Page 13 of Alonzo

Even after two years, I barely speak Dewey Decimal. I misshelve books all the time. The old bitties are always complaining about me behind my back.

In fact, the only cool things about this new life are the clothes and Belinda.

I do kind of adore the pencil skirts and tight blouses. And I make it all look good. That’s not easy. You have to have the right shape to rock a pencil skirt.

And Belinda. My new BFF. I adore her too. She’s the worst best friend ever. And I mean that in the most positive way. She’s a bad influence and moral compass in the same small package.

But… I would give back the clothes and find a way to take Belinda with me if I could get my old life back.

I would. I’d blow this stupid pot-head state and never look back.

Stop it. Just stop it, Tara.

Oh, my God. It finally happened. My inner voice has bought into the lie. I’m not even Tara!

I’m Phoebe! I’m sexy-as-fuck Phoebe! Not book-up-her-ass Tara!

Phoebe doesn’t date guys online! Phoebe doesn’t even date! Phoebe does erotic encounters. Phoebe does sex toys, and scandalous lingerie, and…

Holy shit.

I am still Phoebe. I mean, Tara is trying to be Phoebe!

That’s why I do the Lonnie dates. He might be a subpar accountant with no real future, but that man can walk the dirty talk when he’s in the mood.

I’m still in there. I didn’t disappear.

I’m still Phoebe.

And I am so, so desperate to break out of the prison the witness protection program put me in two years ago.

CHAPTER THREE - ALONZO

I take a shower. Just stand there under the spray of the water, a little bit numb, a little bit satisfied, a little bit… empty.

It’s not Tara. She’s the best thing about this day.

But at the same time, it is her.

I’m a little bit everything. A little bit rich. A little bit smart. A little bit handsome. A little bit content. And I feel like this is my new normal.

I hate that phrase. The new normal. It’s practical and hey, I’m the first to admit that adapting to a new situation is definitely a survival skill one should cultivate. But there is something deeply sinister underneath the words ‘new normal’.

People use these words together when something terrible has happened. You never say, “Well, winning that lottery was amazing and now I’m just adjusting to my new normal.” No. It’s more like, “The earthquake devastated the town and now everyone is just adjusting to the new normal.” Or, “A drunk driver killed my wife, husband, kid, insert-your-loved-one-here, and now the house is empty and I’m adjusting to my new normal.”

This new normal is always about adjusting. It’s always about loss. And if a politician starts talking about the new normal it’s about money.

I hate money.

I figured this out a long time ago. I’m sure people wonder about me and my brothers. Why we still live here on this street with our parents. Maybe they think we’re losers or maybe they think we’re underachievers. But that’s not why. Well, I don’t really know why Luke hangs around. I’m sure he’ll move on eventually.

But Tony and I stay because we’ve seen what’s behind the curtain called real life and it’s ugly. We stay because even though the world outside our pseudo Dumas compound is always adjusting to the new normal, being here, close to everyone—that keeps things the same.

There are no walls around this street. No gates. There’s no extra police protection. We don’t have a cache of guns buried in the back yards. There’s no secret bunker under the cottages.

But being here, surrounded by Tony, and Luke, and Mom, and Dad—it feels like we have all that extra protection.

That’s why I stay.