Page 19 of Witch You Would

I ’ d visited the Tropical Oasis Botanic Gardens all the time growing up, either on field trips with school or because my abuela

was super into horticulture. Two years ago, a hurricane tore through and damaged a lot of the trees and plants. Fortunately

enough rich people on charity boards jumped in to get things fixed by some botany mages, and the place felt just as magical

as it had when I was younger.

Tall royal palm trees stood in rows on either side of the stone walkway leading to the entrance. Past the gift shop and offices,

it was like the place existed somewhere outside Miami, far from where people lived. Thick ficus roots sprawled across the

leaf-covered ground like the cables back in the studio. Dozens, maybe hundreds, of different kinds of palm trees were arranged

in clusters, mixed with flowers in more colors than a paint store. Oaks, mangroves, gumbo-limbo, pines, mangos, avocados,

mangosteen, tamarinds... cascading walls of purple orchids and bursts of bromeliads... plumbago and bougainvillea and

gardenia and jasmine... The variety was incredible, some native plants and some transplants.

Hah, Leandro would probably like that pun.

We were here to see a special exhibit of magical glass sculptures by a super-famous artist, Everly Bale.

Instead of being displayed in the gallery, each piece had been placed somewhere on the grounds, for people to find as they wandered.

All of them felt as if they belonged in nature.

A miniature tree sprouted from the ground, spread leaves and branches, then grew a single golden pear that dropped and shattered into glittering dust, from which another tree grew as the first one shrank and disappeared.

A vibrant peacock opened and closed its incredibly realistic tail feathers.

A tiny fairy with iridescent wings and a flower hat climbed a cluster of glowing pink oyster mushrooms.

The difference between this quality of enchanting and the stuff we’d done fast on a soundstage was enormous. I didn’t have

an artsy brain at this level, but in a way, this was the dream: winning that space at the Desgraves Studio to create for a

whole year, to learn and grow. All reagents and gear provided, no other major responsibilities to deal with, and that big

cash prize to cover expenses. I could translate and test all of my abuela’s recipes, and if I managed to finish that early,

I could figure out what my version of these kinds of experimental projects might be. I could play and have fun instead of

only doing what people ordered.

But if we lost... I slammed the door on that thought, locked it, and fed the key to an alligator.

Camera crews trailed after us and our tour guide as we walked down shaded paths until we reached a long, covered corridor

with limestone walls that overlooked a lake. Ducks swam, ibis and heron stepped in the shallows, and turtles sunned themselves

on the rocky shore. A sculpture that looked like a beached jellyfish stretched its long tentacles into the water, the balloony

part expanding and contracting like it was breathing.

It was weird being here and pretending everything was cool after what happened last night.

We’d hung out on the pool deck when we got back to the hotel, trying to cheer up Quentin and Tanner, who were both still trapped in the hotel with us until filming was finished thanks to the power of those lawyer ninja NDAs.

Quentin swore their spell shouldn’t have gone wrong, that he thought someone might have messed with it.

Felicia made an ugly comment about accepting responsibility for his failures and not wallowing.

I snapped and asked her if there was an ice palace somewhere missing its princess, and she got all huffy and left.

Quentin thought maybe something happened during the power outage, when he and Tanner were in the supply room. That was when

Amy spilled the tea that Felicia had been standing near Quentin’s station when the room went dark. I didn’t think she needed

to cheat to win, but who knows what people will do to get what they want.

Too bad for Quentin that no one could prove anything was sus. I had to focus on winning more than on what went down in round

one.

Quentin still got to come along today, even though he was cut out of group shots. He kept mouthing wow and touching plants like he was having a religious experience. I didn’t blame him. I was more into libraries than nature,

but this place felt immense and peaceful. It made you a tiny part of something older and more beautiful than human problems.

Amy and Dylan seemed to be enjoying themselves, too, though poor Amy had to huff an allergy charm as soon as we got here.

She wore a long-sleeved dress to protect her skin, and a cute straw hat with sunscreen spells woven into the brim. We’d all

lotioned for safety, but she was definitely the palest of us.

Felicia’s hat was more fashionable: white straw with a turquoise ribbon that matched her turquoise-and-yellow shirt and white capris.

Big chunky sunglasses hid her eyes. Once again she wore heeled sandals that made her even taller; I thought I would twist my ankle just being near them.

She looked like a runway model. A winner.

Charlotte rocked a sleeveless pantsuit and pearls that felt more corporate than nature walk. I hoped that maybe, possibly,

I might be able to chat her up and convince her I was a hundred times more awesome than Felicia, but so far no luck. She stuck

with her partner, even though neither of them seemed super talky.

I was hyperaware of Leandro standing near me the whole time. Today he wore a cream-colored guayabera embroidered with black

and yellow butterflies, which—of course—matched my off-white shirt with black stripes. The universe conspiring.

I really wished I knew more about flirting. I second-guessed everything. Should I touch him more? Where? His arm? Should I

smile at him? Point stuff out to him? Act natural and stop worrying about it so much? Was worrying making things worse?

“Hey.” Leandro nudged me and pointed with his chin.

It took me a few seconds to see the sculpture that looked almost exactly like a cluster of bananas.

I giggled into my hand. “Oh my god, are you going to be banana-ing me for the next two weeks?”

“Absolutely.” He grinned. “I’m going to practice pulling them out of random places. My sleeve, your ear—”

“No, do not!” I slapped his arm gently. He rubbed it like I’d hurt him. Exagerado.

Oh, was that flirting? Ay! Shut up, brain.

The tour guide talked about the history of the gardens and the plants in the area. Syd occasionally cracked a joke; I wondered how many of them had been prepped in advance. Being funny all the time must be hard.

Probably for Leandro, too. Huh.

The tour ended at the lake, where we stopped for lunch. Tables had been set up at the far end of the covered area, all super

fancy: wooden chairs and white tablecloths, actual glass glasses and nice plates, like a rich couple’s wedding. We even had

assigned seating. Once we’d all settled, waiters served us baskets of bread and individual meals of mahi mahi, rosemary garlic

roasted potatoes, and asparagus. Big step up from yesterday’s party platters.

Leandro, who sat next to me, leaned closer. “Are we still filming Cast Judgment , or did I time travel back to my Tía Sandra’s wedding?”

“I was just thinking the same thing,” I said.

“You were at Tía’s wedding, too?”

“No jodas! You know what I meant.” I smiled anyway. Was this flirting? Wait, we weren’t on camera right now, so it didn’t

matter.

“I hope we get cake. And not the one my tía had.”

I swallowed a bite of fish. “Was it one of those party cakes? With the pudding?”

“The soggy ones with the rum?” He made a gagging face. “No, it was dense, too much fondant. Huge white roses all over.”

“My cousin Gina would die. She’s an event planner, and she has, like, perfect taste.”

Leandro used a piece of bread to push fish onto his fork. “So what’s your favorite kind of cake?”

“Does it have to be cake cake, or can it be cake adjacent?”

“Either? Both?”

“If it’s just regular cake, then chocolate with chocolate frosting. Cake adjacent? Tiramisu. What about you?”

“Chocolate lava cake, for sure.”

“Ooh, lava cake. With ice cream.” I had a brief cake fantasy as I stared at the wiggly jellyfish sculpture. When was the last

time I’d even had cake? One of my million cousins’ kids’ birthday parties? Most of the time I missed them because they happened

on weekends, while I was working.

How depressing was that? I had so much family here in Miami, and I never even saw them. How had my life gotten to this place?

Sitting here suddenly felt weird, like my thoughts were smothering me. I put my fork down and stood up.

“Bio break?” Leandro asked.

“I just... need to walk a little.”

I couldn’t be gone for too long; we’d be doing confessionals after lunch. If I got lost, they’d send a PA search party after

me. A map nearby suggested a few options: an orchard, an orchid walk, or even just a path circling the lake. I decided on

the butterfly conservatory.

The building had greenhouse vibes: a combination of stone, metal, and glass tall enough for whole trees to grow inside. I

had to pass through two sets of doors to get in, the first leading to a foyer-slash-greeting room, where a cheerful lepidopterist

explained how I shouldn’t touch any plants, and to be careful where I stepped or sat, and to please not try to catch any of

the butterflies and moths. No food or drinks allowed, either, which was fine since I hadn’t brought any. I didn’t even have

a wallet, just my crew pass and a huge bucket of anxiety.

The second door had an air curtain, which blew down on my hair as I stepped through. I stood there blinking for I don’t know

how long, totally in awe. Had it always been this magical in here?