Page 28 of Witch You Would

Speaking of which... “Did Cari find the store keys and take them back?”

Emelia made the humming noise that meant she was stalling. “She found them, but don’t get mad.”

Oh no. “What happened?”

“Your old-lady neighbor saw her using her lock-gun thing on the door to open it? And she threw like five chancletas at Cari

and threatened her with a broom.”

Great. “Did my landlady call or text or anything?”

“Nope. But Cari says you owe her for chancla-related emotional distress.”

“Whatever she wants,” I said, rubbing my face. “What did Ofelia say when she dropped the keys off?”

“Something like, ‘She couldn’t bring them herself?’ And then Cari said, ‘What part of ‘she’s in another state’ didn’t you

understand, vieja podrida?’ And then Ofelia threatened to call the police, so she vamoosed.”

I’d probably never get my last paycheck. Awesome.

“I can hear you catastrophizing. Para. If you can’t talk about the show, what can you tell me about?”

I jumped out of bed and started pacing, because I sort of had to talk about the show. But I had to be careful about it.

“I can’t tell you who my partner is,” I said. “But... ah! So like... the thing is... How do I say this...”

“Just say it. I wish I could hit you like a stuck vending machine.”

I took a deep breath, then spoke quickly. “My partner is really sweet and hot and I’m sort of hooking up with him?”

Emelia groaned loudly and with maximum vocal fry. I held the phone away from my ear until she stopped.

“Who is he?” she asked. “No, you can’t tell me. What happened? Make-outs, obviously. Is it serious? It can’t be serious; it’s

only been a few days.”

“Can I talk, or are you just going to answer your own questions?”

“Go. Talk. Proceed.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

I proceeded, leaving out any details that might let her figure out who Leandro was.

I didn’t think she watched his videos, but I might have mentioned him at some point, or forwarded something Rosy sent me.

I said nothing about his mustache, or his glasses, or his tacky shirts, and everything about how he was cute, and funny, and sweet, except when he was frustrating.

I also mentioned the fake flirting, since it seemed both relevant and highly telenovela.

“What about your pen pal crush?” Emelia asked.

“Gil.” Big sigh. I dropped into the desk chair and banged my head on the table. “If you had asked me that”—I counted off on

my fingers—“five days ago, I would have said he was the only guy I was interested in. But now?”

“Now what?”

“I keep thinking, I’ve never met him. We haven’t talked on the phone. He doesn’t even know my name! All we ever did was email

each other. Why did that turn me into such a simp?”

“Weren’t they pretty personal emails? Flirty, even?”

“Yeah, but, like, he never asked me out. I didn’t ask him, either. Doesn’t that mean something?”

Emelia made an exaggerated fake-clucking noise.

“I’m not a chicken!” I spun the hotel pen on the desk as I talked. “Okay, maybe we’re both chicken. But maybe I built up a

thing that wasn’t there. Maybe we didn’t know each other well enough to catch actual feelings. Maybe I was crushing on an

imaginary version of a real guy, which isn’t cool.”

“That’s surprisingly mature, coming from you.”

“Thanks.” I didn’t tell her my mature insight came from Leandro talking about having that exact problem with his fans.

“However!” I could imagine her holding up her finger like she did when she wanted to make a point without being interrupted.

“If you’re not sure where you stand, the obvious thing to do is ask, instead of sitting around like a sad cartoon donkey while

a rain cloud dumps on you.”

“You sound like Rosy.”

“Sometimes your friend knows what’s up. So?”

“So, I emailed him right before they took my phone.”

“And?”

“And I got an auto-reply that he wasn’t checking emails because he was going out of town.”

“What about now?”

“I haven’t looked yet.”

Emelia clucked again.

“I called you first!”

“Comemierda. Put me on speaker and look!”

I did. A bunch of emails popped up. Random stuff from stores, Jinxd updates, an email from my landlord... nothing from

Gil. I guess he was serious about not checking while he was out of town? Unless he was trying to find a way to let me down

gently and hadn’t—

Wait, my landlord?

My brain flushed Gil while I opened that email and skimmed it, then read it again, more slowly, because I couldn’t believe

what it said.

“Did he email you?” Emelia asked.

“No,” I said, my throat tight, “but apparently the rent on my tiny illegal efficiency is going up. By a lot. Or I have to

move out.”

“Fffff. And you don’t have a job.”

“I don’t have a job.”

“So you’re fucked.”

“I’m extremely fucked.”

We sat there in silence.

“Well,” Emelia said, “if you’re already fucked, you might as well do some fucking, right?”

“Eme! Cono! This is not funny.”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry.”

I couldn’t be mad. That’s how she was. I catastrophized, Eme joked. Maybe that’s part of why I liked Leandro in spite of myself:

he reminded me of her.

“My lease is up in two months,” I said. “That might be enough time...”

“To get a new job?”

I threw the hotel pen against the wall. It bounced off and landed on the desk, rolling right back to me.

“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “It’s basic math. I can’t make enough money to afford this on my own unless I win the competition,

or get hired somewhere that pays way more than Espinosa’s.”

“Take it one step at a time,” Emelia said. “Either you’re going to win, or you’re not. I’m going to assume because you said

‘unless I win’ that you haven’t lost yet.”

Oops. I slipped. Well, come at me, lawyer ninjas.

“If you win, problem solved,” Emelia continued. “If you lose, you still have at least a month to make a backup plan, right?”

“Yeah, I have to give thirty days’ notice.”

“So focus on winning. Where you live is a problem for Future Penelope.”

She was right. There was that sisterly wisdom I’d called her for.

“Now, as for your boy toys...”

Ah! “They’re not boys, or toys.”

“Do you need permission to fuck?”

“Do I what?!”

“You know, like Cari always says. Do you need permission to do the thing you already want to do?”

Did I? I usually thought a thing to death and then didn’t do it until it was too late. The only reason I was on Cast Judgment was because Rosy had pushed me into applying. I needed... Some way to sort out my feelings, I guess.

“I get it,” Emelia said. “You just met this guy. You were told to pretend to like each other, and it stopped being pretend.

You’re confused. You want a clear solution. I’m not going to tell you what to do, one way or the other. But you overthink

everything. Dichotomize.”

“Dichotomize” was Emelia code for “reduce to two options.” She did it for basically every decision in her life.

“You have a choice between two guys,” she continued. “What is your gut telling you? Be honest with yourself.”

Be honest? How? One of the things I tended to overthink was my feelings.

“I’ve known Gil longer,” I said. “We like a lot of the same things, and he’s smart and nice.”

“And new guy?”

“New guy feels like Gil in some ways, different in others. It’s like I’ve known him forever. Like we fit. And then he’ll do

something that makes me want to shake him, and I’ll wonder if I’ve got it all wrong.”

“Are you only into him because he’s hot and convenient?”

“No!” I yelped. “Of course not. I have self-control. I don’t throw myself at guys just because they’re...” Oh, shit.

“There you go. Honest feelings. So, dichotomize again. Do you want to have a thing with this guy, or not?”

Did I? What was the worst that could happen? Someone could catch us and think I’m a groupie sleeping my way to fame. I’d already

committed to pretend flirting, so what was the difference? I could feel like a loser because he’d played me to get laid, except

I didn’t really think Leandro was playing me.

That didn’t mean I could assume he wanted a relationship. Just like I shouldn’t have assumed anything with Gil.

Maybe the real question was: Would I really miss out on a guy who was clearly into me, right now, for a chance with a guy

who had never made a move?

“I’m going to talk to him,” I said.

“Good,” Emelia said. “Now go win so you don’t have to sleep in my bathtub.”

We said our goodbyes, but I was already gone, plotting my next move.

Step one: find Leandro. Step two: grovel and hope he’d forgive me.