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

stiffens up in horror— she’ll give you her last Oreo, the answers to her math homework, and the exact size of her training bra, but she’ll never, ever give you her agent’s phone number. Some things, she says, are sacred. But before actual snakes shoot out from between her teeth, Laurel grabs Devon’s gloves.

    “These are, like, the cutest blue gloves I’ve ever seen,” she says. I’m pretty sure Laurel only likes them because they’re blue. They have feathery fringe around the wrists and each finger has rhinestones where the fingernails would be. The kind of thing that might look fun on someone else, but if they belonged to you, you’d think they were the creepiest gloves ever.
    “You like them? I’m so glad. My father designed them, actually.” She supersmiles until I fear her face might burst. “He quit his attorney job to launch his own children’s clothing company, just so he could dedicate his working hours to bettering the lives of me and my sister. So nowhe makes everything we wear. Whatever we dream up, he designs it and has it on our beds by the end of the week. My mother says he does it because he loves us more than anything else in the world.”
    I feel an invisible fist punch me in the stomach and I can hardly breathe. Here before me is walking, talking proof of how my life was supposed to be. I try to look away, think of something else—just like I do when the class has to paint lousy picture frames for Father’s Day—but it doesn’t work.
    “That’s so nice of him,” gushes Laurel.
    “I wish my dad cared enough about me to design my entire wardrobe,” says Susannah. “On second thought, with his taste, I’d rather he didn’t.”
    Everybody laughs, except me. “Wow,” I say in a voice that sounds high-pitched and scary and sarcastic, even to me, “dedicating your life to crushed velvet and rhinestone trim. Now, that is fatherly love!”
    They all stop smiling and my nastyish-sounding voice hangs in the middle of us like a big ugly burp. No one knows what to say.

    Just then Janna Knudsen trots up wearingtwo different boots—a dark brown sheepskin boot on one foot, and a cream sheepskin boot on the other.

    Looking at no one in particular, she says, “Haley’s selling knockoff boots. Only nineteen dollars a pair. Which boot goes better with this outfit?”
    I want to kiss her for interrupting us. I try to focus on her question, looking her over from mismatched boots straight on up to her dingy blond hair. She’s wearing a dirty white ski jacket with faded jeans. It’s a no-brainer.
    I say, “Dark brown,” at the exact same time Devon says, “Cream.”
    I look at Devon, shocked. Again, no one says a word.
    The end-of-recess bell rings and kids scatter. Janna waves thank you and goes back to the small pile of boxes in front of Haley Reiser. Then Devon waves good-bye and disappears into the school.
    “Can you believe that Devon?” I say to Laurel and Susannah. “Janna was totally asking me ! Janna has been asking me for fashion tips since the year she wore her skirt backward during school assembly. Besides, the poor kid’s dingy from head to toe; can you imagine how a pair of dirty-after-two-days, fake suede boots are going to look?You might as well call her Dingy Girl. You have to train the eye away from all the dinginess, not add to it! Just because her father designs fashion doesn’t mean Devon is qualified to take over! I’m going to have a talk with Janna right after—”
    “Uh, Zoë?” says Laurel, nodding toward Janna. “I think it’s too late.”
    My mouth drops open as I watch Janna counting out money and placing it into Haley’s hand. Tucked under Janna’s arm are the cream boots.

Rules Were Made to Be Spoken. Out Loud.
    Friday morning I’m the first one in the classroom. We ran out of milk this morning, so my mom had to drive us to a coffee shop for hot chocolate and croissants to go. So not only did I get to eat breakfast in the car, I got