“What about the 0.5 concentration? Can I get that?” Mrs. Morris asks. She smooths a strand of silver hair behind her ear and gives me a kindly smile, as if we haven’t been having this same conversation for ten minutes.

I smile back, because screaming in frustration isn’t a viable option. “Unfortunately, no. You can’t get anything besides the 0.01 concentration of the pain potion without a prescription from your magimed.”

She pauses, pressing her thin lips together. She’s wearing this sickly pink lipstick that bleeds outside her lip line onto her skin. “What about the 0.2 concentration?”

“I’m sorry, but we do need a prescription from your magimed for that.” Which I literally just said. Multiple times. Ugh, I wish she would stop coming here and just go to the Walmart apothecary instead. “I’m happy to ring up the Aqualung potion and the Strength potion, though.”

“Can I talk to Pilar, young lady?”

She’s going to tell you exactly the same thing I said. But whatever. “Sure,” I say. I go to the back room and find Pilar slowly stirring a cauldron on the stove.

“Mrs. Morris wants to talk to you,” I say flatly. “She thinks I’m lying to her because I won’t sell her a stronger pain reducer without a prescription.”

Pilar wipes her hands on a dish towel. “I’ll deal with her.”

“Thanks,” I say, taking her place in front of the stove. I spend the rest of my shift tending to the hair-growth potion. When I start bottling the liquid, Lex flies into the prep room.

“Closing time!” she sings tunelessly.

“Do you want to come over for a little and do MAT practice?” I ask.

She groans theatrically and hops up to sit beside me on the prep table. “I think we should go play terraball instead.”

“Aw, come on,” I cajole, flashing her a winning smile. “Drill practice. Just for like an hour.”

“Did you get someone to check the cast list for you?” she says abruptly.

I throw her a disparaging look. “Subtle change in subject there.”

“Subtlety is my middle name. Did you get someone to check?”

Shaking my head, I funnel the hair-growth potion from the cauldron into a lilac glass bottle. “My audition sucked. I definitely didn’t get a part.”

“Shay, it’s a high school musical. Everyone gets a part, even if they sucked. You’ll just be, like, tree number three or something.” She pats me on the back, which doesn’t help with my funneling. “Don’t worry—you can still impress Mr. B in the ensemble.” There’s an edge to her voice when she mentions Mr. B. “Besides, there’s no way he’s not going to cast you after he threatened you to be in the show.”