Tris & Izzie (3 page)

I closed my eyes and tried to remember the color of the bottle Mom had poured the love philtre into. It was yellowish, wasn't it? About the size of a pinky finger?

There was a tiny yellow bottle in the back. I opened the cork and sniffed. It smelled sweet, somehow, but I could still detect the ginger in it. Maybe the recipe for a love potion on the Internet actually had been for a real love philtre—if you had the magic to make it work.

I took the tiny yellow bottle into the kitchen, then poured about a third of it into a green-tinged Sprite bottle to disguise it. I put the cap on, then stared at the bottle, trying to see if anyone could tell a difference in color.

Did I have to put in a hair from Branna and something from the guy for a love philtre, too? I didn't know. The sound of Mom's car in the driveway stopped my thinking. I ran and put the bottle of remaining love philtre back in Mom's cabinet, but the kitchen was still a mess when she walked in the front door.

She sniffed the air, then pointed an accusing finger at me. “Have you been trying to make a potion, Izzie?” she asked.

“What if I have?” I said.

Her eyes flickered over the red wine vinegar on the counter. She looked in the garbage can and pulled out the paper I had printed with the recipe from the Internet. “Love potion?” she asked. Her eyebrows rose. “You know this won't work without magic, right, Izzie?”

I shrugged. “I thought I would give it a try. It's for Branna.”

“Izzie, Branna is only sixteen. Even if this worked, don't you think it's a little early to try for eternal love?”

“Why? Juliet was only fourteen. Lots of kids fall in love in high school and end up getting married forever.”

“But are they happily married? Sixteen seems awfully young. And look what happened to Juliet.”

“Branna isn't silly like that. She won't change her mind.”

“Oh, really?” asked Mom. “And what about you? If you think a love potion is such a great idea, then why haven't you tried to make one for you and Mark? He's a nice boy, and you love him, don't you?”

I spluttered for a second. Mom really knew how to push my buttons. “Mom, Mark and I don't need a love potion. We're doing just fine without one.”

“It's not because you want to have more time to decide, for the rest of your life? You don't have any teeny, tiny little doubts about whether Mark is the one you will love until the day you die?” There was a flash of pain on her face as she said this, and it made me hesitate.

“Maybe I will do a love potion for me and Mark some-time,” I said.

“With that recipe? I won't worry about it, then,” said Mom. “Even if you had magic, I don't know that you could make it work. You're never going to be a witch, Izzie.”

“Fine,” I said, not looking at her. Why did she have to remind me of something so painful? I didn't remember the magical test I'd taken when I was five, but she had told me about it a hundred times. I didn't have magic. I had to live with that for the rest of my life.

“Have you asked Branna about this potion you're making for her?” asked Mom.

“Not exactly,” I said.

“What about Mark? Doesn't he know Branna pretty well? Maybe you should ask his opinion of what she'd want.”

“Mom, I still haven't told Mark about magic.”

“Hmm,” said Mom, sounding critical.

“I'm just not ready yet. I haven't found the right moment,” I said.

Mom shook her head and started cleaning up the dishes that I had used to make the Internet love potion. She handed me a dishcloth to wipe off the counter. “Don't misunderstand me, Izzie. I like Mark. I just don't think you two are the right fit. He seems … well, too steady for you. I'd think you'd be more interested in flash and adventure.”

“Flash? Mark is plenty flashy,” I said. She should see him on the basketball court. “And I would have thought you'd have had enough of adventure from Dad.” It came out hotly, and I knew as soon as I'd said it that it was the wrong thing. But I couldn't take it back.

“Adventure is for the young,” said Mom, and left the rest of the dishes in the sink for me to finish up.

After that, I figured telling her about Mel Melot and his wine bottle and the ineffective defense potion would have to wait for another day. Right now, I needed to find a way to give the real love philtre to Branna and the guy she was in love with. Whoever he was.

T
he next morning, Branna was at the bus stop, which is between our two houses. She was wearing her tight jeans, which show off how buff she is. She also had on a shirt with pink sequins that I coaxed her into buying a few weeks ago. Just because she's as strong as a guy doesn't mean she has to dress like one.

“Are you and Mark going to the homecoming game this weekend?” she asked me as we found seats in the back of the bus.

“Yeah. You want to come?” Branna usually doesn't like football games, partly because she doesn't like to be around Mark's whole posse. She's shy enough that she'd rather be with a smaller group.

But if she had changed her mind about the game, maybe that was a clue about who she was interested in. Someone in Mark's posse? That would make things easier.

There was Rick Gawain. He's tall enough, but I wondered what they would talk about. Rick doesn't say much; he just grunts when people ask him things. But maybe he's shy, like Branna, and needs to be with a smaller group, too. I was sure I could get Mark to nudge him into asking Branna on a date.

Or there was Will Bishop, student body president. He's not the athletic type at all, but he often has us laughing so hard that we're in tears. A lot of girls were dying to go out with him, and he was happy to oblige. But he never dated a girl more than once. Maybe he was waiting for someone serious, like Branna, to steady him.

“You don't think Mark would mind if I'm there?” asked Branna.

“No, he mostly wants to watch the game. I'm just there as eye candy,” I said.

Branna stared at me for a long moment, and I realized what I'd said.

“I didn't mean it like that,” I said. “Mark is really great to me, Branna. I am lucky to have him.”

“Maybe, but are you a match?” she asked. “Are you des-tined to be in love with each other? Are you the perfect couple, forever and ever?”

Branna was so serious about everything. Maybe Will Bishop was the right guy for her; maybe he could get her to lighten up.

“I didn't mean anything,” I said. “Mark and I are a great match.” Although it was nice of her to worry about me like that.

“So what's going to happen next year, when Mark goes to college?”

“He's not planning to go away. He'll be at the Tech,” I said. The Tech is here in Tintagel, only two miles from the high school. “So nothing has to change.”

“That's what you want him to do? To go to the Tech and hang around here for the rest of his life?”

“What's wrong with that? He doesn't have big plans with his life, that's all.”

Branna shook her head. “He should have big plans,” she said. “Can't you see that?” Branna had complained more than once that she thought Mark wasn't ambitious enough for me, but I didn't care. I didn't have big plans, either. I just wanted to get a regular job and have a regular life. This love philtre was probably the only magical thing I'd ever be involved in.

“I get it. You don't want a boyfriend like Mark. So tell me what you do want.” I could feel the press of the Sprite bottle against my leg as it sat on the floor of the bus.

Name
, I thought.
Please give me a name
. “I know you're in love with someone, Branna. The way you reacted when Mel Melot offered you that love potion gave it away. But you've been acting suspiciously for months.”

“Suspiciously?” said Branna, going pale.

“Yeah. Unhappy. Moody,” I said.

Branna took a deep breath. “Fine. I'm in love. And what do I want? Everything,” she said wistfully. “Candles, roses, romance, and eternal love. Romeo and Juliet, Lancelot and Guinevere, Antony and Cleopatra.”

Well, those were names, but not exactly what I'd been hoping for.

“Didn't they all die young?” I asked. I don't have much sympathy for people who think death is romantic. Take it from me: it's not.

“That's not the point. Yes, they died, but everyone dies. The truest lovers live forever in stories.”

“Romeo and Juliet knew each other for all of two days. Maybe they would have turned out to hate each other. He probably smelled bad and farted in bed,” I said, trying to get Branna to smile.

She didn't.

“My point is that when you fall in love, it's with a real person with flaws. Not with a perfect character from a fairy tale.” I wondered why we had never talked about this before. I guess Branna hadn't thought about it until she fell in love, and then she fell hard.

The bus turned and we had to hold on for a minute before we said any more.

“You're saying I should just settle for less than what I want, then?” asked Branna.

“No! I just want you to tell me what you do want.” A hint would be helpful in figuring out who to give the other half of the love philtre to.

I didn't know what would happen if more than two people drank it. It might go completely inactive, or it might be—I didn't want to think about that. “Come on. Give me a hint. What kind of guy turns you on? Blond? Dark? Tall? Quiet? Affectionate? Sweet?” When Branna didn't say anything, I added, “Hairy arms? Horns? Pointed ears? Branna, you talk about romance, but you never have any specifics. I'm starting to think you couldn't love a real guy because you have imagined someone so perfect he can't be real.”

“He's real, all right,” said Branna quietly.

“Then who? Give me a hint. Please.”

There was a long moment's pause, and I was afraid she wouldn't say anything. But finally, she said, “He's tall.”

“Okay, good.” Not Will Bishop, then. Rick Gawain seemed the obvious choice. “What else?” I asked.

She tilted her head to the side and seemed to go into some dreamworld where she could look at his face instead of mine. “He's thoughtful, and brings out the best in everyone around him.”

Wait—that didn't sound like Rick Gawain, with his quiet grunting, at all. It was so vague it could be almost anyone. It could even be Mark! But of course, I knew it wasn't.

“And he doesn't know I exist,” Branna finished in a whisper.

“Well, I'll have to change that, then. Tell me who it is. I swear I can help you.”

“No, Izzie. I'm not telling you a name.”

“Is it embarrassing? Branna, tell me you are not in love with the principal or one of your teachers. Or someone who is married.”

Branna blushed. It looked good on her; it really did. It made her eyes sparkle and brought out a reddish light in her hair. “He's not married,” she said. “And he's our age.”

“A junior?”

“No.”

I was getting somewhere. “A senior, then.” But that still left roughly one hundred guys. I couldn't give the love philtre to all of them.

“Starts with an
A
?” I asked.

“Mmm,” said Branna. “No.”

“
B?
”

Branna shook her head.

I couldn't go through the whole alphabet before we got to school. We were almost there already. “Well, tell me this, then. You say he doesn't know you exist. Is that in the he-passes-you-in-the-halls kind of way and you have no contact with him? Or is it in the you're-right-under-his-nose-every-minute-of-the-day-and-he-doesn't-think-of-you-romantically kind of way?”

“Right under his nose,” Branna admitted, then looked out the window.

Rick, then? We'd see him before school. I would just have to watch Branna and decide if he was the right one. Then all I'd have to do was make sure I got them both to drink the love philtre. How was I going to do that? Well, I'd have to make sure they were really, really thirsty. Maybe at the game?

A
fter we got off the bus, Branna and I went over to the sunken “pit” in the middle of the Tintagel High commons area, where they had dances. If you really liked someone, you danced down the steps in the pit, because it was crowded there and you had to get close. If you weren't sure, you stayed on the edges. If it was a pity dance, you stayed as far from the pit as possible.

Mark and I always danced in the pit.

We hung out there, too, with his posse. I could see every-one there now, only there was also a new guy I had never seen before.

I'd always thought of Mark as blond, but not compared to this guy, whose hair was white-blond. He had these amazingly blue eyes that looked like they had to come from contact lenses, because that color couldn't be real. He wasn't as tall as Mark, but he seemed tall, the way he drew attention. And he had this huge, dazzling smile that was like a nuclear reactor compared to Mark's warm, lightbulbish grin.

I hated that smile, and I hated that it made me compare him to Mark. Who did he think he was, smiling at me like that? And why did he seem so at ease? Apparently, this was his first day at Tintagel, but he acted like he was the king of the whole school. I have never liked arrogant guys.

I felt hot with anger and actually had to wipe the sweat from my forehead. I had never been this angry at anyone I just met before. I didn't know why.

“Izzie, there you are,” said Mark. He put out an arm and drew me close enough to plant a kiss on the top of my forehead.

I could see the new guy watching, and I could tell he was judging Mark by that kiss on the forehead. But there was nothing wrong with Mark's kissing me like that. There was everything right about it, in fact. It was affectionate, no pressure, a greeting kiss. What more could a girl want from her boyfriend?

I wiped my forehead again and pulled my hair back behind my ears. I wished I had put it up in a ponytail now.

“Izzie, this is Tristan,” said Mark.

“Hi,” I said, putting my arms tight around my sides, to keep me from accidentally raising them and showing how sweaty I was.

“Good to meet you. I have heard so much about you from Mark.” He had a formal way of talking that seemed strange in high school.

“He just transferred from Parmenie,” Mark went on.

Parmenie was a fancy private school about fifty miles away, close to the mountains, with horseback riding and lots of acreage for nature studies. Only really rich kids went there. No wonder he talked like a rich brat.

“Your parents run out of money?” I asked rudely.

“No,” said Tristan. Then, a second later, he added, “They died.”

That was enough to stop the conversation. I felt like an idiot, and everyone was staring at me.

“I'm sorry,” I said, barely getting the words out. “I didn't mean—”

“It was a car accident. Sudden. I'm just starting to get used to it. I knew something had to change in my life, however. So—” He reached out a hand like he was going to brush it against my face, then pulled it back.

What would make him think that I wanted that? Mark was standing right here next to us.

“So he decided to come here,” said Mark, patting Tristan on the back. “He's going to run track.”

“If I should make the team,” said Tristan.

“Oh, you will. I saw you run to the bus this morning. Man, you were fast. I don't think I've ever seen someone run like that before. It was like you went invisible.”

Tristan shrugged and then glanced at me.

Invisible? What was going on here? “So, who do you live with?” I blurted out. “Now that …?”

“My uncle,” said Tristan. “He's my guardian now.”

“Do you like him?” It was a nosy question, but I couldn't help myself.

“He's sufficient,” said Tristan.

Sufficient? Why did he say stuff like that?

I tried to imagine living with someone other than my mom, but I couldn't. Why was I being so rude? Maybe he was staring at me too much, but I should feel sorry for him. Instead, I just felt irritable. I wished I could jump in a pool or something. I wasn't on the swim team, though, and I didn't have time for another shower.

I told myself it was just because I was worried about Branna and the love philtre, and that was making me easily annoyed. I took a deep breath and tried to think calm thoughts.

“The one good thing in all of it is that I have learned what's really important in life,” said Tristan.

“Like a state championship in track,” said Mark, slapping Tristan on the back, “which Tintagel has never had.”

Mark cared about stuff like state championships for the school.

I looked over to see Branna focused intensely on the two of them, and then it hit me: Tristan was perfect for her. She wanted someone serious enough to think about eternal love, and Tristan had to be pretty serious after his parents died. He had a long-term perspective, and he seemed strong and sensitive. Plus he hadn't spent the last year ignoring her, like the guy Branna thought she was in love with, whoever he was.

Tristan would be a lot better for her than that guy, and I had just the thing to convince her: the love philtre in my backpack. I could skip all the stuff about trying to find out who Branna was in love with, because that wouldn't matter anymore.

Maybe some people would say that it wasn't my place to decide who Branna should be in love with. But it wasn't like she was doing a good job of this on her own. I was the one who had the perfect boyfriend, so I figured that gave me the right to make things perfect for my best friend.

Plus I wouldn't have to worry about Tristan giving me that smile. He'd save it for Branna, and that would be quite a relief. I didn't need any temptation close by. Mark was the guy for me.

I didn't think I needed hair or anything for Mom's love philtre to work, just an excuse to get Tristan and Branna each to drink half of the love philtre. It couldn't be that hard, right?

Sure, my mom would say I should tell them what I was asking them to drink, so they could make a choice and all that. But who cared about choice when you could have happiness instead? I could hardly wait!

There would be double dates from now until the day Branna and I graduated from Tintagel High! Tristan and Mark were even friends already, so there would be no conflict between them.

“You going to sit with us at the game tonight?” asked Mark.

“Yes, certainly. That would be ideal,” said Tristan. “Who else will be attending?” He was looking at me and Branna.

“Izzie's coming with me, and Branna always goes wherever Izzie does,” said Mark. Branna glanced at me ruefully.

“Anyone thirsty?” I asked, and took out the Sprite bottle with the love philtre mixed in. I unscrewed the cap and held it out to Tristan.

“Want some?” I asked, and smiled widely at him.

“I wouldn't wish to take something that belonged to you,” he said.

“Don't worry about it,” I said. “I can't drink it all myself. I'll get fat. I forgot to get diet this time.”

“Izzie?” said Branna. She knows I hate diet soda. I only drink the real stuff, and I don't spend much of my life worrying about getting fat. It's one of the things she and I have in common. We are the size we are, and we don't like to listen to girls who were thin as pencils whine about how many calories a carrot has.

Darn it! I should have thought of something better to say in front of Branna. Now I didn't know how I was going to get her to drink.

“Go ahead, do her a favor, Tristan,” said Mark. Tristan shrugged and put the bottle up to his mouth.

I wondered if there would be some visible sign of magic, but I didn't see anything when he tried to hand the bottle back to me. I shook my head. Maybe he hadn't drunk enough of it yet. “Take some more. Please,” I said. “I don't want to drink all that.”

“If you wish it,” said Tristan, staring at me steadily.

Branna hadn't drunk any of the philtre yet, so Tristan wouldn't stare at her lovingly, but maybe he would wander around spouting love poetry at the whole world.

He just stood there.

I was still sweating.

Was it possible that the love philtre wasn't going to work? Maybe it had been sitting for too long in the cabinet and had lost its power—like the potion I'd tried to use on Mel Melot.

I told myself to calm down and wait.

Tristan took a few more sips. “Thanks,” he said, and handed back the bottle.

“You don't really like Sprite, do you?” I asked.

“Not usually. I prefer cider or warm milk.”

Warm milk? Well, that was different. Not many guys would admit to that.

“And that drink tasted … odd. Perhaps it has gone bad?”

“I'm sure it's fine,” I said desperately. I couldn't let Branna think there was something wrong with it. I still had to get her to drink it.

“Actually, you look like you just won the state champion-ship,” said Mark, nudging Tristan with his shoulder. “You look happy. So the drink can't be that bad, right?”

I looked more carefully at Tristan's face. Mark was right. Tristan sort of glowed, actually—which is what you're sup-posed to do when you're in love.

Good, good! I held out the Sprite to Branna. “Why don't you have some, too?” I asked.

“No, thanks,” she said, staring at the bottle.

“Go on. Tristan's germs aren't going to hurt you. You aren't afraid of cooties, are you?” I teased her.

“He said it tasted off,” said Branna.

“There's nothing wrong with it. It's probably just because it's so hot today. That can make things taste different. Heat.” I emphasized the word, hoping to use subliminal messages to get her to be thirsty. Mr. Andersson talked about them in psychology, but I'd never had a chance to use them before.

Unfortunately, the messages worked just fine—on the wrong person.

“I think I want some of that,” said Mark.

“No!” I froze. He reached for it, and I had a sudden image of Tristan and Mark together—but it was all wrong. Mark wasn't and Tristan wasn't—