Lola Zola and the Lemonade Crush Page 13

  “She looks like a tweenage Cleopatra,” said Lola. “I bet she dates.”

  The Body God had blessed the middle-school newcomer with curvy hips and dips. All Lola got, however, was a pancake-flat chest. Melanie was in the same pancake boat. Nothing rocked—yet.

  Last week, Lola had worked up the courage to ask her mother for a bra. “I need one,” she begged her mom, as the two peeled onions to prepare burritos for dinner. Bowzer, Lola’s tailless cat, circled between their legs, lobbying for a kitty snack of chicken.

  “Lola, you’re too young for a bra.” Her mother patted her on the head like she was a cat.

  “No, I’m not too young, Mom. I’m in sixth grade—middle school.” Bowzer meowed. Was that a show of support or a demand for chow? Lola continued, “All the girls wear bras.” Well, almost all, except Lola and Melanie. Some of the other girls wore padded fake push-up numbers that scared Lola. Sure, she wanted to grow up, but not in the fast lane. Who wanted to race to twenty?

  Lola set Bowzer’s bowl on the floor. Ah, to be a cat and live the simple life. Begging for scraps of food was easier than begging for a bra.

  Lola’s mother poured oil into the frying pan. “Sweetheart, there’s plenty of time for brassieres.”

  OMG! Why did she have to use that word? It made Lola feel fifty. For a second, she imagined herself a grandmother traipsing around in a bathrobe married to Buck, her archrival turned sort-of friend, not boyfriend, definitely not boyfriend, even though she kind of liked him but would never admit it, and certainly not to her mother.

  Lola’s mom continued. “You don’t need to hurry your childhood, sweetheart. You’re only young once.” She kissed her daughter on the cheek.

  Lola threw sliced onions and chili peppers into the pan and stirred. She could feel her rage cooking.

  “C’mon, Mom, please. I want one. Just one.”

  Lola prayed to the Cool Mom God that her mother would change her mind. There was nothing more humiliating than begging for a bra.

  But the Cool Mom God must have been on vacation because Lola’s mother said, “Lola, honey, you don’t need a bra yet.”

  Ouch! Thanks a lot, Mom.

  “When you need one, we’ll go shopping together. It’ll be fun.”

  Through the screen door, Bowzer hissed at a neighbor’s orange tabby trespassing in the yard. It was L.T. (short for Long Tail). Was Bowzer jealous of that tail? Can cats get jealous? Lola grabbed another onion and tore off the skin.

  “You don’t have to say that, Mom.” Like the onion, Lola now had no skin. Her emotions raw, she fought back tears.

  Her mother paused. “I’m sorry, baby. You’re right…”

  “I’m right? Really?” Lola felt hopeful.

  Her mother clarified, “I shouldn’t be so blunt.”

  “Oh.” Double ouch. She chopped up another onion and tossed it into the simmering pan. Lola wasn’t sure if it was the onion or her disappointment that gave her a boulder-sized throat lump and watery eyes. A few minutes later, when Lola’s father came home from managing the Mirage Cinema, he noticed the puddles in his daughter’s eyes.

  “What’s wrong?” asked her father, making a sad face to match his daughter’s gloom. Lola’s father was the great-grandson of a Native American medicine man and believed love was the most powerful healer of all.

  “Nothing’s wrong,” Lola lied.

  “Are you sure?” Lola’s father couldn’t stand to see his daughter cry. It made him cry.

  “I’m sorry, Dad, I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Lola’s father made a happy face, his eyes twinkling. “Let’s not be sad on a holiday, Lola.”

  “What holiday?” asked Lola. It wasn’t Take Your Cat to Work Day or Walk Backward Carrying an Umbrella Day.

  Lola’s dad handed his daughter a popcorn box without the popcorn. “It’s Coyote Spirit Day,” he told Lola. “Look inside.”

  Lola peeked inside the box and saw a coyote on a bow serenading the stars. Lola forced a smile. Was she getting too old for bows?

  “You’re not too old for bows,” said her mother, reading Lola’s mind with maternal x-ray brain vision. Her mother held the bow up to Lola’s head. “Adorable.” Lola didn’t want to be adorable. Little girls with pigtails were adorable. Barf.

  When Lola’s smile slipped into a frown, her father said, “Remember, Lola, the coyote is the spirit guide with unimaginable wisdom.”

  Wisdom? Lola didn’t want to be wise, either. She just wanted to be like most of the other girls in sixth grade—grown up, sort of.

  “Thanks, Dad,” said Lola, clipping the bow in her hair. “Maybe the coyote can guide my spirit to a soft spot in Mom’s heart.” She turned to her mother, who simply shook her head no.

  With that, Lola scooped up her tuxedo cat and bolted to the backyard tepee to think about what her mother thought she was too young to think about.

  Inside the tepee Lola sat cross-legged with Bowzer in her lap. Lola wished she was a cat. Eat, sleep, purr, hiss.

  It wasn’t until the middle of the night, that Lola awakened to appreciate her father’s coyote gift. Maybe it was Bowzer batting the bow across the bed that got her attention—or perhaps it was the diamond sky that reminded her of the stars on the bow. Lola gently took the bow from Bowzer’s paws, clipped the bow in her hair, and lay her head back down on the pillow to marvel at the magic of the stars twinkling outside her window. Through the glass, she stared at the outline of the tree branches, which in her sleepy state looked just like the ears of a coyote.

  Coming Soon….

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