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

book bag you have there.”
    Dezzie’s tiny voice responded, “Thank you.”
    “Would you like to buy some drugs? They will make you smarter.”
    WHAT?! I crammed both hands over my mouth and doubled over, trapping the giggles that wanted to escape. Dad must have really felt that the kids at HoHo were out to get Dezzie.
    “No, thank you. Drugs are bad.” Dezzie’s voice sounded like it was coming from a doll—dry, flat, and emotionless. “Do we have to continue with this, Father?” she asked. “It is utterly ridiculous. I highly doubt that anyone at Howard Hoffer Junior High School will offer me illicit substances or, if they do, that it will be done in such a straightforward, unambiguous way. Did you do this with Hamlet when she matriculated there?”
    Nope, they hadn’t. They’d given me a short lecture as a sixth grader about “being my own self ” and watching the crowd I associated with, and that was it. I wasn’t laughing anymore. What would Dad say?
    “Your sister was substantially older than you when she entered junior high school. You are vulnerable in a different way than she.” So I hadn’t gotten the drugs talk because I was older and less vulnerable? That’s it?
    A little annoyed with that answer—how about, “We trust her and she didn’t need a lecture,” instead?—I decided that Dezzie needed rescuing. I went back into the kitchen and rummaged around loudly for a glass of water. Dad and Dezzie emerged from the den, followed by Iago, our white puffball of a dog. A colleague of my parents’ who took a new job in Norway gave him to us. Dad was wearing his bee T-shirt: There were two bees on the back, the word “or,” and, below that, two bees with that red circle with the slash through it over them. Get it?
    Yeah.
    He thinks it’s hysterical.
    “I need to find my lecture notes for Birth of the Sonnet. Desdemona and I were discussing the skills she will need to navigate the junior high school.”
    “Oh,” I said. What other “skills” did he think Dezzie might need? Archery? Because that would be as useful at HoHo as his other pointers. My parents spent too much time in their school offices. They needed to get out more. Lots more.
    “Hamlet said she’d help me earlier today,” Dezzie said.
    Had I? Then I remembered our conversation in the stairwell.
    Dad seemed both hopeful and relieved. “Can you talk to her about the self-possession needed to attend junior high school? Your mother comes home at nine.” He said the last part with a tone that meant: “I’m supposed to be doing this and she will kill me if she sees you doing so. Be finished by then.”
    I shrugged. “No problem.” (Unlike Mom and her contractions, Dad lets us get away with using slang occasionally).
    Dad disappeared in the direction of his office, and Iago lay down on his purple pillow in the corner of the kitchen.
    “So how’d it go with your socialization lessons?” I asked. I giggled at the memory.
    Dezzie rolled her eyes. “You heard that? I know that our parents share a heavy burden of anxiety regarding my well-being at Howard Hoffer, but truly, Hamlet, you would think that I didn’t know any better . . . that I was . . .” She searched for the word.
    “Average?” I offered.
    “Precisely,” she replied.
    “Okay,” I told her. “But if you really want to survive HoHo, you need to know how to act normal.”
    “But I am not what one would consider ‘normal,’ due to my age and intellect,” Dezzie pointed out. “It would be contradictory for me to act in the way of a standard student.”
    “True,” I said, frustrated. For a smart kid, you’d think my sister would be able to understand everyday life better. “But junior high is not about standing out. It’s about fitting in.”
    “Why?”
    A bunch of answers came to mind: a.) Because that’s how it is . b.) Because no one wants to stand out. c.) Because it’s easier that way.
    “I don’t know.” Even my average brain knew none of