Tris & Izzie (4 page)

I
had to do something quick, so I stepped to the side and turned so that Mark couldn't reach the bottle. Then I chugged down the rest of the love philtre.

“Hey, you could leave me a little,” said Mark.

His words only made me drink faster, which caused me to belch loudly afterward. “Sorry,” I muttered. Then I thought about what I had done. I had drunk the love philtre. Was I in love with Tristan now? I didn't feel any different.

“Hey, no problem,” said Mark. “My girlfriend belches with the best of us.” He hugged me; then he swooped in for a kiss.

That was when I knew that Mom's love philtre had worked, and it hadn't needed any hair or anything else.

Because Mark's kiss felt sticky and wet and horrible. I couldn't stand to feel the pressure of his lips on mine, and I pushed him away.

“What is wrong with you, Izzie?” asked Mark, stepping back from me.

“Sorry,” I said again, leaning over to catch my breath. It felt like there was an airplane inside my head, taking off and landing over and over again. I was dizzy, and I couldn't keep my balance.

“Must have been that drink,” said Tristan. He hadn't been affected the way I had. He seemed perfectly normal, but maybe he was faking it.

“Yeah, I guess. Maybe it really was bad. Do you want me to take you to the nurse, Izzie?” asked Mark. He was being so nice, but I did not want him to touch me.

“No,” I said sharply.

“Fine. Whatever,” said Mark. He did that sometimes, if I tried to mention I was having my period and felt sick. He did not want to know the details.

The bell rang. “Just go to class,” I said to Mark. He didn't argue with me but sauntered off.

Branna hesitated a long moment, looking after Mark and then back at me. “What is wrong with you?” she asked.

“I'm just—” I couldn't tell her the truth. She'd be mad at me.

Maybe the dizzy feeling would wear off soon. There had to be some way to counteract a love philtre. I couldn't be in love with someone I didn't want to be in love with for the rest of my life! That wasn't fair.

I fanned my face.

“Just what?” asked Branna. “You really treated Mark rudely, you know.”

I shrugged. “He'll forgive me.” He's that kind of guy.

“Yeah, maybe,” said Branna.

“I wanted some space, that's all,” I said. “What's wrong with that?”

Branna's eyebrows rose. “Fine. Take some Tylenol or something, then. Spare the rest of us the mood.” She walked off, books held to her chest.

So I had alienated my boyfriend and my best friend. What next?

“You okay?” asked Tristan. He put an arm around me.

“Yeah, sure. Fine.”
Go away
, I thought.
Please, just go away
.

What had I been thinking, sending Branna off? I needed her here with me so she could act as a buffer between me and Tristan.

I did not want to look at him or talk to him. I did not want to think about how nice the place where his throat met his chest looked, or how I wanted to touch the springy hair around his ears, or how I hoped he would hold me like this forever. It wasn't real, anyway. Whatever I felt was just because of the stupid love philtre.

“I think you are not telling the truth,” said Tristan. “I think you need assistance.”

I had to gather myself. Even if I felt something for him, I could ignore it. I was stronger than any stupid emotional reaction.

“Don't accuse me of lying,” I snapped. “It's not nice.”

I pulled away from him and breathed deeply. I told myself I was going to get through this. Then I looked back up at Tristan. Bad move. He looked better, more glowing than before. It was not fair. The love philtre made him happy and me miserable.

Tristan said, “Does nice matter so much to you?” He nodded in the direction Mark had gone in.

“Yes, nice matters,” I said. “Mark is very nice. That is what makes him such a great boyfriend.”

“He left you alone when he could see that you were feeling badly.”

“I wanted him to go,” I said. “I told him to. He was just doing what I wanted.” I was so hot. Maybe I was coming down with something. Maybe I could blame my reaction on a cold or even flu.

Tristan held up a finger. “He was doing what you
said
you wanted. There is a difference.”

I held up a finger—my middle finger. But he didn't seem to understand what that meant. I guess they didn't do that gesture at Parmenie or something. Talk about backward. There was no way I could fall in love with this guy. He acted like someone from a hundred years ago.

There were new beads of sweat dripping down my face, and I wiped them away. I'd been sweating even before I took the love philtre, though. I couldn't let Tristan touch me. But he was impossible to ignore. The only thing I could do was make sure that he stayed far away.

“So you're saying that you don't have to listen to what a girl says out loud. Because you can tell what she's thinking? What are you, psychic?”

Tristan shrugged. “I am not a psychic. But I can still tell that you want to be helped.”

“Fine. I wanted to be helped. By Mark. Not by you. So go away. Please, go away.” I was afraid that if he didn't, I was going to fall on the floor and beg him to kiss me.

Tristan looked confused. Of course he did. I was confused, too. I was late for class, I had just taken a love philtre that was supposed to have been for Branna, and I felt like I was going to throw up.

Hey, maybe that wasn't such a bad idea. I could throw up the love philtre and then it would be like I had never taken it. Maybe I could get Tristan to throw up, too, just in case.

But Tristan murmured something to me in some other language. It sounded like French. It was hard to argue with him when he was speaking in French.

“I will help you,” he said in a moment, in English. Then he put his face close to mine. It felt cool and smooth.

I felt the world stop swirling around me. I had never felt so right, so at peace with myself. I had never felt so connected to someone else.

Tristan could have taken advantage of the moment. I felt like I was burning up for him. His lips were soft and thick, just slightly parted.

But he was using them only to talk to me. “How long have you and Mark been dating seriously?”

I did not want to talk about Mark. I answered, “A year or so.”

“And how long have you been friends with that … other girl?” asked Tristan.

“Most of my life,” I said.

“You trust her?”

“Of course. She has never done anything to hurt me.”

“Not yet,” said Tristan.

“Hey, what's that supposed to mean?” What did he know about Branna? He had met her a few minutes ago.

I turned away from him and picked up my backpack.

“Is this not yours?” said Tristan. He handed me the empty Sprite bottle.

I shook my head. “You can have it.” I never wanted to see it again.

“Please, I believe we should speak more openly with each other,” said Tristan.

I stared at him. Big mistake.

The love philtre made him look stronger. His muscles weren't larger than they'd been before, really, but they seemed more prominent. He looked like he could leap tall buildings….

I never should have messed with magic.

I turned away from him again and headed for my locker, wondering if I should go to the nurse instead. I really did think I might be sick. But what would I tell her? That I'd taken a love philtre? I didn't think she would have a cure for that.

“Isolde!” Tristan called.

I stopped. I couldn't remember the last time someone had called me by my full name. Even Mom calls me Izzie. Dad was the only one I could remember calling me Isolde, but that was a long, long time ago.

He caught up to me. “There is something between us, Isolde. I think you felt it from the first time you saw me, just as I did. Do not deny it. You and I are the same, both out of place here. We belong together. Can you not see that?”

“I've lived in the same town most of my life,” I said.

“That is not what I mean.”

“Then what do you mean?”

He rubbed a hand at the nape of his neck.

I liked watching him do that. I wanted to rub his neck myself.

Stop that
, I shouted at myself. I wiped a hand across my forehead again, then dried it on my jeans. He looked fascinated.

“I mean that you see … things,” he finished.

“What, dead people?”

“True things. The true world,” he said earnestly, reaching out to touch my forehead.

I flinched.

“The world that has always existed and always will exist, as long as we both—”

I blew out a breath, feeling slightly cooler now. “That's a great pickup line. Did you use it much in Parmenie? How'd it work for you?”

“It's not—” said Tristan.

I put my hands on my hips. “We just met,” I said. “And here you are, expressing feelings for me. How real can that be? You are just so cocky that you think you can get away with it with the first girl you meet. Even if she already has a boyfriend who happens to be the captain of the basketball team and the most popular guy in school.”

“It must sound strange to you,” Tristan said. “But it is not. Truly.”

“What do you think Mark would do if I told him about it?” I thought maybe the love philtre was wearing off, because I was mad at Tristan. But every time I looked at him, I wanted to keep looking.

Tristan shook his head. “I can't worry about the consequences. I must tell you the truth, whether it is convenient for you to hear it or not.”

“Look, Tris,” I said, shortening his name in hopes of annoying him. “If I tell Mark about this, he won't let you come near me again.”

“I—” Tristan swallowed hard. “Yes. You are correct. I need to remain in your good graces. So what do you wish me to do now?”

I sighed with relief. “Pretend this didn't happen. Pretend you feel nothing for me.”

I thought he would argue with me. But he didn't.

He bowed his head. “Fine. I will do my best. But not because what I feel for you has gone away. Nor because it does not matter that you and I are connected in an important way.”

He stared at me and I stared back at him, but I looked away first.

I walked off and went to class, though it was the last thing I wanted to do. Arguing with Tristan was almost as addictive as thinking about kissing him. I actually found myself missing the feeling of heat I'd had around him. I'd never had that with Mark.

B
y the end of school, I felt better. I wasn't feverish anymore, but I went home and lay down for a while, just in case.

Then I took a shower, put on clean, unsweaty clothes, and ate a candy bar (a sure cure for any ills). I also looked on the Internet for cures for a love philtre. Here is a list of them:

1. Death

That was pretty much it. Both of us had to die. If I just killed Tristan, I would pine over his loss, and then I would end up dying of a broken heart anyway. Jumping off bridges, taking poison, or simply refusing to eat and wasting away were some of the top choices for ending the magical power of a love philtre, according to all the old stories, and the new ones, too.

As tempting as it was to strangle Tristan with my bare hands on his bare, bare neck—

Let me put that a different way.

As tempting as it was to poison Tristan from a long distance, it wouldn't really help. I would still be in love with him.

And there was some disagreement on whether even death ended a good love philtre. I read several accounts from people who were sure that they had taken a love philtre in their previous life and were still searching for the one they had fallen in love with then.

I wished I could talk to Mom about it, but she wasn't home, and she would probably just give me a lecture, anyway.

If only she had some secret magic books I could look in. But Mom kept no information about magic anywhere in the house. She's always told me that we have to be ready to leave at a moment's notice, that we can't leave behind any clues about the truth.

The only thing I could really hope for was that I had used the love philtre wrong somehow. I didn't have magic, after all. There might be some loophole, something that would give it an expiration date.

Maybe my sweating and upset stomach were signs that the love philtre had gone wrong and would burn itself out. If so, I just had to live through the worst of it, and then I could go back to my perfect life with Mark. After all, he was the boyfriend I had chosen, and I still loved him underneath all those feelings for Tristan. I just had to focus on that and wait for the rest to go away.

That night, Branna and I drove to the homecoming game in her car. We met Mark and his posse at the ticket booth by the front gate. Except for Tristan, they had all painted their faces purple and gold, Tintagel High's school colors.

I didn't feel hot anymore, which seemed like a good sign.

But when Mark bent down to give me a kiss, I jumped away from him. To cover it, I pointed to his face. “Don't want to be purple and gold,” I said.

He shrugged, blew me a kiss, and winked at me.

“Luv ya,” he said.

“Luv ya, too,” I said with a sigh.

Branna gave me a funny look, but I ignored her.

We went up to our seats, and I sat next to Mark, trying not to touch him, because it made me shudder; clenching my fists; and gritting my teeth. Occasionally I turned and glared at Tristan, who was sitting behind us.

He had promised to leave me alone! He wasn't doing a very good job of it. I could feel his presence there, attracting me, bringing out prickles on my arms and legs.

The cheerleaders were done with their beginning cheers, and our team had gotten a first down. I wished I could focus more on the game, because I actually liked football most of the time. But right now all I could think about was the love philtre and Tristan and Mark.

Finally, Tristan said, “Mark, could I offer to fetch some refreshments for the group?”

“Sure. Thanks,” said Mark.

He and the posse dug into their pockets for cash.

Tristan nodded to me and then headed down the metal steps. Somehow, he didn't jiggle them like everyone else did. His feet made a gentle sort of music with rhythm and melody.

I should have turned my attention to Mark, but instead I watched Tristan's backside every step he took from the bleachers to the refreshment stand. It was a nice view. And besides, I was only looking. What was wrong with that?

“Is there some kind of problem between you and Mark?” Branna whispered to me.

I turned toward her but kept my eye on Tristan. “What makes you think that?” I asked, falsely cheerful.

“You haven't said two words to him since you got here. And you're like a porcupine. You won't even let him touch you. Did he do something to make you mad?”

“No, he didn't do anything. I think I'm just feeling … sick.” I was sick, all right. Sick with feelings for Tristan. It would be so much easier if I just threw myself at him, covered him in kisses, let my body meld with his….

But I was not going to do that. I didn't want that, not really. That was just the love philtre talking.

“Well, you're acting like Mark has the plague,” said Branna. “You're going to hurt his feelings.”

I knew she was right. I tried to remind myself what had made me fall in love with Mark in the first place.

His deep voice, spoken low, right in my ear.

The way he treated my ideas with respect and always listened to me from beginning to end.

How nice he was to me and to Branna.

How fierce he could be if he thought someone was treating me badly.

Which reminded me that I still hadn't told Mark about Mel Melot. He wasn't at the football game, luckily, but as soon as I could stop thinking about Tristan, I would bring it up.

I thought about the time that Mark had jumped into the pool to save me after one of Branna's swim meets. Someone had thrown me into the deep end, thinking I was on the team. I don't swim, and it could have been a life-or-death situation.

“You know, it seems to me like there is something going on between you and Tristan,” said Branna.

“What? I don't know what you're talking about. I was just trying to be nice to him because he's Mark's friend.”

Branna's eyes went wide. “Really? Being nice? That's what you think you're doing?”

“He's interesting,” I went on. “Changing from his old school to this one after his parents died takes real strength of character. He has been through a lot. You can see it in his eyes, don't you think?” I wished I could see his eyes right then.

Branna muttered something under her breath about me sounding like a Hallmark card.

“Well, he does have strength of character,” I said. And strength of legs, and arms, and, well, butt.

This was going all wrong, I thought. I bit my lower lip to try to stop myself from thinking about Tristan, but it didn't work. All that happened was that I thought about Tristan biting my lower lip.

I shook my head. This had all started because I had tried to get Branna to fall in love with Tristan. Maybe that would still work. Not with a love philtre or anything, but with a few well-placed hints. If she fell in love with Tristan, wouldn't that help break the power of the love philtre we had accidentally taken? At least it would be a good cover for me, until I could fight its power. If Branna was with Tristan, that would make him less tempting. “So, what do you think of Tristan?” I asked. “Cute, isn't he?”

Branna shrugged. “He's a little flaky, if you ask me, changing schools his junior year. Not the most loyal guy ever. It seems like he's just in it for himself, for his own glory.”

Of course loyalty would be the first thing Branna would mention. “You think he should have stayed at Parmenie, even after his parents died and he had to move in with his uncle?”

Branna raised her eyebrows. “I would have.”

I couldn't contradict that. She probably would have. “But that's just a matter of personal preference,” I said. “You can't say you see anything seriously wrong with him, can you?”

We could see Tristan waving from the concession stand while holding up eight cups of soda. He didn't drop any of them, which, if you ask me, showed amazing dexterity and balance.

“He's too blond,” said Branna.

“You're blonde,” I pointed out. It seemed like Branna wanted to dislike him just because I wanted her to like him.

“He's shorter than I am,” she added.

“By a half inch at most,” I said. “If you stood together, people probably wouldn't even notice.” Plus I bet he was the kind of guy who would tell Branna to wear heels if she wanted to, even if it made him look shorter.

“And he has a big personality,” I added.

Branna snorted. “Too big, if you ask me,” she said. “He's the kind of person who can't be in a room unless all the attention is on him.”

“He's not that bad,” I said, although before I took the love philtre, I probably would have said the same thing about him myself. “I think he likes you. He was asking me if you had a boyfriend.” Lying in the service of friendship is not a bad thing, is it?

“What did you tell him?” asked Branna.

“Duh? What else? That you were free, and he should be really nice to you because you're a great person.”

“And what did he say to that?”

“Well, he's here, isn't he?” I replied.

“He's paying a lot of attention to you,” said Branna.

I shrugged that off. “That's just because Tristan knows that you and I are friends. He figures the best way to you is through me.”

“What about you? Do you think he's cute?” asked Branna.

“The cutest guy I have ever seen,” I replied, for once let-ting myself say exactly what I thought. “The best-looking guy on the planet, really. I mean, look at his eyes. You could get lost in there.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And you can't say he doesn't have a good butt. You know what the human butt was made for? Running. And I bet it would be great to watch him run.” I would much rather have been at a track meet watching Tristan run than at this foot-ball game. Then I bet I could focus on the action on the field!

“Uh-huh,” said Branna.

“Plus he has that warm voice, smooth as butter. Don't you think he is someone who falls in love hard?”

“He's not my type,” said Branna.

“What? Hot isn't your type? Is that what you are saying?” I asked her, nudging her in the ribs.

“Not that kind of hot.”

“You just don't think you're good enough for him. But, Branna, you are.”
Please
, I thought,
believe you are
.

“I don't trust him.”

“Why not?”

“He's hiding something.”

“Branna, he's a great guy. The kind you're always talking about, who falls in love once, and hard. The kind who never gives up.” What was I saying?

“Maybe,” said Branna.

I heard footsteps coming up the metal steps and I went silent.

“Ladies,” Tristan said in a low voice, like a song.

I looked away. Tristan offered Branna one of the sodas, then handed the rest to Mark and his posse.

He ignored me. Finally! I could have kissed him for that.

Or not.

Then Branna asked him to sit by her. That was just what I wanted! They chatted for several minutes before the game started again. Branna even laughed once.

And I hated her for it.

I couldn't stop myself, though I was the one who'd tried to get them together in the first place. I didn't like that she was sitting close enough to him that their knees knocked every few seconds. I didn't like that she put her hand on his arm, that she offered him a piece of gum.

I also didn't like that he kept his eyes on her. Or that he stared at her hair and leaned into her when he whispered something.

I wanted to jump between them and kick Branna in the teeth. I wanted to twist Tristan's arm around his back until he begged for mercy and told me he would never, ever talk to or look at any other girl again.

But I didn't.

Because that was just a feeling. An emotion. Completely irrational, based on a magical love philtre that was going to wear off—soon!

All I had to do was make sure Branna and Tristan fell in love. That was logical and thoughtful and would lead to ultimate happiness in the end. My feelings for Tristan were just a little, teeny, tiny snag along the way.

I stood up. “Excuse me,” I muttered. I might want this to happen with Tristan and Branna, but I didn't have to watch it. For some reason, I was starting to drip sweat again. I stood up and told Mark I was going to the bathroom.

“Oh, would you take this to the garbage for me?” Mark asked, and handed me his empty soda cup.

“Sure,” I said. I wanted Tristan to fall in love with Branna so I could have Mark all to myself and take all his soda cups to the garbage every day. What a blissful life we would live together once the love philtre had worn off.