Page 30 of Witch You Would

Fine. I wasn’t going to argue with him. “Nobody ever knew you were Alan Kazam,” I said. “Except Mom and Grandma, and your

agent, I guess. But you were already with Grandma when that started.”

“More people knew than you think. Contract guys, mostly. Their jobs depended on them keeping their mouths shut, though. But

apparently I instilled too much healthy fear in you of what might happen if folks knew who you were. Everything is on the

internet now: names, addresses, all kinds of crap that used to be harder to find.”

“Yeah. And if I tell the wrong person...”

“The trouble is, how do you figure out who to trust?”

“Exactly!” I knew he would understand.

“Buddy, what did Alan Kazam always tell kids before every experiment?”

“Safety first?”

“No, dingbat, the other thing.”

Ah. Right. “Trust the magic, and the magic will trust you.”

“That. At some point, you have to accept that you can’t know everything, not about the world, and not about other people.

All you can do is your best. You keep an eye out for liars and brown-nosers and folks trying to take advantage. But you can’t

let worrying about those jerks keep you from ever trusting anybody.”

I bent my leg and rested my forehead on my knee. “What if I trust Penelope, and we have a huge fight, and she outs me on socials

because she’s mad? All it would take is the one time, and everyone would know who Leandro Presto is.”

“Cheese and crackers, bud, your parents really did a number on you with all their fighting, huh? Plenty of other couples aren’t

spiteful shits like they were.”

I felt like he’d poured a bucket of cold water on my head. My parents. Of course. As far back as I could remember, they’d

constantly argued. One of them would do or say something that pissed the other one off, and they’d scream for a while, then

go to separate rooms or leave the house. They talked shit about each other to me all the time, bribed me with food or toys

to prove which of them loved me more and was the better parent.

Worst of all, they made me keep secrets. I don’t think I’d realized until this moment how hard that was on me. Half the time

they’d use those secrets as weapons later, to throw something in the other’s face. And when it was me who accidentally slipped

up? Not only did I cause that fight, but I’d get punished for it.

Holy shit. No wonder I was a mess.

“Earth to Bert, come in, Bert?”

“Sorry,” I said. “I think my brain just broke.”

“Well, put it back together. I said, do you really think this girl would do that to you, or is that just your nerves talking?”

Did I think Penelope would do that? She had more of a temper than I’d expected, but it seemed mostly aimed at me when I was

pretending to be a fool and she was worried about our spell. Or at Felicia when she was a jerk. I hadn’t seen her do or say

anything mean otherwise. I’d actually seen her go out of her way to help people and be nice, which fit with what I’d heard

from my friend before I even started emailing her.

And hadn’t she helped me in the first place when she didn’t have to? She could have just said her store didn’t have the reagent

I needed and been done with it, but she called around for me and found it. And then she’d helped me fix a mistake in one of

the recipes on my blog. She didn’t get anything out of that for herself, in either case. She never asked me for any money,

or favors, or to buy anything from the store. She just... helped.

Even when she told me off in front of my fans that night at the park, Penelope seemed mostly worried that I was harming other

people—or myself.

No, I had no reason to believe she’d do something to get back at me if I made her angry. She’d probably lecture me about it,

if anything. And why did that make me smile?

“Lost you there again, kiddo.”

“You’re right, Grandpa. Penelope wouldn’t do that. She’s not like my parents at all. She’s pretty great, actually. Smart,

and nice, and funny.”

“Good-looking?”

“Definitely.”

“Then what are you waiting for? An invitation?”

I wasn’t going to explain enthusiastic consent to my grandfather. I’d already said enough.

“I need to talk to her,” I said.

“That’s my boy. You bring her by whenever you’re ready, hey? Let me get a look at her.”

“I can’t promise anything.” I didn’t know what Penelope wanted yet.

Grandpa Fred made a pssh sound. “I’m not asking for promises, bud. Unlike your dad, I’m not a lawyer trying to strangle you

with fine print.” He paused, then added, “And while I have you on the line, stop worrying about the charity so much, for god’s

sake. You’re going to give yourself an ulcer. Just have fun and see where this show takes you.”

He’d told me that before, and I wanted to listen, I really did. But I knew the charity was important to him. It had been important

to Grandma Louisa, too. She’d been an elementary school teacher from when they’d met until she’d retired, and if we lost the

charity, it would feel like losing her again.

“Doing my best,” I said. “Thanks for the advice, Grandpa.”

“Don’t just take my word for it,” he said. “Listen to yourself, too. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders when you use

it.”

I laughed, and we went back and forth about nothing important before we hung up. Talking to him always made me feel better.

I hoped it made him feel better, too.

As soon as I finished my to-do list, I was going to find Penelope and drag her back into the casting booth. One way or the

other, things needed to be settled between us. Not forever, maybe, but for now.

Groaning internally, I called my mom to get it over with. But at least I had something to look forward to afterward.

By the time I finished with my mom’s complaining and Ed’s methodical, chronological list of everything he thought I needed

to know about, it was past one. I could order room service again, but if there was a group lunch in the restaurant or on the

pool deck, that was probably where I’d find Penelope. So I glued my mustache on, slicked back my hair, and got my safety glasses.

A dashing superhero, Leandro was not.

The pool deck was indeed the party spot, with people swimming or tanning, taking advantage of the lack of rain. Dylan said

Penelope and Amy had left together after eating, that Amy was still upset about her spell; she kept “quietly going to pieces,”

as Quentin put it. I ate at an appropriately sociable speed while chatting with people, then headed to the first floor, finding

Alina at the desk again.

“Do you ever sleep?” I asked her.

“A little every time I blink,” Alina replied with a grin. “Can I help you with anything?”

“Maybe. Did Penelope and Amy come through here?”

“They went down the hall, I think to the theater.”

I thanked her and headed that way.

The theater room’s dark walls looked like stained bamboo interspersed with cloth-covered acoustic panels. The floor was an

enchanted purple galaxy print, rolls of film floating between sparkling stars. Rows of plush chairs, with drink holders in

armrests that went up and down, sat in front of a giant screen. Along the far wall was one of those fancy choose-your-own-soda

machines next to a table with a small glass-sided popcorn popper.

Penelope and Amy looked up from their seats in the front when I came in. Neither of them was eating, but both had drinks. Penelope also had her notebook and a pencil, and looked like she’d been writing something when I interrupted.

“Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to bother you two. I was just looking for Penelope.” I almost added “to talk about the next

round,” but that seemed cruel.

Amy smiled, her eyes crinkling behind her glasses. “I should probably go... do something, instead of feeling sorry for

myself. My partner told me to enjoy the hotel amenities.”

“Everyone else seems to be swimming,” I suggested.

“That does sound nice. And there’s a thing in the lounge later.” Amy looked at her hands. “I promised I’d play the piano.

I’ve learned the basics of enough popular songs to fake them, and Quentin wants to do karaoke.”

Penelope tapped her pencil on the notebook. “Can I talk to Leandro about this?”

Amy’s smile disappeared. “Yes. You can. Maybe he’ll have some ideas. Not that it will do much good, but I at least want to

know, if that makes sense?”

“It does,” Penelope assured her. “Go have fun. I’ll see you later.”

Amy paused in the doorway and smiled at me again. “Do you sing?”

“Not as well as I dance,” I said honestly.

That made her laugh, sweet and light. “Maybe you and Penelope can dance tonight, then.” And on that line, she left.

Penelope stared at her notebook. Now that her hair and makeup weren’t being done by the pros on the set, she looked different—not better or worse, just different.

Instead of space buns, she’d pulled her hair back in a ponytail of messy curls, some loose around her face like they’d escaped.

I didn’t usually notice eye shadow or lipstick unless they were extreme, and if she was wearing any now, she’d made it more natural than obvious.

I had this sense that she’d taken a mask off, a mask someone else had given her, and now I was seeing a more real Penelope.

And yet, here I was, with my mask on. But before I spilled my guts to her, I had to be sure there was something serious enough

between us to take that step. Her email made me think, made me hope... but it hadn’t been for Leandro. It had been for

Gil.

Only one way to be sure. Here we go.