Next, I narrow my Bryony search by typing in Hawaii. Seven results. I pick up the phone and start dialing.
Of the seven, two are wrong numbers, two are definitely not Aunt Bryony judging by the accents, and three are answering machines. I leave messages on all three machines. Again, I try calling Mother’s emergency number but get the same irritating message.
Finally, I attempt Kali’s cell once again, clasping the receiver anxiously to my ear while her phone rings. This time, her nineteen-year-old brother, Mukmuk, answers the phone. “Hey, Mim. Kali’s asleep.”
It could be an excuse, but Kali has never deceived me before. “Is she okay?”
“Yeah, why?”
I better not say anything in case her brother doesn’t know she’s been skipping classes. “She’s usually a night owl. Just tell her I called.”
“’Kay. Hang loose.”
She has to come to school tomorrow. We’ve been planning this event together for months and a hundred Puddle Jumpers are counting on us. This was my chance to show the school that they need not fear me, that I can be fun. Not to mention, I have to make sure that whatever Mr. Frederics is planning to surprise Ms. DiCarlo does not cause further catastrophe. If by some miracle, his “secret weapon” does entice Ms. DiCarlo into his arms, it would come at the expense of Alice. I simply need to maintain the status quo until I can fix her. If I can fix her.
After I finish steeping all the plants that need steeping, I slog through the leaves piling in the courtyard to get back to the house. It must be close to nine.
I draw a hot bath infused with rosemary and eucalyptus, hoping they might improve my olfaction, but . . . nothing. Sinking up to my neck, I consider the bleakness of my situation.
I won’t be able to do anymore tonight. The distilled plants have been extracted, the steeped plants need time to steep, and the third pile of cold-pressed plants can’t be mixed until tomorrow or they’ll go bad. If my nose fails completely by the time everything’s ready to mix, I’ll have to make the PUF from my memory of the strengths of the ingredients. It will be a rough approximation, but I don’t have much of a choice.
I heave myself out of the tub and towel off, rubbing my face extra hard as if I could erase the grimace there. The door chime rings.
I grab my robe and pad downstairs. If I still had my nose, I could tell who’s on the other side without opening the door, assuming I know the person. But now, I have to find out the normal way. The peephole.
Court leans against the post holding up our entryway, his hands in the pockets of his Panthers hoodie.
My chest suddenly feels tight. Court doesn’t know about my nose, about what our kiss cost me. And I can’t tell him, because he would blame himself. Besides, telling him wouldn’t change a thing. I’d still have to let him go. If there was a chance I could get my nose back, Mother would surely demand it.
I consider pretending I’m not home, but then he might worry. I’m not ready for this. Not now, not here. Tomorrow’s the big game, anyway. I’ll tell him after the half-time show, when there’s less at stake for him.
I open the door. His eyes crinkle into half moons and he points the toe of his sneaker. “Hi.”
“Hi.” How is it possible for him to be so shyly awkward and hot at the same time? His smile broadens and he glances toward the driveway, as if his own smile embarrasses him. What were those tips again? Tip 3: Practice thought stopping. But how am I supposed to not think about him when he’s standing right in front of me?
My heart turns a cartwheel as his gaze skims down my pink chenille robe.
“I’m starting to develop a weird craving for cotton candy.” He leans down and tries to kiss me, but I step back.
“I think I have a cold. And I would hate for you to catch it.”
His eyebrows draw together. “We shouldn’t stand out here then.” He hangs an arm around my shoulders and ushers me back into the house. “Can I do anything? I’m pretty good at opening soup cans. I can even do those childproof Tylenol bottles.” He looks down at me with a goofy grin.
I turn to face him so his arm drops off me. Clutching at the plushy weave of my robe, I shift from foot to foot. “No, thank you. I’ll be fine. How’s your mom?”
“I found a book on her nightstand.”
“Another cookbook?”
“Worse. How to Ask Out a Man and Keep Him. I think she’s going to make a move tomorrow night. Melanie said Mom bought herself four-hundred-dollar jeans for the game.”
“I thought your aunt was keeping her occupied.”
“She left this morning, but don’t freak. The earliest they can kiss is at the game. She’s busy all tomorrow with alumni stuff. How’s the potion making going?”
“Haven’t finished it yet.” My voice goes high and slightly hysterical, but I clamp my lips together. “I’m prepping the ingredients.”
“Hey, it’s okay.” He reaches out to take my hand, but I shake my head.
“Germs.”