The Total Tragedy of a Girl Named Hamlet by Erin Dionne

Author:Erin Dionne [Dionne, Erin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin USA, Inc.
Published: 2011-09-25T15:10:42+00:00

After dinner that night, I tried to get Dezzie to help me with pre-al. My hope was that between her tutoring and begging Mr. Symphony not to send me for extra help, I’d be able to catch up enough to avoid this round of TLC. She was busy with calculus, though, and was determined to do some extra reading on the surrealists before bedtime. Although carrying the brains of a retired rocket scientist, she still needed the same amount of sleep as a regular seven-year-old, so she usually went to bed before me.

“If you’re coming in to TLC, I don’t see why you need me to work with you now,” she said, tapping her pencil against her math book. Iago was curled up on her bed, which lately had been meeting his “freshness standards” more than mine.

“I don’t want to come in for the help,” I explained. “It was just one bad test.” Sitting in TLC and being tutored with kids in my grade—while my seven-year-old sister watched—made my stomach pucker tighter than my mother’s drawstring purse.

“Well, I can’t do it now,” Dezzie said. This was the third time I’d asked, and she was getting irritable. “You’ll just have to wait until tomorrow, like everyone else.”

“Fine.” I closed her door harder than necessary on my way out.

I reopened it, causing the dog to jump. He hopped off the bed and left the room, rolling his eyes at me as he passed. Disturbing him twice in two nights? He’d be on his way to find some of my shoes to chew, I was sure.

“Look, don’t tell Mom and Dad—even by accident,” I said. “I really don’t want them to know about this.”

“I won’t,” she replied, eyes on her book, back to me.

“Seriously, Dezzie. Promise.”

“I won’t ,” she said again. “I have to do my work. Don’t you have some lines to practice or something?”

Grrr. I closed the door again.

In my own room, I spread the math book, test papers, and homework assignment across the bed and stared at them for a half hour. Dezzie was right. There was no way I’d be able to learn pre-algebra on my own in one night to the point where I wouldn’t need to go to TLC the next day. The attempt would be as useless as trying to wear the shredded sneaker I caught sight of, sticking out from under my bed.

The other thing Dezzie was right about? I had lines to review. I opened my copy of Midsummer to the first act, where Puck has been instructed to put fairy dust in the eyes of Demetrius, but he gets confused and puts the love potion on Lysander’s instead. I whispered the words out loud, afraid Mom or Dad would hear me and ask way more questions than I had answers for.

“Pretty soul! she durst not lie/Near this lack-love, this kill-courtesy./Churl, upon thy eyes I throw/All the power this charm doth owe.” The words slid like satin from my mouth. I didn’t know what “churl” meant, exactly, but I knew it wasn’t a compliment.

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