THE NEXT MORNING, I pedal to school, filled with an acute awareness that this might be the last time I make this trek. Mother will be home in a matter of hours. I try to appreciate the sights rushing by—a screen of Texas privet with its tiny, dark berries, a wooden gate that Frankensteins into an iron one, then chain link, then back to wood again. The iris I wrapped in silk hops in my basket when I roll over a speed bump.
Today, the ever-changing signage on the school facade says, “Cheeseburger Monday! Today at Noon!” Another homecoming tradition. If somebody buys you a burger, that’s an invitation to the dance. Eat it and accept the invitation.
A crowd collects around a bulletin board outside the school office. Beside pictures of the SS Argonaut, the venue for the homecoming dance, are photos of court nominees. I give the board a cursory glance from under my fedora as I stroll by with my bike. Not surprisingly, Court and Whit are up there, along with Vicky and Melanie and other A-listers. What causes me to nearly crash into a trash can is the sight of Kali’s brown face, smiling right alongside Vicky’s.
Kali’s nominated for homecoming queen.
“I’m so voting for Kali,” one girl says to her friend. “It’s about time someone besides a mean girl won.”
The friend’s head pumps up and down. “It’s about time a Latina won.”
“Vicky is Latina, stupid,” says the first girl. “Kali’s black.”
“Actually, she’s Samoan,” I inform them.
I can’t help worrying about what will happen if Kali beats the odds and wins. That will be another pin in Vicky’s cushion. Then again, what more can Vicky do? She’s done her best, and Kali’s still standing. No, she’s outstanding.
Ms. DiCarlo, sitting behind her computer monitor, sneezes as I enter the library.
“Good morning. I was thinking about your allergies.” I take out the Post-it on which I had written the name and office number for Dr. Lipinsky, the junior. “He’s an otolaryngologist.”
She studies the paper, her nose draped by a tissue. “That’s kind of you. But I’m beginning to think I know what I’m allergic to.”
“What?”
“Actually, you.”
My mouth opens and closes.
She chuckles. “It must be all those flowers you work with.”
I grab the edges of my hat, as if that will contain the pollen. “I’m sorry. I should stop coming in.”
“It’s okay. I enjoy our visits. And anyway, I might be moving soon.”
“Moving?”
“Yes, one of the inquiries worked out.”
“But it’s only been a few days.”
“I know, isn’t it great? The University of Oxford’s library was very excited to get my résumé. They’ve been looking for a medieval collections specialist.” She smiles, lowering her eyes modestly to her keyboard.
Her résumé. Here I had thought she was on a manhunt, not a job hunt. “That’s great.” I rock forward on my toes and back again, marveling at how just when you think you’ve found the answer, it turns out you were asking the wrong question. Whether Ms. DiCarlo finds love, or moves into an English castle hemmed in with coralbells, I hope she enjoys her journey. Isn’t that why I went to high school, despite knowing I’d be an aromateur in the end? To experience everyday life on the other side of the briar. I didn’t realize I could foul it up so completely. But if I could do it all over, I might not change a thing. Mostly.
In algebra, the sight of a substitute teacher at Mr. Frederics’s desk launches new worries in my head. Is Mr. Frederics’s absence due to Alice? My pencil draws zigzags in my notebook. Maybe it’s good that he’s absent, as I still haven’t figured out the best way to tell him about the elixir-gone-wrong.
The substitute teacher knits while we do independent study, which for Drew and Vicky means passing each other folded-up pieces of paper—probably love notes.
I pass Drew a note of my own. “Meet me by the drinking fountain.”
Then I take one of two hall passes and hurry around the corner to the designated place. Moments later, Drew appears. He peers through a curtain of his greasy blond locks, blue eyes bright with curiosity. “What’s up?”
“Do you, um, like Vicky?”
“Yeah, why?” He lowers his freshly scrubbed face closer to mine.
“Sometimes love isn’t what it’s cracked up to be.” I rub my arms, which have gone rubbery.
“You brought me out of class to tell me that?”
“Yes.”
“Well, thanks.” Unlike mine, his laugh sounds genuine. He cocks a blond eyebrow at me and leans in again. “Actually, it’s not like that between us. She doesn’t like me. Like a boyfriend, I mean. I asked her to the homecoming dance, and she said no.”
My jaw rolls open. “She did?”
“Yeah. And it’s okay, because I don’t like her that way either. I mean, I thought I did. But hanging out with her is just like, fun, you know?”
“It is?” Fun? Vicky?
“Yeah.”
But the elixir worked, I saw it with my own eyes. Everyone saw it. My aunt’s words echo in my head. We’re not as powerful as we think. Elixirs, after all, only open the eyes to the possibility of love. The individuals, both target and client, still have a choice on whether to act on those feelings. Sometimes romantic love isn’t the end point, only the beginning.
Drew’s still looking at me expectantly as he scratches his back with the hall pass. “You’re kinda weird, but I like you.”