Page 10 of Witch You Would

how tired I was. Now I took a closer look around.

Cozy sofas and chairs covered in frog-print pillows were arranged around coffee tables, like this was someone’s living room

instead of a hotel lobby. Framed, enchanted moving pictures of ferns and palm fronds decorated the walls, along with more

coquí pictures and mirrors in different sizes. There was even a guitar propped against a cabinet, like someone would be right

back to pick it up.

The front desk was an actual desk, distressed wood painted white with a bubbly glass top. The woman behind it was named Alina,

according to her name tag, and her clothes were more casual than corporate. Dark hair, bright red lipstick, and the kind of

smile that probably made strangers talk to her at the store. I smiled back at her as I went for the elevators.

The third floor had sky-blue walls with rainforest pictures between doors, spelled with short loops of leaves moving or tiny frogs peeking from inside big bromeliads.

Near the elevators, there was an ice maker and vending machines with bougie drinks, candy, and chips.

Also, optimistically, condoms. My room was first on the left, next to the emergency stairs, which would be handy if I needed to make any secret escapes without my mustache.

I swiped the key four times before it worked, then muscled my way in.

My room was bigger than the one in the apartment I shared with Sam and Ed, with a kitchenette, a queen-sized bed, and a balcony

overlooking the street instead of the bay. The housekeeper had left tiny chocolate frogs on the pillow when I first got here,

but I’d told Alina I didn’t want daily service. One fewer person poking around my stuff.

I checked the reagents for the spell I’d be casting at the venue later. Maybe I should explain to Penelope what it was actually

going to do. Tell her the secret—one of the secrets—about Leandro Presto: that my mistakes were intentional. Enough people

already assumed my incompetence was an act, part of the show; she might trust me if she knew for sure.

No. The stakes for this were too high. Rule number two: I needed to stay in character, to protect my himbo persona. And her

reactions when I goofed during the competition had to seem natural.

I couldn’t risk it. I’d have to earn her trust some other way.

The bathroom was swank, with a multijet shower big enough to fit two people. A full-length mirror hung next to the bathroom

door; I checked for mustache integrity. The new adhesive was holding. My skin would probably peel off after two weeks of this,

though thankfully Sam had loaded me up with moisturizers to help with irritation. I pulled out the adhesive remover and brush,

then started at one edge of the mustache and proceeded to slowly work it off.

Face cleansed, I had time for a quick nap before the evening event.

I flopped down on top of the covers and stuck a pillow over my eyes to block out the sun peeking around the edges of the cur tains.

Before I could even start to worry about whether I’d be able to shut off my brain enough to fall asleep, I passed out.

A PA pounding on my door woke me up from a dead sleep. By the time I had my mustache back on, I’d missed dinner. A caterer

in mid-cleanup took pity on me and made me a chicken sandwich, which I ate in the elevator.

Sunset peeked through high-rise condos on the other side of Biscayne. At the front of the hotel, a giant black party bus took

up most of the two-lane Edgewater street. Tinted windows hid whatever sloppy-drunk sins people committed inside. Crew carried

stuff on and off, Rachel furiously tapped her tablet, Liam walked around putting mics on people again, Tori argued with Nate

and a massive dude about something, and the rest of us stood around roasting to death. Penelope stayed with her group, and

I stayed with mine.

“Ever been in one of these before?” Tanner asked me.

“For a friend’s bachelor party,” I said. “This one’s probably nicer.”

Charlotte’s eyes were hidden by giant sunglasses, but her lip curl told me she thought I’d said something funny. I had no

idea what.

“Just do whatever Nate says, Big Manny,” Tori finally snapped. Nate climbed into the bus with his camera, and the other guy,

Big Manny, followed him.

To the rest of us, she said, “We’re going to film you all getting on the bus now. I want excitement, the bus is really cool,

oohs and aahs, okay?”

We all said it was okay. Well, Charlotte lowered her sunglasses, then slid them back up. Tori yelled at Nate to start rolling,

and we slowly piled in.

Neon lights and black lights made everything look like a tacky futuristic video game.

Black pleather couches lined the walls, with sunken tables between them for people to put their drinks.

Just to the left of the entrance was the bar, stocked with enough booze to get us all wrecked real fast—not that any of us would be drinking, as far as I knew.

The ceiling was mirrored, the floor was fake marble, and at the front, a giant TV played a loop of the Cast Judgment opening with no sound.

Nate and Big Manny smooshed together at the back like two football players in a golf cart. I tried not to feel bad for them

while I pretended to be impressed and excited.

Everyone paired off with their partners, except for me. I ended up with Big Manny, across from Tanner, who sat with Quentin.

Penelope grabbed a spot by Charlotte and the tall blonde, Felicia, near the front. The doors closed, the engine was running,

but we didn’t move.

“Where’s Leandro?” Tori asked. “Get up here with Penelope.”

Penelope winced. Maybe she hadn’t ditched me on purpose, but now we definitely had to play nice. I grabbed my backpack and

switched seats.

Syd popped open a bottle of champagne; through the power of TV magic, we were all given flutes of bubbly apple juice instead.

A disco ball spun from the ceiling, and we pretended to drink and party for maybe five minutes, with the bus still parked.

“Good, that’s enough for now,” Tori said. “We’ll have a couple more shots as we go.” She pressed a button and sat down. The

bus revved up and pulled away from the hotel.

I thought a couple of the contestants might want to keep partying, but all of them chilled out and started talking to their

partners. Penelope wouldn’t even look at me. She seemed to be trying to psych herself up for something.

“Hey, Charlotte,” she said finally. “I just wanted to say, I’m a huge fan.”

Oh. It was like that, huh.

Charlotte smiled, eyes still hidden behind her sunglasses. “Thank you. Were you the contestant who works in a store?” Her

voice was smoky, New York but toned down.

I could almost see the hearts in Penelope’s eyes. “Yes. I know you started in retail, too. You’re such an inspiration.”

“Everyone has to start somewhere. Thankfully I had enough talent and ambition that I wasn’t stuck there for long.”

Penelope flinched. I might not have noticed if I hadn’t been staring at her.

“I started doing kid parties,” I blurted out.

“I’m sure you did,” Charlotte replied.

Grandpa Fred’s rule number three: commit to the bit. “Kids can be hard to impress, but they love to tell you what to do. And

when a spell blows up in your face, they laugh their little butts off.”

“Sounds delightful.” Charlotte rubbed her forehead like she had a headache and stared out the window.

Felicia wrinkled her nose and made a quiet huffing sound. A laugh? Penelope didn’t speak again, just grabbed her knees like

she was trying not to touch anything. Especially not me.

I read the room and shut up. Penelope had obviously wanted to be Charlotte’s partner, not mine. Somehow I didn’t think Ms.

Fancypants CEO would have been nicer even if they were teamed up. I didn’t know that, though. Neither did Penelope.

It didn’t matter. We were stuck together, and we had to make the best of it. For the rest of the drive, I mentally rehearsed

the script for my spell, trying not to feel worse than I already did.