The One and Only Zoe Lama by Tish Cohen Read Free Book Online

your words through some kind of Unwritten Rule osmosis and begins to think for herself. I’m so proud of her I could burst.)
    Both bent over now, Sylvia and Avery start talking into each other’s knees and, when Avery finally stands upright and looks her in the face, I see him smile. But what’s more important than Avery smiling is Brandon frowning. He watches as Sylvia compliments Avery on his beastly ski jacket, which looks like it’s made of silver oven mitts. Avery looks down and tries to shine it up—probably not a good idea if he’s hunting moose, too much glare—then Sylvia executes an Unwritten-Rulebook-perfect yawn, combined with the well-timed glance around the playground. Just so he knows she’s not stuck talking to him. She has other options, and may or may not be considering them at that very moment.
    Then she waves her knobby fingers at him and, without glancing back to see if Brandon is watching, she pitches and weaves her way back toward the school.

    My little bird is finally growing up.
    S o that’s when I realized I left my science homework in my agent’s Hummer,” says Susannah as we wipe off the Loft and begin to make our way across the soccer field.
    Laurel rolls her eyes. “Do you think we’ll ever have a conversation that doesn’t have the words my agent in it? Or my agent’s Hummer ?”
    Just as Susannah’s about to fling her cape around her shoulders and stomp away—probably to call her agent—none other than Devon Sweeney appears. She’s wearing a quilted watermelon-colored ski jacket and black leggings tucked into fluffy black boots. Nothing she’s wearing is made of cashmina, you can just tell. Still, and I’d never admit this to Susannah, Devon looks like she could be in an ad for a superfancy ski lodge. You know, sipping hot chocolate by the fire, surrounded by cute ski-instructor boys with windburned cheeks.

    Susannah and Laurel mumble hello and I actually smile. I don’t even have to force myself either. I haven’t stopped reeling with happiness over Sylvia’s performance and I might not stop for hours. When you’re having a day this good, you can afford to be a bit generous, even if your Lama status is temporarily turned upside down.
    Devon smiles, pushing her black velvet hairband farther back in her hair. “I hope you don’t think I’m being creepy, but I overheard what you were saying.” She’s looking at Susannah. “You’re really a model?”
    “For now,” Susannah sniffs. “I’ll be an actress pretty soon.”
    “That’s so cool. A lot of people say I have beautiful feet. They tell me I should be a foot model. Do you think I need a special agent for foot modeling?”
    “You don’t want to get into parts modeling,” says Susannah, shaking her head. “Your feet would have to be perfect .”
    I’m not sure I’ve ever met anyone who blushes as often as Devon. She laughs a honking little laugh and waggles her head. “And what if they are?”
    “Trust me, they aren’t,” Susannah says. “One tiny mark can kill a parts model’s career. So unless you’ve kept them wrapped in thick socks and tucked into down-filled slippers that could never cause so much as a blister for your whole life, it’s not possible.”
    But Devon’s already bent down, unlacing her boot. She waggles her head again. “Okay, I’ll show you if you insist.” She whips off her boot, then sock, and holds up a foot so flawless, the clouds part and a single beam of sunlight shines down on it. Somewhere in the playground, a harp starts to play. Okay, maybe not. But that’s the kind of foot we’re dealing with here.
    Susannah drops to her knees in some kind of worship. “It’s unbelievable. There’s not a blister, not a scar of any kind. And the formation of your toes…” She looks up at Devon. “It’s magnificent.”
    Devon shrugs. “I don’t take special care of them. I just have supergood genes, I guess. Could you give me your agent’s phone num—”
    Susannah