11. Court of Elsinore

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Court of Elsinore

M ovie night is a sacred tradition among friends, and after the stress of the past few days, I'm more than ready for some mindless entertainment.

The door swings open, revealing Carlisle's bright smile. "You made it!"

"Wouldn't miss it."

Her suite at the Mayfair dorms is a stark contrast to the cramped boxes we get in Hathaway. It's large and airy, with modern furnishings that somehow still manage to convey a sense of coziness. The aroma of popcorn fills the air, mingling with the scent of melted butter.

It's comforting after worrying about a big, scary, secret society.

Carlisle closes the door behind us and leans against it, her expression turning wistful. "You know, I sometimes forget how nice it is to have a normal evening," she says, her voice tinged with a hint of melancholy.

"They're still after you?" I ask with sympathy.

She makes a face. "Someone stuck a phone into a bathroom stall I was in. Thankfully, I hadn't sat down yet, but…yuck."

"That's horrible."

She shrugs. "It's the life I chose, or at least, the life that chose me. But sometimes, I just want to be a regular college student."

When I first met her at orientation, I didn't know who she was.

Then I learned she was Carlisle Lockwood, the childhood movie star and teen pop singer. I thought we'd never speak again. What could we have in common? Except she wants someone to treat her like a regular college person.

And I've learned that money doesn't solve problems.

Even if a little more would help.

We all have our own battles, our own versions of a life that's both a blessing and a curse. "Well, tonight, you're just Carlisle, my friend and rom-com enthusiast," I say. "So, what'll it be tonight?"

Her face lights up, the shadows of her public persona fading away. "I was thinking we could start with a classic, How to Lose A Guy in Ten Days. "

I nod, as if I know what that means. She's been trying to fill in the gaps of my pop culture knowledge. We joke that it's a class I'm taking at Tanglewood University. It could be called Modern Terminology for Chronically Nose-in-a-Book People.

"But then I thought…Princess Bride?"

"Is that the one where she finds out she's a long-lost princess?" I vaguely remember people talking about that one in school.

"Umm, no. That's something totally different. You'll like Princess Bride. It's got old things in it."

I grin at her description of my tastes. Old things like Shakespeare and Renaissance literature. Oh, and Professor Stratford. I do like him, unfortunately.

"I'm in your capable hands," I say, settling onto the plush sofa, its cushions enveloping me in a warm embrace. Carlisle joins me, her eyes sparkling as she queues up the movie. She plays it from her phone, casting it into a huge flat screen that's set into a picture frame.

As the opening credits roll, I find myself momentarily transported away from the drama of the Shakespeare Society, the haunting image of Tyler's injured form, and the complicated feelings I harbor for Professor Stratford .

We laugh together at the comedic antics of the Dread Pirate Roberts and Viccini, of the lasting love between Buttercup and Westley.

Inigo Montoya has finally found the man who killed his father—Prepare to die—when an alert pops up on the screen.

New mention, it says. By Tanglewood Tea.

It shows the opening line. "The Shakespeare Society brings drama, literally. Meanwhile, Carlisle Lockwood…"

The text cuts off.

"What are they saying about you now?"

The anonymous campus gossip site doesn't often talk about her, probably because she's gotten so good at hiding in her dorm room. And watching out for jerks in bathrooms. But when they do mention her, it's never complimentary.

Her cheeks have turned pink, betraying her emotion even as she tells me, "It doesn't matter."

I'm already on my phone.

Meanwhile, Carlisle Lockwood once again thinks that she's the only person on campus who can sing. A reliable source says she'll be singing the National Anthem at the spring football game. Maybe after that she can stop throwing herself so desperately at the media.

"You didn't tell me you were singing at the football game."

"For one thing, you don't care about football."

"Yeah, but I'd go to support you."

"Tickets sold out a long time ago. I could probably get you in… But I wouldn't subject you to that."

"I mean, I wouldn't want to watch the ball stuff."

She grins and then sobers. "They're just doing it for the ratings boost. I'm not the best singer here, obviously."

"You're a great singer, and I hate that they get to make you feel bad."

"Nah, it's just the truth. The music department here is world class. I would have said no so they could pick someone else, but then people would have said I was being stuck up, thinking I'm too good to participate in my own college."

"You should sue them. They can't just write anything they want about you and get away with it."

She looks at me with a mixture of amusement and resignation. "That's how it works, actually. The tabloids, the online socials. My lawyers told me a long time ago to ignore it, that going after them isn't worth it. "

"It's still not right."

"Besides," she says, "the people behind Tanglewood Tea are anonymous. There's no one to sue. And don't suggest subpoenaing the social sites. That never works. They're locked down tighter than the freaking Pentagon."

"How can they get away with lying?"

"Maybe it's not a lie. Maybe I am desperate for media coverage."

I snort. "You wouldn't be in here hanging out with a rando like me if you cared about being seen in the media."

"You're not a rando. You're my friend."

I can't help myself. I look down to read the rest of the post, this time aloud for Carlisle's benefit.

The Shakespeare Society has reached the next act of their super exclusive, goth emo, asshole elitism play. There wasn't much dancing or public sex at their last event. In fact, we aren't clear on the specifics of what did happen, but we do know that three students ended up in the hospital, with one dropping out of TU for the semester in favor of a mental hospital. Rumor has it the Society isn't planning to drop the curtain anytime soon.

I rub my forehead where worry has formed a knot.

Carlisle also looks concerned, but it's focused on me. "They sound pretty scary. You're not still going to their stuff, are you?"

I shake my head. "No, I gave my invitation to this stunt to someone at the school who's trying to shut them down. But apparently he couldn't stop it."

"Maybe he's part of it."

My cheeks flush. I never told her about Professor Stratford. "I don't think so. He's ex-military. Super honorable."

"Maybe, but professors are involved. Parents, too."

"What?"

"That's the only reason it's still happening."

"There's this guy in some of my classes. Tyler. He went. It really messed him up."

Her eyes widen. "Is he okay?"

"He will be, but it was bad," I explain, the memory of Tyler's battered form still fresh in my mind. "It seems like they're escalating."

"Look, I really don't want you to get hurt. And getting mixed up with them is probably a terrible idea, but…"

When she doesn't finish the thought, I say, "I'm already mixed up with them. You know what happened to Daisy."

"Is she doing okay?"

I still didn't know how to answer that. She's not in a mental hospital. But then, maybe she should be. I don't think pretending like nothing is wrong is helping.

"I don't know," I say, opting for honesty.

"I can't believe I'm even going to say this, but maybe you should go to the next event. You could use your invite to go undercover, so to speak. Gather evidence, expose them for what they really are."

It could help put a stop to their dangerous games.

Or it could land me in the mental health hospital, too.

"I want to help, to fight back, but I'm not exactly a James Bond."

She reaches out, her hand covering mine in a reassuring gesture. "You're strong and brave and smart. So, does Bond have some gadgets? Sure, but… Wait, don't tell me you haven't watched one yet."

"It doesn't matter. The dean specifically asked me to stay away from the Society. He says it's too dangerous, and after seeing this, I think he's right. "

"No, of course he is. It was just a crazy idea. Forget I said anything."

"I need to keep my grades up for my scholarship, and with how much time I've spent on that prize I mentioned, it hasn't been easy."

"Yes, totally. School is the most important thing."

"Why does it feel like you're just saying that?"

"You're completely right. It is too dangerous. And you should focus on school. It's just… If not you, then who? You're one of the few people who has both the courage and the access to do something about it. The Society is out of control, and someone needs to expose them before more people get hurt."

"I'll think about it."

Her words resonate with me, stirring a sense of responsibility. I'm torn between my own survival instinct and the undeniable pull of justice. I think of Tyler, his face pale with pain, and the fear in Dean Morris's eyes when he spoke of the Society's escalating antics.

The conversation moves on to Carlisle's life, in which her mother continues being a problem. She wants her to go back to performing concerts and starring in Netflix movies. She claims she's worried about Carlisle's career taking a hit that she'll regret later. But Carlisle thinks she just wants the cut she gets as her manager.

Ironically, this is something we have in common. Whether it's a few hundred dollars or a few million, neither of our parents mind exploiting us.

It's late by the time I leave, stepping out of her room into the hallway.

I'm so lost in my thoughts that I almost stumble upon them—Matteo, locked in a passionate embrace with another man. Unlike the Hathaway, this dorm doesn't split up genders, so it's not weird to find guys here. Though it is a little awkward to see a classmate I barely know in such an intimate position.

I move to squeeze by them, but Matteo looks up, locking eyes with me. His expression shifts from surprise to anger, and I feel a jolt of animosity.

"Anne Hill," he says with disdain. "Out for a late-night stroll?"

"I was just hanging out with someone. No biggie." I try to make it clear I have no problem with him and whatever he's doing before walking away, but he follows me, leaving his partner in the shadows.

"I know whose room that is. Carlisle Lockwood, pop star, coke head, slut— "

"Shut the hell up."

He grins. "Or maybe you were only waiting until I was around, stalking me for something intelligent to say about Hamlet."

"Wow, the ego on you needs its own zip code."

I walk away when he adds, "You know, you could spend all the time in the world with that mentor of yours, and it still wouldn't get you close to winning the Tempest Prize."

His words hit me like a slap, and my resolve crumbles. "What's that supposed to mean?" I demand, my voice trembling with anger.

Matteo laughs, the sound grating in the stillness of the night. "You're out of your league here. There's zero chance of beating me, no matter how hard you try. So forget about the Tempest Prize."

I bristle at his words. "I guess we'll see."

"May the best man win. That's me, by the way."

I know he's just trying to get under my skin, to shake my confidence, but I'm afraid he might be right. I walk the rest of the way back to my dorm lost in thought, Matteo's derisive laughter ringing in my ears.

The elevators in Hathaway are broken.

Again .

I trudge up three flights of stairs to my dorm room, the weight of the day pressing down on me. The encounter with Matteo has left a bitter taste in my mouth. I push open the door, grateful for the sanctuary of my small, cluttered room. The Hathaway is old and smelly, but it's where I belong—unlike the glittering, cut-throat glamor of Mayfair.

Daisy is asleep, her chest rising and falling in a peaceful rhythm, her blonde hair splayed out on the pillow. She looks so serene, so untouched by the pain. I hope it leaves her alone in her dreams at least.

As I change into my pajamas, my eyes catch a glimpse of something on my desk—a thick envelope, embossed with the seal of the Shakespeare Society. My heart skips a beat. I know what it is without even opening it. Another invitation.

I approach the desk with caution, as if the envelope might explode at any moment.

I look back at my roommate, her features softened by sleep. She survived but at what cost? And Tyler still doesn't look the same. How many more will suffer before someone puts a stop to it?

A fierce determination takes hold of me. I can't stand by and do nothing while my friends get hurt. It's time to take a stand .

And as Carlisle said, if not me, then who?

I open the envelope and read the elegant script.

For some reason, this one has my name.

Ms. Hill,

You are invited to join the court of Elsinore, where madness and reason wage war, where life and death face off in a timeless battle. This event is not for the faint of heart. Come if you dare…but know that your attendance means complete and utter surrender.

God, they're dramatic.

What kind of bullshit thing are they going to do this time? An underground party with themed cocktails and gambling and even an orgy was fun enough. Risky enough. It's clear they're getting worse. Getting more intense. Getting more dangerous.

The gravedigger stunt? Insane.

And this invitation sounds worse than the last.

Then again, if I'm too afraid to face the real world, with all its shadows, then I might as well go home. Might as well move back in with my parents and support them and their delusions until I die.

My survival instincts tell me to stay away from him. Another voice whispers in the back of my mind, insidious and compelling. What if I'm the only one who can get close enough to uncover the truth? What if, by some twist of fate, I'm the key to stopping him?

The vow comes to me with the moonlight casting long shadows across the room. I'll attend the Society's next gathering. And I will do whatever it takes to bring the Shakespeare Society down, to expose them for the danger they are.

For Daisy.

For Tyler.

For the university.

For myself.

And maybe, somehow, even for Professor Stratford. It's time he understood the true cost of his twisted extracurricular activities. He has to be stopped. It might as well be by someone who's been foolish enough to fall for him.