Free The One and Only Zoe Lama by Tish Cohen Page B

over my homework last night. Being trapped in a semi-airless metal box for an hour was more exhausting than you’d think.
    In the classroom, Devon is sitting at Mrs. Patinkin’s feet. It seems the hem of Mrs. Patinkin’s pants has fallen and Devon is trying to fix it with masking tape. I whip out my mini-stapler and climb down onto the floor beside Devon. “It’s better to staple a pant hem,” I say.

    “Zoë,” says Mrs. Patinkin with a smile, “we’ve got this under control. Take your seat, please.”
    Take your seat, please?
    I back away and slump down in my chair. After spreadingmy island drawing on my desk, I start to color in the surrounding water, pressing extra hard where I’ve penciled in waves and slowing down around the gang of seagulls who are waiting for the whale to blow fish out of his hole. My drawing might not be finished, and the dry riverbed might be slightly puckered from drool, but my version of Icktopia is perfect.
    There are kittens, goldfish, and wiener dogs roaming free. Every beach has three trash cans that are emptied every hour and waiters stand on every street corner with silver trays full of chocolate chip cookies.
    Right smack in the center of town is the Icktopian Jail—one tiny cell surrounded by bars. The only things in the room are a My Little Pony sleeping bag, a toilet with zero privacy, and a rack of my mother’s ugliest dresses for prison uniforms. I plan to keep the Icktopians in line using the threat of humiliation rather than force. If every country did this, I’m quite certain we’d have world peace.
    I poke Susannah in the ribs. “Hey. Did you get the Queen of the Perfects commercial?”
    She lowers her glasses and looks around. “I got better than that.”
    Laurel scoots her chair closer.
    Susannah’s eyes light up. “I made it just in time, but only because my agent’s Humm—” She looks at Laurel. “Because traffic was moving quickly. Anyway, the director took one look at me and called over a bunch of older ladies. They all just stood there, staring at me.”
    Laurel rolls her eyes. “Can we speed this up?”
    “The director finally touches my chin and says, ‘Look at this, she’s perfect.’” She giggles. “And the old ladies agreed! So I asked if I got the part and they said, ‘No, honey. We have something better.’ The director gave me a card and asked me to come back in two weeks.”
    “Wow,” I say.
    Susannah beams.
    “Ugh.” Laurel slumps on her desk. “Why doesn’t anything good ever happen to me?”
    “Tell them we’d like our loft overlooking that really big New York toy store—FAO Schwarz!” I say.
    Susannah slides her glasses back up her nose and sits back in her seat.
    Not two minutes later, Brianna’s head pops over my shoulder. She looks around, then whispers, “Zoë. We need to talk. Real bad.”
    “What—?”
    She shushes me. “I’ve been thinking about this whole island game. You, me, and Maisie need to form an alliance.” Maisie gives me a covert wave from across the room.
    “What?”
    Brianna continues. “These teams could merge into one at any moment. And then someone will get voted off the island! That’s why we need to form our alliance. So we can stay strong. United so we’ll make it to the final three!”

    I don’t even know where to start. “Brianna, there is no final three. We’re voting on leaders, but no one’s getting voted off the isla—”
    Brianna hisses, “That’s what they want you to believe!”
    “Who?”
    Brianna nods and crazy-smiles. “Exactly.” Then she gives me what I guess is our secret alliance shake—she clacks her bony elbow against mine, which makes me yelp.
    Mrs. Patinkin claps her hands and asks Devon to begin gathering up our island drawings. Devon walks up my row holding the pile of Icktopias against her chest. When she gets to my desk, she looks at my drawing and givesme an annoying little rosebud smile, then swooshes on past.
    T wenty-eight Icktopias of all shapes