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Alonso

THE DE LUCAS HAVE A GAME. EVERY YEAR, WHEN THE BARRION GALA comes around, they all guess how many black SUVs will drive up to the house to drop off self-important guests. The winner gets out of doing chores for a week.

Alonso takes the game very seriously.

Even tonight, when they’re about to do the curse-breaker spell, Alonso performs his usual routine. He perches in the window of his attic bedroom, watching anime on his phone as he inks a tally onto a yellow legal pad for every SUV.

Then the Emberly Prius pulls up.

Alonso drops his pen and presses his face to the glass. A tiny figure in a neon suit gets out first. Alonso recognizes the low ponytail—it’s Naomi. And right after her, in a black dress that’s somewhere between the Black Swan in Swan Lake and Lydia in Beetlejuice , is Penny.

Penny is going to the gala. Which means Corey invited her.

“The fuck,” Alonso says, the window creaking as he presses his entire eyeball against it. Corey was supposed to be angry with both of them. When the hell did Penny and Corey reconcile? And why didn’t Penny tell Alonso that she was going to the gala? He thought she was angry about the truth serum, so he gave her space. But mostly, he hoped she would text him.

Alonso should’ve reached out first. Now he’s fucked it all up.

Unless Penny didn’t want him to know she was going to the gala, because she was afraid of him doing something impulsive. But if she didn’t want him doing something impulsive, she shouldn’t have worn that dress.

“Meow,” Nimble says from her perch on his bed, and Alonso can feel her telling him no. Trying to hold him back.

But Alonso is already in motion. He’s in his closet, tearing through his clothes. He’s pulling them on, slapping shaving cream on his face.

When he’s done, he doesn’t look like himself. The dress shirt and pants are way too respectable, but maybe that’s a good thing. To get into the gala, he needs to be someone different.

He runs his hands through his hair, trying to get it to behave. But no matter how much gel he uses, it looks wrong. So he calls Kiki.

“I need you to cut my hair.”

“Now?”

“Yep. I’ll pay you.”

“You don’t have to do that.” She pauses. “What’s this about?”

“I’m feeling inspired.”

“Mm-hmm. I’ll be over in half an hour.”

“You’re the best.”

Alonso tosses his phone onto the bathroom counter and leans closer to the mirror, looking himself in the eyes.

“Just don’t get caught,” he tells himself, and he grins.