Read Shop in the Name of Love for Free Online Page B

mom, and spending secret nights on the Psychic Hot Line with Princess Pamela, or shopping on the phone and ordering from Oophelia’s catalog.
    Thank goodness, history class is the last of the day At four o’clock, we have to meet Mr. Johnson at Snare-a-Hare Recording Studios in Times Square. He has arranged for us to have a recording session with this Big Willy producer, Pumpmaster Pooch.
    We did find out about Pumpmaster’s “credits,” He did the rap remix for the Sista Fudge single, “I’ll Slice You Like a Pound Cake.” That’s something, huh? That song is one of Princess Pamela’s favorites. It makes her giggle and makes me wiggle.
    Speaking of Princess Pamela, I’ve been running up the phone bill calling her 900 number. I’ve been getting some pretty strange advice, too—she’s been telling me to watch out for animals. I wonder what she means by that….
    Maybe I should forget about the dog I’ve been planning to get Pucci. Or maybe it’s the Cheetahs I ought to stay away from. No, that can’t be. Maybe Princess Pamela is off the mark this time. After all, she doesn’t know who she’s talking to. I’ve been disguising my voice, so maybe that’s throwing off her predictions. Still, it’s been bothering me, and I just can’t figure it out.
    I almost asked Princess Pamela about it yesterday, when I gave her the management agreement to pass on to my dad. But that would have been giving myself away, and I didn’t want it getting back to my dad that I’d been running up the phone bill to get advice I could have gotten for free!
    I also wanted to tell Princess Pamela about all the money I’ve been spending, and get her advice on that, too—but I knew it would make Mom mad if she found out I’d been asking Princess Pamela for advice, let alone that I’d been using her credit card and running up her phone bill!
    “How much did Mr. Johnson say it costs for an hour at the recording studio?” Do’ Re Mi asks, bringing me back to reality. We are at our lockers after school, getting ready to go over to the studio for our recording session.
    “The studio? It costs a lot, but we don’t have to pay for it,” I answer.
    Me, Bubbles, and Do’ Re Mi are looking
muy caliente
today—hot, hot, hot! We’re all wearing matching red velvet jeans and crushed velvet leopard T-shirts from Oophelia’s. Bubbles’s mom paid for hers. I bought mine and Do’ Re Mi’s on my mom’s credit card (surprise, surprise).
    “Chuchie, you are lost in your own soap opera channel. What’s the matter,
mamacita
, Snuggly-Wiggly Pooch ate your homework?” Bubbles chides me, putting her arm around my shoulders. “What’s wrong? You’re not giggling, and that’s kinda like Toto not begging for food. Ya know what I mean, prom queen?”
    I poke Bubbles in the side, because Derek Hambone and Mackerel Johnson are standing by their lockers across the hall. “Duckets in the bucket alert!” I whisper in Bubbles’s ear.
    Like the Road Runner, Bubbles makes a bee-line to hit up the dynamic duo, and make them buy Kats and Kittys raffle tickets.
    “Hit ’em up, Galleria!” Do’ Re Mi says, egging Bubbles on.
    Derek is this new “brotha from Detroit,” as he calls himself, and the word is, he comes from a family that owns the biggest widget factory in the East—
mucho dinero, mamacita
!
    “Derek, my Batman with a plan. Buy a raffle ticket for me and part with two dollars for a good cause. You, too, Mackerel Come on, I’ll let you two touch my vest—it’s national velvet. Feel the pile!” Bubbles urges them.
    “Awright,” Derek says, reaching for the ticket, but then he looks at it, reads about the Prada prize, and says, “Cheetah Girl, you expect me to get jiggy in the jungle with a
Prada
bag? I’m not going out like that.”
    “Oh, come on,
schemo
, you ain’t gonna win the raffle, anyway, just part with the two duckets!” Bubbles says, pouting. Derek is such a
pobrecito
—a real dummy. He doesn’t even know