Dorinda's Secret (10 page)

Just as I flop down on my bed, I hear Mrs. Bosco calling my name from her bedroom. “I'll be right there,” I yell. Getting back up, I poke my head into Mrs. Bosco's bedroom.

“Dorinda—that child called
again
while you were out.”

“Tiffany?” I ask, sighing, but what I'm really thinking is, Doesn't she have anything better to do than bother me?

“Thanks, Mom,” I say, hoping she'll squash this conversation, but I shoulda known better.

“We had a nice long talk, you know,” Mrs. Bosco continues. She is propped up on the bed eating a bowl of rice pudding. “I think that child needs someone to talk to.”

“Yeah,” I say, nodding my head.

“She says her parents want to meet you 'cuz she can't stop talking about you,” Mrs. Bosco says, beaming.

Oh, swelly, just what I need. Not just a new sister, but her parents, too!

“Maybe it's something important she needs to talk to you about,” Mrs. Bosco suggests. “I think you better call her.”

“After we do the competition,” I say quickly. What I really mean is, after I've had time to break the news to my crew. “Then I'll go see Tiffany and her family,” I offer, and quickly move on, changing the subject. “We had a great rehearsal tonight.”

“That's good.”

“I think we could really win this competition,” I say—and for a change, I really mean it. I hope Mrs. Bosco doesn't ask to come to the competition, though, because I'm not ready to perform in front of her. I don't really want any of my family around until I feel ready for the big time, know what I'm sayin'?

“Good night,” I say, stifling a yawn. Mrs. Bosco doesn't like to kiss or anything—I guess she doesn't want to get too close to us, in case we get taken away someday—so I just smile and walk out of her bedroom and back to my own.

Lying on my pillow, I wonder what Mrs. Bosco and Tiffany talked about. Tiffany Twitty sure gets chatty with everybody. I mean, she really runs her mouth faster than the Road Runner clocks miles.

I wonder if she looks like our mother …?

Chapter 9

N
o matter how many times the Cheetah Girls perform, I always get a case of the spookies beforehand. Okay, so we haven't performed that much, but I'll bet it never goes away. Today is no exception. Even Aqua and Angie are faking that they're not quaking.

“Where's the Sandman?” Aqua asks, popping her eyes as she nervously looks around for him. Not that he booted us off the stage at the Amateur Hour contest—we came in second—but still, he's a scary somebody to think about when you're about to perform at the Apollo Theatre!

We are instructed to head backstage and see the competition coordinator. On our way down the aisle, I check out the big sparkly banner that is spanning the stage: H
OT
99 P
RESENTS
‘T
HE
B
ATTLE OF THE
D
IVETTES
' C
OMPETITION
.

Ms. Dorothea, who as our manager goes everywhere with us, is wearing a cheetah-spotted bustier, and her chest is covered with glitter. She looks like a movie star or something. One of the stagehands is goo-gahhing and peering down at Ms. Dorothea from the top of his ladder.

“If he paid as much attention to his job as he does to me, this place wouldn't be falling apart!” she humphs as she herds us around her.

The other stagehands are busy putting up banners. It seems like there are lots of companies sponsoring the competition.

“Ooh, looky, cooky, S.N.A.P.S. Cosmetics is one of the sponsors,” Galleria tells us, pointing to a banner.

A pretty girl with a Dr. Seuss–type hat and a clipboard is talking into a walkie-talkie. Then, spotting Ms. Dorothea, she calls out our group's name and walks over to us. “Well, I guess I had no trouble figuring out who you are,” the Dr. Seuss lady says to Ms. Dorothea.

Ms. Dorothea beams, then says, “I'm Dorothea Garibaldi, the manager of the Cheetah Girls.”

“Omigosh, I thought you were part of the group!” the Dr. Seuss lady exclaims. “Well, you look
fabulous
—I love that bustier. Where did you get it?”

Ms. Dorothea goes on to tell the Dr. Seuss lady all about her boutique, Toto in New York … Fun in Diva Sizes. I can tell the Dr. Seuss lady is supa-dupa impressed.

“Oh, too bad I'm not big enough to shop there,” she whines, like she really means it.

“Size is just an attitude, darling,” Ms. Dorothea quips. “You're welcome to stop in any time.”

“Thank you!” the lady gushes. Then she gets down to the business at hand—trying to organize the lineup of struggling divettes. “I'm Candy Kane, the Talent Panel Coordinator, and I'll tell you how everything works. Let's see …” she goes on, peering down at her clipboard. “The Cheetah Girls are number seven in the lineup.”

“Sounds sweet to me, Miss Candy Kane,” Ms. Dorothea responds. “How many groups are performing?”

“Um, let's see—seven.”

“Oh, so we're last!” Ms. Dorothea says, her eyes brightening.

“Yes, I guess so,” Candy Kane giggles.

“Are all the groups from New York?” Galleria asks nervously.

“I believe they are—since this is a regional contest.”

“How many contests are there?” Ms. Dorothea asks.

“There are quite a few, but the finals are going to be held in New York City, you'll be happy to know.”

Candy Kane winks at Galleria. I can tell she likes our groove. “Now here are the rules: You may wait in your dressing room if you like, or you may wait backstage. It's your responsibility to be backstage and standing under the green light in time for your performance.”

Pointing upward to the green light, Candy continues, “You are not allowed to take pictures or use recording devices backstage. You are also not allowed to drink, eat, or smoke. After you finish your performance, you should exit the stage
quickly
, then wait back here for the announcer to give you your return cue—that is,
if you
become one of the finalists.”

“Return cue—is that when the audience picks the winners?” Ms. Dorothea asks.

“No, Mrs. Garibaldi, the panel of judges seated in the first row is solely responsible for picking the finalists. The announcer will be handed three envelopes, and read the winners for the first and second runner-ups, as well as the regional winner. Only if your name is announced should you come back onstage. Do you understand everything?”

“Yes!” we say in unison.

Handing Ms. Dorothea some papers, Candy Kane explains, “Now here are the releases for you to sign. It's a standard release—stating that you're aware this event is being videotaped, and that you've not been promised any monetary compensation from Looking Good Productions for participating in the ‘Battle of the Divettes' competition.”

Ms. Dorothea puts on her cheetah glasses and scans the forms.

“When you're done, you can hand the forms to any of the production assistants backstage—oh, and here are your gift bag tickets. I'll give you six—one for you, too, Mrs. Garibaldi. Just give them to Gator, the guy in the blue baseball cap standing right over there.”

“I see him. And thank you!” Ms. Dorothea says, spotting the guy.

“He'll give you your gift bag, girls—you're gonna love all the goodies from our sponsors. And good luck!” Candy Kane whisks off to do her supa-spiel with the next divette-in-waiting, leaving us all hyped about this whole thing.

“The peeps doing this competition are definitely more chili than the Amateur Hour people,” Galleria says, impressed. Then she turns to Chanel. “You sure perked up as soon as you heard there were free goodies,” Galleria chides her.

Chanel breaks out in a mischievous grin. I love her so much—she makes everybody feel better with her
señorita
energy. For the moment, I've forgotten all my troubles—even my nerves are gone!

We hightail it over to Gator to get our gift bags. “See you later, Gator,” Galleria says sweetly, as he hands us our last bag.

“Ooh, it's heavy,” Chanel says excitedly, as she swings her red canvas McDonald's bag back and forth.

“They wouldn't put food in this thing, would they?” Aqua asks hopefully, as she gingerly puts her hand inside.

“No, silly, willy! McDonald's is obviously just one of the sponsors,” Galleria mumbles. “Oh—S.N.A.P.S.!” she exclaims, taking a free lipstick sample out of her bag.

“Ooh, what color is it?” I ask, waiting for Galleria to take the top off and swivel up the lipstick. It turns out to be a red shade.

Galleria looks at the bottom of the tube to check out the name of the color. “‘Desire.'”

Chanel has taken hers out, and giggles, “Mine is ‘Destiny'—but I don't like the color.” I have to agree with her—it
is
a wack shade of yellow.

The twins have dug the tubes of lipstick out of their gift bags—naturally, they get the same color. “‘Lust'?” Aqua moans when she reads the label. “We better not even take this home, or Daddy won't let us out of the house again!”

The twins' father, Mr. Walker,
is
kinda strict, so I decide to help them out. “I'll switch with you,” I say. “I got a tube of ‘Destiny,' too.”

“I don't want that—our lips are big enough without looking like banana peels!” Aqua moans.

“Well, Aqua, you can either meet your ‘Destiny' by getting shipped back to your Grandma's in Houston, or you can wear it,” I chuckle, like a game show host. “
The choice is yours
.”

“Awright,” she mumbles, swiping my tube, and handing over hers. I can't believe how many goodies are stuffed in these bags! Little bottles of shampoo, pencils, an ugly paperweight, a
Sistarella
magazine, Miss Wiggy glitter lip gloss, and sheets of butterfly stickers.

“Ooo, I can give these to my sister Twinkie!” I exclaim.

“Hey, Do' Re Mi—how come you never invite your family to come see you perform?” Chanel asks me sweetly.

My breath catches in my throat. Suddenly, my nerves are all back, and I can feel my stomach jumping. “I'm just not ready,” I mumble, looking away.

“Yeah, I know what you mean. I sure wish Mom wasn't coming tonight,” Chanel laments. “And guess what else—she's bringing her boyfriend with her—Mr. Tycoon himself! I'm not feeling in the mood for him,
está bien
?”

I feel so relieved that none of my “family” will be in the house, because I don't know if I'm ready for that yet. Performing is scary enough without more drama. I'm afraid that if anybody I knew was out there in the audience, I'd just freeze up totally right there onstage.

I look up, wondering if Chanel has sensed how scared I am. But no, I have nothing to worry about—her greedy little paws are already digging into her bag, looking for treasures.

A little while later, after we've finished switching our Astrology bottles of cologne (inside of my bag is a bottle of “Virgo,” so I give it to the twins, since that's their astrological sign), we decide it's time to check out the talent. Galleria, Chanel, and I don't recognize any of the other girls hanging out in the backstage area with us. But the twins do.

“There's that girl JuJu from school,” Angie winces to Aqua.

“Her name is JuJu ‘Beans' Gonzalez,” Angie explains to the rest of us, sucking her teeth. “She's a singing
and
drama major—with emphasis on the drama, you know what I'm sayin'?”

“Yeah—and her middle name describes her
exactly
, 'cuz she iz ‘full of beans!'” Aqua adds, poking out her juicy lips for extra measure.

By this time, JuJu “Beans” Gonzalez has gotten the drift that all eyes are on her. She looks over in our direction, then turns away as if she doesn't see us.

“I wonder how she got in this competition, 'cuz I didn't see any notice at school,” Aqua ponders.

“The world of divettes is very small,” Galleria offers in explanation. “Everything that's going down sure gets passed around.”

“Yeah, well the world sure ain't big enough for us and JuJu!” Aqua laments, sucking on her lollipop. “She looks like one of those beauty pageant contestants back home in that outfit. Ain't that right, Angie?”

“Yes, ma'am,” Angie agrees. “And we sure got a lot of girls who look like her back home.”

I take in JuJu's red sequin gown, and the fake red gardenia flowers pinned in her upswept “do,” and decide “I think she looks like the runner-up for Miss Botanical Gardens!”

We all giggle, which helps us forget how nervous we are.

A woman in a red sweat suit and baseball cap is walking around introducing herself to all the contestants. Now she comes up to us.

“Hi, I'm P.J. Powers from HOT 99,” she says in a bubble-licious way, extending her hand to Galleria.

We all get instantly excited because we have just met P.J. Powers—the radio deejay on “The Power Hour,” which plays the most flava-fied songs in heavy rotation. After she's shaken all our hands, she moves on to greet the next group.

Ms. Dorothea, meanwhile, has signed all the papers. “I guess it's time to pounce, girls. Let's go on up to the dressing room, so you can put on your costumes.” She herds us toward the back stairway, which we remember from the Amateur Hour.

“Now we gotta go climb those creaky stairs into the tower of the haunted house,” jokes Aqua. “I sure hope
this
horror show has a happy ending!”

Chapter 10

W
e decide to wait backstage rather than in our dressing room, because it's seven o'clock—and that means, “Show time at the Apollo!” Sometimes shows don't start on time, but you never know—and half the fun of performing with competing acts is hearing them do their thing, you know what I'm saying?