Tris & Izzie

by Mette Ivie Harrison

  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—

  Chapter 6

  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 l
ips 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 wor
ld 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.

  Chapter 7

  By 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: