Shop in the Name of Love Read Online Free

you!”
    “We could do a sleepover here the night before our
lonchando
, right, Chuchie?” Bubbles asks. “That way we could take care of the do’s right before the luncheon.”
    “I don’t know about that,” I say, croaking. “My mom’s kinda down on me even
bein’
a Cheetah Girl. Maybe we better do it at your house.” I roll my eyes at Bubbles, then toward the den next door, where my mom is talking on the phone to Mr. Tycoon in Paris.
    I’m scared for my crew to leave, because then I will have to be alone with her. I take a deep breath, which is what Drinka Champagne, our vocal coach, tells us we have to do to help our singing voices stay strong.
    After today’s craziness with my
madre, lonchando
with Mr. Jackal Johnson will be a piece of cake. A piece of Princess Pamela’s pound cake …
    Later that night, I’m on the Internet chatting with my Cheetah Girls crew, when I hear my mom yelling over the phone to my dad. “I have a prediction for that
Princess Pamela,”
my mom says all
sarcástico
into the phone receiver. “If
she
doesn’t stay away from
my
daughter, The Wicked Witch of the Yeast is gonna slice her up like that cheesy pound cake she sells!” my mom snarls, then hangs up the phone. Mom always has to have the last word. I hear her bare feet pounding down the hallway.
    “
Ciao
for now!” I type furiously on the keyboard. That’s the signal we use when a grownup is coming. I run to my bed and open up my history book. All I need is for my mom to see what I’m talking about with my crew on the Internet, and she may figure out a way to stop that, too.
    I know she’s about to come in, and I’m dreading the screaming fight we’re about to have. But to my total surprise, the knock on my door is so low I almost don’t hear it.
    “What!” I yell, pretending that maybe I think it’s Pucci.
    “Can I come in?” Mom asks, in a voice so soft and sweet I barely recognize her.
    “Sure,
Mamí
,” I say more quietly.
    When she walks into my room, she is smiling at me. Now I feel guilty for thinking bad thoughts about her. I’ve been assuming she was going to get on my case about every single thing in my life, and here she is, being sweet and nice.
    “Hi,
Mamí
,” I say, trying to act normal.
    “Hi. What are you up to? You and the Cheetah Girls have been talking in the chat room, right?”
    She is still smiling! Weird.
    “Yeah.” I giggle, shutting the cover of my history book. No use pretending now. Besides, it doesn’t seem to be necessary. She’s obviously not mad—but why?
Qué pasa?
    “I’ve been wondering—what are you going to wear for the lunch meeting with Mr. Johnson, Chuchie?” Mom asks me, plopping down on my pink bedspread. She then crosses her legs, like she is practicing a pose for the Chirpy Cheapies Catalog. My mom used to be a model, you know. Right now, she has put her wavy hair up in a ponytail. She almost looks like she could be my big sister instead of my mother.
    “
Yo no sé
,” I answer. “I don’t know. I really don’t have anything good to wear.”
    “Well, why don’t you go ahead and order that green leopard pantsuit from Oophelia’s catalog,” she says with a satisfied smirk.
    “Well, I can’t buy it, because I only have thirty-seven dollars left from the money I got from the show,” I say, kinda nervous. Don’t get the wrong idea—I didn’t just buy shoes and headbands, okay? I also bought a new laser printer for my computer, so that we, the Cheetah Girls, can make flyers for our shows—if we have any more.
    “I know you don’t have any money left, but I’m glad you bought a printer. So the outfit is on me. A little present. Here,” Mom says, holding out her credit card. “You can use my credit card and order that one outfit.”
    I sit there frozen, not even able to breathe. This is like, unbelievable! My mom offering to let
me
, the shopaholic deluxe, use her credit card? What is up here?
    “You sure?” I ask nervously, not daring to