Page 12 of Witch You Would

“Yeah.” Penelope’s big brown eyes looked up into mine. “Please, can you just do your best? Your real best. Don’t wreck our

spells to be funny.”

I couldn’t promise not to be Leandro—rule number two—but there was room to maneuver if I was careful. And I was always careful.

“No spell wrecks,” I said. “Not unless you count wrecking the competition.”

The smile she gave me seemed worried. She didn’t believe me. What did I expect? I had to earn her trust.

I gave her an elaborate bow and gestured at the table. “Shall we clean up my mess, m’lady?”

“Don’t ‘m’lady’ me,” Penelope said. “Do you even own a fedora?”

“Only a trilby,” I joked. I think she muttered “oh my god” under her breath, but she started walking away.

I grabbed the back of her pants, and she spun around like I’d smacked her ass. “Our mics,” I said, hands raised. “Sorry.”

She relaxed and turned back around, and I flipped her mic on, then let her do mine. I glanced back at the other contestants

and celebrities, and caught Tori staring at us with an expression I couldn’t read. It made me nervous.

One more thing to be nervous about. Now it wasn’t just my friends and my grandpa’s charity counting on me to win, it was my

unemployed partner. No pressure.

With a big, fake grin, I used the queen of hearts card to scoop candy into the salt bottle. If only real hearts could be dealt

with so easily.

My mustache was hanging halfway off my face when my hotel room phone rang. I hadn’t had a landline since high school, so it

took me two more rings to figure out what the noise was and pick up.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Presto, this is Rachel, with Hexafilm.”

Unit production manager. Okay, back into character.

“Hey, Rachel, what’s up?”

“Isaac wants to meet with you and Penelope in the morning, before your scheduled call time. The van will pick you up at seven

thirty.”

Ugh, so early. “Sure, no problem.”

“Thank you, Mr. Presto. Have a lovely rest of your evening.”

It was almost midnight, but sure. “Thanks, you too.”

I hung up and stared at the phone. What did Isaac Knight want with me and Penelope?

It was pointless to worry about it, even if I knew I couldn’t help myself. I’d find out soon enough.

I finished de-mustaching, showered, and crawled into bed, dreaming of climbing a candy heart mountain and falling off a cliff.

TV showrunners apparently didn’t slum it in boutique hotels in Edgewater; they stayed in a downtown high-rise condo where

enchanted statues of Greek myths slowly transformed from humans to animals or plants in the entrance, and a dozen valet people

wearing white gloves and silly hats leaped to open car doors before you even parked.

Penelope and I were met in the lobby by a tiny squirrel-cheeked lady who introduced herself, “Hi I’m Mary Isaac’s assistant

so nice to meet you Isaac is waiting for you upstairs come right this way,” without taking a single breath, while power walking

backward. I wasn’t sure whether I was impressed or worried about her blood pressure.

A private elevator zoomed us up to the penthouse. The doors opened inside the room, showing off an incredible view of Brickell

and the bay through floor-to-ceiling windows. White marble floors, white leather couches, clear acrylic chairs and tables...

The only color came from the blue sky and water outside. I felt like I should wash my hands before touching anything.

Isaac sat in a fancy ergonomic chair behind a clear desk. Even from a few feet away, he smelled like he’d had whiskey for

breakfast and tried to cover it up with mouthwash and expensive cologne. His beard said he was going full lumberjack or kept

forgetting to shave. His clothes said someone, presumably Mary, was getting paid to iron his T-shirts. He grabbed an orange

stress ball with a cussing face emoji on it and squeezed. It squeaked.

Tori stood behind him to the right, her face blanker than the Greek statues downstairs. She wore a navy polo with the Hexafilm logo, her short brown hair smoothed into a faux-hawk.

What did they want to talk about that couldn’t have waited until we were on set? I tried to relax my shoulders as I sat on

one of the uncomfortable clear chairs next to Penelope.

“Here’s the deal,” Isaac said. “The two of you have chemistry potential.” Squeak. “You’re giving that popular-nerd-meets-anime-waifu

thing, you’re both putting out the vibe, and audiences eat that shit on gluten-free crackers.” Squeak. “They watch Cast Judgment for the stories, the drama, the frisson of fappability that comes with finding a new RPF ship.” Squeak. “We want you to lean

into that.” Squeak. “You get what I’m saying?”

I thought I did, but I also only understood half the words he’d just used.

“You want us to... pretend to be into each other?” Penelope asked. “Romantically?”

“Bingo bongo,” Isaac said. Squeak. “We won’t know how many more episodes you’ll get, obviously, so this might be one and done.”

Squeak. “But there will still be promo, publicity shots, the whole shebang.” Squeak squeak. “Keep it up long enough and you’ll

stay on the public radar for weeks.”

Penelope seemed freaked out, and I didn’t even know what I was.

Isaac looked behind us and swore. “Mary, that vulture is back. Handle it.”

“Yes, sir!” Mary said.

She opened the door to the balcony, where a giant black bird perched on the wall. The smell of roadkill drifted inside. I

gagged.

“Are either of you in a relationship?” Tori asked.

I forced my attention back to her. “I’m not.”

“Me either,” Penelope added.

“Good, good.” Isaac scratched under his chin. “Not that it matters, but we want to be able to control the narrative on socials.”

A thunk from the balcony was followed by a terrible hiss. “Go away! Shoo!”

Tori cleared her throat.

“Of course, I’m not gonna twist your arms,” Isaac said. “You’re not contractually obligated to...” He stared into space

and spoke deliberately. “To engage in any behavior or activities that you deem morally objectionable or... inappropriate?

I don’t have the legalese handy.” Squeak.

“We can provide the necessary contract language if you’d like,” Tori said.

To cover their own butts, not ours. That’s how these things worked, according to my lawyer dad.

“What would you want us to do, exactly?” I asked.

Squeak. “Nothing serious, you know, just a little wink wink, nudge nudge.”

That was not exact.

“So act flirty?” Penelope asked. She sounded flat, like she’d stuffed her feelings into a hat so she could magically pull

them out later.

“Right, yes.” Squeak. “Make googly eyes at each other, smile a lot, maybe a little Latin love, know what I mean?” He shook

his butt in the chair, biting his lower lip and running a hand down his chest, and I knew I’d never hear the phrase “Latin

love” without seeing that in my nightmares.

“The goal is to create the illusion of increasing intimacy,” Tori said. “Nothing excessive. Our editors just need something

to work with, escalating over the course of the competition. Assuming you aren’t eliminated today.”

This was a lot to process, and I realized I’d already broken character by failing to play this off or crack jokes, but what the fuck.

“We need to talk about it,” I said.

“Sure, go ahead.” Isaac slouched down farther in his chair. Squeak.

“Me and Penelope, I mean. Alone.”

“Ah, right, gotcha.” He waved a hand at us. “Don’t let me keep you, then. It’ll be time for hair and makeup soon, then round

one begins.” For some reason, he followed that with a deep, evil villain laugh.

Tori’s neutral face cracked to let an eye roll through.

Isaac stopped laughing suddenly. “No, but seriously, get out of here, we’re done.”

We got out. The last thing I saw as the elevator door closed was Mary swinging a broom at a spread-winged turkey vulture.

Mood, buddy.

I felt like my head was going to explode, but I made myself walk the usual Leandro way to the van that had brought us here.

“After you, m’lady,” I said, giving Penelope a sweeping bow.

Penelope climbed in, buckled up, and rubbed her face with both hands. I left a seat between us, close enough to talk but not

to hover.

“So,” I said. “That happened.”

Her mouth twitched. I thought she was going to start crying, but instead she cracked up.

“Oh my god,” she wheezed. “I can’t even.”

I grinned. “Has your ability to even been compromised?”

“What did he call us? Popular nerd meets what?”

“Anime waifu? Is that like... the body pillows?”

“I don’t know. My cousin Daniella likes that stuff.”

“Anime?”

“And swords. She does ren faires.” Penelope gave a tiny snort and covered her mouth. “Do you think they put us together because they were hoping we would . . . what did he say?”

“Put out the vibe?”

She squealed and lost it again.

“Don’t worry about what he said.” I pointed at her. “You get to decide what you’re comfortable with. We can be all business,

no party.”

“No party?”

Rule two, Gil. “Okay, not no party, but not that kind of party.”

“Not a pants party?”

Yes! “No pants party. Normal levels of normal party.”

Penelope sucked in a breath and blew it out. “I can’t believe this is happening. We’re supposed to get popular by pretending

we have a thing, and then what?”

“We could fake a huge pretend breakup and make everyone pick sides. Go on a couples therapy show, get back together, break

up again... We could probably get a solid few years out of this if we’re creative.”

“This shouldn’t be funny,” she said, “but it’s too wild not to be. I came on this show hoping to get a better job, you know?

By showing how awesome I am at casting and spell design? But instead, they want me to be your arm candy.”

“Oye, ’scuse me, I’m clearly the arm candy here,” I joked.

“Por favor.”

“Okay, we can both be arm candy, but I get to be the gummy bear.”

Penelope half smiled. “What am I, a chocolate bar?”

“Jelly bean. Cinnamon jelly bean.”

“First of all, no way. I’ll accept French vanilla or cream soda. Second of all, we have to figure out what to tell these people.”

True facts. “What do you want to tell them?”

“I don’t know.” Penelope sucked her teeth at me. “And I’m being a total asshole, just worrying about myself. Sorry. Would

this be a problem for you, for your show?”

Would it? Sam had a better sense of this stuff than I did, but I couldn’t ask her. I smoothed down my mustache. “I don’t think

so?”

“It wouldn’t, like, mess with your subscriber numbers or something?”

“I might actually get a few extra people hoping for early access to secret chisme.”

Penelope scrunched her face up. Was she actually considering it? My brain hydroplaned.

On the one hand, this could be a huge mistake, and not for show reasons. I was emotionally invested, and Penelope had no idea.

Whatever she had with me as Gil would probably expire like milk once she found out the truth, and I extremely didn’t want

that. Not before we’d had a chance to see where things could go with us.

On the other hand, maybe this was my chance. I’d waited months to ask Penelope out, and now she was right here. We were stuck together unless we flamed out.

I could chill and have fun. Embrace the chaotic potential. Maximum flirt power. Fake it ’til you make it, even if I wouldn’t

really be faking.

Because honestly? Even though Grandpa Fred’s rule number one was “be someone else,” Leandro was still sort of me. He was the

goofy parts I hid from teachers so they would praise me, and from my parents because I was supposed to be their brainy, serious,

future professional son. Yes, I was the nerd who started the Doctor Witch blog so I could help other magic nerds nerd out safely. But I was also the clown who wanted to make people laugh by shoving

a pie into my own face. As tired as I was of never being taken seriously as Leandro, I’d only started pretending to be him

because I was tired of getting nowhere as a brainy, serious professional.

If Penelope could like Leandro as much as she seemed to like me, wouldn’t it be worth the risk?

Penelope nodded to herself as if she’d made her choice. I waited, trying to breathe normally.

“Let’s try it,” she said.

I exhaled slowly. “Are you sure?”

“As long as you’re okay with it?”

“I am. Okay with it, I mean. If all we’re doing is, uh, putting out a vibe, we could always deny anything happened later,

right? Say it was people’s imagination?”

“True, true. We just have to be careful.”

Her stomach growled, and she grabbed it like that would stop it. “Did you skip breakfast? Because I did.”

“No, but...” I waggled my eyebrows as I pulled a banana out of my pocket.

Penelope lost it again. “Are you... are you trying to... give me the banana in your pocket?”

“Maybe I’m just happy to see you.”

She held out her hand. “Yes, fine, give me your warm pocket banana. I’m too hungry to care.”

I was so going to prank her with another banana later. But for now, I watched her eat and wondered how we were going to pull

this off.