Free Lola Zola and the Lemonade Crush by Jackie Hirtz Page B

truth.”
    â€œWhat’s the difference?”
    Lola had been afraid Melanie was going to ask that question and take her back to the old pancake-flapjack debate. There wasn’t much of a difference between a lie and a truth-stretcher, but Lola wanted to believe that there was. Otherwise, how was she going to sell her pucker potion, rescue her parents, and win the lemonade challenge?
    â€œTruth-stretchers don’t hurt anyone,” Lola rationalized. “They’re innocent fib-olas.”
    â€œGuilty.”
    â€œInnocent.”
    Lola tried another approach, one that might appeal to Melanie’s integrity.
    â€œIt cleared up Ruby Rhubarb’s nose boulders, didn’t it?” asked Lola.
    â€œYeah,” said Melanie, “it was a booger-boulder-buster.”
    â€œSo, maybe this lemonade does have some power.”
    â€œI don’t think so.”
    â€œThat woman in the movie theater said it did.”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œAnd it gave Oona Lee Lewis a mega-energy boost.”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œSo maybe it can cure allergies and rehydrate wrinkles.
    â€œI don’t know,” said Melanie, softening.
    â€œPeople want to believe in something. And maybe if they believe hard enough, it’ll come true.”
    â€œDo you think it could fade my freckles?” asked Melanie.
    Now Melanie had Lola, who couldn’t in good conscience limo-stretch the truth about her friend’s freckles. “I don’t know about that, Mel.”
    â€œIf it can blast the boulders out of Ruby Rhubarb’s nose and pep up a super-senior, why can’t it solve my freckle crisis?” asked Melanie.
    â€œUmmm…” Lola was speechless and not just because her waffle cone had a hole in the bottom, forcing Lola to quickly suck out the ice cream before it dripped all over her board shorts. Melanie wanted to believe the lemonade had secret powers, and there was no reasoning with the freckle-wisher-awayer, so why even try? Did Lola know for sure that lemonade with chili peppers couldn’t remove freckles? No. So then maybe it could.
    â€œWhatever,” said Lola, finishing the last peanut butter lick of her ice cream cone. “Let’s boogie.”
    â€œI want some lemonade first,” insisted Melanie, pouring herself a cup of freckle-fader punch before speeding off in a roller-skating whirlwind.
    *** *** ***
    When the Twister Sisters rolled into the Unity Center, the congregants were milling around outside with the ducks, discussing the alignment of the stars, the best yoga positions for a bad back, and the healing power of aromatherapy. Lola had always been curious about the powers of aromas and once tried to make a peanut butter candle in her kitchen. All she made was a mess, though.
    Deep in the middle of a conversation about visualizing world peace, two men in their twenties, both of them sporting what looked like peace sign earrings, abruptly stopped talking when Lola roller skated into their cosmic space and held up some lemons.
    â€œVisualize this,” she said, “lemons for peace, a world full of uplifting citrus vibes.” It was a good thing Melanie was off entertaining a kid she used to babysit. She would have thought Lola had flipped her frizzy lid.
    One of the men, a spectacled Harvard grad, no doubt, took a lemon from Lola and rolled it around in his hand. “I’m not sure I understand what you’re saying. Can you elaborate?”
    â€œSure,” said Lola. “It’s simple. When you see lemons, you think of sunshine—calm, soothing sunshine. You feel peaceful,” elaborated Lola. “It’s all kind of magical, like my lemonade.”
    â€œI don’t know about that,” said the other man, a true skeptic who probably hadn’t believed in the tooth fairy when he was a semi-toothless six-year-old with silver dollars under his pillow. He fiddled with an earring, which on closer inspection was a