Dorinda's Secret (5 page)

“How are you today, Dorinda?” Mrs. Tattle asks me, reaching over to open her briefcase, which is right next to her on the floor.

I'm trying not to stare at the railroad run in her panty hose. I wonder how high up her leg it goes? When I'm older, I'm going to carry a briefcase like Mrs. Tattle, so I can look important, too.

Mrs. Tattle seems kinda uptight. The way she is sitting so straight on the couch, you'd think she was in the Oval Office in the White House or something. The couch in our living room is covered with faded yellow-flowered tapestry, and the seat cushions are well worn. I think more people have sat on our couch than in the Oval Office, if you know what I'm saying.

“I'm fine,” I say, smiling and showing off my dimples, so Mrs. Tattle will feel more comfortable. I want her to think everything is “hunky chunky.” I'm also anxious to find out why she's visiting us on a Saturday.

“Mrs. Bosco told me the good news about your record deal,” Mrs. Tattle says, trying to sound cheerful.

“Well, it's not exactly a record deal, but we're going to get to cut a few songs for a demo tape for the record company,” I explain carefully. I'm always trying to be honest about the Cheetah Girls situation—like I said earlier, we may have “growl power,” but so far, we are still a bunch of wanna-be stars in the jiggy jungle.

“Well, it must have been exciting for you to go to Los Angeles,” Mrs. Tattle says, trying to make everything seem really hunky chunky, too.

“It was the dopest dope experience I ever had in my life!” I say, because I don't want to let Mrs. Tattle down. It
was
pretty dope—but there were ups and downs, if you want to know the honest truth.

“Well, now that's more like the Dorinda I know!” she says, her voice screeching because she is talking too high. (Now that I'm taking vocal lessons, I notice
everything
about people's voices. It's really kinda strange.)

Mrs. Tattle keeps smiling at me and Mrs. Bosco. Twinkie is smiling at Mrs. Tattle, and sitting in the armchair with her hand under her chin. “And how are you, Rita?” Mrs. Tattle asks, her face brightening up. Twinkie makes everybody smile.

“I'm okay,” Twinkie responds, without moving her hand from her chin. Kenya just sits on the couch looking down at her shoes. I'm proud of Twinkie, because at least she got Kenya to wear matching socks. Topwe, Chantelle, Khalil, and Nestor look nice, too.

“Dorinda, can you sing something for me?” Mrs. Tattle asks, catching me off guard.

“Not right now,” I say, getting embarrassed. None of the other caseworkers have ever asked me to sing for them before.

Kenya throws me a look, like, “Why don't you just do what Mrs. Tattle wants?” For someone who whines so much, Kenya gets awfully quiet when the caseworker visits.

I guess it wouldn't hurt me to sing for Mrs. Tattle. Maybe she thinks I'm just making the whole thing up about being in a singing group called the Cheetah Girls. I'm sure she must have put that in her reports. She's always writing things down when she visits.

“Um, okay, lemme see,” I say, trying to be nice to Mrs. Tattle. “I'll sing you the song that Bubbles wrote.”

“Bubbles?” Mrs. Tattle asks, like she's kinda curious.

“Oh, she's the leader of our group—that's her nickname. Her real name is Galleria Garibaldi.”

“Oh,” Mrs. Tattle says, nodding her head. “That's an interesting name.”

“Um, yeah, her mother is a fashion designer, and she named Bubbles, um, Galleria, after the mall in Houston,” I say. I start giggling, warming up to Mrs. Tattle because I see her eyes sparkling a little. “Her father is Italian—from Italy—so that's where she got her last name.”

“Yes—Garibaldi was a popular hero in Italy,” Mrs. Tattle says.

I just keep smiling, because I'm not sure about Italian history. I'd better ask Bubbles before I go blabbing my mouth, so I decide I'd better sing and get it over with. “Um, okay, here's the song that Bubbles wrote. It's called, ‘Wanna-be Stars in the Jiggy Jungle.'”

“Oh, that's cute!” Mrs. Tattle says, scribbing stuff down in a folder—which I know is my case file.

I smile at Twinkie. She loves to join in on the chorus of this song. I clear my throat and start singing the first verse:

Sure enough, Twinkie and Topwe join in for the chorus and the B verse, making a whole lot of noise—but at least it's fun:

Mrs. Tattle starts clapping enthusiastically. I'm so glad that I made her feel better. That's what I love most about singing—seeing how happy it makes people.

“Where
is
the jiggy jungle?” Mrs. Tattle asks me. I can tell she really is interested now.

“Bubbles says it's this magical, cheetah-licious place inside of every dangerous, scary, crowded city, where dreams come true—oh, and where every cheetah has its day.” I get embarrassed, because I suddenly realize maybe Mrs. Tattle thinks the whole thing is kinda cuckoo.

But instead, she looks at me with tiny tears forming in her eyes. “I'm so glad you found a friend like Bubbles,” Mrs. Tattle says softly. Then she adds hesitantly, “I remember reading in the reports that you had trouble connecting with other kids.”

That makes me embarrassed. I didn't know one of the caseworkers put that in their report! They are so
nosy
!

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Mrs. Bosco nodding her head. “Yes, that's right. Dorinda has really changed a lot, now that she is in this group with the Cheetah Girls.”

“This is really great, Dorinda,” Mrs. Tattle exclaims.

I guess it's true. I never did have a lot of friends before, except when I was younger and I used to skateboard with Sugar Bear. Otherwise I kept to myself, hiding in my books or helping with the other kids at home.

Mrs. Tattle shifts her body on the couch. “Um, Dorinda, I came here today especially to see you. I wanted to talk to you about something before I go on vacation.”

I notice Mrs. Tattle looking over at Mrs. Bosco like they've already talked about something.

“Um, Mrs. Bosco—would it be okay if you and I and Dorinda talked in private?”

“Of course,” Mrs. Bosco says, smiling. “Y'all can go to your rooms,” she tells the other kids. “Rita, baby, can you take Arba into the bedroom and show her how to draw those butterflies?”

“Did you draw some new ones, Rita?” Mrs. Tattle asks Twinkie.

“Yup—big, fat butterflies with purple eyes!” Twinkie says proudly.

“Would you show them to me later?” Mrs. Tattle asks Twinkie.

“Uh-huh.”

Now I feel nervous again. Singing made me forget about everything for a while. Mrs. Tattle shuffles some papers, then looks at me.

“Um, Dorinda, did you know that you have a sister?” Mrs. Tattle asks me hesitantly.

“Um, yeah—Jazmine. She lives with my first foster mother, Mrs. Parkay,” I respond.

I wonder why Mrs. Tattle looks so puzzled. She rifles through some of her papers again. Mrs. Bosco and I just sit quietly, waiting for her to finish.

“Oh, I see. Yes. Jazmine Jones. She was a foster child in the first home you were in,” Mrs. Tattle says, reading from a paper. Then, she looks up at me, and her voice gets very quiet. “But actually … she wasn't, um, your biological sister,” she says.

“I didn't know that!” I gasp. What a stupid thing to say, but it's all I can think of. I mean, all this time, I thought Jazmine was my
real
sister—and that mean Mrs. Parkay gave me away and kept Jazmine, separating us forever.

Obviously, I know more about the other kids' records than my own. I wonder what else is in that file Mrs. Tattle is holding… .

“How come she, um, Jazmine, got to stay with Mrs. Parkay?” I ask, my cheeks burning.

“Um, I don't know, Dorinda,” Mrs. Tattle says. Embarrassed, she starts shuffling her papers some more. “Perhaps because Jazmine was younger than you … or maybe Mrs. Parkay only wanted one child. I'll have to look it up in the files and get back to you on that. But at any rate, you and Jazmine are not biological sisters.”

I can tell Mrs. Tattle is trying not to hurt my feelings. She probably knows why Mrs. Parkay gave me away, but she isn't saying anything. “Oh, that's okay. I was just asking,” I say, getting defensive. “It's not important or anything.”

I guess Mrs. Parkay just didn't love me enough—same as with my birth mother. Mr. and Mrs. Bosco are the only ones who
really
love me. That's why, in my heart, they're my
real
parents—whether I ever get adopted by them or not.

But now I'm really curious as to why Mrs. Tattle's here.

“Dorinda,” she says, clearing her throat. “Um, Dorinda, what I started to say before was, you
do
have a biological sister. Well—
half
sister, actually. According to the records, you and Tiffany were born to the same mother, but you have different fathers.”

Tiffany
. I sit there, hearing the sound of it repeat and repeat inside my head. I have a half sister—a real one—and her name is Tiffany.

I look at Mrs. Bosco. I wonder if she knew about this before now—but I can't tell by the look on her face if she did or not.

“Her name's Tiffany?”

“Yes, Tiffany Twitty. She was adopted by the Twittys when she was a baby, and they changed her name.”

“What was her name before that?” I ask curiously, and I'm thinking any name's gotta be better than one that sounds like a cuckoo bird.

“Oh, I'll have to look that up,” Mrs. Tattle says, and now she sounds like a caseworker, instead of nice like before.

“How old is she?” I ask.

“Eleven. One year younger than you,” Mrs. Tattle says with a blank face. “Well, Dorinda …” She clears her throat again, and I know there's more to come. “The reason why I'm telling you all this is—because Tiffany wants to meet you.”

I feel a cold chill ripple down my body. All of a sudden, I feel sad and scared. Just a few weeks ago, I thought I was getting adopted—that I'd finally have a real family for the first time in my life. Now I find out Jazmine wasn't my real sister—and that I have a half sister named Tiffany Twitty, who's already been adopted!

It's all too much information trying to squeeze into my head at the same time. Suddenly I'm not sure I want to know any more about Tiffany—not yet, anyway.

And then, a familiar daydream comes to me—my mother is smiling at me in the clouds, while I'm dancing for her. I know it sounds stupid, but for some reason, the image keeps coming to me.

“Dorinda?” Mrs. Tattle says, trying to get my attention. “If you need to think about this—”

“I'm sorry—I was just thinking about things,” I tell her. “I don't know what to do… .”

“Dorinda, you don't have to decide now,” Mrs. Tattle says, being nice again.

I look up at Mrs. Bosco. She is nodding her head and smiling at me, like “Go ahead, don't be scared. I'm here for you.”

“No, I
want
to meet her,” I tell Mrs. Tattle.

She seems relieved. “Well, it would be better if I introduce the two of you—just to make sure everything, um, goes okay,” she says very officiously, like a caseworker again. “Let's see,” she says, looking in the files again. “You both seem to like skating… .”

“Skate
boarding
?” I say, correcting Mrs. Tattle.

“Well, I mean, you like skateboarding, and Tiffany likes Rollerblading. We could go to Central Park, perhaps—”

“Okay,” I say with a shrug. “Whatever.” Like I don't care how we meet, or how it goes.

But I do care. What if we don't like each other? What if she's mean, or something? What if she hates me? It's a good thing Mrs. Bosco puts her hand on my shoulder at that moment. She must sense that I'm about to back right out of this whole thing.

This is all such a trip—the sister I thought was my sister is not—but now I find out someone else is my
real
sister… .

Chapter 5

I
can't believe all the stuff that is going down today! Before I go meet Tiffany and Mrs. Tattle at noon, right by the fountain in Central Park, I have to go meet the Cheetah Girls at Ms. Dorothea's store, Toto in New York … Fun in Diva Sizes.

Today's the day we're going to make the videotape to send in to the “Battle of the Divettes” competition. It turns out Bubbles's dad, Mr. Garibaldi, has a professional-quality video camera he keeps in storage!

“He wanted to be a filmmaker when he was younger,” Bubbles tells me proudly. We're in the back of the boutique, changing into our Cheetah Girls costumes.