Page 45 of Witch You Would

One good thing about being in a hotel was that I could spend an hour in the shower, standing under the hot water while I cried

myself into a super bad headache. Then I flopped onto my bed and cried some more, tried to distract myself with TV and failed,

and got back up to stare at the thick envelope sitting next to the half-eaten tiramisu on the desk.

Charlotte had come through with the contract. She hadn’t brought it herself—some assistant had given it to me, with the reminder

that I had to return it before midnight.

Before Gil came back, I’d been completely sure I would turn down Charlotte’s offer. Especially after what Felicia had said.

I’d intended to tell him about it, to explain how I thought maybe she was the one who’d sent that dude after him with the

check, to see what he thought and what we should do to prep for tomorrow.

Now?

It shouldn’t matter that he’d ended things, but it did.

I’d been so worried about winning when I’d seen Leandro Presto appear in the doorway as my partner on that first morning, but by round three, everything had changed.

For a few wonderful days, Gil and I being a team in every way had made me feel awesome, unstoppable.

Dreams of a future with him had turned the intense stress of this competition into something sweet and magical.

And now that spell was broken. I knew how Quentin’s busted automaton felt, like I’d been about to hang the moon and instead

everything had fallen apart. I was Amy’s phoenix egg gone wrong, burned into a pile of ash, never to rise again. My thoughts

were the same painful static as Dylan’s radios.

I pulled the contract out of the envelope and tried to read it. The words shifted and swam and blurred as if they were enchanted

to be illegible, on top of being lawyer ninja language.

What did it even matter? I needed a job, and she was giving me one. This was the whole reason I’d come on the show, and now

here I was, getting exactly what I wanted. Charlotte and I wouldn’t be driving into the sunset in that imaginary convertible,

but at least I wouldn’t be hitchhiking down Alligator Alley in the dark.

Rosy would be happy for me. So would Emelia. As long as I didn’t tell either of them about Gil, or losing on purpose, or how

I almost wished I had never applied for this fucking show in the first place.

Could someone take secrets like this to their grave? Asking for me.

At least Gil would be okay without me dragging him down. What had he said? No sneaking around, no worrying about gossip. He

could move to LA and get his own show and be super famous. Live that dream.

I wished I could hate him for dumping me like this, the night before the final round, but I couldn’t. All I could do was drop

a fresh round of tears onto my already-soaked pillow.

“Suck it up, Penelope Frances Delmar,” I told myself. “Do what you have to do.”

I washed my splotchy face for the second time in a day and signed the contract.

Quiet knocks at my door woke me up from stress dreams of Ofelia firing me and my mom sending me to live in a dark room in

the basement she didn’t actually have. I nearly fell out of bed trying to get up too fast, and went to see who it was through

the peephole.

Gil.

“Yeah?” I asked, without opening the door.

“Just checking on you,” he said. “Breakfast is almost over.”

Shit. Of course I overslept, today of all days.

“I’ll be right down,” I said. Just had to throw some clothes on and go. Fina and Bruno could fix me.

“I’ll save you a banana,” Gil joked.

How could he be so cheerful? Maybe someone was outside and he was faking it for their benefit. Maybe he was honestly relieved

to be done with me.

I felt like I had missed a step and fallen down the stairs.

People were already getting into vans when I finally made it down. Gil waited for me with a travel cup of coffee and a muffin.

“Thanks,” I said, taking both. My stomach felt full of rocks, but I bit into the blueberry goodness anyway. Instant regret.

Not even sugar and carbs could fix me.

“Nervous?” Gil asked as I tossed the rest in the trash.

“Yeah.” Among other things.

Little Manny passed us, did a double take, and backed up. “Whoa, what happened to you two?”

“What do you mean?” Gil asked.

“You don’t match.”

I looked down, then at Gil. Little Manny was right. For the first time in almost two weeks, we wore completely different colors. I had on a plain button-down black shirt, and he was wearing cream, brown, and red.

Gil’s eyes went wide behind his glasses, and his mouth dropped open in a silent oh .

“I guess it had to happen eventually,” Little Manny said. “Honestly, it was getting weird.”

“Yeah, haha,” Gil said, fake smiling through the awkwardness.

“It’s fine. Wardrobe will fix it. See you guys there.” With a wave, Little Manny left us standing there, alone in a sea of

people.

I followed him out, drinking my coffee. Maybe I’d get lucky and spill it like I did on day one.

Wardrobe did, indeed, make me change. I was issued a red shirt that looked like the fancier version of a SpellMart uniform.

The universe had a sense of humor today, clearly.

I hadn’t even brought an apron. I’d grabbed my backpack when I rushed out, but I hadn’t packed anything. When Rachel finally

led us to the soundstage, I had nowhere to put my notebook and pencil, so I dropped them on the table and stood in our usual

spot.

Gil kept sneaking looks at me. I ignored them. What did he want? Was he worried that I couldn’t keep my shit together?

Yeah, well, so was I. A burst of irritation burned away some of my nerves, then a wave of depression put the fire out. I was

going to lose. Gil’s charity would have to find money somewhere else. This was a disaster.

It didn’t help that Charlotte looked so fucking smug standing next to Felicia. Sinvergüenza.

Syd and the judges took up their positions at the front for the last time, Syd smiling their benevolent hostly smile.

“Welcome, finalists,” Syd said. “It’s time for the final round of this season of Cast Judgment .”

We stood like statues. I wondered what would happen if I threw up right on the floor in front of me.

“Fuck me, this isn’t a funeral,” Syd said. “Did any of you sleep last night or were you all drunk as fucking lords and you

woke up hungover?”

Gil laughed uncomfortably. I wished I was drunk now.

“Come on,” Tori said, “all of you, clap and act excited.” So we did. Gil hooted and whistled. If I smiled any bigger, my face

might split open. Fake, fake, fake.

“You’re all here,” Syd continued, “because you’ve stuck it out through round after round, making spells that kept the judges

from casting judgment on you.”

No, we were here because our spells hadn’t exploded.

“And now, you’ll face the final challenge.” Syd paused for effect. “Without further ado, your brief for this round: design

a large enchantment that functions as an awe-inspiring, celebration-culminating spectacle. The kind that people will talk

about long after they’ve gone home from the party. You have sixteen hours to produce your masterpieces. Your time starts...

now!”

I grabbed my pencil and notebook. Gil crowded in next to me, and I tried to shift sideways without being too obvious about

it.

“Oh, right,” he muttered, and added an extra few inches.

Yeah, dude, remember how you dumped me last night? It was like twelve hours ago.

The only spectacles I could think of right now were the parades and shows I’d seen at theme parks when I was a kid, or on TV for random holidays, or at Calle Ocho. I’d been to a few concerts with big magic, too. I should probably just pick the easiest thing to copy and go for it.

“We already did something with fireworks, sort of,” Gil said.

I jumped. Apparently I’d zoned out. I tried to stay present, but it was so hard. “Yeah. We need something different. More

creative.” Hah. Easy.

“Something fun again, though.”

“Right. Fun.”

“Maybe something like that bubble spell, but bigger?”

“Sure, sounds good.” I wrote that down.

“A giant balloon animal bubble that bursts to become lots of little ones?”

“Okay.” I wrote that down, too.

“We could add sound effects, dogs barking maybe.”

“Dogs... barking...”

“And roosters. Like full-on sunrise cockfight noises.”

“Uh-huh.” My hand moved on autopilot.

Gil grabbed my pencil and ducked his head to look me in the eye. “Penelope, that’s an incredibly bad idea.”

Was it? I guess it was. I struggled to care. My chest was a hole, and I was tossing in rocks that never hit the bottom.

“What’s going on?” Gil whispered. “Do you need more coffee? A banana? A few more minutes to finish waking up?”

“I’m okay,” I said.

“You’re not.”

“I said I’m fine. Come on, we need to figure this out. We don’t have time to fuck around.”

Gil flinched like I’d slapped him. “Penelope, what is wrong? What happened?”

I almost snapped, You know what happened! You dumped me right before the finale! Did you develop amnesia between last night and this morning?

What did he even care? But he clearly did care. A lot. Unless he was faking?

Listen to your gut, my sister whispered in the back of my brain.

My gut said something was off. My gut said, I should have told Gil last night that I didn’t want to give up on us. It said

I should have fought instead of hiding my feelings behind my fake smile so they wouldn’t bother him, wouldn’t upset him, wouldn’t

make him think I was desperate and pathetic and a stalker instead of cool, normal cool, good cool.

I should have told him I did deserve better, that I deserved someone who would care less about how hard it would be to sneak

around, and more about not having to sneak in the first place. I deserved someone who was proud to be with me, not someone

who treated me like a dirty secret.

Too late. It was over, and I had to focus on getting through this round.

“We can talk about it later,” I lied, putting my pencil to the page. “I think the bubbles could work, actually. Remember that

big floral enchantment on the cruise ship?”