Page 23 of Witch You Would

We didn’t get to work on our spells for the rest of the day. Tori shut down the production, and a team of quietly freaked-out

people invaded the supply area. Big Manny and another burly PA stood guard at the entrance like bouncers, I guess to make

sure no one could get in and mess with the auditing or whatever.

Eventually Isaac Knight roared in. His hair looked like he’d been grabbing it, all clumped together and sticking up in different

directions. He climbed onto Dylan and Zeke’s table, ignoring their disgusted looks.

“Listen up,” Isaac said, clapping for attention as if we weren’t already staring at him. “I don’t know what the fuck is going

on here, but if any of you is doing anything you shouldn’t be doing, I’m going to sue your ass so hard, your great-grandkids

will still be paying the lawyers.”

Tori cleared her throat like she wanted to talk, but Isaac pointed at her, then made a fist. Her face went blank.

“I’m told this may just be an ‘accident’ with our suppliers,” Isaac continued, his air quotes audible and sarcastic.

“In which case, Frogtail is going to be the one hearing from our lawyers. I don’t give a shit who pays, but someone is going to, and it won’t be me.

This is fucking with my production schedule.

This is fucking with my budget, and I don’t need the accountants up my ass more than they already are. ”

Tori’s left eye twitched.

Isaac pointed his fist at the rest of us, snarling like an angry dog. “If any shit-sucking, mud-fucking journalists hear even

a whisper about anything that leads to questions about the integrity of this competition, I’ll fucking end you. I’ll bury

you in anonymity until not even your friend’s daughter’s basement podcast will want to interview you, and you won’t be able

to get a job that doesn’t involve an ugly polo and the words, ‘Thank you, come again’ repeated eight hundred times an hour.”

Tori said, “Isaac, we agreed—”

“Shut up, Victoria,” Isaac said without looking at her. “None of you knows anything about any problems here. You don’t know

anything, nobody around you knows anything, and none of you are going to talk about the nothing you don’t know about. Not

in public, not in private, not to anyone else on this production, past or present. Zip your lips or I’ll zip them for you,

capisce?”

He climbed back off his pedestal and stormed out, Tori following with her shoulders near her ears. I felt bad for her. Dealing

with Isaac seemed to require selective hearing and a suit of medieval armor.

“Do you think he’s serious about the lawyers?” Penelope whispered.

“Probably, but the network decides that stuff,” I said. “All he can do is yell.” I was pretty sure, anyway. But Penelope seemed

to be freaking out, and I didn’t want to make her more anxious.

Jaya talked quietly to Amy and rubbed her arm while Amy wiped away tears underneath her glasses.

Dylan and Zeke stood stoically, arms crossed.

Felicia checked her spell components the same way Penelope had, while Charlotte had cornered Big Manny and was telling him something that made him alternately nod and shake his head.

Syd and the judges had left, presumably to go back to their trailers.

“Funny that Isaac thinks the worst he can do is make us work retail,” Penelope said. “Clearly he forgot that was literally

my job.”

“Do you think he’s worked retail before?”

“No way. Can you picture him at a store?”

I gave her an angry glare and did my best Isaac voice. “Are you gonna buy that shirt? It’s puke green! It’s giving ‘baby doesn’t

want to eat his peas, so he threw them at you.’ Come on.”

Penelope stuck her fist in her mouth and tried not to laugh.

I kept going. “Why don’t you buy the black shirt? If you spill something on it, there won’t be a stain, just a smell. That’s

what body spray is for. Hey, where are you going? You didn’t buy anything! Fuck you, too!”

“I’m dying,” Penelope gasped. “I can’t breathe.”

I almost made a joke about giving her mouth to mouth, but we were in public. Unfortunately that sent my thoughts spinning

off in other directions.

That kiss yesterday. Holy shit. I’d spent all day today playing it cool when I wanted to drag her into an empty office and

do it again.

She’d said we should talk later, and we hadn’t. Maybe she’d changed her mind and wanted to pretend nothing had happened? I

had to know. The only way to find out was to ask.

Except we were stuck here. No privacy. All I could do was not “overdo” flirting and tell bad jokes.

The inventory check took so long, we were eventually hustled back to the hotel.

The sun had almost finished setting, high-rises around us casting their long shadows on the roads and shorter buildings.

Penelope sat next to me, making her duck-lip thinking face, her leg touching mine.

I wasn’t sure if she noticed, but I extremely did.

Dinner would be on the pool deck again since the bar-slash-restaurant was open to regular customers at night. I ran up to

my room and peeled off my mustache, cleaned my skin, and moisturized. As I rubbed lotion into my upper lip, I wondered if

taking my mustache off was the equivalent of someone with boobs taking their bra off at the end of a long day. For me, there

was the extra layer of shedding my Leandro persona, going back to being Gil Contreras. Grandpa Fred’s rule number four: leave

work at work. I’d have to put the mustache back on to go get food, though, so I wouldn’t have a naked upper lip for long.

I slumped in my desk chair and stared at a moving picture of a bromeliad hanging on the wall. I needed a plan for The Talk.

How would I get Penelope alone? What would I say? Should I just listen? She’d said she didn’t want to apologize, and didn’t

want me to, but what did she want?

What did I want?

Easy. I wanted Penelope. And not just physically, though that was definitely a thing. I wanted to go out with her, to eat

cheap takeout on my couch and watch documentaries, to talk about magic theory books and figure out spell recipes together.

I wanted a girlfriend, not a fuck buddy.

But wanting it badly enough wouldn’t magically solve the logistical issues.

Dating as Leandro was out of the question; he was a character.

A part of me, yes, but not real. If I dated someone as myself, I’d have to hide the fact that I was also Leandro until I was sure I could trust them, which meant I’d have to lie about a huge part of my life.

Secrets were a shitty foundation for a relationship.

And the more Penelope liked Leandro, the more I worried that maybe she didn’t like Gil as much as I’d thought. It didn’t matter

that they were both me, because she didn’t know that.

Did her switching teams so easily mean I shouldn’t trust her?

What would Grandpa Fred tell me to do? He’d given me the rules I followed, so he’d probably have some good advice for this

whole situation. Maybe I could call him on our rest day.

But what would I say to Penelope now?

I put my mustache back on and went upstairs to eat, still lost.

The pool deck was crowded, food tables set up in their usual spot, drinks at the poolside bar, lounge chairs around the pool

and regular chairs and tables scattered everywhere else. The sun had set, but it was still hot as balls, even with cooling

charms and the breeze coming in from the bay. The views to the sides were blocked by high-rise condo buildings, but that still

left the water in front of us, stretching out to the causeway, with its pink and purple neon running the length of the bridge.

A few stars twinkled above us, the lights from the beach and downtown reflected in the water.

After Isaac’s pissed-off speech, nobody talked about the production shutdown. They went for non-competition topics: movies,

TV shows, sports... Big Manny and Little Manny were arguing with Penelope about something, which Dylan seemed to find funny.

I took my plate of chicken and mashed potatoes and sat next to Penelope, who quickly finished chewing and gestured at me.

“Leandro, back me up,” she said. “Best empanadas. Alvaro’s, right?”

“No way,” Little Manny said. “Castillo de las Frutas.”

“I eat those all the time because my friend works there. They’re pretty good, not the best.”

“I keep telling them, there’s this ventana in an office building,” Big Manny said. “I forget the name, but it’s the best.

Good coffee, too.”

Penelope swallowed. “Hold up, is it the one in the Trinity building?”

“Yeah, that one! The ventana on the first floor?”

“That’s my aunt’s ventana!” Penelope smacked Big Manny on the arm, then winced. “Sorry. Okay, you win, though: her empanadas

are choice. She never brings any to parties because she’s like, ‘Oye, por favor, I make them all week, I’m not making them

on my day off.’”

I ate quietly. I knew I should make jokes, be more Leandro. Rule number two: stay in character. I’d never had to do it for

so long, though. I hadn’t realized how tired I would be.

“You okay?” Penelope whispered.

Shit. She noticed. Turn it up, Gil.

I grinned at her. “I’m good. Just thinking about all the nothing that didn’t happen today.”

Penelope sucked her teeth. “I’m trying not to think about it, because I don’t want psychic lawyer ninjas to kidnap me. I’m

definitely not thinking about it anywhere near Quentin.”

Quentin was talking to Amy, his hands moving like he was building something in the air. Tanner hadn’t made an appearance,

but neither had any of the other celebrities. I wondered whether they were all hiding in their rooms, or if they’d escaped

the lockdown. Maybe they were eating together and hadn’t invited me.

Normally the thought of not hanging with the cool kids wouldn’t bother me—this wasn’t middle school. But I was supposed to network. Mingle. Not with the contestants and PAs, but with the people who could help level up my career.