In the bathroom of the corner house, there was an Arabian woman with black hair and brown eyes, wearing a gold necklace, a light blue bedlah-top and pants, and blue shoes. Her name was Jasmine. And she was busy fixing her hair in front of the mirror for a ball. "Miguel dear, do hurry," Jasmine called out. "We mustn't be late for the party, you know." "Jasmine, unless I find my cuff links, we don't go to the party," Miguel called back. "And if we don't go to the party, I can never show my face in Barcelona again. And if I can never--" "OUCH!" cried Miguel, as he hopped around, holding his head.