Potionate Love by Patricia Mason Read Free Book Online Page A

permission
to speak again. "Yes? What is it?"
    "Mrs. Blake.
I'm not calling myself Constantina anymore."
    "What?"
She gaped at me.
    "Right."
Nathan inserted himself into the conversation. "Now it's Istanbul, not Constantina ."
    His comments
produced a few snickers quickly quelled by the furious glare of Mrs. Blake.
"Do you both realize this is a serious class?"
    "My point is
serious, Mrs. Blake." I ignored an unrepentant Nathan chuckling behind me.
"I want to be called Tina. Just Tina."
    "Just Tina
doesn't have the same ring as Istanbul," Nathan inserted to the whole
class. "Besides, calling yourself Just seems like you're bragging."
    This time the
chuckles bounced loudly around the room until Mrs. Blake pounded the chalk to
pulp on the board.
    "Students. Come
to order," she yelled, clapping. She wiped both hands against each other
trying to get rid of the white dust. "As to the comedy team of Nathan
Whitefield and Constantina Dimas, both of you report
to the principal's office immediately."
    Fantastic. I glanced
at Gracella and grimaced. She shot me a sympathetic
smile in return. Slipping from the seat I gathered up my textbook and other
things to slink out of class in humiliation. Nathan, on the other hand, seemed
to take a bow.
    The hall was
silent and empty of everything except the aroma of dirty gym clothes. The
classroom door had barely closed behind Nathan when I scream-whispered at him,
"How could you get me thrown out of class? We'll probably get
detention."
    "If you're
serving detention, maybe you'll give up this stupid idea about going to a
voodoo priestess."
    "Root
doctor."
    "Same
difference."
    " Aghhhhhh ." I whirled on one heel and marched down the
hall.
    Nathan followed on
my heels, chuckling. "I'm sorry."
    I didn't answer.
    "What can I
do to make it up to you?"
    My silence left
his question hanging.
    "Okay,"
he said, as we rounded the corner to the administration offices. "No more
jokes about Istanbul."
    My disgusted
harrumph should have warned him not to continue.
    "But it's
funny," he went on. "You know that song? It's Istanbul, not
Constantinople."
    Stopping mid-hall
I turned on him giving him my best evil eye. "Nobody but a nerd like you
would know that old song."
    "I'll have
you know there was an excellent cover version in 2006." When he continued
he sang, "Been long time gone, Constantinople."
    "It's not
funny. My name is the bane of my existence," I said.
    "Turkish
delight, on moonlit night."
    I had to smile at
that despite myself. "Why do I hang out with you?"
    "Because
you're secretly in love with me and you want my hot bod ?"
    "Right,"
I said with sarcasm. Not that Nathan was ugly or anything. In fact, he was kind
of cute.   But in that brown shirt,
with his shaggy hair dyed green, he could pass for a palm tree. The glasses did
spoil the tree effect somewhat. Besides, Nathan was smart and funny. When he
wasn't teasing me about my name, I usually considered him my best friend,
although I wouldn't have admitted that tidbit to Nathan.
    "I'm true to
my love for Ronny," I added.
    "Ronny's
never even spoken to you."
    "That's
immaterial to the equation."
    "What
equation?"
    "Me plus love
potion plus Ronny equals date to the dance."
    With Nathan's
laughter ringing in my ears, I opened the office door and went inside.

 
    * *
* * *

 
    The tire of Gracella's 1987 Buick LaSabre hit
a rut in the dirt road, and my head hit the inside of the car roof.
    " Ow ," I yelled. "What the heck was that? A
landmine?"
    In the backseat
Nathan shouted, "Doesn't this thing have any shocks?"
    "Quit
bitching. I can barely see. It's so dark. And we're only out here so late
because you two had to serve detention." Gracella clutched the wheel. In the dim glowing light of the dashboard speedometer, her
knuckles appeared white despite her cocoa color.
    She was right
about the darkness. With no street lamps and barely a sliver of a moon, the
headlights of this old beater hardly made a dent in the inkiness of the night.
The rotten