Free Survival of the Fiercest by Anna Carey Page A

high-waisted pants and a blue beret and was enveloped in a cloud of smoke. She reminded Lola of the women in those subtitled films her mum liked to watch. Then Lola spotted him.
    Walking toward her was a round man just a little taller than Andie. His hair formed one stiff black peak, like it had been gelled back with rubber cement. In his striped blue T-shirt and jeans he looked a little like the street performers in Covent Garden, only older…and fatter. And he wasn’t juggling bowling pins.
    He circled Lola three times, peering up at her through his Prada glasses. They were half an inch thick, making his black eyes look as tiny as peas. “Git rid of eet!” he hissed, snapping his fingers at Lola’s headband.
    Lola had barely taken it off since last week, when she bought it at some place called Duane Reade, which Andie had explained was New York City’s version of Boots. The headband held down the tops of her ears. Now that she had it, it wasn’t something she could do without. “Um…I’d rather—”
    â€œNe-ow!” Gunther hooted, throwing his short arms in the air. Lola slowly pulled it off, hoping her dirty blond hair would cover her ears. Gunther kept considering her, looking at one side of her face, then the other. She tapped her foot, hoping it would end soon. Whenever someone looked at her that long it only meant one thing: They were forming a joke in their head. “You ahhh eet,” he whispered, taking Lola’s chin in his hands. “You ahhh my gutta and my light.”
    Lola blushed so much her ears turned red. She didn’t know exactly what that meant, but it sounded good—at least better than needing eye-replacement surgery. “Cheers,” Lola said. “I think?”
    â€œYou are his Gutter and his Light,” Evette explained, exhaling smoke from her cigarette. “It’s the name of the new campaign?” She shot Lola a look that said, Do you have any clue why you’re here?
    â€œYes!” Gunther yelped, stomping a python-skin boot on the floor. “I was in ze gutta! Zen I saw ze light!” He reached his hand up to the ceiling and stared at it for a good minute, his eyes rolling back in his head. Lola looked up, but all she saw was an air-conditioning vent. “Evette!” Gunther yelled, even though Evette was only five feet away from him. “Tell ze ahthas to leeve. I have found her!”
    Evette stepped outside and Gunther kept circling Lola like she was a rare species of exotic bird. “You ahh so freeesh looking,” he hooted, his smile revealing a chipped front tooth. “I am so in ze love with ze ears!” He reached up to give one of Lola’s ears a quick tug.
    Lola couldn’t stand it any longer. She bounced up and down on her heels, clapping her hands in excitement. Gunther Gunta loved her ears. Gunther Gunta thought she was freeesh looking. She didn’t need a lip reduction, an ear tuck, or hair-replacement surgery. And if Gunther Gunta, one of the toughest critics loved her, everyone would.
    Gunther grabbed two small cups of green liquid off the credenza and downed them one after the other. Lola recognized the smell as wheatgrass, the organic sludge her mum drank when she was trying to be healthy.
    Evette returned and handed Lola a clipboard that had all the details of the shoot. At four o’clock on Saturday she’d show up at a warehouse on Canal Street. Evette pointed to the fine print at the bottom of the contract. “Just two things: You need a guardian to sign, and you cannot, under any circumstances, bathe until then.”
    â€œNo bathing?” Lola asked. It seemed like an odd request. Her mum had been a model for over twenty years, and she’d never mentioned anything about not showering.
    â€œNo baaathing!” Gunther screeched, pounding his little fist in the air. “You aah too be au naturale, one with ze guttaaa.” Lola could smell