Page 24 of Witch You Would

Then again, Grandpa Fred’s rule number six: everyone is important. He always said to act like every person I met was having

the worst day of their life, and I had the chance to turn it around. If I started to rank the people around me by how much

they could help me, what kind of shitty suck-up would I be?

“Hey,” I said. “You’re Little Manny, and you’re Big Manny, but where’s Just Manny?”

Little Manny shrugged, and Big Manny shook his head.

“He’s around,” Big Manny said.

“Nobody sees Just Manny,” Little Manny added. “He’s like a, what do you call it? The animals that maybe don’t exist?”

“A cryptid?” I asked.

“That. You tell him what he has to do, and he does it, but no one ever sees it happen.”

We ate dessert as we plotted ways to trap Just Manny into showing himself. I suggested a cardboard box propped up by a stick

with a Cuban sandwich underneath. Penelope thought slipping a magic tracker into a box of stuff for him would be easier and

sneakier. We worked our way up to trip wires and mirrors and people doing their best Isaac impersonations pretending Just

Manny was in trouble. Little Manny, hilariously, nailed his facial expressions.

The later it got, the harder it was to see myself talking to Penelope about anything private. Maybe that was for the best.

Leave it alone until we knew whether we’d be continuing in the competition. We needed to focus on our strats instead of getting

distracted.

Penelope stood up and stretched. “It’s getting late. We should go.”

We?

She tugged my arm. “Come on, we need to adjust our plan for tomorrow.”

“Totally.” I brushed cake crumbs off my shirt. Classy.

“Don’t stay up too late ‘adjusting your plan,’ you two,” Little Manny said, waggling his eyebrows.

“No jodas,” Big Manny said, shoving Little Manny halfway off his chair. “What do you care what they do in private?”

“As long as they don’t do it with a hot mic. Get it? Hot mic?”

I groaned. Penelope turned bright red. We headed for the elevator, and I was glad I’d reapplied deodorant before I came up

for dinner; the heat was bad enough, but now I was sweating bricks.

“Should we... go to one of our rooms?” Penelope asked. She didn’t sound like she wanted to, but I didn’t know whether it

was because of what Little Manny had said, or because she was nervous about being alone in a place with a bed. Not that we

were going to jump each other’s bones, but it would be standing there. Menacingly.

We definitely couldn’t go to my room. I couldn’t remember whether I’d stashed my mustache stuff.

“How about the business center?” I asked.

“Yeah, okay.”

The elevator came and we stepped inside. The doors closed, and I almost had to hold my breath because her smell filled the

small space. Rosemary, mint, and something else... her deodorant? Jasmine, rose, a hint of vanilla. It was like being back

in the gardens, which was not a thing I needed on my mind right now.

Did she really want to talk about our spell, or other stuff?

A year later, the doors opened and we stepped into the lobby.

Alina waved at us from behind the front desk as she chatted on the phone.

We walked past her, down the hall. Even though the hotel was small, it had a gym with a spa, an arcade-slash-playroom, a library-slash-lounge with books we could borrow, a small movie theater with free popcorn and a soda machine, and a business center with a private casting room that doubled as a small sound booth. Super fancy.

The business center lights came on when we opened the door. Pale green walls, one with five clocks showing different time

zones. Desks that matched Alina’s, same Key West vibe. Ergonomic leather spinny chairs. Every desk had a computer with monitor,

keyboard, and mouse, and a tray with paper and pens and pencils, all covered in the hotel logo. In the corner, an open door

led to the casting booth, a soundproofed pentagonal mini-room with a tiny shelf inside. The outside was covered in distressed

wood, trying to make it match everything else.

Penelope took one chair; I took another. She grabbed stuff to write with, so I did, too. I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved

or disappointed that she really did want to work on the spell.

“We have to be super careful tomorrow,” she said. “More than usual.”

I nodded, spinning the pencil between my fingers. “Maybe today was a supplier issue, but maybe not. After what happened with

Quentin...”

“We have to be paranoid. No leaving the spell alone. Watch anyone who comes near it.”

“Anyone?”

Penelope hesitated. “Maybe not the judges? Or the crew. I don’t know why they would want to cause trouble.”

I tapped the pencil eraser on the paper. “Could be someone paid them off. Money can make people do bad shit.”

“Still, it’s most likely one of the contestants.”

“You’re thinking Felicia.”

“Definitely.” Penelope put her pencil down and leaned forward. “Amy said she was near Quentin and Tanner’s station when the

lights went out. And she’s the one who gave us the wrong reagent.”

“If she did anything, someone’s going to catch her. But we can’t take any chances. Trust no one except each other.”

“Exactly.” Penelope blew out a breath. “I’m so glad you get it. I was worried you’d be super chill about this.”

Uh, no? “Some things are too serious for chill. Even people like me have some sense. Rules, even.”

“Leandro Presto has rules?” she asked, grinning like I’d made a joke. “About what?”

It shouldn’t have annoyed me to hear that, but it did. “Nothing. It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to you, clearly.” Penelope’s smile turned to a worried look. “Sorry for laughing. Are the rules like, for life,

or your show, or...?”

I stared at the ground, derpy smile back on. “The show, yeah. I don’t usually talk about them.”

“Oh. No worries. You don’t have to tell me.”

“I didn’t mean it like that. They’re not secret, just personal? Stuff like...” I mentally went down the list, skipping

the ones that said too much. “Leave work at work. Hands off the fans. Everyone is important.”

“Those are good rules.” Penelope tilted her head. “So you never date fans?”

“Never.”

“Not even the ones who don’t give you their underwear?”

“No.”

“Huh. Okay.”

Why did that “okay” make me so tired? I suddenly, desperately wanted her to understand me better, even if it meant a tiny break in character. A little Gil slipping through the Presto.

“Some people just want to hook up with someone sort of famous,” I told her. “That feels like they’re using me? Even the ones

who aren’t like that, they don’t really know me. They know who I am in my videos, or when I chat online. That’s not . . .”

Real? True? “. . . the whole me.”

Penelope stared like I’d just handed her a tricky spell problem. “But if you don’t go out with any of them, how will you get

to know each other?”

I opened my arms and shrugged. “I don’t know. But I can’t risk it.”

“Can’t, or won’t?”

“Won’t. I won’t take chances on strangers I don’t have a reason to trust.”

Did I trust Penelope? I thought I did...

Her frown smoothed out. “I guess I’m not a fan, so that rule doesn’t apply to me anyway.”

Did she realize what she’d just said?

And then she did, because her eyes got huge and she turned red as a pitanga. “I mean, not that we’re going to—well, we already

did, but I won’t assume you want to, you know, again. I don’t want to make things weird.”

“You’re not making . . .” I stopped, hearing footsteps coming down the hall. Clacky high-heeled ones. And voices, two women.

It sounded like—

“It’s Felicia and Charlotte,” Penelope whispered. “Quick, hide!”

“What? Why?”

“Shh! Get under the desk!”

That made no sense. I pulled her into the casting booth instead.

The door was heavy, but I managed to close it behind us quickly.

We crouched so we couldn’t be seen through the small window in the door.

There was barely enough room for both of us; my back and right shoulder hit the foam on the side walls, and Penelope’s back was pressed against my front, her butt dangerously close to my crotch.

From this angle, with the outside sound muffled, I couldn’t tell whether Felicia and Charlotte even came into the room. I

started to get up to peek, but Penelope squeezed my arm and looked at me over her shoulder, shaking her head.

“Why are we—” I started to ask.

“Shh!” Penelope whispered, twisting so her mouth was closer to my ear. “They might hear us.”

“This booth is soundproof,” I whispered back.

“Are you sure?”

I tried to remember what Ed had told me about sound booths, but, well, butt. Distracting. “No.”

“Then shh!”

Her scent filled the tiny space quickly, especially since she was practically in my lap. This was worse than the elevator.

How long did she want to hide in here?

“Even if it isn’t totally soundproof, they won’t hear us whispering,” I said.

“Can we hear them?”

“No, it works both ways.” Hold up. “You wanted to spy on them?”

“Maybe. Yes.”

“What if they find us?”

“It’s a casting room. We pretend we were doing spell stuff.”

Right. With no reagents. I didn’t even have chalk.

Penelope took a deep breath, held it, then let it out slowly. Her muscles were so tense, they shook. I had to stop her freak-out, since I didn’t know how long we’d be stuck.

I sat down on the chalkboard-painted floor, then made her do the same, nestling her between my knees and wrapping my arms

loosely around her upper body. Not totally snuggled up, but close. She gripped my forearms with both hands.

Hmm. There was something else we could pretend to be doing in here.

“Hey, girl,” I whispered. “Is your name Chamomile? Because you’re a hot tea.”

Penelope covered her mouth with one hand. “Oh my god,” she whispered through her fingers. “Do not.”

“Feel my shirt. It’s made of boyfriend material.”

She made a sound between a muffled snort and a squeak.

“If you were part of a contract, you would be the fine print.”

“Stop!” she whispered, but now she was shaking from trying not to laugh.

I tightened my arms around her. “You must be a great caster, because every time I look at you, everyone else disappears.”

That one didn’t make her laugh. Probably because I meant it. Ah, Penelope. All the reasons I should keep my distance seemed

so unimportant as soon as I was holding her.

I kissed her under her ear. She sucked in a breath. My lips kept going, down her neck to the collar of her shirt. She angled

her head, giving me better access, so I trailed more kisses all the way up to her hair, then dropped one on the back of her

ear.

I had no idea whether the booth was ventilated, but it was getting hotter inside.

Penelope turned so she could reach my mouth with hers.

Mmm. Our second kiss was as delicious as the first, but sweeter and slower.

No film crew to hurry us along, no fake smiles, no producer-mandated creeping.

Only her and me in this small, quiet space, finding our rhythm, feeling our way along each other’s skin.

I sucked on her bottom lip and she opened for me. Our tongues danced the bachata, the tango, stroking and teasing. My heart

raced like I was moving my whole body instead of just my mouth. My glasses bumped her face and I ripped them off, tossing

them on the shelf above us without looking. I didn’t even worry she might recognize me. The wrong head was doing all my thinking.

I’m not sure which of us got more... impatient? But between one kiss and the next, Penelope climbed on top of me. Her arms

twined around my neck, and she rode my thighs while I grabbed her ass with one hand. With the other, I skimmed my fingers

over her breast; she gave a throaty little hum, so I did it again, and she pushed into my palm.

Too many layers of clothes between me and where I wanted to be. I slid my hand under her shirt, stroking her stomach, moving

higher until I hit the bottom of her bra. Would she stop me? She didn’t seem in a stopping mood.

I shifted the bra’s fabric down and circled her nipple with my thumb. She scooted her hips forward and rolled them, giving

my cock a preview of coming attractions. I groaned into her mouth and she did it again. If I hadn’t been hard as a rock before,

I definitely was now.

And then the lights went out.

Penelope pulled away and froze. I squinted at the total darkness. Had something happened to the power? I didn’t hear a storm.

Then I realized what it meant and banged my head against the foam-covered wall.

“The motion sensor,” I said, in a normal voice. “It turns off the lights if there’s no one in the room.”

Penelope gave a rusty laugh. “You were right. They never even came inside.”

“Maybe they did and left.”

“Well, at least we know there’s nobody out there. We, um, don’t have to keep hiding.”

Except I did. I was hiding behind a costume and a name I invented with my friends. I was hiding behind the anonymity of the

internet, the distance between emails. I spent most of my time hiding these days, and more and more I realized I was getting

really tired of it.

Mood ruined. With my free hand, I groped for the glasses I’d thrown on the shelf and slid them back on, then stood up.

“Do you want to work on the spell?” I asked.

“Maybe we should sleep,” she said. “Start fresh in the morning.”

I was glad she couldn’t see my face, because it was hard enough making my voice sound normal.

“Okay,” I said. “Be careful with the—”

A thunk was followed by a naughty word I wouldn’t have expected her to use.

“—shelf.”

I opened the door and the lights came on, showing a scowling Penelope rubbing the back of her head.

Please stay, I wanted to say. We don’t have to do anything but talk. Don’t go yet. Not yet.

What came out of my mouth was, “Are you okay? Let me get you some ice for that...”

“It’s fine,” Penelope said, wincing. “I have a hard head.”

I reached out to her. “Come here.”

She took a step closer, and I rubbed the back of her head gently.

“Sana sana, culito de rana,” I said. “Si no sana hoy, sana manana.”

A grin cracked Penelope’s face. “Seriously? Are you my abuela?”

“I really hope not. I don’t kiss my abuela like that.”

“Sucio.” She smacked my arm, and I pretended it hurt more than it did.

Another terrible Sam line ran through my mind as she walked out: I hated to see her go, but I loved to watch her leave.

I’d have loved it even more if she’d come back.