The Total Tragedy of a Girl Named Hamlet Read Online Free PDF Page A

later.
    Once inside the caf, I looked for Ty, Judith, and Ely at our usual table, but there were a bunch of seventh graders sitting there. The room was packed—was it more crowded than last year?—and everywhere I turned, it seemed, there were kids I didn’t recognize. Great.
    Spotting sixth graders was easy: They clustered at their tables like they were afraid of attack, or wore identical expressions of joy at finally finding elementary school friends. I stood, marooned in the center of the caf, searching for a familiar face, almost wishing I were back in sixth grade—at least my feelings would match the situation.
    “Hey, Ham!” I caught my name above the rumble of conversation and clatter of trays. Turning, I scanned the room for the yeller.
    “Over here!” An arm waved from the eighth-grade table area. Of course! I’d been so busy worrying about Dezzie, I’d forgotten that my lunch table would have relocated. With a mixture of pride (at being able to sit in the best section of the caf) and embarrassment (that I hadn’t remembered earlier), I headed over to the waver.
    Um, yeah.
    I should have been paying better attention.
    “I didn’t even see you guys,” I began, plopping my lunch bag onto the table and pulling out a chair. “I can’t believe I forgot that—” I froze. Instead of Ty, Ely, Judith, and the others in our lunch bunch, my brown bag was parked next to Saber Greene, Mauri Lee, Carter Teegan, and his buddies KC Rails and Mark Sloughman. “I forgot that . . . uhhh . . .” I was stuck half in and half out of my seat, unsure of where to go. At the sight of Carter, my heart pounded and cheeks flushed. So not the smooth reaction that I’d imagined when we finally had lunch together.
    “Sorry,” I gulped, deciding to stand. “I thought I saw someone—”
    “Waving?” Saber finished. I nodded, hoping my face didn’t show my internal misery. If I hadn’t had to drag Dezzie all over school, I’d be with my own friends, at our new table, not suffering my zillionth awkward situation of the day. Sneaking a glance at Carter, I saw that he was paying more attention to opening his bag of chips than me. KC, on the other hand, was staring straight at me. His reddish brown hair stood up like a spiky crown. He crossed his eyes. I’d seen him more so far today than I had in the previous two years combined, when he’d spent almost as much time in detention as in class.
    “That was me,” said Mauri, redirecting my attention. She had a small tray of what looked like sushi spread in front of her. When we visited my aunt Hope in New York last year before the annual Shakespeare convention, she took me out to try it. Due to the seventeenth-century cookbook Mom’s been working on for the past year, I’m used to eating large chunks of beef and pork, so it was a good change. But, really, who brings sushi for lunch in junior high?
    Then Mauri’s words sunk in.
    “You?”
    “Mm-hmm,” she said. She plucked a seaweed-wrapped roll off her tray and popped it into her mouth. Pieces of rice got stuck under her purple-polished nails, so she sucked them out. Icky! So icky!
    “Oh.”
    “You can sit, you know,” Saber said, sounding like their pack leader.
    “Hey, Spamlet,” KC said. I ignored him. KC was one of those guys who was always geeking out, doing something weird, something that made him the center of attention.
    “So,” Saber continued, “tell us about your sister. She looks a little young to be a sixth grader, and she’s in our art and music classes. Where is she?” She twirled the end of her braid. A container of yogurt and an untouched peach sat in front of her.
    Dezzie hadn’t done much explaining.
    “She’s just here in the morning,” I said, stammering over my words. They came in clusters, like grapes. Immediately, I hated myself for sounding so lame. Then I hated their lame questions.
    “Eat,” Mauri said, gesturing to my bag.
    Obediently, I unpacked my lunch—an apple, a small