didn’t plan my schedule around her parties, which were usually sweaty and overcrowded, the sort of thing where you spent the whole time shouting over music you’d never listen to on your own. She’d always invited me to her Halloween parties before, and I’d always gone, mostly because my two best friends, Tessa Pollock and Lucy Yang, were going, and the three of us always stuck together. Everyone knew this, even Willow, who never paid us much attention. The weird thing was how she’d invited Lucy (even though she never hung out with Willow) and Tessa (even though Willow pretty much hated her). But not me.

  “Don’t feel bad, Mattie,” Lucy urged me. She looked worried. Lucy was always fussing over this sort of stuff, trying to make sure everyone felt comfortable. The idea that she was invited when I wasn’t . . . well, I could tell she felt terrible. “I heard she invited only half the class, so I’m sure it wasn’t personal.”

  “How could it not be personal?” Tessa demanded. “Willow decides who’s invited and who’s not. What could be more personal than that?”

  “You guys, I’m fine,” I insisted. But still, I tried to think if I’d offended Willow lately, if maybe I’d forgotten to congratulate her on scoring a goal or something. Willow was the type of person who expected face-to-face compliments, not just cheers.

  Tessa snorted. “Of course you’re not fine, Mattie. How could anyone be fine about being left out of the biggest party all year?”

  We were at Verona’s, this new fro-yo place in town where you could design your own sundaes. I was having chocolate fudge with chocolate chips and crushed brownies, Lucy was having strawberry with a bunch of fruit on top, and Tessa was having vanilla drowned in almost every topping available—gummies, marshmallows, peanut butter cups, hot fudge, strawberry syrup, coconut. It looked like a small volcano had erupted in her cup, trapping gummy bears in lava. Like a yogurt Pompeii or something.

  “Well, Mattie, if you’re not going, neither am I,” Lucy said.

  “What?” I don’t know why this surprised me, because it was typical Lucy. “That’s really sweet, but it wouldn’t be fair. I mean, to you.”

  “Are you joking? Why would I do something that wasn’t fair to you?”

  “Listen, we’re all going. Including Mattie,” Tessa declared, waving her spoon for emphasis.

  I took an enormous bite of my creation. “Well, aside from the fact that Willow obviously doesn’t want me there, it’s supposed to be a costume party, right? And I’m not a costumey sort of person.”

  “How can you say that?” Lucy protested. “Your costumes are always so original, Mattie. That year you went as the Sorting Hat—”

  “Yeah. People just thought I was a witch.”

  “Okay, but last year, when you went as Matilda—”

  I groaned at the memory. Last year, I’d thought: Okay, my name is Matilda; how much more obvious could it be? Besides, who hasn’t read Matilda? So I wore my half-sister Cara’s old school uniform and my brother Mason’s tie, and I made my hair all crazy with spray. Liam Harrison, the coolest boy in the grade (at least, according to him), asked if I was Eloise. You know, the bratty little girl at that hotel. Clearly, I was the worst at costumes.

  “I’m the worst at costumes,” I told my friends.

  “Maybe you’re overthinking it,” Tessa said. “You don’t always have to do a book thing, do you? You could just wear a really cool mask.”

  “But I don’t own a mask. Even a non-cool one.”

  She poked two holes in her napkin and held it over my face. “Voilà: mask. And the thing about wearing a costume, Mattie? No one will know it’s you.” She stage-whispered the last part, cupping her hands over her mouth.

  “Yeah, maybe,” I said. “If I totally cover myself, including my head. And if I disguise my voice. But I don’t know, the idea of sneaking into Willow’s party—” I shook my head.

  “Mattie, come on,” Lucy cut in. “You can’t spend Halloween sitting home by yourself; it’s bad luck, or bad karma. Bad something.” She ate a raspberry. “Oh, and by the way,” she added, “not that it matters, but I heard Elijah’s going.”

  I poked a brownie chunk with my spoon. “Yeah? Well, woohoo.”

  “Okay, so what did I miss?” Tessa had been away all last weekend at a theater camp reunion, and was still catching up on the news. “What happened with Elijah?”

  “Nothing,” I told her. “I saw him at the library on Sunday, so I said hello. It was like, Hey, how was your weekend, wanna hear about mine? He didn’t even answer.”

  “Whoa,” Tessa said. “Literally didn’t?”

  “Yep. Totally ignored me.”

  “Maybe he wasn’t ignoring you; maybe he just didn’t hear,” Lucy suggested.

  I raised my eyebrows at her. “In a quiet library? When I was talking exactly as loud as this?”

  “Maybe he had earbuds in?”

  “Lucy, he was just sitting in the graphic novel section reading old Batman comics. No earbuds, no anything. I checked.”

  Tessa licked some fro-yo off her spoon. “You know, I hate to say this, Mattie, but in my opinion Elijah’s a stuck-up dirtbag.”

  “You’re probably right. The stupid thing is, I think I still like him.”

  “That is stupid,” Tessa agreed. “Why do you like him?”

  I sighed. Because how do you answer that kind of question? It’s like explaining why you think a joke is funny, or why a song stays in your head. Or why you like chocolate fudge frozen yogurt, or the color blue. You just like what you like. Like who you like. Even if the person acts like a stuck-up dirtbag sometimes.

  Besides, liking Elijah was just what I did. What I’d done since the start of seventh grade last year, when I suddenly realized that I kept staring at him. He wasn’t just cute, with his wavy dark hair and his big brown eyes—he was really smart, especially about words. He always raised his hand in English and said non-obvious things. I could tell our teacher, Mr. Torres, appreciated his comments. And how many eighth-grade b
oys spent summer vacation at the town library? Only Elijah.

  I mean, really, considering me, it made perfect sense for me to have him as my crush. For an entire year, I scribbled his name in the back of my math binder and tried to think up words that rhymed with Elijah (beside ya?) while he read Batman comics or whatever.

  Because the thing was, who else was I supposed to like?

  But it was hard to say this without sounding slightly loser-ish. Or like a person who enjoyed feeling sorry for herself. Which I didn’t.

  “Earth to Mattie,” Tessa said. “Come in, spacegirl.”

  “Yeah, sorry. I was just thinking.” I stirred my fro-yo counterclockwise, then ate a spoonful of soggy chocolate chips. “I guess I like Elijah’s eyebrows. And the way he laughs.”

  Tessa snorted. “Okay, well, that explains everything.”

  “Mattie, listen to me,” Lucy said, reaching across the table to pat my shoulder. “Go to Willow’s party, wear a costume, take a really good look at Elijah. See how he acts if he doesn’t know it’s you. It’ll be a test: If you still think he’s worth spending the entire year crushing on, go ahead. But maybe you’ll decide he isn’t worth it. And maybe you’ll notice someone else.”

  “Yeah? Like who?” By then, we’d noticed everyone in middle school. There was nobody left to notice.

  “I don’t know,” Lucy admitted. “I just think you should keep your eyes open.”

  Right then, Charlotte Pangel and Isabel Guzman walked into Verona’s. They were two of Willow Kaplan’s sidekicks, always playing on Willow’s teams, or cheering for her in the stands. Seriously, it was strange that they were here without her, because they tagged after Willow all over town. Charlotte and Isabel were the kind of girls who were always whispering to each other; whatever they were saying, it was probably something you’d rather not hear.

  I poked Lucy’s elbow. “Come on, let’s go.”

  “Why?” Tessa challenged me. “I haven’t finished eating.”

  “Just take it with you,” Lucy said.

  “But I like it here. I like these chairs. Don’t you think these chairs are really comfy?” Tessa sat back in hers, kicking out her skinny legs as if she were sunning herself by a pool. She scooped up a spoonful of fro-yo lava and beamed at us.

  Lucy and I exchanged glances. I could tell she wanted to leave as much as I did, but neither of us trusted Tessa enough to leave her behind. The thing about Tessa was, sometimes her Off switch malfunctioned. Especially around people who didn’t appreciate her coolness.

  So the three of us sat there, not budging, while Charlotte and Isabel helped themselves to yogurt and toppings, paid the lady at the counter, who was possibly Verona, then took seats at a table opposite us. Lucy and I pantomimed eating, even though by then there was nothing left in our paper cups.

  Charlotte and Isabel whispered. The radio was playing some Mom-era song, and Possibly Verona was humming along as she sprayed and wiped the counter.

  Finally, Charlotte slapped down her spoon. “Okay, that is just. So. Rude.”

  Tessa blinked at her. “I’m sorry?”

  “Right, Tessa. Like you don’t know.”

  “I really don’t, Charlotte. Why don’t you tell me?”

  “The way you keep staring at us,” Isabel said. “It’s kind of creepy, actually.”

  Tessa raised her eyebrows. “You think I’m staring at you? Why would I even want to?”

  “Who knows?” Charlotte said, smirking. “Maybe you’re wondering what it’s like not to be ugly.”

  Tessa paled. Considering she was naturally fair-skinned, with wispy blond hair and light blue eyes, pale on her looked kind of alarming.

  But then it was like something clicked inside her, and she practically leaped out of her chair. “I’m ugly? You’re like a toad; ugly and venomous. Thy face is not worth sunburning.”

  Uh-oh, I thought. Because I’d seen this before: When Tessa got too angry to think up words, she quoted lines from plays. Often it got on people’s nerves.

  “ ‘Thy’?” Charlotte hooted. “ ‘Thy’?”

  “Tessa, come on, we need to leave,” I said, grabbing her arm.

  She pulled away from me, avoiding my eyes. “It’s Shakespeare,” she informed Charlotte. “It means ‘your’: Your face is not worth sunburning.”

  “I know what ‘thy’ means, you moron. I meant, who talks like that?”

  Tessa did a fancy bow. “I do.”

  Isabel rolled her eyes. “Yeah, Tessa, and we all love hearing it.”

  “Okay, guys,” Lucy said, stepping in front of Charlotte. “Can we all please . . . ?”

  Tessa ignored her. “At least I have something to show off. But you, Charlotte, are just Willow’s little shadow. You can’t think one single thought for yourself. ‘Thou hast no more brain than I have in mine elbows.’ ”

  “There she goes again,” Isabel told Charlotte. “ ‘Mine elbows.’ ”

  “Oh, is Shakespeare hard for you?” Tessa asked sympathetically. “Allow me to translate. ‘Mine’ means ‘my’; ‘elbows’ means ‘elbows.’ ”

  The door opened. In walked Willow. As soon as she entered the shop, you could tell she smelled a fight. “What’s going on?” she asked in a sharp, accusing voice.

  “Nothing,” I said quickly. “Charlotte and Tessa were just arguing. But it’s over now, right?” I glared at Tessa.

  “Really?” Willow narrowed her eyes at me. “Well, it doesn’t look over. It doesn’t feel over.”

  “Because it’s not,” Charlotte said. “Tessa just basically called me stupid.”

  “Huh. Did she? The thing is, Tessa, if you’re being nasty to my friend—”

  Tessa’s cheeks turned pink. “I’m just defending myself, Willow! Am I supposed to stand here and allow your little lapdog—”

  “Okay, so now you’re calling me a dog?” Charlotte’s eyes popped.

  “No,” Tessa said. “Although, actually, ‘I do wish thou wert a dog, that I might love thee something.’ ”

  “What?”

  “Should I translate, Charlotte? ‘Thee’ means—”

  “STOP,” Possibly Verona shouted. She was in front of us now, her hands on her hips. “If you girls can’t have a pleasant, quiet conversation without name-calling, you aren’t welcome here.”

  “But she started it,” Charlotte protested, pointing at Tessa.

  “That’s not true,” I said loudly. Lucy frowned at me.

  “I don’t care who started anything,” Verona snapped. “It’s my shop, and I can’t have fighting in here, period. Now why don’t you girls take your fro-yos and come back when you can act decently, like well-behaved young women.”

  She walked over to the door and held it open for us. It occurred to me that I’d never been kicked out of anywhere before—and I hadn’t done anything to deserve it. Although in a way, I wished I had. I mean, I sort of just felt like a spectator.

  All six of us filed out of Verona’s. Tessa was the last to exit, and as she did, she did another fancy bow, doing a complicated hand gesture that ended with her tipping an imaginary hat.

  “Fairest lady, I humbly take my leave,” said Tessa.

  “Yeah, right,” growled Definitely Verona.

  2

  “Be rul’d by me: forget to think of her.”

  “O, teach me how I should forget to think!”

  —Romeo and Juliet, I.i.228–229

  By then it was almost suppertime, so without discussing it—without talking at all, really—we found ourselves heading home. Tessa’s house was closest, and we were almost on her block when Lucy finally broke the uncomfortable silence.

  “Okay, Tessa,” she said. “So, can you explain what that was all about?”

  Tessa sighed. “I know, I know, you guys. I screwed up.”

  “Yeah, you did. You totally overreacted in there! All that quoting Shakespeare—”

  “I know! It was wasted on those Willow-ettes, anyway. All they hear is ‘thine’ and �
��thou,’ and their teeny little brains freeze up.” She pretended to stiffen.

  I couldn’t help grinning. “I really liked the line about sunburning.”

  Lucy gave me a look like, Way to help, Mattie.

  But I didn’t care. “I thought all those quotes were pretty great, actually. How do you know them?”

  “Theater camp,” Tessa said. “Our director, Juno, had a poster with all these hilarious Shakespearean insults, and my friend Henry and I memorized a bunch: ‘I’ll beat thee, but I should infect my hands,’ ‘I do wish thou wert a dog, that I might love thee something,’ ‘Vile worm, thou wast o’erlook’d even in thy birth.’ Although my favorite is definitely ‘mad mustachio purple-hued malt-worm.’ ”

  I burst out laughing. “What does that even mean?”

  “No idea. But it’s just so horrible, isn’t it? The whole summer, Henry and I kept calling each other that: Stop stealing my cookie, you mad mustachio purple-hued malt-worm!” She sighed. “I swear, Mattie, Shakespeare is the best! He’s so good it’s like he came from outer space. Wouldn’t it be awesome if we did a Shakespeare for the eighth-grade play?”

  Lucy frowned. “Hey, guys. Can we please not change the subject?”

  “Sorry,” Tessa said. “What was the subject?”

  “How you picked a fight just now. At Verona’s.”

  “But I didn’t! I was just sitting there, enjoying the comfy chairs, and all of a sudden Charlotte goes—”

  “Tessa, it doesn’t matter,” Lucy scolded. “You responded to her. Overresponded. Look, the point is: We go to school with these people. We can’t be fighting with them all the time, okay? And Willow’s party is tomorrow night.”

  “Hey,” I said as we arrived at Tessa’s corner. “Maybe what happened at Verona’s is a sign that we shouldn’t go to this party. I mean, really, if we don’t even like each other—”

  “Then we should definitely go,” Tessa finished.

  “But why?”

  “Like Lucy said, we’re all going to school together, so we have to get along. Somehow.” Tessa rolled her eyes. “And anyway, they need to see that they can’t keep us out.”