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Jackson and beat it!” Dressed in bright plaid shorts and a turquoise Hollister sweater, he balanced a precarious stack of steaming quesadillas on a gold tray as if he were some kind of circus clown. Soda cans began to wobble. Blue jumped up to take the tray.
    “Wow, I haven’t seen so much glitter since my Studio 54 days,” Vlad said, taking in his surroundings.
    “Thanks.” Clawdeen smiled proudly.
    Vlad strutted toward the computer to the beat of Katy Perry’s “California Gurls.” He leaned over Lala’s shoulder and
tsk
ed at the computer screen.
    “I know, I know. But it’s only…” She peered up at the sky andevaluated the position of the moon. “Seven forty-five.” She glanced at Clawdeen, who confirmed with a nod. “I still have fifteen minutes.”
    “C’mon, Sheila, give us a peek,” Blue said, patting Kitson, an orange kitten with a belly chain and magnetic clip-on hoops (engineered for sensitive feline ears).
    “Yeah, make like BP oil and spill,” Uncle Vlad said.
    Lala spun slowly in her chair, wishing she were alone with the animals, as she usually was. Dozens of moist eyes watched her lovingly, without judgment. Her animals didn’t give a hoot, a bark, or a squeak about college applications or leadership skills. They were grateful just because she cared. They never wanted to leave on business trips or cut phone calls short because they were late for a meeting. They were more humane than most humans.
    “Hurry up,” Clawdeen urged, anxious to start filming her video blog.
    Lala took a deep breath. If she had a beating heart, it would be racing. Where to begin? She considered taking them back to the phone call she had with her dad, and her online search for an extracurricular activity, but her deadline was approaching, so she went for the bottom-line version. “Brigitte T’eau Shoes and Dally Sports Apparel have merged—”
    “Pause!” Vlad lifted his palm like a crossing guard. “It’s not pronounced
Two
; it’s pronounced
Toe
.” He took off his tortoiseshell glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose like someone who couldn’t take it anymore. “If that mademoiselle heard you butcher her last name like pâté, you would be dead meat.”
    The girls giggled.
    “Sorry,” Lala said. “So… the French designer Brigitte
Toe
and Dally Sports Apparel merged to create a shoe that brings together fashion and function. It’s called the T’eau Dally.”
    Uncle Vlad clapped. “
J’adore!
What’s next? Jimmy Choo and Reebok? They could call it ChooBok-a.”
    Everyone laughed but Lala. She was too stressed for jokes. “Anyway, they’re holding a contest to find a school that brings together different kinds of people, the way they did with their shoes. And Merston would be perfect.”
    Emmy cracked open an icy soda. “What’s the prize?”
    “The winner becomes the first sponsored school in America.” Lala spun faster in her chair. “And gets a million dollars to upgrade.”
    “More pools!” (Blue.)
    “A grooming kiosk!” (Clawdeen.)
    “Bang-on cafeteria food that doesn’t taste like donkey arse!” (Irish Emmy.)
    “Wallpaper!” Uncle Vlad chimed in.
    “And central heat,” Lala added. “Plus, they want a couple from the school to star in their national ad campaign.”
    “You and Clawd would be ace!” Blue said, leaning against the foot of the coffin bed. The Worminator, a trembling yellow budgie, stuck his nose out from under the bed and pecked the carpet for errant seeds. Blue pinched some orange cheese off her quesadilla and waved it in front of his beak.
    “Stop!” Lala shouted, grabbing the cheese. “He’s lactose-intolerant. Try the escarole.”
    Uncle Vlad gestured toward the untouched crudités platter he’d dropped off earlier. “Glad someone’s enjoying it,” he mumbled.
    “What about a new arts-and-crafts studio? With sewing machines and jewelry making…” Clawdeen was using purple and black nontoxic mascaras to paint hearts on a white bunny.
    A