That Way Madness Lies: XV of Shakespeare's Most Notable Works Reimagined

by Dahlia Adler

He never does the shoving, the yanking, the punching, but he’s always there, laughing.

Chutzpah isn’t a remotely strong enough word for what Shai’s hearing. It’s shocking enough to root him into place, even though the idea of entertaining Tony’s demand is so preposterous, it would make him laugh if he weren’t programmed to be utterly terrified of the boy standing in front of him.

“If you can afford to pay back a loan with interest, then why don’t you just lend Sebastian the money?” “Well, I don’t have the money right now. But I will. I’ll get it.” It’s then that Shai understands: he is in the position of power. It’s a position he’s never once held over Antonio Devenzano, and it’s exhilarating and daunting and makes his mind race with possibilities. His heart pounds as he tests out this theory, sliding out from under Tony’s grip and facing him. It requires tilting his head up, confronting for the millionth time the fact that Tony looks like he could crush him with one hand and eat him for breakfast with room for a couple of waffles left over. But Tony doesn’t grab him back, doesn’t threaten him. He can’t, if he expects any cooperation. For the first time between them, size doesn’t matter. And even though Shai knows he should tell Tony to eff off, that he doesn’t have the money and that he and Bas will have to go squeeze someone else for cash, he can’t bring himself to say the words. This is the kind of control he’s dreamed of for years. And while he knows there’s no way in hell Tony would respect any kind of financial arrangement, it occurs to him that maybe there’s a way to take this power a little further. He conjures a silent prayer for the bar mitzvah money he’s been stashing away for college, for the favors he’ll have to call in for the plan taking a messy shape in his brain, and says, “Okay.” Tony’s eyes widen in surprise, and it makes Shai fe...

“You’re crazy. You’re literally crazy.” “Not crazy enough to permanently scar myself with hate,” Shai replies with a calmness that feels like fire ants on Tony’s skin.

She looks up at Bas as if he holds all the answers in the world.

He wants to think the White Knights would come to his rescue if push came to shove. He wants to be sure Bas would. But truly, he doesn’t know; he only knows that guys like him succeed and guys like Shai fail, and that’s going to have to be enough for now.

Shai cannot believe it worked. He has utterly loathed that tattoo since he first spotted it on the home security tape that caught Tony and his Neanderthal friends defacing his car, arms bared by ribbed white tank tops. It’s the tattoo that’s kept him in hiding, the knowledge that he walks the halls with a boy who holds enough hate in his heart to permanently scar himself with it. It feels so fitting that it should be the beginning of the end of Tony’s reign of terror.

“Dude, the curse is not real. Jews are cheap and sneaky, not magical.”

Bas would probably burst into flames if he walked into a room with more than three books inside. But despite the relative calm that’d come into his life since Tony had stopped harassing him every day, choosing avoidance rather than looking his debtor in the eye, Shai knew it was bad news as soon as he saw Bas’s hulking form lumbering in his direction.

“I don’t, actually. Tony came begging—begging—for money he needed for a friend. This whole money-borrowing thing was supposed to be some sort of honorable mission. And he’s the one who’s always bragging about his car and his clothes, so honestly, isn’t it a little embarrassing that he can’t pay me back?” Shai shrugs as if it’s truly the most pitiful thing he’s ever heard. “I wouldn’t have thought he’d want the entire school knowing he’s completely broke, but what do I know?” It’s accurate and brutal, and Shai knows it, knows from the way Bas winces that he’s hit his mark with his framing. “Christ, you really are a dick. Tony wasn’t kidding about Jews being shady, heartless pricks,” Bas mutters under his breath. “All that and you still want to carve him up. What are you even gonna do with that tat? You know you can’t just stick it on yourself, right?” And just like that, Shai, who had never raised his voice within the walls of Venice High, who’s made himself so small that he can disappear into the confines of a librarian’s office and be entirely forgotten, who’s been riding the bus to school for weeks because he can’t bring himself to take his hatefully defaced car to the shop, whose wrist still aches when it rains because of the time Tony thought it would be hilarious to trip him down the stairs, whose brain still echoes with a thousand hurtful nicknames … cracks. “You think,” he spits in a voice cold as steel, “that I want that hateful shit anywhere near me, let alone tou...

“The contract is absurd. But it’s legal, and it’s signed, and right now the best thing you can do is just show up and deal with it in person.”

There has to be another way, and he will find it.

“I can’t go to court. This can’t be on my record. You know I can’t afford the fees.” “That is extremely not my problem,” Shai says coolly. “You want to avoid court? We can take care of this at my house with my excellent plastic surgeon cousin. We both know you don’t have the money, so those are your options.”

“There’s a lot you don’t see, apparently.”

Now it isn’t only Tony’s tattoo that’s itching; the feeling of his skin trying to burn itself from his bones is traveling to every limb.

His eyes dart between the scalpel and Shai’s face, which shows no sign of fear or remorse. It hits Tony then that this is really going to happen, that he’s really going to be sliced open, that his very skin is going to be torn from his body, that there will be no last-minute rescue. His father isn’t going to charge in and stop this, and the Knights aren’t going to be his saviors. He has to get out of here, has to get out, has to get out—

“You’re a surgeon! Don’t you have to do no harm or some shit?” “You’re not exactly a traditional patient.” Raphael has the same calm demeanor as his cousin, which is something Tony’s come to realize he has sorely misread as weakness. “Besides, I’m doing you a favor.” “Like hell you are! Bas, help me!” “You let him go, and I’ll sue you too, Sebastian,” Shai says coldly. “You can’t do that.” The wavering in Bas’s voice suggests he isn’t completely sure about that, though, and neither is Tony. “Pretty sure I can. You signed the contract. You’re a witness that he owes me this. And before you get high and mighty about it, why didn’t you just use your own money to take out Persia? I mean, it’s kind of your fault he’s in this position in the first place, isn’t it?” “I’d have had money if he hadn’t ‘borrowed’ it from me for a concert ticket he couldn’t afford,” Bas snaps. “You’re not the only one he screwed over.”

Bas rejoins Persia, who’s been sitting stone still on the padded bench on the side of the room in Shai’s enormous basement this entire time, every bit as cold and unmoved as the treacherous, devilish cousins about to massacre his flesh. He takes one last look at the black ink upon his skin, the four numbers that mean nothing to some and everything to others, and both hates it and believes it with every fiber of his being.

Part of him doesn’t know what he was thinking getting his body inscribed that way, and part of him feels more hate than ever, anger and rage at being bested and tortured. This tattoo was supposed to be proof of his supremacy, and he will leave here with a wound that will scar into proof he is no white king, not even a knight. Then he closes his eyes, squeezes them shut against the tears that threaten to fall, and says, “Go.” The scalpel is cold against his skin, and even before it takes its first cut, any bravery Tony felt slips away. His deep breaths devolve into panicked gulps, and the tears come freely. “Please don’t please don’t please don’t please don’t please please please please.” The room smells like sweat and fear and pee, and he cannot do this, cannot do this, will not survive it, will not—

“You asshole,” Tony blubbers, because he wants to be triumphant in this moment but is still shaking. “You tried, but you’ll never—” “I’ll never what?” Shai spits back. “I’ll never make you piss your pants in fear the same way I almost did when I came home to those swastikas? I’ll never make you cower, afraid you’re about to feel a world of pain, the way you’ve done to me a million times for no reason other than that I wear a kippah? I’ll never make you beg and plead the way you’ve had me do from inside my locker over and over again? I’ll never make you feel completely friendless and alone? I’ll never make you wish for death because you know it’ll be a lot more pleasant than whatever you’re about to endure?” Shai unbuckles the first strap, and they both watch the blood flow back into Tony’s arm, though his face remains white. “I did it, Devenzano. I made you feel the way that brand on your arm is intended to make everyone like me feel—everyone with less power than you in a world that rewards you for being a blank slate. I want you to remember that every single time you look at that number in the mirror, every time you tag someone’s car. I want you to think about everyone you’ll be terrorizing with that tattoo, everyone you’ll be making feel the same panic you felt today, everyone who’s unsure just how deeply you mean what your skin says.” The second one is unbuckled, but Tony is unable to move, unable to internalize that he’s actually free. Finally, he rasps, “So now what? ...

Her outside demeanor is calm as always, but Shai sees the storm still surging behind her dark eyes, knows a part of her feels sick about this but a bigger part is glad to have played a role after staying in the shadows for so long. “Well, that went about as well as it could have.” Shai smiles wryly. “Got the job done, I think. Thank you for playing your part so well. Let no one say Jews do not excel at theatre.” “Raph was pretty great too. You’re lucky to have such a talented stable of cousins,” she says with a curtsey. Then her face grows serious. “Listen, I’m sorry—” “Don’t.” Shai squeezes her hand. “You’ve got your reasons for hiding your Jewishness, and I’ve got my reasons for wearing mine on my sleeve. Or, more literally, on my head, I guess. We both know the world isn’t exactly kind to us.” “No, it’s really not. I hate how grateful I am that my dad has the least Jewish name ever.” “Well, you made good use of that here, and it was cool and brave as hell.” Shai grins. “Mi yode’ah im la’et ka’zot higat l’malchut?” Who knows whether you came to the kingdom for a time such as this? “Did you just quote Esther at me?” “Good ear.” “The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose,” says Persia, cracking her own smile. “Nice job, cuz.”

The quality of mercy is not strain’d, It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven Upon the place beneath: it is twice blest; It blesseth him that gives and him that takes: ’Tis mightiest in the mightiest: it becomes The throned monarch better than his crown; His sceptre shows the force of temporal power, The attribute to awe and majesty, Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings; But mercy is above this sceptred sway; It is enthroned in the hearts of kings, It is an attribute to God himself; And earthly power doth then show likest God’s When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew, Though justice be thy plea, consider this, That, in the course of justice, none of us Should see salvation: we do pray for mercy; And that same prayer doth teach us all to render The deeds of mercy. I have spoke thus much To mitigate the justice of thy plea; Which if thou follow, this strict court of Venice Must needs give sentence ’gainst the merchant there.

My love is as a fever, longing still For that which longer nurseth the disease, Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill, The uncertain sickly appetite to please. My reason, the physician to my love, Angry that his prescriptions are not kept, Hath left me, and I desperate now approve Desire is death, which physic did except. Past cure I am, now reason is past care, And frantic-mad with evermore unrest; My thoughts and my discourse as madmen’s are, At random from the truth vainly express’d; For I have sworn thee fair and thought thee bright, Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.

“Sophie,” he said, straightening. “Sophie, look at me.” When she didn’t speak, he groaned, and through her lashes she could see him drag his hands down his face. “God,” he said. “Right now, I don’t even think you like me, and I—I do so much for you. So much, Sophie. Don’t you know that?” She shook her head. “I can’t sleep sometimes, thinking about you,” he said, stepping forward. “Sophie. Look at me.” And with that, he moved as though to kiss her, but she shied away on her long legs. He reached for her with both hands, but she turned to run, the same way she had run the first time he had chased her, across the long lawn at school on an October morning until he caught her in a thicket of trees and kissed her over and over, chastely, his lips pressed gratefully to hers. She did not want his mouth near hers, not today, not with all this mysterious blood pouring down her chin, faster now, thick and tin-sweet, blood he did not seem to see as he backed her against the fence, prying her mouth open with his.

Why, such is love’s transgression. Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast, Which thou wilt propagate, to have it pressed With more of thine. This love that thou hast shown Doth add more grief to too much of mine own.

Sleep is my only solace Too many hours in the day So many hours Empty empty hours Let’s go out I’m already out U r?? where, I’ll meet u Out of my mind And not on hers She doesn’t even hate me I wish she hated me, hate would be something But I get nothing I’m as cold as a fire Heavy as a feather Healthy as death Awake only when sleeping and sleeping when awake I feel everything and nothing and I hate it and I love her

I live and die a lifetime every single day just thinking of her And she won’t even follow me back on insta Is she loaded She’s rich in beauty

So many other girls, man What is one girl?? Everything You don’t get it

She’s a swan You two are swine Look her up No one is hotter She’s like the sun No The sun wishes it was like her

Let’s go to this party u can see her and we can judge And find u someone hotter Romeo An impossible task But if it means I get to see her It will be enough

I’m dressed as a sexy RBG Ros Cool so it’s okay to be a sexy supreme court judge But not a ballerina Ava C Yes because feminism

I’m not opposed to slumming it with montagues A little fresh meat

Dick pics? Ros Worse Poetry

No you were right Rosaline is a crow And now I’ve seen a dove

How can you not see her It’s like every light in the room is on her Or she is the light

God, look at her hands I would die to hold her hand Touching her would be like praying

I have to see her again Did I breathe before tonight Did the sun shine before today Was there beauty before I saw her My hands I swear my hands are different Holy Purer for having touched her hands

Did you see her though? I never saw before tonight I really didn’t understand I thought I knew what love was But now Oh god, now I know

I can see you You’re like the sun I could find you anywhere

God, you’re so beautiful It makes me want to die I could honestly die happy tonight Having met you Looked at you Touched your hand

People get so stuck up about going to Capulet. Like they’re roses in a garden of weeds because of the name. They tried to beat me up just for talking to you But they don’t care about me! No one is friendly. No one even sees me. No one ever sees me. Not really. They’re jealous I wish you could see yourself the way I saw you tonight You’re like the sun And everyone is the moon Pale and cold and sad They really tried to beat you up? Can you really see me? What am I doing right now? Leaning on the balcony Stealing my heart and my breath Now you’re covering your face As though that could dim your beauty But what if they find you? I don’t care I couldn’t leave without seeing you again Besides If you don’t feel the same way I do I’d just as soon they beat me to death Oh my god, don’t say that! … … … I do. I do feel the same way. Then nothing can hurt me Not ever again But … But how do I know you really feel that way? And I … Well, I’ve never had a boyfriend. But I do feel the same way! And we only just met. Am I a fool? I swear by the moon Oh, the moon you just said was pale and cold? No! I mean, I swear by the sun So you’re swearing to me, by me? You are impossible What should I swear by? What will you believe? Because I have never been this serious This sincere I feel you in every inch of my soul I don’t care that we just met There are some things you can never know Until you know them Never feel Until you feel them And I was changed the moment I saw you Swear by yourself, then...

But anyone who doesn’t love you Doesn’t deserve to know you

I got into a ballet school. That’s great though It’s in Paris. No No you can’t go We just found each other

God, I know you’re scared But I want this And I swear I’ll take care of you We’ll be together and I’ll take care of you You promise? I swear it Tomorrow then. Tomorrow I feel like I could burst Tomorrow is infinitely far away And yet I float through the night toward it Tomorrow, my love Tomorrow, my love.

I wish we could be together now. I don’t want to be apart from you. It feels like a dagger in my chest. I can’t breathe.

Please God, please You know how things have been lately I love her I love her so much I need this She needs this

I don’t know what I’d do without you You’re the only adult in my life who listens or cares

I love you I’m sorry tonight got so out of control You’re the most important thing in the world And I swear I’m going to protect you Hurry back to me

Please Uncle Laurence This is life and death Are you somewhere safe now? Yes Okay. This is insane. That poor child. Do you have the signature from her mother? Yes How did you get mixed up in this? I love her That’s the only thing that matters When you get older, you’ll see it differently. But I’ll do what I can to help.

I love u but u scare me u made everything fucking worse, man Romeo I didn’t make any of this happen Blame the costumes Blame the stars