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leave the broccoli section and head for the donuts two rows over, she assumed it was safe to resurface and join her mother. Diane Zola was still inspecting the chili peppers when Lola approached her.
    â€œCome on, Mom, I’m bored.”
    Diane Zola pushed the cart over to the checkout counter. Standing in line, Lola prayed to the Hurry God. “Get us out of here before Buck taps me on the…” Just then she felt the dreaded finger poke her on the shoulder.
    â€œIf it isn’t Lola Zola, Frizzy-o-la,” said Buck. He hovered behind her, infecting the air with his dog breath. Lola ignored the intruder as he peered over her shoulder, into her cart.
    â€œWhat are you doing with the sugar and chili peppers?” he asked.
    Instead of answering, Lola grabbed a teen magazine off the rack. She buried her head in an article on…menstruation!
    Buck leaned in closer. “What are you reading?”
    â€œNothing.”
    â€œLooks like something to me.” Buck grabbed the magazine out of Lola’s hands. He read aloud. “Some girls experience bloating a week before their…Gross!”
    â€œBeat it, Slime,” said Lola. She ripped the magazine from his hand. “You’re a menace to society. I’m surprised they let you in here without a leash.”
    â€œLola, don’t be so hard on the boy,” said Lola’s mom, observing the scene. “You sound like I did when I was a young girl.”
    â€œYou’re still a young girl, Mrs. Zola,” said Buck.
    Lola wanted to throw up.
    â€œWhy, thank you, Buck,” said Diane Zola. She flipped her hair over her shoulder, stood a little taller, and smiled. Fortunately for Lola, Buck’s father gestured to his son to meet him in the frozen foods section. Buck’s prompt departure (he wouldn’t dare keep his dad waiting) put an end to the strained conversation.
    Mr. Wembly barked, “Charles, on the double.”
    Buck picked up his pace, as though his father had him on an invisible leash. Just when Lola was starting to feel sorry for Slime, she turned her headlong enough to see Buck pretend to pick his nose and flick you-know-what at her. Gross to the max! No sympathy for booger flickers.
    Lola had to stop her mother from ever, under any circumstances, becoming Buck’s father’s secretary. Standing by the citrus display, Lola eyeballed a pyramid of bright shiny lemons and prayed to the Squirt God for better days.
    *** *** ***

Chapter 5
    â€œGee whiz, Mel, you’re an hour late,” complained Lola on the parrot phone.
    Lola hung up the phone and waited for her only employee to report to work in the Zolas’ kitchen. There was no time to waste. In a few hours, the crowds would arrive—Mirage’s hodgepodge of health-conscious aerobicizers, New Age vision-questers, and first-daters—driving down her street and heading up the mountains to the nearby thermal hot springs. She and Melanie needed to set up the lemonade stand pronto.
    Melanie arrived, minutes later. “I’m sorry, Lola,” said Melanie, “I was counting my freckles, the new ones.”
    Lola handed Melanie half a lemon and a pitcher. “Just start squeezing.”
    The Twister Sisters squeezed lemons until their fingers felt like limp noodles. On lemon twenty-five, Melanie asked, “Are you going to pay me for this? My fingers hurt.”
    â€œYou’re my best friend in the whole universe,” said Lola. “Of course I’m going to pay you. Better yet, I’ll split the profits with you if you share the worries.”
    â€œWill I get vacation pay?” Melanie accidentally squirted lemon in her right eye. Lola handed her a paper towel.
    â€œYou can even take off Flag Day,” promised Lola. “But if you’re a partner, you can’t be late to work. Forget the freckles. Count the change instead.”
    Melanie accidentally squirted her left eye. “Ouch, this burns.