Lola Zola and the Lemonade Crush by Jackie Hirtz Page A

Melanie, looking down at the floor. She didn’t want Lola to see the tears in her eyes.
    â€œI need you, Mel,” said Lola. She gave Melanie a hug. “I just can’t afford to pay you.”
    â€œThen don’t pay me.”
    â€œI’ve got to pay you, Twister Sister. Otherwise I’m a take-advantage-of-you kind of boss.” Lola had heard her father refer to such bosses when talking about car parts companies that paid workers in China almost zip.
    The girls stared at each other, trying to figure out how to resolve the problem. If Lola laid off Melanie, her best friend would never forgive her. If Melanie worked for free, Lola would never forgive herself. What was Lola supposed to do?
    â€œTry one of these chili peppers,” said her mother, walking into the kitchen and offering Lola and Melanie some peppers. “They’re the pepperiest peppers I’ve ever popped in a pucker.”
    Normally Lola would have passed on the peppers, but not this time. She needed a picker-upper and so did sad Melanie. Chomping down hard, the two girls nearly screamed when the peppers set their throats ablaze.
    â€œGee whiz,” shouted Lola, “these peppers are burning hot!”
    â€œLola, my mouth is on fire!” hollered Melanie, her face as red as her hair. “I need something to cool off.”
    Lola handed her best friend a pitcher of leftover lemonade. “Drink this.” While Melanie swigged, Lola grabbed another pitcher and also drank in hopes of beating the peppery heat. Swooshing the lemonade in her mouth, Lola could hear her taste buds clamoring in high-pitched voices:
    â€œNot bad!”
    â€œLemon Dad.”
    â€œPepper spice…”
    â€œDoes entice!”
    In the middle of the gulping and swooshing, Lola told Melanie, “My taste buds are rapping.”
    â€œMy insides are clapping,” added Melanie. “I like it.”
    â€œHow much?”
    â€œA lot more than plain old lemonade.”
    â€œMore than peanut butter cookie dough?”
    â€œYup.”
    â€œMore than grape-flavored bubble gum?”
    â€œYup.”
    â€œMore than chocolate-covered pistachio nuts?”
    â€œDouble-yup,” confirmed Melanie. “I love the peppers in the lemonade.”
    â€œThat’s it,” said Lola, her eyes twinkling.
    â€œWhat’s it?” asked Melanie, often two beats behind Lola.
    â€œOur strategy.”
    â€œHuh?”
    â€œOur strategy against that Bucket of Slime. We’ll put a touch, just a teeny weeny bit of chili peppers, in our lemonade.”
    â€œWe will?”
    â€œYes, but we won’t tell anyone. It’s our secret.”
    â€œLike my freckle count.”
    â€œExactly,” said Lola.
    Melanie wondered, “Do you think other people, regular people, with typical taste buds will like chili pepper lemonade?”
    â€œOnly one way to find out,” said Lola, determined.
    â€œAsk Aunt Liza to drink it?” wondered Melanie.
    Someone who managed a junkyard, used to be a stuntwoman, and fostered hamsters named after Greek gods wasn’t Lola’s idea of regular people.
    â€œNo, I had someone else in mind.” Lola winked at Bowzer, who was sitting on top of the television cabinet in the living room, licking his imaginary tail and pausing between licks to admire the cactus outside the window. Succulent heaven—from a cat’s point of view.
    â€œWho?” asked Melanie. “Who’s going to test it, Lola?”
    â€œNone other than our chief taste tester,” said Lola, adding, “Of course we’ll modify the recipe for the kitty palate.” She dropped barely a speck of a pepper seed into the lemonade in Bowzer’s bowl.
    â€œBowzer is our chief taste tester?” asked Melanie, beats behind Lola.
    Lola nodded. “His instincts were right before.”
    â€œYes,” agreed Melanie. “He thought our last batch was unsippable.”
    Lola