Romeo & Juliet & Co

By E. Kyba

A high school divided by a fierce rivalry. A poetry club gone viral. A secret from the past. One chaotic friend group. And, of course, two lovestruck teenagers.

In Verona High, where the feud between the Montague and Capulet cliques looms large, all Juliet wants is to stay out of trouble, and all Romeo wants is to win the heart of the elusive Rosaline. However, they discover that fate has other plans for them when they meet at a party and sparks fly, leading to several unlikely friendships that change the course of their school.

• Language: English
• Publisher: E. Kyba
• Release date: Jun 11, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223453949

Book preview

Big Fat Disclaimer

I wrote this book in high school, and none of the characters or events are meant to reflect people I currently know or have known. This is pure fiction.

Homecoming Heartbreak

Benvolio had a problem, and that problem was his cousin, and that cousin was named Romeo. Romeo’s sister, Rachel, said her younger brother was in a bit of a phase. The cause of the phase was anyone’s guess. Whatever it was, it was driving Romeo to ignore everyone and everything, except for his emo playlist, which was usually on full blast in his room whenever Benvolio came over to Romeo’s house. According to Rachel, Romeo’s preferred after-school activity was to sprint up to his room and lock himself inside. From the hallway, Rachel could hear Wake Me Up When September Ends on maximum volume accompanied by a crescendo of sobbing. At school, Romeo wasn’t much different, except less prone to emotional outbursts and more prone to walking around like a lost man, his eyes glazed over. It just wasn’t like him. Benvolio and his friend, Mercutio, had been trying to figure out what was wrong with Romeo for a week now.

No luck.

On a sunny Friday morning, Benvolio trailed his cousin to the entrance of their not-so-beloved school, Verona High. He was hoping to jog up and start a conversation. Romeo looked over his shoulder repeatedly, catching Benvolio in his peripheral. When he realized he was being approached, Romeo darted off into the hallways.

Fine. Romeo could have more alone time if he wanted it. Still, the mystery twisted around in Benvolio’s head. There had to be some way to solve the riddle of Romeo, but every bit of reasoning Benvolio tried brought him to a dead end.

Benvolio was shaken from his thoughts as someone shoulder-checked him, then had the temerity to yell, Watch where you’re going, Montague!

Leave me alone, man. I don’t want anything to do with the feud.

Then stay out of my way.

Benvolio didn’t reply. It was better to avoid talking to Capulets if it wasn’t necessary.

For all his efforts to lie low throughout high school, there were still people who recognized the group that had claimed him. Despite this, Benvolio never really felt like a Montague or supported the feud. His only real friends, Romeo and Mercutio, shared his lack of enthusiasm at the clique system that had ensnared their grade.

He heard footsteps approaching as Mercutio ran up beside Benvolio and slung his arm around him. Benvolio! What’s up, buddy?

Hey, Mercutio, said Benvolio. I was going to talk to Romeo today, but—

But he ran away from you?

Yep.

That’s what he did to me, so I chased him up both flights of stairs and back until Mr. Symmons yelled at me to stop.

That was smart.

Shut up. Anyway, I’m getting tired of trying to figure him out. I think we should just leave him alone for a while until he gets over himself.

He’s my cousin, Merc. I have to look out for him. When he gets into weird moods, I never know what he’s going to do next. Besides, doesn’t it bother you that he won’t talk to us? He always used to tell us what was going on.

And there was never much going on. It was always either about a girl that he doesn’t have the guts to ask out, or about a B- on a test.

Maybe there’s more going on this time.

I doubt it, said Mercutio. Look, if I could help him, I would. He’s one of my ultimate bros. But if he doesn’t want my help, I’m not going to follow him around like a puppy.

They passed a group of Capulet girls. One girl was quieter than the rest. She had a long, caramel braid trailing down her back, and a softness in her green eyes that indicated a sensitive soul behind them. She made eye contact with Benvolio and lifted her hand, giving a subtle little wave that the girls she was talking to never noticed. He smiled and waved back, hoping Mercutio wouldn’t notice.

Mercutio noticed.

She’s cute, Mercutio observed. Who is she?

Huh?

The girl you waved to. What’s her name?

I don’t know. She’s in my chem class, or something. We don’t talk or anything. I was just saying hi.

Mercutio, thankfully, didn’t probe any further, because Benvolio couldn’t lie convincingly to save his life. He knew the girl’s name...it was Rosaline. He couldn’t let even his best friends know who she was, let alone the nature of their relationship: just another reason this feud was driving him crazy.

And yet, somehow, Benvolio was happy to be back in school. It was almost October, and the school still buzzed with that fresh, celebratory energy, unique to the weeks right before homecoming. There hadn’t been that many fist fights (and by not that many, Benvolio meant four), and besides, despite Romeo, this seemed like it was going to be a good year.

Then Benvolio witnessed a Montague smash someone into a locker. He looked at Mercutio.

Don’t do it, said Mercutio. Don’t do it, Benvolio. Remember what happened last time. Don’t—okay, you’re doing it.

Benvolio went charging onto the scene, pacifist instincts surging. There were three Montague guys, and two Capulets. Benvolio recognized one of the Montagues: Abram. 

Stop it, geniuses. You don’t know what you’re getting us into. He wrenched Abram’s fist away from a Capulet.

Nobody responded, because nobody really cared what Benvolio’s advice was. Another Capulet, Tybalt, came charging at him. Well, that was just great. Tybalt hated Benvolio. And Romeo. And Mercutio. And everyone who was not a Capulet in general. 

It was a matter of seconds before Tybalt’s fist was soaring through the air. Benvolio let his instincts take over, swerving and allowing Tybalt to fall on his face. Tybalt really didn’t have good technique when it came to fist fighting—his strikes were completely uncontrolled and he allowed his momentum to take him down with the missed punch. But what he lacked in skill, he more than made up for in brute force. He was back on his feet, livid with the laughter of nearby Montagues. There was a crowd gathering to watch their fight, but Benvolio hardly registered this as Tybalt immediately went running towards him again, this time trying to land an overhead punch. Benvolio slid out of his way, but just barely. He felt his stomach sink. The only way out of this situation was through it. He had to fight Tybalt.

There was one fact Benvolio always used when playing Two Truths and a Lie: he had never lost a fist fight. No one who knew Benvolio’s reputation for being a ninny (as Tybalt liked to call him) suspected this, but it was true. Benvolio owed his skills to his ninth grade physical science teacher who, on one of his many tangents from the lesson, had explained how to win a fight against someone who seemed stronger.

"You’re punching someone, right? Where do you look? Not right at their face, I can tell you that much. You want to aim at a space right behind the person’s head. That maximizes force. You do that, and they’ll be out like a light."

Most of the class had been distracted at the time (the first dance of freshman year was that weekend, and people constantly talked about it during class), but Benvolio had heard and remembered the advice. And it had served him well.

Benvolio calmly pulled his arm back, as he always did. He ran towards Tybalt. He let his fist slam as far back into Tybalt’s head as he could. In a matter of seconds, Tybalt was on the ground, KO.

The adrenaline overcame Benvolio, and a grin slipped onto his face. He loved physics.

He came to his senses when a crowd of boys started chanting, BEN! BEN! BEN!, even though he never went by that nickname. Not wanting to encourage the crowd madness, Benvolio slunk back into the rest of the student body, much to the disappointment of his peers. He had taken care of Tybalt, and wanted nothing more to do with this.

As he watched from the sidelines, other students began to filter into the fray. Benvolio sighed. He hadn’t meant to stir up the rest of the student body, but no matter how good his intentions had been, he felt guilty. Every person who joined a fight silently invited others to do the same. The fight escalated to its inevitable climax: Mark Montague, and Chris Russo began to charge each other. Benvolio saw Rachel run to pin back Mark, while Jasmine likewise restrained Chris, although she looked very reluctant to miss an opportunity to see Chris beat the crap out of her ex. 

Many people stopped fighting to watch the big four: Chris, Jasmine, Mark, and Rachel. They were the progenitors of the feud, which owed its beginning to the biggest, ugliest breakup in high school history. Jasmine and Mark had dated for several months in freshman year, and when they broke up, they dragged the rest of the grade into the drama, splitting into cliques supporting either side. These events had turned the big four into high school royalty. Everyone was fascinated by them because of the drama that swirled around them like a magic mist everywhere they went. For a lot of people, watching them was like watching a Netflix series. They were always trying to guess what Jasmine was thinking, what Mark would do next. Girls gathered for whispered conversations about whether Jasmine secretly still had feelings for Mark; whether Chris, her current boyfriend, was jealous; whether Mark and Rachel were really just friends. The feud was a reality TV show. It was a sports game. It was everything Verona High needed to fuel its teenage addiction to drama.

Benvolio, for one, thought the world was better off with as little drama as possible. He guessed that Mr. Escalus, the principal, probably thought the same thing as he strode into the hallway looking like he wanted (no, needed) a large mug of coffee. The action immediately came to a screeching halt.

Seriously? Mr. Escalus surveyed the students as they faced him guiltily. "We haven’t even been in school for a month, and this is the fifth fight."

This was actually impressive, given the school’s track record, but Mr. Escalus looked like he was running out of patience fast. Benvolio could guess why. There were rumors going around about their high school’s future. Verona High was a charter school. It had long been known for giving all students, from all backgrounds, a shot at the Ivy Leagues. Both their STEM and their humanities instruction were unparalleled. Academically, no one could question their school’s success. But the constant fights were drawing some very negative attention to the school, and word was going around that some powerful people wanted to see Verona High shut down. Mr. Escalus’s haggard appearance only fed that theory.

You know, I’ve tried everything. Retreats. Convocations. Detentions. Nothing is getting through. So why don’t we try something else? The next person to start a fight is going to be expelled. Now Jasmine and Mark, I’m expecting you in detention after school.

But we didn’t start this. Mark crossed his arms.

Didn’t you? 

What’s that supposed to mean? Jasmine raised an eyebrow.

You very well did start the fight. Chew on that for a while. Maybe think on it in detention.

Jasmine bit her lip, looking irritated. Chris grabbed her hand and the annoyance faded as she gazed up at him adoringly. But there was no telling whether the affection was feigned or not. Everyone was watching Jasmine, and she probably knew that.

The students dispersed, and Jasmine made her way to Mr. Escalus, presumably to argue her way out of detention. Mr. Escalus wasn’t having it, shaking his head as she followed after him with an indignant look on her face. Benvolio eventually found himself alone with Mark and Rachel. Benvolio stared intently at a heavily dented locker. Most lockers had been slammed into at some point, and bore the imprint of the fight. Someone’s binder was splayed out pathetically on the checkered linoleum floor, its contents sprawling. An angry, red C- glared up at Benvolio.

The white overhead lights were bright. Too bright. Too sterile. The floors and walls were fresh colors, and they were clean. This wasn’t the type of place you would expect a fight to break out. The smashed-in lockers and mess of papers seemed incongruous with the rest of the hallway. As if the school was supposed to be something different than it was now. He thought of Mr. Escalus’s threat. Expulsion. Would that heavy threat be enough to stop the fighting? Despite their best efforts, could admin really do anything to control the mad blood of angry teenagers?

Mark looked at Benvolio, and finally broke the silence. Do you have class?

No, just a study hall. Do you?

We have French, Mark explained, but I have a few passes saved up. It shouldn’t be an issue if we’re late. Will you tell us real quick how the fight started?

Benvolio sighed, and explained: A couple of Capulets and Montagues were fighting here when I came by, so I went in to break it up. Then Tybalt started fighting me, and while we fought, more and more people showed up until Mr. Escalus came. You know what happened after that.

Do you know where my brother is? Rachel wrung her hands. I mean, I’m glad he wasn’t at this fight, but I just don’t know what’s up with him.

Benvolio hesitated. I don’t know. I tried to talk to him this morning, but he ran off when he saw me. I’m sorry.

Rachel shook her head. Don’t be. It’s not your fault—he’s like that with everyone. He barely talks to us at home anymore. He’s either out taking walks or in his room with his music.

Why? asked Mark, who had been trying to act like the drama didn’t interest him.

I don’t know, and I can’t seem to get an answer out of him. Rachel raked a hand through her dark hair in frustration.

Have you tried probing him? asked Benvolio. Rachel was good at probing.

I’ve tried. Mom’s tried. Dad’s tried. Even Grandma tried, but Romeo’s so guarded about this. It must really be bad if he won’t talk to you or Mercutio about it.

A shadowy figure appeared at the end of the hallway. With a start, Benvolio recognized Romeo. Romeo was wearing a black hoodie, blatantly ignoring the uniform guidelines, his back curved into a dejected slouch. 

There he is. Let’s see if I can get an answer out of him. Benvolio made for his cousin. 

I’ll leave you to it. I really hope he’ll talk to you—or anyone—at some point. Rachel looped her arm through Mark’s and headed in the opposite direction.

Benvolio examined Romeo as he approached. He wasn’t used to seeing his cousin so down and out. His dark eyes, so similar to Rachel’s, were dull, like he couldn’t find a reason even to pretend he was interested in the world around him.

Good morning, Romeo, said Benvolio tentatively.

Romeo didn’t react beyond a lazy blink. Is it so early?

It’s barely nine o’clock.

Romeo sighed deeply. Sad hours seem long.

Do you mind telling me why your hours are so sad and long?

Not having the thing that makes them short. Romeo stared into the distance and waited for Benvolio to offer a guess. 

In love?

Out—

Of love?

Out of luck when it comes to love.

So there’s a girl you like?

I’m a slave to Cupid. I can’t help it. Romeo offered a total non-answer, and started walking again, stopping when he saw the remnant of the fight. His eyes widened. Another fight?

Yep.

This— Romeo pointed to the mess of their surroundings, —is what my heart feels like right now. Everything is turned upside down. Nothing makes me happy anymore. To me, smoke is clear, fire is cold, health is sick, and sleep is wakeful. Do you get how I feel, Benvolio?

Benvolio currently had no idea what was going on, but he nodded sympathetically. That sounds really hard. I’m sorry you have to go through all...all this.

Romeo sighed deeply again. That’s the sad thing about kindness. I have my own stuff to deal with, and now I have to deal with you feeling sorry for me. That makes me feel even worse. Romeo turned to dramatically stare into space again. Goodbye, Benvolio.

As he continued walking, Benvolio followed. He had gotten Romeo to talk, and he wasn’t about to leave without all the answers he wanted. Wait, I’ll go with you. You can’t just leave me in the middle of a conversation.

But I left a long time ago. I’ve lost myself. I’m not here, and this isn’t Romeo. The old Romeo is never coming back, Romeo protested, although he stopped and turned to face his cousin.

Seriously, who is it that you’re so into? Benvolio clicked his tongue impatiently.

Rosaline Decour.

In the span of a few seconds, a series of emotions hit Benvolio. The first was guilt. Guilt, because the girl that Romeo liked was the Rosaline. His Rosaline. But Romeo wouldn’t have pursued Rosaline if he had known about Benvolio’s